Napoleon’s grievance against us was thereby materially lessened, and his protest against fictitious blockades in the preamble of the Berlin Decree really applied only to our action on the coast between the Helder and Brest, where our cruisers were watching the naval preparations still going on.  His retort in the interests of outraged law was certainly curious; he declared our 3,000 miles of coast in a state of blockade—­a mere brutum fulmen in point of fact, but designed to give a show of legality to his Continental System.  Yet, apart from this thin pretext, he troubled very little about law.  Indeed, blockade is an act of war; and its application to this or that part or coast depends on the will and power of the belligerents.  Napoleon frankly recognized that fact; and, however much his preambles appealed to law, his conduct was decided solely by expediency.  When he wanted peace (along with Sicily) he said nothing about our maritime claims:  when the war went on, he used them as a pretext for an action that was ten times as stringent.

The gauntlet thrown down by him at Berlin was promptly taken up by Great Britain.  An Order in Council of January 7th, 1807, forbade neutrals to trade between the ports of France and her allies, or between ports that observed the Berlin Decree, under pain of seizure and confiscation of the ship and cargo.  In return Napoleon issued from Warsaw (January 27th) a decree, ordering the seizure in the Hanse Towns of all English goods and colonial produce.  By way of reprisal England reimposed a strict blockade on the North German coast (March 11th); and after the Peace of Tilsit laid the Continent at the feet of Napoleon, he frankly told the diplomatic circle at Fontainebleau that he would no longer allow any commercial or political relations between the Continent and England.  “The sea must be subdued by the land.”  In these words Napoleon pithily summed up his enterprise; and whatever may be thought of the means which he adopted, the design is not without grandeur.  Granted that Britannia ruled the waves, yet he ruled the land; and the land, as the active fruitful element, must overpower the barren sea.  Such was the notion:  it was fallacious, as will appear later on; but it appealed strongly to the French imagination as providing an infallible means of humbling the traditional foe.  Furthermore, it placed in Napoleon’s hands a potent engine of government, not only for assuring his position in France, but for extending his sway over North Germany and all coasts that seemed needful to the success of the experiment.

Indirectly also it seems to have fed, without satisfying, his ever-growing love of power.  Here we touch on the difficult question of motive; and it is perhaps impossible, except for dogmatists, to determine whether the enterprises that led to his ruin—­the partition of Portugal, which slid easily into the occupation of Spain, together with his Moscow adventure—­were prompted by ambition or by a semi-fatalistic feeling