he won the hearts of his soldiers, and secured the admiration of his generals.  There was something new in his system of fighting, not seen at least in modern times,—­a rapid massing of his troops, and a still more rapid concentration of them upon the weak points of the enemy’s lines, coming down on them like a mountain torrent, and sweeping everything before him, in defiance of all rules and precedents.  A new master in the art of war, greater than Conde, or Turenne, or Marlborough, or Frederic II., had suddenly arisen, with amazing audacity and faith in himself.

The deliverance of republican France from four great Austrian armies was a grand service; and Napoleon merited its gratitude and all the honors he received.  He had violated no trust thus far.  He was still Citizen Bonaparte, professing liberal principles, and fighting under the flag of liberty, to make the Republic respected, independent, and powerful.  He robbed Italy, it is true, of some of her valuable pictures, and exacted heavy contributions; but this is war.  He was still the faithful servant of France.

On his return to Paris as a conqueror, the people of course were enthusiastic in their praises, and the Government was jealous.  It had lost the confidence of the nation.  All eyes were turned upon the fortunate soldier who had shown so much ability, and who had given glory to the country.  He may not yet have meditated usurpation, but he certainly had dreams of power.  He was bent on rising to a greater height; but he could do nothing at present, nor did he feel safe in Paris amid so much envy, although he lived simply and shunned popular idolatry.  But his restless nature craved activity; so he sought and obtained an army for the invasion of Egypt.  He was inspired with a passion of conquest, and the Directory was glad to get rid of so formidable a rival.

He had plainly rendered to his country two great services, without tarnishing his own fame, or being false to his cause.  But what excuse had he to give to the bar of enlightened posterity for the invasion of Egypt?  The idea originated with himself.  It was not a national necessity.  It was simply an unwarrantable war:  it was a crime; it was a dream of conquest, without anything more to justify it than Alexander’s conquests in India, or any other conquest by ambitious and restless warriors.  He hoped to play the part of Alexander,—­to found a new empire in the East.  It was his darling scheme.  It would give him power, and perhaps sovereignty.  Some patriotic notions may have blended with his visions.  Perhaps he would make a new route to India; perhaps cut off the empire of the English in the East; perhaps plant colonies among worn-out races; perhaps destroy the horrid empire of the Turks; perhaps make Constantinople the seat of French influence and empire in the East.  But what harm had Turkey or Syria or Egypt done to France?  Did they menace the peace of Europe?  Did even suffering Egyptians call upon him to free them from a Turkish yoke?  No:  it was a meditated conquest, on the same principles of ambition and aggrandizement which ever have animated unlawful conquests, and therefore a political crime; not to be excused because other nations have committed such crimes, ultimately overruled to the benefit of civilization, like the conquest of India by England, and Texas by the United States.