gium more in reference to his incomparable attainments and almost supernatural capacity, than with veneration for his moral attributes. In these he has been exceeded, while, as a military leader, a statesman, legislator, orator, astronomer, scholar, and author, it is difficult to produce a parallel. Neither can this be effected without multiplying competitors, for never in any other instance were so many qualities united to such excellence in a single person. Pliny records of the first Cæsar, that he could employ at the same moment his ears to listen, his eyes to read, his hand to write, and his mind to dictate.* The sentence has been paraphrased by Gibbon, in summing up the character of his favourite hero, Julian. But, in either case it sounds more like the hyperbole of a poet than the sober conviction of a philosophic historian. The intellectual constitution of the two emperors must have differed materially from that of Cornelius De Witt, who was wont to say, that he only got through his complicated business by attending to one thing at a time.

Lord Byron, in a poetical comparison of Cæsar and Napoleon, calls the latter

4 The fool of false dominion-and a kind
Of bastard Cæsar, following him of old
With steps unequal; for the Roman's mind
Was modelled in a less terrestrial mould,
With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold,
And an immortal instinct which redeem'd
The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold.
Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd

At Cleopatra's feet-and now himself, he beam'd,
And came-and saw-and conquer'd!"t

Then he adds, in an appendix:.

"But we must not be so much dazzled with the surpassing glory of Cæsar, or with his magnanimous, his amiable qualities, as to forget the decision of his impartial countrymen he was justly slain!"

"Jure casus existimetur" is the expression of Suetonius, a trustworthy historian, who is disposed to "nothing extenuate, or set down aught in malice." On the retributive justice of Cæsar's death, it may be superfluous to argue. On the political expediency, opinions are more divided. The Roman Republic, that popular and long cherished fallacy, already a shadow without substance, gained little by a substitution of names and persons. The people passed from one despotism

to another, less scrupulous and more confirmed. Had they possessed the advantage of reading and digesting Montesquieu's "Esprit des Lois" and "Grandeur et decadence des Romans" (which was impossible, because these works were not written), the time-hallowed assassination in the Capitol would never have taken place, nor would the lofty scene have been acted over many ages after, as Shakspeare says

"In states unborn, and accents yet unknown."

He

Talleyrand, the astute and unprincipled, denounced the execution of the Duc D'Enghien as worse than a crime -he stigmatised it as a mistake. felt more contempt for the error in judgment than for the obliquity in conscience. The immolation of Cæsar, when called by its right name, was not the act of an insulted nation rising to vindicate its liberty, but the secret conspiracy of a few jealous nobles, who desired to wield the power they saw usurped by another. A contest between oligarchy and individual despotism. an unmixed choice of evils, with the chances heavily against a change. Hear the sentiments of the faction in the mouth of Cassius, their organ and active representative, as recorded by the truest exponent of history to whom we can refer :

"I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life-but for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself."‡

This passes for patriotism, but what is it in fact but personal ambition under another form, as the sequel proved? There is strong similarity between the death of Cæsar in the Capitol, and that of Henry IV. of France in the street of La Feronnerie. Both were cut off by premeditated assassination, and in contempt of repeated warnings. But how differently were their thoughts employed, and their faculties directed, when the blow fell, which curtailed their days and annihilated their deeplylaid arrangements. When the Roman autocrat was surprised in the senatehouse by the daggers of men whose lives he had spared in unsuspecting clemency, he was organising a vast system of universal conquest, and dreamed of carrying the Roman eagles to the extremities of the ancient world,

with terror and desolation in their van, chains and vassalage in their rear. His ambition was neither sated nor checked by the advance of years, the necessity of repose, the ever-flowing tide of success, the absence of rivalry, or the proverbial uncertainty of all human fortunes. He had deeply studied history and philosophy, but he listened not to their prophetic examples. Henry of Navarre, on the contrary, when he perished under the knife of Ravaillac, in the full enjoyment of the power he had long fought for as his delegated right, was occupied with the grandest, the noblest conception that ever entered the heart of a real philanthropist a plan for a vast European confederacy, embracing perpetual peace and friendly intercourse, of which his own kingdom was to be the central pivot, and he, the founder, promoter, and protector. It was not permitted by divine intelligence that either of these gigantic schemes should be carried into effect. The opposite lessons appear to be intended for all generations of men to study and apply, rather than to exhaust time in disputing the accuracy of the details, or in speculating on the impenetrable causes. They suggest reflections which elevate the value of history and biography far beyond the rank of chronological memoranda, or a simple recital of occurrences; while they fill the mind with ample stores of thought, to be often drawn upon, but always with moral advantage, added wisdom, and increasing happiness. Faith in apparent truth, in preference to systematic doubt or suspicion of every thing, we imagine to be the best use of knowledge and experience, and the secret of intellectual enjoyment; far more profitable than the licentious waste of learning, which seeks to prove, by ingenious cavils, that all the motives and actions of men have been mis-stated for two thousand years; that we know little of anything, except through the exaggerated medium of prejudice or intentional falsehood; and, finally, to entangle the reasoning faculties in a maze of perplexed conjecture, until, as Macbeth says

"Function is smother'd in surmise, And nothing is, but what is not." A solemn historian* observes, that "the generality of princes, if they

were stript of the regal mantle and cast naked into the world, would immediately sink to the lowest rank of society, without a hope of emerging from obscurity." The opinion, whether just or jaundiced, is applied to lineal possessors of sovereignty, and not to the bold adventurer who carves out his passage to a kingdom with the point of his sword. He must possess personal merit above accidental advantages and independent of fortune. He cannot outrun competition except by superior strength of character, by intrepid courage, and intense activity of mind and body. It is therefore likely that he is well fitted for and equal to the station he has grasped, however objectionable may be the means he has employed. Sylla, Cæsar, Cromwell, and Napoleon, proved themselves as capable of government as if they had been born in the purple, and had ascended the throne by hereditary right. Alexander wept at thirty-two, because he could no longer find worlds to conquer. Cæsar shed tears when he reflected that he had done nothing at the age when Alexander had estab lished for himself an immortal name. In both it was a selfish feeling. The thirst for glory, the spur of inordinate ambition. The man who declared that he would rather be the first in a village than the second in Rome, gave sufficient indications of a power and spirit to command, but was little likely to practise the severer virtue of implicit obedience. In one respect Sylla exceeded Cæsar in personal magnanimity. He resigned the power he might have retained, and walked the Forum fearless and unarmed, as if in utter contempt of the vengeance he had excited, and the countless enemies engendered by his cruelties. "The

Romans were satisfied with this voluntary abdication, for had they not respected, they would certainly have slain him." But the generous nature of Cæsar was incapable of the butcheries of Sylla. Had he not pardoned the prisoners of Pharsalia, the tragedy of the Ides of March would never have been recorded. This was nearly anticipated by the proscriptions of Sylla, in which the future emperor, then a stripling, was included. Cæsar was connected with the family of Marius by the marriage of his aunt Julia, and

MI

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naturally hostile to Sylla. The sanguinary dictator had pronounced his doom, and upon some of his friends remarking, that there was no need to put such a boy to death, observed "Their sagacity was small, if they did not see in that boy many Mariuses.' Even at that early age he penetrated the ambition of his character, and perceived his superior abilities. So did the father of Napoleon, on his deathbed, predict the greatness of his second

son.

Joseph is the eldest," said he, "but Napoleon will be the head of the family." Napoleon, in the commencement of his career, possessed none of the advantages which Cæsar inherited-rank, wealth, and influential connexion. Both existed in a

period of turmoil and revolution, which broke down all established barriers, and left an open field of contest for the boldness and capacity, which might create and seize its own opportunities. In the one case, these opportunities offered themselves to Cæsar; in the other, Napoleon had to hunt them out, or lie perpetually on the watch until they fell in his way. The onward career of Cæsar was assisted by his patrician dignity, which confined rivalship to his own class, and narrowed the field of competition. That of Napoleon derived no help from his obscure position as a sub-lieutenant of artillery, without money or friends. The accidents of birth and fortune placed Cæsar half way up the eminence which Napoleon had to ascend from its base. Yet he surmounted the summit more rapidly when he began to rise, and at a much earlier period of life. Different forms of society, and wide distinctions in feeling and opinion, had rendered it much more difficult for a successful soldier to reach Imperial power in modern Europe than in ancient Rome.

Every minute particular regarding the youth of Napoleon has been disclosed to posterity. We are familiar with his manners, his reserve, his caustic brevity of speech, his inattention to dress, his personal appearance, his domineering temper, and his unremitting application to all branches of study likely to lead to military distinction. From earliest youth he was intended for a soldier. He was always proud of his novitiate service in the artillery, which he considered the most effective arm in

modern warfare, and by which he won more than one of his most brilliant battles. At Montmirail, in 1814, he dismounted, pointed a gun, and observed, "Let me once more return to my old trade." Of the early years of Cæsar, and of his youthful habits, little is particularly known. While

in boyhood, he was sent to Rhodes to study oratory under Apollonius. Nature had gifted him with inherent taste, zeal for the acquirement of knowledge, and superior eloquence. He was originally intended for the bar, and met with such success at his first introduction into forensic warfare, that if he had pursued his fortune as an advocate he might have rivalled Cicero, and would have far surpassed all other competitors. But he already felt the whispers of ambition, and the inward impulse of military renown, although for the present he was compelled to stifle both. We have no purpose, in a limited essay, to embrace a review in detail of all the great actions of two lives, so full of incident and adventure, as those of the first Roman, and the first French Emperor. We purpose merely a general survey and comparison, with a separate examination of the most celebrated battle in which each was victorious, Pharsalia and Austerlitz. Both were won by superior skill, and ended in the utter overthrow of the enemy. Both established the reputation and power of the conqueror, and gave to each the permanent stamp of legitimacy, which defeat would have obliterated. Until Cæsar passed the boundaries of his province, and crossed the Rubicon, he was the sworn servant of the commonwealth, the soldier of the Roman Senate; holding command by their decree, and bound to resign it at their behest. Until Napoleon landed in France from Egypt, without permission from the existing government, and left his army, to look after his own personal interest, he was a delegated general, subject to constituted authority. From the moment when each ventured on the decisive act of disobedience, it became evident, he was either, if unsuccessful, a rebel, or if fortunate, a dictator. The same result attended the audacity of both. Pompey fled from Rome, and Cæsar entered the capital in triumph. Napoleon, by a coup de main, and the presence of

his grenadiers, dissolved the Council of Five Hundred (as Cromwell packed off the Long Parliament), and established the Consulate, which was virtually the Empire. The name was of little consequence to either Cæsar or Napoleon the unlimited power re

mained in the hands of both.

Cæsar reduced all Italy in sixty days, without shedding blood. His adversaries receded before the storm they could not quell, and wasted no resources in useless resistance. Pompey retreated from Brundusium, across the Adriatic Sea, to Dyrrachium. Cæsar then proceeded to Spain, determined to reduce that province, which had espoused the cause of his rival, and to leave no enemy behind him. This campaign, and his manœuvres at Alesia, in which he completely circumvented and demolished his unskilful opponents, may be reckoned amongst the most signal instances of his consummate generalship. Having disposed of the army under Petreius and Afranius, in Spain, he rapidly retraced his steps through Italy, and transported his forces across the Adriatic to Dyrrachium (where Pompey had intrenched himself), determined to bring on a general engage ment, and, if possible, to finish the quarrel between himself and his rival, by a conclusive victory. He was fond of uttering apothegms, and on this occasion observed"I am going to encounter a general without troops after having defeated troops without a general." He spoke not of the actual numbers enrolled under the banners of Pompey, but of their inexperience in war, and inferiority in courage, as compared with his own tried veterans. His army suffered much from want of supplies, and his military chest was empty; while Pompey, having the command of the sea, with an overwhelming fleet, revelled in abundance. His object was delay; that of his adversary immediate action. Cæsar hazarded an imprudent attack on the enemy's lines, as Gustavus Adolphus 'did many centuries after, when he assailed the position of Wallenstein, at Nuremberg. A similar error of two great generals, attended by similar consequences. Both sustained a sharp repulse, which greater vigour on the part of their opponents, might have rendered ruinous. Each encountered great personal danger, and was com

* De Bello Civili, 1. iii. c. 71.

pelled to throw aside the leading staff of command, and fight in the ranks, to encourage their flying soldiers. Napoleon found himself in the same extremity at Krasnöe, on the retreat from Moscow. Drawing his sword, he exclaimed "I have played the Emperor long enough, I must now again become Buonaparte." Cæsar himself said of his miscarriage at Dyrrachium— "This day victory would have declared for the enemy, if their commander had known how to conquer." He stated his own loss at nine hundred and sixty foot, and four hundred horse, amongst whom were several Roman knights, five tribunes, and thirty-two centurians.* But he suffered most under the loss of reputation, which preyed on his mind; and the night which followed proved the most melancholy one of his life. Already murmurs began to be heard, with tokens of wavering allegi

ance.

He had triumphed over countless hordes of barbarian tribes in Gaul and Germany; he had foiled, and laughed to scorn, the tactics of Pompey's lieutenants in Spain; but when he encountered the great Pompey himself, his star turned pale, while his genius appeared to be subdued and rebuked, as if in presence of a superior. So was it with Napoleon, when he encountered his first serious check, on the sanguinary day of Essling, in the Austrian campaign of 1809, and was cooped up with his whole army in the island of Lobau, on the Danube. Europe already began to exult, as if the hour of her liberation had arrived; but in less than six weeks, the beleaguered lion liberated himself by a masterly manœuvre, threw bridges across the river, turned the flanks of his enemy's position, and on the field of Wa agram achieved a signal triumph, which ended the war, and enabled him to dictate peace on his own terms. Cæsar, after his repulse at Dyrrachium, finding it impossible to maintain his ground, principally from the want of provisions, which produced a contagious sickness in his army, broke up suddenly from his encampment, and marched away into the fertile plains of Thessaly, hoping to induce his adversary to follow, and give him the chance he so much desired, of open combat in a fair field. Pompey was overruled by the impetuosity or vanity of those about him, and offered the

† Plutarch. In Vit. Cæs.