But these astonishing successes seem to have turned his head.  He is dazzled by his own greatness, and intoxicated by the plaudits of his idolaters.  He proudly and coldly says that “it is a proof of the weakness of the human understanding for any one to dream of resisting him.”  He now aims at a universal military monarchy; he seeks to make the kings of the earth his vassals; he places the members of his family, whether worthy or unworthy, on ancient thrones; he would establish on the banks of the Seine that central authority which once emanated from Rome; he apes the imperial Caesars in the arrogance of his tone and the insolence of his demands; he looks upon Europe as belonging to himself; he becomes a tyrant of the race; he centres in the gratification of his passions the interests of humanity; he becomes the angry Nemesis of Europe, indifferent to the sufferings of mankind and the peace of the world.

After the peace of Tilsit his whole character seems to have changed, even in little things.  No longer is he affable and courteous, but silent, reserved, and sullen.  His temper becomes bad; his brow is usually clouded; his manners are brusque; his egotism is transcendent.  “Your first duty,” said he to his brother Louis, when he made him king of Holland, “is to me; your second, to France.”  He becomes intolerably haughty, even to the greatest personages.  He insults the ladies of the court, and pinches their ears, so that they feel relieved when he has passed them by.  He no longer flatters, but expects incense from everybody.  In his bursts of anger he breaks china and throws his coat into the fire.  He turns himself into a master of ceremonies; he cheats at cards; he persecutes literary men.

Napoleon’s career of crime is now consummated.  He divorces Josephine,—­the greatest mistake of his life.  He invades Spain and Russia, against the expostulations of his wisest counsellors, showing that he has lost his head, that reason has toppled on her throne,—­for he fancies himself more powerful than the forces of Nature.  All these crimes are utterly inexcusable, except on the plea of madness.  Such gigantic crimes, such a recklessness of life, such uncontrollable ambition, such a defiance of justice, such an abrogation of treaties, such a disregard of the interests of humanity, to say nothing of the welfare of France, prostituted, enslaved, down-trodden,—­and all to nurse his diabolical egotism,—­astonished and shocked the whole civilized world.  These things more than balanced all the services he ever rendered, since they directly led to the exhaustion of his country.  They were so atrocious that they cried aloud to Heaven for vengeance.