The Boys' Book of Rulers

We have no space to give details of the end of the bloody war. Frederick attacked the Austrians, under Marshal Daun, at Torgan, saying to his soldiers: —

“This war has become tedious. If I beat him, all his army must be taken prisoners or drowned in the Elbe. If we are beaten we must all perish.”

After a day of hard fighting the Prussians held the field. Frederick, who was a very profane man, replied to a soldier, who inquired if they should go into winter quarters, “By all the devils I shall not till we have taken Dresden.” But Dresden he did not take at that time, and went into winter quarters at Leipsic. The fifth campaign of the Seven Years’ War closed with the winter of 1760.

The Russians and Austrians had concentrated in Bohemia. The summer and autumn wore away with little accomplished; the allies feared to attack Frederick, and the Russians retreated for winter quarters. But the Austrians captured Schweidnitz and so could winter in Silesia. This was a terrible blow to Frederick, but no word betrayed the anguish of the hard-pressed Prussian king. Taking his weary, suffering troops to Breslau, Frederick sought shelter for the winter of 1761-62. At this dark time he wrote: —

“The school of patience I am at is hard, long-continued, cruel; nay, barbarous. I have not been able to escape my lot. All that human foresight could suggest has been employed, and nothing has succeeded. If Fortune continues to pursue me, doubtless I shall sink. It is only she that can extricate me from the situation I am in. I escape out of it by looking at the universe on the great scale like an observer from some distant planet. All then seems to me so infinitely small, and I could almost pity my enemies for giving themselves such trouble about so very little.”

Poor blinded Frederick! He could not even see that his own selfish ambition had tempted him to commence an unjust war, and thus to bring upon his own head all these sorrows.

On the 24th of November, 1762, the belligerents entered into an armistice until the 1st of March. All were exhausted. On the 15th of February, 1763, peace was concluded. The bloody Seven Years’ War was over, and its immense result was, Frederick the Great had captured and retained Silesia.

The expense of the war had been eight hundred and fifty-three thousand lives, which had perished on the battle-field. Of the hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children who had died from exposure, famine, and pestilence, no note is taken. The population of Prussia had diminished five hundred thousand. The world had run red with blood. The air had resounded with wails and cries and groans. Prussia was laid waste by the ravages of the war; and what had been accomplished? Frederick had achieved his renown; he had made himself talked of. Silesia had been captured, and Frederick the Great had been placed in the foremost ranks of the world’s generals.

Compared with the achievements of Gustavus Adolphus, whose victories had laid the foundation for the success of the Reformation, how petty had been the prize! One, a Christian king, upholding liberty of conscience and religious freedom; the other, an infidel king fighting in an unjust war for his own glory and aggrandizement. But the world applauded. Berlin blazed with illuminations and rang with the shouts of rejoicing. For twenty-three years Frederick the Great still lived to bear his honors. He must have the credit of endeavoring, during the remainder of his life, to repair the terrible desolation and ruin which his wars had brought upon Prussia.

We have but space to glance at his last hours. Dark was the gloom which shrouded his closing days. His worst enemies were the scoffing devils of unbelief he had let loose within his own soul. No Christian hopes illuminated the vast unknown into which he must so soon pass. To him the grave was but the awful portal to the direful abyss of annihilation.

To his patient, cruelly neglected wife, he penned these last cold words: “Madam, I am much obliged by the wishes you deign to form, but a heavy fever I have taken hinders me from answering you.”

With no companions near him but his servants and his dogs, he awaited the coming of his last despairing end. And thus this lonely, hopeless old man fought his last battle of life; and on the 17th of August, 1786, the fight was ended, the battle lost, and Frederick the Second – Frederick the Great – was carried to the tomb, and laid by the side of his father. What a warning to the world! What a warning to parents! The inconsistent, brutal life of his father made him an infidel.

His own selfish ambition made him more of a curse than a blessing to mankind. In the eyes of the Great and Just Judge of the world, both lives were terrible failures.

History has decreed that Frederick the Great gained a foremost place amongst the famous rulers of the world, and that his name stands in the first rank of the world’s conquerors.

But history has also written over his career the verdict, – He was an ambitious aggressor in an unjust war, which plunged all Europe into the horrors of famine, pestilence, bloody conflicts, and desolated battle-fields piled up with heaps of ghastly corpses, above which rose the direful wails of anguished hearts and the relentless flames of ruined homes.

NAPOLEON I

1769-1821 A.D

“He doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus.”Shakespeare.“Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny; for it is destiny.” – Longfellow.

IT was not physical force, it was the magnetic majesty of mind, which looked forth from those awe-inspiring eyes, and gave him Jovesque grandeur and dignity and sovereign pre-eminence among mankind. No merely mortal man stands beside him upon the same level on the heights of fame. Upon the highest mountain peak of human achievement and earthly greatness he stands alone, looking with calm, deep eyes and eagle glance upon the rolling centuries which preceded his marvellous career.

In spite of all the contradictory views which have been presented of Napoleon; in spite of hostile historians who have stigmatized him as a usurper; in spite of foes who have denounced him as a tyrant, inexorable as Nero; in spite of calumny which has proclaimed him a blood-thirsty monster; in spite of English literature and English criticism, which have denounced him as a scourge of the race, as a “cook roasting whole continents and populations in the flames of war”; in spite of many a Judas, such as Bourrienne, Augereau, Marmont, Berthier, Bernadotte, Moreau, and others among those whom his own genius had lifted into prominence and power; in spite of obstacles, such as no other mortal man ever conquered, Napoleon the Great stands forth the most amazing phenomenon of human achievement, personal magnetism, and mortal greatness.

“A man who raised himself from obscurity to a throne; who changed the face of the world; who made himself felt through powerful and civilized nations; who sent the terror of his name across seas and oceans; whose will was pronounced and feared as destiny; whose donatives were crowns; whose ante-chamber was thronged by submissive princes; who broke down the awful barrier of the Alps, and made them a highway; and whose fame was spread beyond the boundaries of civilization to the steppes of the Cossack and the deserts of the Arab, – a man who has left this record of himself in history has taken out of our hands the question whether he shall be called great. All must concede to him a sublime power of action, an energy equal to great effects.”

“Whether we think of his amazing genius, his unparalleled power of embracing vast combinations, while he lost sight of none of the details necessary to insure success, his rapidity of thought and equally sudden execution, his tireless energy, his ceaseless activity, his ability to direct the movements of half a million of soldiers in different parts of the world, and at the same time reform the laws, restore the finances, and administer the government of his country, or whether we trace his dazzling career from the time he was a poor, proud charity boy at the military school of Brienne to the hour when he sat down on the most brilliant throne of Europe, he is the same wonderful man, – the same grand theme for human contemplation.”

In this short sketch we have no space for arguments; nor does Napoleon need arguments to substantiate his claims to greatness. Facts only can prove the supremacy of his fame, and facts proclaim him unparalleled in history. Lies only defame him and make him out a tyrant. That he was without fault or blemish we would not maintain; that sad mistakes brought upon him evil consequences which he himself was the first to trace to their source, we do not deny. But that amongst all these famous rulers of the world, his is the greatest name, unprejudiced history has decreed.

Of all these mighty conquerors of the world, Napoleon stands second to none.

“When the sword of Alexander overthrew the Persian throne and subjugated the East as far as the Indus, he did but extend the civilization of Athens. The refinement of the age of Pericles, the acquirements of Attica, the philosophy of the academy and the lyceum, followed in the train of his victories.

“When Cæsar subjugated Parthia and Germany, and carried the Roman eagles from the summit of Caucasus to the hills of Caledonia; when he passed from Gaul to Italy, from Rome to Greece, from the plains of Pharsalia to the shores of Africa, from the ruins of Carthage to the banks of the Nile and the Euxine; when he traversed the Bosphorus and the Rhine, the Taurus and the Alps, the Atlas and the Pyrenees, – in all these triumphal courses lie propagated under the protection of his personal glory, the name, the language, and manners of civilized Rome. If Alexander carried with him the Age of Pericles, and Cæsar that of Augustus, if they were accompanied in their triumphs by the genius of Homer and of Sophocles, of Plato and Aristotle, of Virgil and Horace, Napoleon carried with him an age that the arts, sciences, and philosophy have rendered equally illustrious, and his enterprise is no less than that of his predecessors.”

Though the aristocracy of Europe denounced him as an odious despot and an insatiable conqueror, in the hearts of his people – the artisan, the laborer, and the soldier – he is still cherished as the “Man of the people, as the personification of that spirit of equality which pervaded both his administration and the camp.” His name is still religiously respected by the peasant in his cottage. His tomb is still cherished as the most sacred spot on earth by the French people. Never did mortal man inspire such love and adoration in the hearts of his soldiers. This unprecedented idolatry of a nation is the best refutation of the malign accusations of his enemies, “that Napoleon usurped the sovereignty of France; that having attained the supreme power, he was a tyrant, devoting that power to the promotion of his own selfish aggrandizement; that the wars in which he was incessantly engaged were provoked by his arrogance.”

Should the testimony of disappointed sycophants, whose pens are dipped in the venom of thwarted ambition and vanity, or the accusations of bitter foes, whose opinions are biassed by political intrigues, be believed against the character of Napoleon, rather than his own noble utterances, and the testimony of his incorruptible friends?

That his invasion of Egypt was aggressive and unjust, we will admit; but should England be the one to make the loudest outcry against this expedition, when it was only following her own policy when she increased her possessions by her conquests in India? And even the superiority of English literature and English writers should not make us blind to the unjust prejudices of English critics. Had Napoleon not quelled the insurrection, and given the final death-blow to the Revolution, how can any monarchy in Europe be certain that all thrones in Europe might not have tottered and fallen; that all European kingdoms might not have had to face a revolution? Had Napoleon died upon the throne of France, even his English foes, who feared the lonely exile, whom their duplicity and treachery had banished to the dreary rock of St. Helena, more than they feared any European monarch, would doubtless have joined the plaudits of the world in honor of the Hero of Success, irrespective of methods or motives. It is only because Napoleon outlived his marvellous and almost miraculous success that the world condemns, and his enemies malign him. Had our own Washington been unsuccessful, then would he have been hung as a rebel, and our own glorious Revolution would have been called a rebellion, and none would have been so loud in the outcry against us as England.

But our success has compelled her recognition, and our marvellous growth in strength, power, and resources has gained her reluctant admiration. It is hardly to be expected that England should ever forget how Napoleon made her tremble, and how near she came to being the conquered rather than the conqueror.

From an earthly point of view, his was the greatest life of mortal man; but from a heavenly standpoint, even his greatness crumbles into dust, and his own higher nature was true enough to realize and acknowledge the instability of earthly renown, and the failure of even such phenomenal greatness as his own, to satisfy the higher cravings of the immortal soul.

To properly estimate the genius of Napoleon, and his achievements in behalf of France, a glance must be given to the bloody background of the Revolution, which rises up with all its ghastliness and horrors. The rights and liberties of the French people had been trampled under foot by despotic and profligate kings and nobles; and then brute force arose against oppression; and brute force for a time conquered.

Mobs surge like a mighty ocean through the streets of Paris. Men, women, and children are turned into wild beasts of fury, thirsting only for blood. And blood they get – till Paris runs red like a river, and all the demons of hades seem to have been let loose upon the world. Such was the hydra-headed monster of bloody, lawless license and ignorant defiance which confronted the dawning manhood of Napoleon Bonaparte. Such was the ferocious fury which the genius of this small, slender, pale-faced, smooth-cheeked youth of twenty-five encountered with such dauntless courage and quelled by his irresistible foresight and execution.

The monarchy of France had been dethroned. Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette had paid with their lives the forfeit of oppression which was not all their own. The Royalists and the Jacobins had joined the howling mob of insurgents, and all together were rushing onward to attack the Convention, which was the only representative of government then in France. The troops of the Convention had been sent to meet the mob, but retired in fear and panic. The mob advanced with demoniacal shouts of menace. The Convention trembled. In the midst of the terror and confusion one member exclaims, —

“I know the man who can defend us if any can. It is a young Corsican officer, Napoleon Bonaparte.” The Convention immediately sent for him. All expected to see a stalwart soldier, of gigantic frame and imperious bearing. Their surprise was unbounded, when a young slender man of boyish presence appeared before them. The astonished president incredulously inquired, —

“Are you willing to undertake the defence of the Convention?”

“Yes,” was the laconic and calm reply. With half-disdainful contempt the president continued, —

“Are you aware of the magnitude of the undertaking?”

Sweeping the assembly with his magnetic glance, and fixing his eagle eye upon the president, Napoleon replied, “Perfectly; and I am in the habit of accomplishing what I undertake.”

And accomplish he did. But how? By the same measures he had declared should have been taken when, a short time before, he had watched the furious mob rush unrestrained through the palace of the imprisoned monarch. Then he had exclaimed, “They should have swept down the first five hundred with grapeshot, and the rest would have soon taken to flight.” And his own successful quelling of the insurgents proved the correctness of his plans and the marvellous executive force of his genius. So Napoleon established the new government of France called the Directory. We have space only for a glance at his boyhood. He was born upon the island of Corsica, on the 15th of August, 1769. His father died while Napoleon was quite young, and his mother, Madame Letitia Bonaparte, was left with small means to provide for eight children, – Joseph, Napoleon, Lucien, Louis, Jerome, Eliza, Pauline, and Caroline.

When Napoleon was about ten years of age, Count Marbœuf obtained his admission to the military school at Brienne, near Paris. Regarded as a charity student by his companions, he was here subjected to neglects and taunts which stung his sensitive nature to the quick. When Napoleon was fifteen, he was promoted to the military school at Paris. On one occasion a mathematical problem of great difficulty was given to his class. Napoleon secluded himself in his room for seventy-two hours and solved the problem. Napoleon did not blunder into greatness. His achievements were not accidents. That he possessed native genius cannot be denied; but he also possessed that perseverance and application which alone can win the success which genius aspires to, but which only energy and perseverance can make possible. When Napoleon was sixteen years of age, he was examined for an appointment in the army. At the close of this examination, one of the professors wrote opposite the signature of Napoleon, “This young man will distinguish himself in the world, if favored by fortune.”

Napoleon secured the position of second lieutenant in a regiment of artillery. He was ordered to Lyons with his regiment. While there, the Academy at Lyons offered a prize for the best dissertation upon the question, “What are the institutions most likely to contribute to human happiness?” Napoleon won the prize. The English, uniting with the Royalists of France, had seized Toulon, a naval depot and arsenal of France. The Convention, the revolutionary government, promoted Napoleon to the rank of brigadier-general, and gave him the command of the artillery train at Toulon. It was here that his military abilities were noticed by the member of the Convention who afterwards proposed him as being the only man who could defend them against the mob, as we have already narrated. After quelling this formidable insurrection, Napoleon was enthusiastically received by the Convention. Five Directors were now chosen by the Convention, who should constitute the new Directory, and the Convention dissolved itself, surrendering the government into the hands of the Directory. Napoleon was appointed by them commander-in-chief of the Army of the Interior, and intrusted with the military defence and government of the metropolis. Having attained this high dignity, Napoleon placed his mother and the rest of his family in comfort.

Famine was great in Paris. The Revolution had left all industries paralyzed. The poor were perishing.

Napoleon immediately organized the National Guards, established order, and distributed wood and bread to the perishing citizens. It was at this time that he met his future wife, Josephine. She was a widow with two children. Her husband, the Viscount Beauharnais, had perished on the scaffold during the Revolution. On the 6th of March, 1796, Napoleon and Josephine were married. Napoleon was twenty-six years of age, Josephine being two years older. This marriage was one of ideal love. When Napoleon was crowned Emperor, he was privately married again by Cardinal Fesch, in accordance with the forms of the Church, which the Emperor had re-established.

Napoleon turned with disgust from the profligacy and dissipation which ever disgrace an army. To the defamations of his enemies who endeavored to malign his character, by accusing him of immorality, let his own words answer: “When I took command of the army of Italy, my extreme youth rendered it necessary that I should evince great reserve of manners and the utmost severity of morals. My supremacy could be retained only by proving myself a better man than any other man in the army. Had I yielded to human weaknesses, I should have lost my power.”

Napoleon was temperate in the extreme, and manifested the strongest disapproval for gaming. Napoleon’s first campaign in Italy was one of self-defence on the part of the French. France had renounced a monarchy and established a republic. The kings of Europe trembled. England was hovering around the coasts of France assailing every available point. Austria had marched an army of nearly two hundred thousand men to the banks of the Rhine. She had called into requisition her Italian possessions, and in alliance with the British navy the armies of the king of Sardinia together with the legions of Naples and Sicily, prepared to attack the French Republic.

The Directory said to the young commander-in-chief: “We can furnish you only men. The troops are destitute of everything, but we have no money to provide supplies.”

“Give me only men enough,” replied the undaunted Napoleon; “I will be answerable for the result.”

Leaving his bride in Paris, Napoleon hastened to Nice, the headquarters of the army of Italy.

Now the first of those wonderful proclamations rings out in the ears of the astonished troops. “Soldiers, you are hungry and naked; the government owes you much, and can pay you nothing. I come to lead you into the most fertile plains the sun beholds. There you will find abundant harvests, honor, and glory. Soldiers of Italy, will you fail in courage?”

This apparent stripling then assembles his generals, all war-worn chiefs. Amazed and speechless, they listen to his plans.

“The time has passed in which enemies are mutually to appoint the place of combat, advance, hat in hand, and say, ‘Gentlemen, will you have the goodness to fire?’ The art of war is in its infancy. Experienced generals conduct the troops opposed to us. So much the better, so much the better. It is not their experience which will avail against me. Mark my words: they will soon burn their books on tactics and know not what to do. Yes, gentlemen, the first onset of the Italian army will give birth to a new epoch in military affairs. As for us, we must hurl ourselves on the foe like a thunderbolt, and smite it. Disconcerted by our tactics, and not daring to put them into execution, they will fly before us as the shades of night before the uprising sun.”

And fly before him they did at the battle of Montenotte, regarding which Napoleon afterwards proudly said, “My title of nobility dates from the battle of Montenotte.”

The Austrians fled in one direction, the Sardinians in another, before this invincible conqueror, and Europe, amazed, inquired, Who is this young general who has blazed forth in such sudden and appalling splendor?

Meanwhile Napoleon issues this stirring proclamation: —

“Soldiers, you have gained in fifteen days six victories, taken one-and-twenty standards, fifty-five pieces of cannon, many strong places, and have conquered the richest part of Piedmont. You have gained battles without cannon; passed rivers without bridges; made forced marches without shoes; bivouacked without bread. The phalanxes of the republic, the soldiers of liberty, were alone capable of such services.”

The humiliated king of Sardinia sued for peace. It was the evening of the 10th of May, 1796. The Austrians had intrenched themselves on the banks of the River Po. As the French were making the terrible passage of the bridge of Lodi, in the face of the enemies’ fire, Napoleon seized a standard, shouting to his men, “Follow your general!” and plunging through the blinding smoke, he led his bleeding column forward, and the bridge was carried.

“This beardless youth,” said an Austrian general, indignantly, “ought to have been beaten over and over again; for whoever saw such tactics! The blockhead knows nothing of the rules of war. To-day he is in our rear, to-morrow on our flank, and the next day again in our front. Such gross violations of the principles of war are insufferable.”

And more insufferable still would his enemies find the tactics of the invincible Napoleon. Some of the veterans of the army jocosely promoted Napoleon to the rank of corporal, in honor of his bravery at the bridge of Lodi. When their general next appeared before his army, he was greeted with the shouts, “Long live our little corporal!” and even in the dignity of consul and emperor, Napoleon never lost this affectionate nickname amongst his troops, of whom he was the idol.