Napoleon thought France was too small, that Europe should bow down to him. But as soon as this idea took possession of his soul he became powerless, while he meditated the subjugation of Russia. He who holds the winds in his power, gathered the snows from the north and blew them upon his six hundred thousand men. They fled, they froze, they perished. And now the mighty Napoleon, who had resolved on universal dominion, is summoned to answer for the violation of that ancient law, "Thou shalt not covet anything which is thy neighbor's." And how is the mighty fallen! He beneath whose proud footstep Europe trembled, he is now an exile at Elba, and now, finally a prisoner on the rock of St. Helena, and there on a barren island, in an unfrequented sea, in the crater of an extinguished volcano, there is the death-bed of the mighty conqueror. And all his annexations have come to that! His last hour has now come, and he, the man of destiny, he who had rocked the world as in the throes of an earthquake, is now powerless--even as a beggar, so he died. On the wings of a tempest, that raged with unwonted fury, up to the throne of the only power that controlled him while he lived, went the fiery soul of that wonderful warrior, another witness to the existence of that eternal decree, that they who do not rule in righteousness shall perish from the earth. NAPOLEON[48] ROBERT G. INGERSOLL A little while ago, I stood by the grave of the old Napoleon, a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a dead deity, and gazed upon the sarcophagus of rare and nameless marble, where rest at last the ashes of that restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide. I saw him at Toulon. I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris. I saw him at the head of the army of Italy. I saw him crossing the bridge of Lodi with the tricolor in his hand. I saw him in Egypt in the shadows of the Pyramids. I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags. I saw him at Marengo, at Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered leaves. I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster, driven by a million bayonets back upon Paris--clutched like a wild beast--banished to Elba. I saw him escape and retake an empire by the force of his genius. I saw him upon the frightful field of Waterloo, where Chance and Fate combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king. And I saw him at St. Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea.