The Emperor Nicholas was by nature stern and unrelenting. He had been merciless in his treatment of the Poles. When he was friendly, his frankness had an irresistible charm. During his twenty-seven years on the throne he had both "reigned and governed." However, he was military, without being warlike. With no talents for generalship, he bestowed almost incredible attention upon the discipline of his armies. He oppressively drilled his soldiers, without knowledge of tactics and still less of strategy. Half his time was spent in inspecting his armies. When, in 1828, he invaded Turkey, his organizations broke down under an extended line of operations. For a long time thereafter he suffered the Porte to live in repose, not being ready to destroy it, waiting for his opportunity.

When the Pasha of Egypt revolted from the Sultan, and his son Ibrahim seriously threatened the dismemberment of Turkey, England and France interfered in behalf of Turkey; and in 1840 a convention in London placed Turkey under the common safeguard of the five great Powers,—England, France, Prussia, Austria, and Russia,—instead of the protectorate exercised by Russia alone. After the fall of Hungary, a number of civil and military leaders took refuge in Turkey, and Russia and Austria demanded the expulsion of the refugees, which was peremptorily refused by the Sultan. In consequence, Russia suspended all diplomatic intercourse with Turkey, and sought a pretext for war. In 1844 the Czar visited England, doubtless with the purpose of winning over Lord Aberdeen, then foreign secretary, and the Duke of Wellington, on the ground that Turkey was in a state of hopeless decrepitude, and must ultimately fall into his hands. In this event he was willing that England, as a reward for her neutrality, should take possession of Egypt.

It is thus probable that the Emperor Nicholas, after the failure of his armies to reach Constantinople through the Danubian provinces and across the Balkans, meditated, after twenty years of rest and recuperation, the invasion of Constantinople by his fleet, which then controlled the Black Sea.

But he reckoned without his host. He was deceived by the pacific attitude of England, then ruled by the cabinet of Lord Aberdeen, who absolutely detested war. The premier was almost a fanatic in his peace principles, and was on the most friendly terms with Nicholas and his ministers. The Czar could not be made to believe that England, under the administration of Lord Aberdeen, would interfere with his favorite and deeply meditated schemes of conquest. He saw no obstacles except from the Turks themselves, timid and stricken with fears; so he strongly fortified Sebastopol and made it impregnable by the sea, and quietly gathered in its harbor an immense fleet, with which the Turkish armaments could not compare. The Turkish naval power had never recovered from the disaster which followed the battle of Navarino, when their fleet was annihilated. With a crippled naval power and decline in military strength, with defeated armies and an empty purse, it seemed to the Czar that Turkey was crushed in spirit and Constantinople defenceless; and that impression was strengthened by the representation of his ambassador at the Porte,—Prince Mentchikof, who almost openly insulted the Sultan by his arrogance, assumptions, and threats.

But a very remarkable man happened at that time to reside at Constantinople as the ambassador of England, one in whom the Turkish government had great confidence, and who exercised great influence over it. This man was Sir Stratford Canning (a cousin of the great Canning), who in 1852 was made viscount, with the title Lord Stratford de Redcliffe. He was one of the ablest diplomatists then living, or that England had ever produced, and all his sympathies were on the side of Turkey. Mentchikof was no match for the astute Englishman, who for some time controlled the Turkish government, and who baffled all the schemes of Nicholas.

England—much as she desired the peace of Europe, and much as Lord Aberdeen detested war—had no intention of allowing the "sick man" to fall into the hands of Russia, and through her ambassador at Constantinople gave encouragement to Turkey to resist the all-powerful Russia with the secret promise of English protection; and as Lord Stratford distrusted and disliked Russia, having since 1824 been personally engaged in Eastern diplomacy and familiar with Russian designs, he very zealously and with great ability fought the diplomatic battles of Turkey, and inspired the Porte with confidence in the event of war. It was by his dexterous negotiations that England was gradually drawn into a warlike attitude against Russia, in spite of the resolutions of the English premier to maintain peace at any cost.

In the meantime the English people, after their long peace of nearly forty years, were becoming restless in view of the encroachments of Russia, and were in favor of vigorous measures, even if they should lead to war. The generation had passed away that remembered Waterloo, so that public opinion was decidedly warlike, and goaded on the ministry to measures which materially conflicted with Lord Aberdeen's peace principles. The idea of war with Russia became popular,—partly from jealousy of a warlike empire that aspired to the possession of Constantinople, and partly from the English love of war itself, with its excitements, after the dulness and inaction of a long period of peace and prosperity. In 1853 England found herself drifting into war, to the alarm and disgust of Aberdeen and Gladstone, to the joy of the people and the satisfaction of Palmerston and a majority of the cabinet.

The third party to this Crimean contest was France, then ruled by Louis Napoleon, who had lately become head of the State by a series of political usurpations and crimes that must ever be a stain on his fame. Yet he did not feel secure on his throne; the ancient nobles, the intellect of the country, and the parliamentary leaders were against him. They stood aloof from his government, regarding him as a traitor and a robber, who by cunning and slaughter had stolen the crown. He was supposed to be a man of inferior intellect, whose chief merit was the ability to conceal his thoughts and hold his tongue, and whose power rested on the army, the allegiance of which he had seduced by bribes and promises. Feeling the precariousness of his situation, and the instability of the people he had deceived with the usual Napoleonic lies, which he called "ideas," he looked about for something to divert their minds,—some scheme by which he could gain eclat; and the difficulties between Russia and Turkey furnished him the occasion he desired. He determined to employ his army in aid of Turkey. It would be difficult to show what gain would result to France, for France did not want additional territory in the East. But a war would be popular, and Napoleon wanted popularity. Moreover, an alliance with England, offensive and defensive, to check Russian encroachments, would strengthen his own position, social as well as political. He needed friends. It was his aim to enter the family of European monarchs, to be on a good footing with them, to be one of them, as a legitimate sovereign. The English alliance might bring Victoria herself to Paris as his guest. The former prisoner of Ham, whom everybody laughed at as a visionary or despised as an adventurer, would, by an alliance with England, become the equal of Queen Victoria, and with infinitely greater power. She was a mere figure-head in her government, to act as her ministers directed; he, on the other hand, had France at his feet, and dictated to his ministers what they should do.

The parties, then, in the Crimean war were Russia, seeking to crush Turkey, with France and England coming to the rescue,—ostensibly to preserve the "balance of power" in Europe.

But before considering the war itself, we must glance at the preliminaries,—the movements which took place making war inevitable, and which furnished the pretext for disturbing the peace of Europe.

First must be mentioned the contest for the possession of the sacred shrines in the Holy Land. Pilgrimages to these shrines took place long before Palestine fell into the hands of the Mohammedans. It was one of the passions of the Middle Ages, and it was respected even by the Turks, who willingly entered into the feelings of the Christians coming to kneel at Jerusalem. Many sacred objects of reverence, if not idolatry, were guarded by Christian monks, who were permitted by the government to cherish them in their convents. But the Greek and the Latin convents, allowed at Jerusalem by the Turkish government, equally aspired to the guardianship of the Holy Sepulchre and other sacred shrines in Jerusalem. It rested with the Turkish government to determine which of the rival churches, Greek or Latin, should have the control of the shrines, and it was a subject of perpetual controversy,—Russia, of course, defending the claims of the Greek convents, who at this time had long been the appointed guardians, and France now taking up those of the Latin; although Russia was the more earnest in the matter, as holding a right already allowed.

The new President of the French republic, in 1851, on the lookout for subjects of controversy with Russia, had directed his ambassador at Constantinople to demand from the Porte some almost forgotten grants made to the Latin Church two or three hundred years before. This demand, which the Sultan dared not refuse, was followed by the Turks' annulling certain privileges which had long been enjoyed by the Greek convents; and thus the ancient dispute was reopened. The Greek Church throughout Russia was driven almost to frenzy by this act of the Turkish government. The Czar Nicholas, himself a zealot in religion, was indignant and furious; but the situation gave him a pretext for insults and threats that would necessarily lead to war, which he desired as eagerly as Louis Napoleon. The Porte, embarrassed and wishing for peace, leaned for advice on the English ambassador, who, as has been said, promised the mediation of England.

Then followed a series of angry negotiations and pressure made by Russia and France alternately on the Sultan in reference to the guardianship of the shrines,—as to who should possess the key of the chief door of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem and of the church at Bethlehem, Greek or Latin monks.

As the pressure made by France was the most potent, the Czar in his rage ordered one of his corps d'armee to advance to the frontiers of the Danubian provinces, and another corps to hold itself in readiness,—altogether a force of one hundred and forty-four thousand men. The world saw two great nations quarrelling about a key to the door of a church in Palestine; statesmen saw, on the one hand, the haughty ambition of Nicholas seeking pretence for a war which might open to him the gates of Constantinople, and, on the other hand, the schemes of the French emperor—for the ten-year president elected in 1851 had in just one year got himself "elected" emperor—to disturb the peace of Europe, which might end in establishing more securely his own usurpation.

The warlike attitude of Russia in 1853 alarmed England, who was not prepared to go to war. As has been said, Mentchikof was no match in the arts of diplomacy for Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, and an angry and lively war of diplomatic notes passed between them. The Czar discovered that the English ambassador had more influence with the Porte than Mentchikof, and became intensely angry. Lord Stratford ferreted out the schemes of the Czar in regard to the Russian protectorate of the Greek Church, which was one of his most cherished plans, and bent every energy to defeat it. He did not care about the quarrels of the Greek and Latin monks for the guardianship of the sacred shrines; but he did object to the meditated protectorate of the Czar over the Greek subjects of Turkey, which, if successful, would endanger the independence of the Sultan, so necessary for the peace of Europe. All the despatches from. St. Petersburg breathed impatience and wrath, and Mentchikof found himself in great difficulties. The Russian ambassador even found means to have the advantage of a private audience with the Sultan, without the knowledge of the grand vizier; but the Sultan, though courteous, remained firm. This ended the mission of the Russian ambassador, foiled and baffled at every turn; while his imperial master, towering into passion, lost all the reputation he had gained during his reign for justice and moderation.

Within three days of the departure of Prince Mentchikof from Constantinople, England and France began to concert measures together for armed resistance to Russia, should war actually break out, which seemed inevitable, for the Czar was filled with rage; and this in spite of the fact that within two weeks the Sultan yielded the point as to the privileges of Greek subjects in his empire,—but beyond that he stood firm, and appealed to England and France.

The Czar now meditated the occupation of the Danubian principalities, in order to enable his armies to march to Constantinople. But Austria and Prussia would not consent to this, and the Czar found himself opposed virtually by all Europe. He still labored under the delusion that England would hold aloof, knowing the peace policy of the English government under the leadership of Lord Aberdeen. Under this delusion, and boiling over with anger, he suddenly, without taking counsel of his ministers or of any living soul, touched a bell in his palace. The officer in attendance received an order for the army to cross the Pruth. On the 2d of July, 1853, Russia invaded the principalities. On the following day a manifesto was read in her churches that the Czar made war on Turkey in defence of the Greek religion; and all the fanatical zeal of the Russians was at once excited to go where the Czar might send them in behalf of their faith. Nothing could be more popular than such a war.

But the hostile attitude taken by all Europe on the invasion of the principalities, and by Austria in particular, was too great an obstacle for even the Czar of all the Russias to disregard, especially when he learned that the fleets of France and England were ordered to the Dardanelles, and that his fleet would be pent up in an inland basin of the Black Sea. It became necessary for Russia to renew negotiations. At Vienna a note had been framed between four of the great Powers, by which it was clear that they would all unite in resisting the Czar, if he did not withdraw his armies from the principalities. The Porte promptly determined on war, supported by the advice of a great Council, attended by one hundred and seventy-two of the foremost men of the empire, and fifteen days were given to Russia to withdraw her troops from the principalities. At the expiration of that term, the troops not being withdrawn, on October 5 war was declared by Turkey.

The war on the part of Turkey was defensive, necessary, and popular. The religious sentiment of the whole nation was appealed to, and not in vain. It is difficult for any nation to carry on a great war unless it is supported by the people. In Turkey and throughout the scattered dominions of the Sultan, religion and patriotism and warlike ardor combined to make men arise by their own free-will, and endure fatigue, danger, hunger, and privation for their country and their faith. The public dangers were great; for Russia was at the height of her power and prestige, and the Czar was known to have a determined will, not to be bent by difficulties which were not insurmountable.

Meanwhile the preachers of the Orthodox Greek faith were not behind the Mohammedans in rousing the martial and religious spirit of nearly one hundred millions of the subjects of the Russian autocrat. In his proclamation the Czar urged inviolable guaranties in favor of the sacred rights of the Orthodox Church, and pretended (as is usual with all parties in going to war) that he was challenged to the fight, and that his cause was just. He then invoked the aid of Almighty Power. It was rather a queer thing for a warlike sovereign, entering upon an aggressive war to gratify ambition, to quote the words of David: "In thee, O Lord, have I trusted: let me not be confounded forever."

Urged on and goaded by the French emperor, impatient of delay, and obtuse to all further negotiations for peace, which Lord Aberdeen still hoped to secure, the British government at last gave orders for its fleet to proceed to Constantinople. The Czar, so long the ally of England, was grieved and indignant at what appeared to him to be a breach of treaties and an affront to him personally, and determined on vengeance. He ordered his fleet at Sebastopol to attack a Turkish fleet anchored near Sinope, which was done Nov. 30, 1853. Except a single steamer, every one of the Turkish vessels was destroyed, and four thousand Turks were killed.

The anger of both the French and English people was now fairly roused by this disaster, and Lord Aberdeen found himself powerless to resist the public clamor for war. Lord Palmerston, the most popular and powerful minister that England had, resigned his seat in the cabinet, and openly sided with the favorite cause. Lord Aberdeen was compelled now to let matters take their course, and the English fleet was ordered to the Black Sea; but war was not yet declared by the Western Powers, since there still remained some hopes of a peaceful settlement.

Meanwhile Prussia and Austria united in a league, offensive and defensive, to expel the Russians from the Danubian provinces, which filled the mind of Nicholas with more grief than anger; for he had counted on the neutrality of Austria and Prussia, as he had on the neutrality of England. It was his misfortune to believe what he wished, rather than face facts.

On the 27th of March, 1854, however, after a winter of diplomacy and military threatenings and movements, which effected nothing like a settlement, France and England declared war against Russia; on the 11th of April the Czar issued his warlike manifesto, and Europe blazed with preparations for one of the most needless and wicked contests in modern times. All parties were to blame; but on Russia the greatest odium rests for disturbing the peace of Europe, although the Czar at the outset had no idea of fighting the Western Powers. In a technical point of view the blame of beginning the dispute which led to the Crimean war rests with France, for she opened and renewed the question of the guardianship of the sacred shrines, which had long been under the protection of the Greek Church; and it was the intrigues of Louis Napoleon which entangled England. The latter country was also to blame for her jealousy of Russian encroachments, fearing that they would gradually extend to English possessions in the East. Had Nicholas known the true state of English public opinion he might have refrained from actual hostilities; but he was misled by the fact that Lord Aberdeen had given assurances of a peace policy.

Although France and England entered upon the war only with the intention at first of protecting Turkey, and were mere allies for that purpose, yet these two Powers soon bore the brunt of the contest, which really became a strife between Russia on the one side and England and France on the other. Moreover, instead of merely defending Turkey against Russia, the allied Powers assumed the offensive, and thus took the responsibility for all the disastrous consequences of the war.

The command of the English army had been intrusted to Lord Raglan, once known as Lord Fitzroy Somerset, who lost an arm at the battle of Waterloo while on the staff of Wellington; a wise and experienced commander, but too old for such service as was now expected of him in an untried field of warfare. Besides, it was a long time since he had seen active service. When appointed to the command he was sixty-six years old. From 1827 to 1852 he was military secretary at the Horse Guards,—the English War Office,—where he was made master-general of the Ordnance, and soon after became a full general. He was taciturn but accessible, and had the power of attracting everybody to him; averse to all show and parade; with an uncommon power for writing both good English and French,—an accomplished man, from whom much was expected.

The command of the French forces was given to Marshal Saint-Arnaud, a bold, gay, reckless, enterprising man, who had distinguished himself in Algeria as much for his indifference to human life as for his administrative talents,—ruthless, but not bloodthirsty. He was only colonel when Fleury, the arch-conspirator and friend of Louis Napoleon, was sent to Algeria to find some officer of ability who could be bribed to join in the meditated coup d'etat. Saint-Arnaud listened to his proposals, and was promised the post of minister of war, which would place the army under his control, for all commanders would receive orders from him. He was brought to Paris and made minister of war, with a view to the great plot of the 2d of December, and later was created a Marshal of France. His poor health (the result of his excesses) made him unfit to be intrusted with the forces for the invasion of the Crimea; but his military reputation was better than his moral, and in spite of his unfitness the emperor—desirous still further to reward his partisan services—put him in command of the French Crimean forces.

The first military operations took place on the Danube. The Russians then occupied the Danubian principalities, and had undertaken the siege of Silistria, which was gallantly defended by the Turks, before the allied French and English armies could advance to its relief; but it was not till the middle of May that the allied armies were in full force, and took up their position at Varna.

Nicholas was now obliged to yield. He could not afford to go to war with Prussia, Austria, France, England, and Turkey together. It had become impossible for him to invade European Turkey by the accustomed route. So, under pressure of their assembling forces, he withdrew his troops from the Danubian provinces, which removed all cause of hostilities from Prussia and Austria. These two great Powers now left France and England to support all the burdens of the war. If Prussia and Austria had not withdrawn from the alliance, the Crimean war would not have taken place, for Russia would have made peace with Turkey. It was on the 2d of August, 1854, that the Russians recrossed the Pruth, and the Austrians took possession of the principalities.

England might now have withdrawn from the contest but for her alliance with France,—an entangling alliance, indeed; but Lord Palmerston, seeing that war was inevitable, withdrew his resignation, and the British cabinet became a unit, supported by the nation. Lord Aberdeen still continued to be premier; but Palmerston was now the leading spirit, and all eyes turned to him. The English people, who had forgotten what war was, upheld the government, and indeed goaded it on to war. The one man who did not drift was the secretary for foreign affairs, Lord Palmerston, who went steadily ahead, and gained his object,—a check upon Russia's power in the East.

This statesman was a man of great abilities, with a strong desire for power under the guise of levity and good-nature. He was far-reaching, bold, and of concentrated energy; but his real character was not fully comprehended until the Crimean war, although he was conspicuous in politics for forty years. His frank utterances, his off-hand manner, his ready banter, and his joyous eyes captivated everybody, and veiled his stern purposes. He was distrusted at St. Petersburg because of his alliance with Louis Napoleon, his hatred of the Bourbons, and his masking the warlike tendency of the government which he was soon to lead, for Lord Aberdeen was not the man to conduct a war with Russia.

At this point, as stated above, the war might have terminated, for the Russians had abandoned the principalities; but at home the English had been roused by Louis Napoleon's friends and by the course of events to a fighting temper, and the French emperor's interests would not let him withdraw; while in the field neither the Turkish nor French nor English troops were to be contented with less than the invasion of the Russian territories. Turkey was now in no danger of invasion by the Russians, for they had been recalled from the principalities, and the fleets of England and France controlled the Black Sea. From defensive measures they turned to offensive.

The months of July and August were calamitous to the allied armies at Varna; not from battles, but from pestilence, which was fearful. On the 26th of August it was determined to re-embark the decimated troops, sail for the Crimea, and land at some place near Sebastopol. The capture of this fortress was now the objective point of the war. On the 13th of September the fleets anchored in Eupatoria Bay, on the west coast of the Crimean peninsula, and the disembarkation of the troops took place without hindrance from the Russians, who had taken up a strong position on the banks of the Alma, which was apparently impregnable. There the Russians, on their own soil and in their intrenched camp, wisely awaited the advance of their foes on the way to Sebastopol, the splendid seaport, fortress, and arsenal at the extreme southwestern point of the Crimea.

There were now upon the coasts of the Crimea some thirty-seven thousand French and Turks with sixty-eight pieces of artillery (all under the orders of Marshal Saint-Arnaud), and some twenty-seven thousand English with sixty guns,—altogether about sixty-four thousand men and one hundred and twenty-eight guns. It was intended that the fleets should follow the march of the armies, in order to furnish the necessary supplies. The march was perilous, without a base of supplies on the coast itself, and without a definite knowledge of the number or resources of the enemy. It required a high order of military genius to surmount the difficulties and keep up the spirits of the troops. The French advanced in a line on the coast nearest the sea; the English took up their line of march towards the south, on the left, farther in the interior. The French were protected by the fleets on the one hand and by the English on the other. The English therefore were exposed to the greater danger, having their entire left flank open to the enemy's fire. The ground over which the Western armies marched was an undulating steppe. They marched in closely massed columns, and they marched in weariness and silence, for they had not recovered from the fatal pestilence at Varna. The men were weak, and suffered greatly from thirst. At length they came to the Alma River, where the Russians were intrenched on the left bank. The allies were of course compelled to cross the river under the fire of the enemies' batteries, and then attack their fortified positions, and drive the Russians from their post.

All this was done successfully. The battle of the Alma was gained by the invaders, but only with great losses. Prince Mentchikof, who commanded the Russians, beheld with astonishment the defeat of the troops he had posted in positions believed to be secure from capture by assault. The genius of Lord Raglan, of Saint-Arnaud, of General Bosquet, of Sir Colin Campbell, of Canrobert, of Sir de Lacy Evans, of Sir George Brown, had carried the day. Both sides fought with equal bravery, but science was on the side of the allies. In the battle, Sir Colin Campbell greatly distinguished himself leading a Highland brigade; also General Codrington, who stormed the great redoubt, which was supposed to be impregnable. This probably decided the battle, the details of which it is not my object to present. Its great peculiarity was that the Russians fought in solid column, and the allies in extended lines.

After the day was won, Lord Raglan pressed Saint-Arnaud to the pursuit of the enemy; but the French general was weakened by illness, and his energies failed. Had Lord Raglan's counsels been followed, the future disasters of the allied armies might have been averted. The battle was fought on the 20th of September; but the allied armies halted on the Alma until the 23d, instead of pushing on directly to Sebastopol, twenty-five miles to the south. This long halt was owing to Saint-Arnaud, who felt it was necessary to embark the wounded on the ships before encountering new dangers. This refusal of the French commander to advance directly to the attack of the forts on the north of Sebastopol was unfortunate, for there would have been but slight resistance, the main body of the Russians having withdrawn to the south of the city. All this necessitated a flank movement of the allies, which was long and tedious, eastward, across the north side of Sebastopol to the south of it, where the Russians were intrenched. They crossed the Belbec (a small river) without serious obstruction, and arrived in sight of Sebastopol, which they were not to enter that autumn as they had confidently expected. The Russian to whom the stubborn defence of Sebastopol was indebted more than to any other man,—Lieut.-Colonel Todleben,—had thoroughly and rapidly fortified the city on the north after the battle of the Alma.

It was the opinion of Todleben himself, afterward expressed,—which was that of Lord Raglan, and also of Sir Edmund Lyons, commanding the fleet,—that the Star Fort which defended Sebastopol on the north, however strong, was indefensible before the forces that the allies could have brought to bear against it. Had the Star Fort been taken, the whole harbor of Sebastopol would have been open to the fire of the allies, and the city—needed for refuge as well as for glory—would have fallen into their hands.

The condition of the allied armies was now critical, since they had no accurate knowledge of the country over which they were to march on the east of Sebastopol, nor of the strength of the enemy, who controlled the sea-shore. On the morning of the 25th of September the flank march began, through tangled forests, by the aid of the compass. It was a laborious task for the troops, especially since they had not regained their health from the ravages of the cholera in Bulgaria. Two days' march, however, brought the English army to the little port of Balaklava, on the south of Sebastopol, where the land and sea forces met.

Soon after the allied armies had arrived at Balaklava, Saint-Arnaud was obliged by his fatal illness to yield up his command to Marshal Canrobert, and a few days later he died,—an unprincipled, but a brave and able man.

The Russian forces meanwhile, after the battle of the Alma, had retreated to Sebastopol in order to defend the city, which the allies were preparing to attack. Prince Mentchikof then resolved upon a bold measure for the defence of the city, and this was to sink his ships at the mouth of the harbor, by which he prevented the English and French fleets from entering it, and gained an additional force of eighteen thousand seamen to his army. Loath was the Russian admiral to make this sacrifice, and he expostulated with the general-in-chief, but was obliged to obey. This sinking of their fleet by the Russians reminds one of the conflagration of Moscow,—both desperate and sacrificial acts.

The French and English forces were now on the south side of Sebastopol, in communication with their fleet at Balaklava, and were flushed with victory, while the forces opposed to them were probably inferior in number. Why did not the allies at once begin the assault of the city? It was thought to be prudent to wait for the arrival of their siege guns. While these heavy guns were being brought from the ships, Todleben—the ablest engineer then living—was strengthening the defences on the south side. Every day's delay added to the difficulties of attack. Three weeks of precious time were thus lost, and when on the 17th of October the allies began the bombardment of Sebastopol, which was to precede the attack, their artillery was overpowered by that of the defenders. The fleets in vain thundered against the solid sea-front of the fortress. After a terrible bombardment of eight days the defences of the city were unbroken.

Mentchikof, meanwhile, had received large reinforcements, and prepared to attack the allies from the east. His point of attack was Balaklava, the defence of which had been intrusted to Sir Colin Campbell. The battle was undecisive, but made memorable by the sacrifice of the "Light Brigade,"—about six hundred cavalry troops under the command of the Earl of Cardigan. This arose from a misunderstanding on the part of the Earl of Lucan, commander of the cavalry division, of an order from Lord Raglan to attack the enemy. Lord Cardigan was then directed by Lucan to rescue certain guns which the enemy had captured. He obeyed, in the face of batteries in front and on both flanks. The slaughter was terrible,—in fact, the brigade was nearly annihilated. The news of this disaster made a deep impression on the English nation, and caused grave apprehensions as to the capacity of the cavalry commanders, neither of whom had seen much military service, although both were over fifty years of age and men of ability and bravery. The "Heavy Brigade" of cavalry, commanded by General Scarlett, who also was more than fifty years old and had never seen service in the field, almost redeemed the error by which that commanded by Lord Cardigan was so nearly destroyed. With six hundred men he charged up a long slope, and plunged fearlessly into a body of three thousand Russian cavalry, separated it into segments, disorganized it, and drove it back,—one of the most brilliant cavalry operations in modern times.

The battle of Balaklava, on the 25th of October, was followed, November 5, by the battle of Inkerman, when the English were unexpectedly assaulted, under cover of a deep mist, by an overwhelming body of Russians. The Britons bravely stood their ground against the massive columns which Mentchikof had sent to crush them, and repelled the enemy with immense slaughter; but this battle made the capture of Sebastopol, as planned by the allies, impossible. The forces of the Russians were double in number to those of the allies, and held possession of a fortress against which a tremendous cannonade had been in vain. The prompt sagacity and tremendous energy of Todleben repaired every breach as fast as it was made; and by his concentration of great numbers of laborers at the needed points, huge earthworks arose like magic before the astonished allies. They made no headway; their efforts were in vain; the enterprise had failed. It became necessary to evacuate the Crimea, or undertake a slow winter siege in the presence of superior forces, amid difficulties which had not been anticipated, and for which no adequate provision had been made.

The allies chose the latter alternative; and then began a series of calamities and sufferings unparalleled in the history of war since the retreat of Napoleon from Moscow. First came a terrible storm on the 14th of November, which swept away the tents of the soldiers encamped on a plateau near Balaklava, and destroyed twenty-one vessels bringing ammunition and stores to the hungry and discouraged army. There was a want of everything to meet the hardships of a winter campaign on the stormy shores of the Black Sea,—suitable clothing, fuel, provisions, medicines, and camp equipage. It never occurred to the minds of those who ordered and directed this disastrous expedition that Sebastopol would make so stubborn a defence; but the whole force of the Russian empire which could be spared was put forth by the Emperor Nicholas, thus rendering necessary continual reinforcements from France and England to meet armies superior in numbers, and to supply the losses occasioned by disease and hardship greater than those on the battlefield. The horrors of that dreadful winter on the Crimean peninsula, which stared in the face not only the French and English armies but also the Russians themselves, a thousand miles from their homes, have never been fully told. They form one of the most sickening chapters in the annals of war.

Not the least of the misfortunes which the allies suffered was the loss of the causeway, or main road, from Balaklava to the high grounds where they were encamped. It had been taken by the Russians three weeks before, and never regained. The only communication from the camp to Balaklava, from which the stores and ammunition had to be brought, was a hillside track, soon rendered almost impassable by the rains. The wagons could not be dragged through the mud, which reached to their axles, and the supplies had to be carried on the backs of mules and horses, of which there was an insufficient number. Even the horses rapidly perished from fatigue and hunger.

Thus were the French and English troops pent up on a bleak promontory, sick and disheartened, with uncooked provisions, in the middle of winter. Of course they melted away even in the hospitals to which they were sent on the Levant. In those hospitals there was a terrible mortality. At Scutari alone nine thousand perished before the end of February, 1855.

The reports of these disasters, so unexpected and humiliating, soon reached England through the war correspondents and private letters, and produced great exasperation. The Press was unsparing in its denunciations of the generals, and of the ministry itself, in not providing against the contingencies of the war, which had pent up two large armies on a narrow peninsula, from which retreat was almost impossible in view of the superior forces of the enemy and the dreadful state of the roads. The armies of the allies had nothing to do but fight the elements of Nature, endure their unparalleled hardships the best way they could, and patiently await results.

The troops of both the allied nations fought bravely and behaved gallantly; but they fought against Nature, against disease, against forces vastly superior to themselves in number. One is reminded, in reading the history of the Crimean war, of the ancient crusaders rather than of modern armies with their vast scientific machinery, so numerous were the mistakes, and so unexpected were the difficulties of the attacking armies. One is amazed that such powerful and enlightened nations as the English and French could have made so many blunders. The warning voices of Aberdeen, of Gladstone, of Cobden, of Bright, against the war had been in vain amid the tumult of military preparations; but it was seen at last that they had been thy true prophets of their day.

Nothing excited more commiseration than the dreadful state of the hospitals in the Levant, to which the sick and wounded were sent; and this terrible exigency brought women to the rescue. Their volunteered services were accepted by Mr. Sidney Herbert, the secretary-at-war, and through him by the State. On the 4th of November Florence Nightingale, called the "Lady-in-Chief," disembarked at Scutari and began her useful and benevolent mission,—organizing the nurses, and doing work for which men were incapable,—in those hospitals infected with deadly poisons.

The calamities of a questionable war, made known by the Press, at last roused public indignation, and so great was the popular clamor that Lord Aberdeen was compelled to resign a post for which he was plainly incapable,—at least in war times. He was succeeded by Lord Palmerston,—the only man who had the confidence of the nation. In the new ministry Lord Panmure (Fox Maule) succeeded the Duke of Newcastle as minister of war.

After midwinter the allied armies began to recover their health and strength, through careful nursing, better sanitary measures, and constant reinforcements, especially from France. At last a railway was made between Balaklava and the camps, and a land-transport corps was organized. By March, 1855, cattle in large quantities were brought from Spain on the west and Armenia on the east, from Wallachia on the north and the Persian Gulf on the south. Seventeen thousand men now provided the allied armies with provisions and other supplies, with the aid of thirty thousand beasts of burden.

It was then that Sardinia joined the Western Alliance with fifteen thousand men,—an act of supreme wisdom on the part of Cavour, since it secured the friendship of France in his scheme for the unity of Italy. A new plan of operations was now adopted by the allies, which was for the French to attack Sebastopol at the Malakoff, protecting the city on the east, while the English concentrated their efforts on the Redan, another salient point of the fortifications. In the meantime Canrobert was succeeded in the command of the French army by Pelissier,—a resolute soldier who did not owe his promotion to complicity in the coup d'etat.

On the 18th of June a general assault was made by the combined armies—now largely reinforced—on the Redan and the Malakoff, but they were driven back by the Russians with great loss; and three months more were added to the siege. Fatigue, anxiety, and chagrin now carried off Lord Raglan, who died on the 28th of June, leaving the command to General Simpson. By incessant labors the lines of the besiegers were gradually brought nearer the Russian fortifications. On the 16th of August the French and Sardinians gained a decisive victory over the Russians, which prevented Sebastopol from receiving further assistance from without. On September 9 the French succeeded in storming the Malakoff, which remained in their hands, although the English were unsuccessful in their attack upon the Redan. On the fall of the Malakoff the Russian commander blew up his magazines, while the French and English demolished the great docks of solid masonry, the forts, and defences of the place. Thus Sebastopol, after a siege of three hundred and fifty days, became the prize of the invaders, at a loss, on their part, of a hundred thousand men, and a still greater loss on the part of the defenders, since provisions, stores, and guns had to be transported at immense expense from the interior of Russia. In Russia there was no free Press to tell the people of the fearful sacrifices to which they had been doomed; but the Czar knew the greatness of his losses, both in men and military stores; and these calamities broke his heart, for he died before the fall of the fortress which he had resolved to defend with all the forces of his empire. Probably three hundred thousand Russians had perished in the conflict, and the resources of Russia were exhausted.

France had now become weary of a war which brought so little glory and entailed such vast expense. England, however, would have continued the war at any expense and sacrifice if Louis Napoleon had not secretly negotiated with the new Czar, Alexander II.; for England was bent on such a crippling of Russia as would henceforth prevent that colossal power from interfering with the English possessions in the East, which the fall of Kars seemed to threaten. The Czar, too, would have held out longer but for the expostulation of Austria and the advice of his ministers, who pointed out his inability to continue the contest with the hostility of all Europe.

On the 25th of February, 1856, the plenipotentiaries of the great Powers assembled in Paris, and on the 30th of March the Treaty of Paris was signed, by which the Black Sea was thrown open to the mercantile marine of all nations, but interdicted to ships of war. Russia ceded a portion of Bessarabia, which excluded her from the Danube; and all the Powers guaranteed the independence of the Ottoman Empire. At the end of fourteen years, the downfall of Louis Napoleon enabled Russia to declare that it would no longer recognize the provisions of a treaty which excluded its war-ships from the Black Sea. England alone was not able to resist the demands of Russia, and in consequence Sebastopol arose from its ruins as powerful as ever.

The object, therefore, for which England and France went to war—the destruction of Russian power on the Black Sea—was only temporarily gained. From three to four hundred thousand men had been sacrificed among the different combatants, and probably not less than a thousand million dollars in treasure had been wasted,—perhaps double that sum. France gained nothing of value, while England lost military prestige. Russia undoubtedly was weakened, and her encroachments toward the East were delayed; but to-day that warlike empire is in the same relative position that it was when the Czar sent forth his mandate for the invasion of the Danubian principalities. In fact, all parties were the losers, and none were the gainers, by this needless and wicked war,—except perhaps the wily Napoleon III., who was now firmly seated on his throne.

The Eastern question still remains unsettled, and will remain unsettled until new complications, which no genius can predict, shall re-enkindle the martial passions of Europe. These are not and never will be extinguished until Christian civilization shall beat swords into ploughshares. When shall be this consummation of the victories of peace?

AUTHORITIES.

A. W. Kinglake's Invasion of the Crimea; C. de Bazancourt's Crimean Expedition; G. B. McClellan's Reports on the Art of War in Europe in 1855-1856; R. C. McCormick's Visit to the Camp before Sebastopol; J. D. Morell's Neighbors of Russia, and History of the War to the Siege of Sebastopol; Pictorial History of the Russian War; Russell's British Expedition to the Crimea; General Todleben's History of the Defence of Sebastopol; H. Tyrrell's History of the War with Russia; Fyffe's History of Modern Europe; Life of Lord Palmerston; Life of Louis Napoleon.



LOUIS NAPOLEON.

1808-1873.

THE SECOND EMPIRE.

Prince Louis Napoleon, or, as he afterward became, Emperor Napoleon III., is too important a personage to be omitted in the sketch of European history during the nineteenth century. It is not yet time to form a true estimate of his character and deeds, since no impartial biographies of him have yet appeared, and since he died less than thirty years ago. The discrepancy of opinion respecting him is even greater than that concerning his illustrious uncle.

No one doubts that the first Napoleon was the greatest figure of his age, and the greatest general that the world has produced, with the exception alone of Alexander and Caesar. No one questions his transcendent abilities, his unrivalled fame, and his potent influence on the affairs of Europe for a quarter of a century, leaving a name so august that its mighty prestige enabled his nephew to steal his sceptre; and his character has been so searchingly and critically sifted that there is unanimity among most historians as to his leading traits,—a boundless ambition and unscruplous adaptation of means to an end: that end his self-exaltation at any cost. His enlarged and enlightened intellect was sullied by hypocrisy, dissimulation, and treachery, accompanied by minor faults with which every one is familiar, but which are often overlooked in the immense services he rendered to his country and to civilization.

Napoleon III., aspiring to imitate his uncle, also contributed important services, but was not equal to the task he assumed, and made so many mistakes that he can hardly be called a great man, although he performed a great role in the drama of European politics, and at one time occupied a superb position. With him are associated the three great international wars which took place in the interval between the banishment of Napoleon I. to St. Helena and the establishment of the French Republic on its present basis,—a period of more than fifty years,—namely, the Crimean war; the war between Austria, France, and Italy; and the Franco-Prussian war, which resulted in the humiliation of France and the exaltation of Prussia.

When Louis Napoleon came into power in 1848, on the fall of Louis Philippe, it was generally supposed that European nations had sheathed the sword against one another, and that all future contests would be confined to enslaved peoples seeking independence, with which contests other nations would have nothing to do; but Louis Napoleon, as soon as he had established his throne on the ruins of French liberties, knew no other way to perpetuate his dominion than by embroiling the nations of Europe in contests with one another, in order to divert the minds of the French people from the humiliation which the loss of their liberties had caused, and to direct their energies in new channels,—in other words, to inflate them with visions of military glory as his uncle had done, by taking advantage of the besetting and hereditary weakness of the national character. In the meantime the usurper bestowed so many benefits on the middle and lower classes, gave such a stimulus to trade, adorned his capital with such magnificent works of art, and increased so manifestly the material prosperity of France, that his reign was regarded as benignant and fortunate by most people, until the whole edifice which he had built to dazzle the world tumbled down in a single day after his disastrous defeat at Sedan,—the most humiliating fall which any French dynasty ever experienced.

Louis Napoleon offers in his own person an example of those extremes of fortune which constitute the essence of romantic conditions and appeal to the imagination. The third son of Louis Bonaparte, King of Holland (brother of Napoleon), and Hortense Beauharnais, daughter of the Empress Josephine by her first marriage, he was born in Paris, in the palace of the Tuileries, April 20, 1808. Living in Switzerland, with his mother and brother (Napoleon Louis), he was well-educated, expert in all athletic sports,—especially in riding and fencing,—and trained to the study and practice of artillery and military engineering. The two brothers engaged in an Italian revolt in 1830; both fell ill, and while one died the other was saved by the mother's devotion. In 1831 the Poles made an insurrection, and offered Louis Napoleon their chief command and the crown of Poland; but the death, in 1832, of the only son of his uncle aroused Louis's ambition for a larger place, and the sovereignty of France became his "fixed idea." He studied hard, wrote and published several political and military works, and in 1836 made a foolish attempt at a Napoleonic revolt against Louis Philippe. It ended in humiliating failure, and he was exiled to America, where he lived in obscurity for about a year; but he returned to Switzerland to see his dying mother, and then was obliged to flee to England. In 1838 he published his "Napoleonic Ideas;" in 1840 he made, at Boulogne, another weak demonstration upon the French throne, and was imprisoned in the fortress of Ham. Here he did much literary work, but escaped in 1848 to Belgium, whence he hurried back to Paris when the revolution broke out. Getting himself elected a deputy in the National Assembly, he took his seat.

The year 1848, when Louis Napoleon appeared on the stage of history, was marked by extraordinary political and social agitations, not merely in France but throughout Europe. It saw the unexpected fall of the constitutional monarchy in France, which had been during eighteen years firmly upheld by Louis Philippe, with the assistance of the ablest and wisest ministers the country had known for a century,—the policy of which was pacific, and the leading political idea of which was an alliance with Great Britain. The king fled before the storm of revolutionary ideas,—as Metternich was obliged to do in Vienna, and Ferdinand in Naples,—and a provisional government succeeded, of which Lamartine was the central figure. A new legislative assembly was chosen to support a republic, in which the most distinguished men of France, of all opinions, were represented. Among the deputies was Louis Napoleon, who had hastened from England to take part in the revolution. He sat on the back benches of the Chamber neglected, silent, and despised by the leading men in France, but not yet hated nor feared.

When a President of the Republic had to be chosen by the suffrages of the people, Louis Napoleon unexpectedly received a great majority of the votes. He had been quietly carrying on his "presidential campaign" through his agents, who appealed to the popular love for the name of Napoleon.

The old political leaders, amazed and confounded, submitted to the national choice, yet stood aloof from a man without political experience, who had always been an exile when he had not been a prisoner. Most of them had supposed that Bonapartism was dead; but the peasantry in the provinces still were enthralled by the majesty and mighty prestige of that conqueror who had been too exalted for envy and too powerful to be resisted. To the provincial votes chiefly Louis Napoleon owed his election as President,—and the election was fair. He came into power by the will of the nation if any man ever did,—by the spontaneous enthusiasm of the people for the name he bore, not for his own abilities and services; and as he proclaimed, on his accession, a policy of peace (which the people believed) and loyalty to the Constitution,—Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality, the watchwords of the Revolution,—even more, as he seemed to represent the party of order, he was regarded by such statesmen as Thiers and Montalembert as the least dangerous of the candidates; and they gave their moral support to his government, while they declined to take office under him.

The new President appointed the famous De Tocqueville as his first prime minister, who after serving a few months resigned, because he would not be the pliant tool of his master. Louis Napoleon then had to select inferior men for his ministers, who also soon discovered that they were expected to be his clerks, not his advisers. At first he was regarded by the leading classes with derision rather than fear,—so mean was his personal appearance, so spiritless his address, so cold and dull was his eye, and so ridiculous were his antecedents. "The French," said Thiers, long afterward, "made two mistakes about Louis Napoleon,—the first, when they took him for a fool; the second, when they took him for a man of genius." It was not until he began to show a will of his own, a determination to be his own prime minister, that those around him saw his dangerous ambition, his concealed abilities, and his unscrupulous character.

Nothing of importance marked the administration of the President, except hostility to the Assembly, and their endless debates on the constitution. Both the President and the Assembly feared the influence of the ultra-democrats and Red Republicans,—socialists and anarchists, who fomented their wild schemes among the common people of the large cities. By curtailing the right of suffrage the Assembly became unpopular, and Louis Napoleon gained credit as the friend of order and law.

As the time approached when, by the Constitution, he would be obliged to lay down his office and return to private life, the President became restless, and began to plot for the continuance of his power. He had tasted its sweets, and had no intention to surrender it. If he could have been constitutionally re-elected, he probably would not have meditated a coup d'etat, for it was in accordance with his indolent character to procrastinate. With all his ambition, he was patient, waiting for opportunities to arise; and yet he never relinquished an idea or an intention,—it was ever in his mind: he would simply wait, and quietly pursue the means of success. He had been trained to meditation in his prison at Ham; and he had learned to disguise his thoughts and his wishes. The power which had been developed in him in the days of his obscurity and adversity was cunning. As a master of cunning he saw the necessity of reserve, mistrust, and silence.

The first move of the President to gain his end was to secure a revision of the Constitution. The Assembly, by a vote of three-fourths, could by the statutes of 1848 order a revision; a revision could remove the clause which prohibited his re-election, and a re-election was all he then pretended to want. But the Assembly, jealous of its liberties, already suspicious and even hostile, showed no disposition to smooth his way. He clearly saw that some other means must be adopted. He naturally turned to the army; but the leading generals distrusted him, and were in the ranks of his enemies. They were all Orleanists or Republicans.

The ablest general in France was probably Changarnier, who had greatly distinguished himself in Algeria. He had been called, on the change of government, to the high post of commander of the National Guards and general of the first military division, which was stationed at Paris. He had been heard to say that if Louis Napoleon should undertake a coup d'etat, he would conduct him as a prisoner to Vincennes. This was reported to the President, who at once resolved to remove him, both from hostility and fear. On Changarnier's removal the ministry resigned. Their places were taken by tools still more subservient.

Nothing now remained but to prepare for the meditated usurpation. The first thing to be done was to secure an able and unscrupulous minister of war, who could be depended upon. As all the generals received their orders from the minister of war, he was the most powerful man in France, next to the President. Such was military discipline that no subordinate dared to disobey him.

There were then no generals of ability in France whom Louis Napoleon could trust, and he turned his eyes to Algeria, where some one might be found. He accordingly sent his most intimate friend and confidant, Major Fleury, able but unscrupulous, to Algeria to discover the right kind of man, who could be bribed. He found a commander of a brigade, by name Saint-Arnaud, extravagant, greatly in debt, who had done some brave and wicked things. It was not difficult to seduce a reckless man who wanted money and preferment. Fleury promised him the high office of minister of war, when he should have done something to distinguish himself in the eyes of the Parisians. Saint-Arnaud, who proved that he could keep a secret, was at once promoted, and a campaign was arranged for him in the summer of 1851, in which he won some distinction by wanton waste of life. His exploits were exaggerated, the venal Press sounded his praises, and he was recalled to Paris and made minister of war; for the President by the Constitution could nominate his ministers and appoint the high officers of State. Other officers were brought from Algeria and made his subordinates. The command of the army of Paris was given to General Magnan, who was in the secret. The command of the National Guards was given to a general who promised not to act, for this body was devoted to the Assembly. M. Maupas, another conspirator, of great administrative ability, was made prefect of police.

Thus in September, 1851, everything was arranged; but Saint-Arnaud persuaded the President to defer the coup d'etat until winter, when all the deputies would be in Paris, and therefore could be easily seized. If scattered over France, they might rally and create a civil war; for, as we have already said, the Assembly contained the leading men of the country,—statesmen, generals, editors, and great lawyers, all hostile to the ruler of the Republic.

So the President waited patiently till winter. Suddenly, without warning, in the night of the 2d of December, all the most distinguished members of the Assembly were arrested by the police controlled by Maupas, and sent to the various prisons,—including Changarnier, Cavaignac, Thiers, Bedeau, Lamoriciere, Barrot, Berryer, De Tocqueville, De Broglie, and Saint-Hilaire. On the following morning strong bodies of the military were posted at the Palais Bourbon (where the Assembly held its sessions), around all the printing-presses, around the public buildings, and in the principal streets. In the meantime, Morny was made minister of the interior. Manifestoes were issued which announced the dissolution of the Assembly and the Council of State, the restoration of universal suffrage, and a convocation of the electoral college to elect the Executive. A proclamation was also made to the army, containing those high-sounding watchwords which no one was more capable of using than the literary President,—eloquent, since they appealed to everything dear to the soldiers' hearts, and therefore effective. Louis Napoleon's short speeches convinced those for whom they were intended. He was not so fortunate with his books.

The military and the police had now the supreme control of Paris, while the minister of the interior controlled the municipalities of the various departments. All resistance was absurd; and yet so tremendous an outrage on the liberties of the nation provoked an indignation, especially among the Republicans, which it was hard to suppress. The people rallied and erected barricades, which of course were swept away by the cannon of General Magnan, accompanied by needless cruelties and waste of blood, probably with the view to inspire fear and show that resistance was hopeless.

Paris and its vicinity were now in the hands of the usurper, supported by the army and police, and his enemies were in prison. The Assembly was closed, as well as the higher Courts of Justice, and the Press was muzzled. Constitutional liberty was at an end; a despot reigned unopposed. Yet Louis Napoleon did not feel entirely at his ease. Would the nation at the elections sustain the usurpation? It was necessary to control the elections; and it is maintained by some historians that every effort to that end was made through the officials and the police. Whether the elections were free or not, one thing astonished the civilized world,—seven millions of votes were cast in favor of Louis Napoleon; and the cunning and patient usurper took possession of the Tuileries, re-elected President to serve for ten years. Before the year closed, in December, 1852, he was proclaimed Emperor of the French by the vote and the will of the people. The silent, dull, and heavy man had outwitted everybody; and he showed that he understood the French people better than all the collected statesmen and generals who had served under Louis Philippe with so much ability and distinction.

What shall we say of a nation that so ignominiously surrendered its liberties? All we can say in extenuation is that it was powerless. Such men as Guizot, Thiers, Cousin, Changarnier, Cavaignac, Mole, Broglie, Hugo, Villemain, Lamartine, Montalembert, would have prevented the fall of constitutional government if their hands had not been tied. They were in prison or exiled. Some twenty-five thousand people had been killed or transported within a few weeks after the coup d'etat, and fear seized the minds of those who were active in opposition, or suspected even of being hostile to the new government. France, surprised, perplexed, affrighted, must needs carry on a war of despair, or succumb to the usurpation. The army and the people alike were governed by terror.

But although France had lost her freedom, it was only for a time; and although Louis Napoleon ruled as an absolute monarch, his despotism, sadly humiliating to people of intelligence and patriotism, was not like that of Russia, or even like that of Prussia and Austria. The great men of all parties were too numerous and powerful to be degraded or exiled. They did not resist his government, and they held their tongues in the cafes and other assemblies where they were watched by spies; but they talked freely with one another in their homes, and simply kept aloof from him, refusing to hold office under him or to attend his court, waiting for their time. They knew that his government was not permanent, and that the principles of the Revolution had not been disseminated and planted in vain, but would burst out in some place or other like a volcano, and blaze to heaven. Men pass away, but principles are indestructible.

Louis Napoleon was too thoughtful and observant a man not to know all this. His residence in England and intercourse with so many distinguished politicians and philosophers had taught him something. He feared that with all his successes his throne would be overturned unless he could amuse the people and find work for turbulent spirits. Consequently he concluded on the one hand to make a change in the foreign policy of France, and on the other to embellish his capital and undertake great public works, at any expense, both to find work for artisans and to develop the resources of the country.

When Louis Napoleon made his first attack on the strong government of Louis Philippe, at Strasburg, he was regarded as a madman; when he escaped from Ham, after his failure at Boulogne, he was looked upon by all Europe as a mere adventurer; and when he finally left England, which had sheltered him, to claim his seat in the National Assembly of republican France, and even when made President of the republic by the suffrages of the nation, he was regarded as an enigma. Some thought him dull though bold, and others looked upon him as astute and long-headed. His heavy look, his leaden eye, his reserved and taciturn ways, with no marked power but that of silence and secrecy, disarmed fear. Neither from his conversations nor his writings had anybody drawn the inference that he was anything remarkable in genius or character. His executive abilities were entirely unknown. He was generally regarded as simply fortunate from the name he bore and the power he usurped, but with no striking intellectual gifts,—nothing that would warrant his supreme audacity. He had never distinguished himself in anything; but was admitted to be a thoughtful man, who had written treatises of respectable literary merit. His social position as the heir and nephew of the great Napoleon of course secured him many friends and followers, who were attracted to him by the prestige of his name, and who saw in him the means of making their own fortune; but he was always, except in a select and chosen circle, silent, non-committal, heavy, reserved, and uninteresting.

But the President—the Emperor—had been a profound student of the history of the first Napoleon and his government. He understood the French people, too, and had learned to make short speeches with great effect, in which adroitness in selecting watchwords—especially such as captivated the common people—was quite remarkable. He professed liberal sentiments, sympathy with the people in their privations and labors, and affected beyond everything a love of peace. In his manifestoes of a policy of universal peace, few saw that love of war by which he intended to rivet the chains of despotism. He was courteous and urbane in his manners, probably kind in disposition, not bloodthirsty nor cruel, supremely politic and conciliating in his intercourse with statesmen and diplomatists, and generally simple and unstilted in his manners. He was also capable of friendship, and never forgot those who had rendered him services or kindness in his wanderings. Nor was he greedy of money like Louis Philippe, but freely lavished it on his generals. Like his uncle, he had an antipathy to literary men when they would not condescend to flatter him, which was repaid by uncompromising hostility on their part. How savage and unrelenting was the hatred of Victor Hugo! How unsparing his ridicule and abuse! He called the usurper "Napoleon the Little," notwithstanding he had outwitted the leading men of the nation and succeeded in establishing himself on an absolute throne. A small man could not have shown so much patience, wisdom, and prudence as Louis Napoleon showed when President, or fought so successfully the legislative body when it was arrayed against him. If the poet had called him "Napoleon the Wicked" it would have been more to the point, for only a supremely unscrupulous and dishonest man could have meditated and executed the coup d'etat. His usurpation and treachery were gigantic crimes, accompanied with violence and murder. Even his crimes, however, were condoned in view of the good government which he enforced and the services he rendered; showing that, if he was dishonest and treacherous, he was also able and enlightened.

But it is not his usurpation of supreme power for which Louis Napoleon will be most severely judged by his country and by posterity. Cromwell was a usurper, and yet he is regarded as a great benefactor. It was the policy which Napoleon III. pursued as a supreme ruler for which he will be condemned, and which was totally unlike that of Cromwell or Augustus. It was his policy to embroil nations in war and play the role of a conqueror. The policy of the restored Bourbons and of Louis Philippe was undeniably that of peace with other nations, and the relinquishment of that aggrandizement which is gained by successful war. It was this policy,—upheld by such great statesmen as Guizot and Thiers,—conflicting with the warlike instincts of the French people, which made those monarchs unpopular more than their attempts to suppress the liberty of the Press and the license of popular leaders; and it was the appeal to the military vanity of the people which made Napoleon III. popular, and secured his political ascendency.

The quarrel which was then going on between the Greek and Latin monks for the possession of the sacred shrines at Jerusalem furnished both the occasion and the pretence for interrupting the peace of Europe, as has been already stated in the Lecture on the Crimean war. The French usurper determined to take the side of the Latin monks, which would necessarily embroil him with the great protector of the Greek faith, even the Emperor Nicholas, who was a bigot in all matters pertaining to his religion. He would rally the French nation in a crusade, not merely to get possession of a sacred key and a silver star, but to come to the assistance of a power no longer dangerous,—the "sick man," whom Nicholas had resolved to crush. Louis Napoleon cared but little for Turkey; but he did not want Constantinople to fall into the hands of the Russians, and thus make them the masters of the Black Sea. France, it is true, had but little to gain whoever possessed Constantinople; she had no possessions or colonies in the East to protect. But in the eye of her emperor it was necessary to amuse her by a war; and what war would be more popular than this,—to head off Russia and avenge the march to Moscow?

Russia, moreover, was the one power which all western Europe had cause to dread. Ever since the Empress Catherine II., the encroachments and territorial aggrandizement of this great military empire had been going on. The Emperor Nicholas was the most powerful sovereign of the world, having a million of men under arms, ready to obey his nod, with no check whatever on his imperial will. He had many fine qualities, which commanded esteem; but he was fitful, uncertain, ambitious, and warlike. If an aggressive war to secure the "balance of power" could ever be justified, it would seem to have been necessary in this case. It was an aggressive war on the part of France, since the four great Powers—Austria, Prussia, France, and England—were already united to keep the Czar in check, and demanded his evacuation of the Danubian provinces which he had invaded. Nicholas, seeing this powerful combination against him, was ready to yield, and peace might have been easily secured, and thus the Crimean war been avoided; but Louis Napoleon did not want peace, and intrigued against it.

Resolved then on war, the real disturber of the peace of Europe, and goaded on by his councillors,—the conspirators of the 2d of December, Morny, Fleury, Maupas, etc.,—Louis Napoleon turned around to seek an ally; for France alone was not strong enough to cope with Russia. Austria having so much to lose, did not want war, and was afraid of Nicholas. So was Prussia. It was the policy of both these Powers to keep on good terms with Nicholas. It always will be the policy of Germany to avoid a war with Russia, unless supported by England and France. The great military organization which Bismarck and Moltke effected, the immense standing army which Germany groans under, arises not from anticipated dangers on the part of France so much as from fear of Russia, although it is not the policy of German statesmen to confess it openly. If France should unite with Russia in a relentless war, Germany would probably be crushed, unless England came to the rescue. Germany, placed between two powerful military monarchies, is obliged to keep up its immense standing army, against its will, as a dire necessity. It is Russia she is most anxious to conciliate. All the speeches of Bismarck show this.

In view of this policy, Louis Napoleon turned his eyes to England as his ally in the meditated war with Russia, notwithstanding the secret hostilities and jealousies between these nations for five hundred years. Moreover, the countries were entirely dissimilar: England was governed by Parliament, based on free institutions; France was a military despotism, and all who sought to establish parliamentary liberties and government were banished when their efforts became dangerous or revolutionary. Louis Napoleon showed great ability for intrigue in forcing the English cabinet to adopt his warlike policy, when its own policy was pacific. It was a great triumph to the usurper to see England drifting into war against the combined influence of the premier, of Gladstone, of the Quakers, and of the whole Manchester school of political economists; and, as stated in the Lecture on the Crimean war, it was an astounding surprise to Nicholas.

But this misfortune would not have happened had it not been for the genius and intrigues of a statesman who exercised a commanding influence over English politics; and this was Lord Palmerston, who had spent his life in the foreign office, although at that time home secretary. But he was the ruling spirit of the cabinet,—a man versatile, practical, amiable, witty, and intensely English in all his prejudices. Whatever office he held, he was always in harmony with public opinion. He was not a man of great ideas or original genius, but was a ready debater, understood the temper of the English people, and led them by adopting their cause, whatever it was. Hence he was the most popular statesman of the day, but according to Cobden the worst prime minister that England ever had, since he was always keeping England in hot water and stirring up strife on the Continent. His supreme policy, with an eye to English interests on the Mediterranean and in Asia, was to cripple Russia.

Such a man, warlike, restless, and interfering in his foreign policy, having in view the military aggrandizement of his country, eagerly adopted the schemes of the French emperor; and little by little these two men brought the English cabinet into a warlike attitude with Russia, in spite of all that Lord Aberdeen could do. Slight concessions would have led to peace; but neither Louis Napoleon nor Palmerston would allow concessions, since both were resolved on war. Never was a war more popular in England than that which Louis Napoleon and Palmerston resolved to have. This explains the leniency of public opinion in England toward a man who had stolen a sceptre. He was united with Great Britain in a popular war.

The French emperor, however, had other reasons for seeking the alliance of England in his war with Russia. It would give him a social prestige; he would enter more easily into the family of European sovereigns; he would be called mon frere by the Queen of England, which royal name Nicholas in his disdain refused to give him. If the Queen of England was his friend and ally, all other sovereigns must welcome him into their royal fraternity in spite of his political crimes, which were universally detested. It is singular that England, after exhausting her resources by a war of twenty years to dethrone Napoleon I., should become the firmest ally and friend of Napoleon III., who trampled on all constitutional liberty. But mutual interests brought them together; for when has England turned her back on her interests, or what she supposed to be her interests?

So war became inevitable. Napoleon III. triumphed. His co-operation with England was sincere and hearty. Yea, so gratified and elated was he at this stroke of good fortune, that he was ready to promise anything to his ally, even to the taking a subordinate part in the war. He would follow the dictation of the English ministers and the English generals.

It was the general opinion that the war would be short and glorious. At first it was contemplated only to fight the Russians in Bulgaria, and prevent their march across the Balkans, and thence to Constantinople. The war was undertaken to assist the Turks in the defence of their capital and territories. For this a large army was not indispensable; hence the forces which were sent to Bulgaria were comparatively small.

When Nicholas discovered that he could not force his way to Constantinople over the Balkans, and had withdrawn his forces from the Danubian principalities, peace then might have been honorably declared by all parties. France perhaps might have withdrawn from the contest, which had effected the end at first proposed. But England not only had been entangled in the war by the French alliance, but now was resolved on taking Sebastopol, to destroy the power of Russia on the Euxine; and France was compelled to complete what she had undertaken, although she had nothing to gain beyond what she had already secured. To the credit of Louis Napoleon, he proved a chivalrous and faithful ally, in continuing a disastrous and expensive war for the glory of France and the interests of England alone, although he made a separate peace as soon as he could do so with honor.

It is not my purpose to repeat what I have already written on the Crimean war, although the more I read and think about it the stronger is my disapproval, on both moral and political grounds, of that needless and unfortunate conflict,—unfortunate alike to all parties concerned. It is a marvel that it did not in the end weaken the power and prestige of both Palmerston and Napoleon III. It strengthened the hands of both, as was foreseen by these astute statesmen. Napoleon III. after the war was regarded as a far-seeing statesman, as well as an able administrator. People no longer regarded him as a fool, or even a knave. Success had shut the mouths of his enemies, except of a few obdurate ones like Thiers and Victor Hugo,—the latter of whom in his voluntary exile in Guernsey and Jersey still persisted in calling him "Napoleon the Little." Thiers generally called him Celui-ci,—"That fellow." This illustrious statesman, in his restless ambition and desire of power, probably would have taken office under the man whom he both despised and hated; but he dared not go against his antecedents, and was unwilling to be a mere clerk, as all Louis Napoleon's ministers were, whatever their abilities. He was supported by the army and the people, and therefore was master of the situation. This was a fact which everybody was compelled to acknowledge. It was easy to call him usurper, tyrant, and fool,—anything; but he both "reigned and governed."

"When peace was finally restored, the empire presented the aspect of a stable government, resting solidly upon the approval of a contented and thriving people." This was the general opinion of those who were well acquainted with French affairs, and of those who visited Paris, which was then exceedingly prosperous. The city was filled with travellers, who came to see the glory of success. Great architectural improvements were then in progress, which gave employment to a vast number of men theretofore leading a precarious life. The chief of these were the new boulevards, constructed with immense expense,—those magnificent but gloomy streets, which, lined with palaces and hotels, excited universal admiration,—a wise expenditure on the whole, which promoted both beauty and convenience, although to construct them a quarter of the city was demolished. The Grand Opera-House arose over the debris of the demolished houses,—the most magnificent theatre erected in modern times. Paris presented a spectacle of perpetual fetes, reviews of troops, and illuminations, which both amused and distracted the people. The Louvre was joined to the Tuileries by a grand gallery devoted chiefly to works of art. The Champs Elysees and the Bois de Boulogne were ornamented with new avenues, fountains, gardens, flowers, and trees, where the people could pursue their pleasure unobstructed. The number of beautiful equipages was vastly increased, and everything indicated wealth and prosperity. The military was wisely kept out of sight, except on great occasions, so that the people should not be reminded of their loss of liberties; the police were courteous and obliging, and interfered with no pleasures and no ordinary pursuits; the shops blazed with every conceivable attraction; the fashionable churches were crowded with worshippers and strangers to hear music which rivalled that of the opera; the priests, in their ecclesiastical uniform, were seen in every street with cheerful and beaming faces, for the government sought their support and influence; the papers were filled with the movements of the imperial court at races, in hunting-parties, and visits to the chateaux of the great. The whole city seemed to be absorbed in pleasure or gain, and crowds swarmed at all places of amusement with contented faces: there was no outward sign of despotism or unhappiness, since everybody found employment. Even the idlers who frequented the crowded cafes of the boulevards seemed to take unusual pleasure at their games of dominoes and at their tables of beer and wine. Visitors wondered at the apparent absence of all restraint from government and at the personal liberty which everybody seemed practically to enjoy. For ten years after the coup d'etat it was the general impression that the government of Louis Napoleon was a success. In spite of the predictions and hostile criticisms of famous statesmen, it was, to all appearance at least, stable, and the nation was prosperous.

The enemies that the emperor had the most cause to dread were these famous statesmen themselves. Thiers, Guizot, Broglie, Odillon Barrot, had all been prime ministers, and most of the rest had won their laurels under Louis Philippe. They either declined to serve under Napoleon III. or had been neglected by him; their political power had passed away. They gave vent, whenever they could with personal safety, to their spleen, to their disappointment, to their secret hostility; they all alike prophesied evil; they all professed to believe that the emperor could not maintain his position two years,—that he would be carried off by assassination or revolution. And joined with them in bitter hatred was the whole literary class,—like Victor Hugo, Lamartine, and Cousin,—who hurled curses and defiance from their retreats, or from the fashionable salons and clubs which they frequented. The old noblesse stood aloof. St. Germain was like a foreign city rather than a part of Paris. All the traders among the Legitimists and Orleanists continued in a state of secret hostility, and threw all the impediments they could against the government.

The situation of Louis Napoleon was indeed extremely difficult and critical. He had to fight against the combined influences of rank, fashion, and intellect,—against an enlightened public opinion; for it could not be forgotten that his power was usurped, and sustained by brute force and the ignorant masses. He would have been nothing without the army. In some important respects he showed marvellous astuteness and political sagacity,—such, for instance, as in converting England from an enemy to a friend. But he won England by playing the card of common interests against Russia.

The emperor was afraid to banish the most eminent men in his empire; so he tolerated them and hated them,—suspending over their heads the sword of Damocles. This they understood, and kept quiet except among themselves. But France was a hotbed of sedition and discontent during the whole reign of Louis Napoleon, at least among the old government leaders,—Orleanists, Legitimists, and Republicans alike.

Considering the difficulties and hatreds with which Napoleon III. had to contend, I am surprised that his reign lasted as long as it did,—longer than those of Louis XVIII. and Charles X. combined; longer than that of Louis Philippe, with the aid of the middle classes and the ablest statesmen of France,—an impressive fact, which indicates great ability of some kind on the part of the despot. But he paid dearly for his passion for power in the enormous debts entailed by his first war of prestige, and in the death of more than a hundred thousand men in the camps, on the field of battle, and in the hospitals. If he had had any conscience he would have been appalled; but he had no conscience, any more than his uncle, when anything stood in his way. The gratification of his selfish ambition overmastered patriotism and real fame, and prepared the way for his fall and the ignominy which accompanied it.

Had either of the monarchs who ruled France since the Revolution of 1791 been animated with a sincere desire for the public good, and been contented to rule as a constitutional sovereign, as they all alike swore to rule, I do not see why they might not have transmitted their thrones to their heirs. Napoleon I. certainly could have perpetuated his empire in his family had he not made such awful blunders as the invasion of Spain and Russia, which made him unable to contend with external enemies. Charles X. might have continued to reign had he not destroyed all constitutional liberty. Louis Philippe might have transmitted his power to the House of Orleans had he not sacrificed public interests to his greediness for money and to his dynastic ambition. And Napoleon III. might have reigned until he died had he fulfilled his promises to the parties who elevated him; but he could have continued to reign in the violation of his oaths only so long as his army was faithful and successful. When at last hopelessly defeated and captured, his throne instantly crumbled away; he utterly collapsed, and was nothing but a fugitive. What a lesson this is to all ambitious monarchs who sacrifice the interest of their country to personal aggrandizement! So long as a nation sees the monarch laboring for the aggrandizement and welfare of the country rather than of himself, it will rally around him and venerate him, even if he leads his subjects to war and enrolls them in his gigantic armies,—as in the case of the monarchs of Prussia since Frederic II., and even those of Austria.

Napoleon III. was unlike all these, for with transcendent cunning and duplicity he stole his throne, and then sacrificed the interests of France to support his usurpation. That he was an adventurer—as his enemies called him—is scarcely true; for he was born in the Tuileries, was the son of a king, and nephew of the greatest sovereign of modern times. So far as his usurpation can be palliated,—for it never can be excused,—it must be by his deep-seated conviction that he was the heir of his uncle, that the government of the empire belonged to him as a right, and that he would ultimately acquire it by the will of the people. Had Thiers or Guizot or Changarnier seized the reins, they would have been adventurers. All men are apt to be called adventurers by their detractors when they reach a transcendent position. Even such men as Napoleon I., Cromwell, and Canning were stigmatized as adventurers by their enemies. A poor artist who succeeds in winning a rich heiress is often regarded as an adventurer, even though his ancestors have been respectable and influential for four generations. Most successful men owe their elevation to genius or patience or persistent industry rather than to accidents or tricks. Louis Napoleon plodded and studied and wrote for years with the ultimate aim of ruling France, even though he "waded through slaughter to a throne;" and he would have deserved his throne had he continued true to the principles he professed. What a name he might have left had he been contented only to be President of a great republic; for his elevation to the Presidency was legitimate, and even after he became a despot he continued to be a high-bred gentleman in the English sense, which is more than can be said of his uncle. No one has ever denied that from first to last Louis Napoleon was courteous, affable, gentle, patient, and kind, with a control over his feelings and thoughts absolutely marvellous and unprecedented in a public man,—if we except Disraeli. Nothing disturbed his serenity; very rarely was he seen in a rage; he stooped and coaxed and flattered, even when he sent his enemies to Cayenne.

The share taken by Napoleon III. in the affairs of Italy has already been treated of, yet a look from that point of view may find place here. The interference of Austria with the Italian States—not only her own subjects there, but the independent States as well—has been called "a standing menace to Europe." It was finally brought to a crisis of conflict by the King of Sardinia, who had already provided himself with a friend and ally in the French emperor; and when, on the 29th of April, 1859, Austria crossed the river Ticino in hostile array, the combined French and Sardinian troops were ready to do battle. The campaign was short, and everywhere disastrous to the Austrians; so that on July 6 an armistice was concluded, and on July 12 the peace of Villa Franca ended the war, with Lombardy ceded to Sardinia, while Nice and Savoy were the reward of the French,—justifying by this addition to the territory and glory of France the emperor's second war of prestige.

Louis Napoleon reached the culmination of his fame and of real or supposed greatness—I mean his external power and grandeur, for I see no evidence of real greatness except such as may be won by astuteness, tact, cunning, and dissimulation—when he returned to Paris as the conqueror of the Austrian armies. He was then generally supposed to be great both as a general and as an administrator, when he was neither a general nor an administrator, as subsequent events proved. But his court was splendid; distinguished foreigners came to do him homage; even monarchs sought his friendship, and a nod of his head was ominous. He had delivered Italy as he had humiliated Russia; he had made France a great political power; he had made Paris the most magnificent city of the world (though at boundless expense), and everybody extolled the genius of Hausmann, his engineer, who had created such material glories; his fetes were beyond all precedent; his wife gave the law to fashions and dresses, and was universally extolled for her beauty and graces; the great industrial exhibition in 1855, which surpassed in attractiveness that of London in 1851, drew strangers to his capital, and gave a stimulus to art and industry. Certainly he seemed to be a most fortunate man,—for the murmurs and intrigues of that constellation of statesmen which grew up with the restoration of the Bourbons, and the antipathies of editors and literary men, were not generally known. The army especially gloried in the deeds of a man whose successes reminded them of his immortal uncle; while the lavish expenditures of government in every direction concealed from the eyes of the people the boundless corruption by which the services of his officials were secured.