It's to be expected, it seems, that whenever a Figure of the past is considered or noted for one reason or another, there is someone ready to point out something that figure did or said or thought something which we now abhor. This is particularly true when the figure is significant, and even especially when that figure is or has been thought heroic or admirable. The fact is that most of the people now dead did, said or thought things which we find objectionable, and rightly so. Our ancestors seem to become in certain respects more and more disturbing to us as the years between our time and theirs' grows. greater.
I doubt that Napoleon Bonaparte is considered a hero by anyone now, but he was for a time. He was, I think, a hero of the worst kind--a Romantic hero. In other words, Romantics thought him heroic. The first half of the 19th century was cluttered with Romantics, people who loved romance, naturally enough, but also individualism, emotion, fervor, brilliance. People who deplored the merely reasonable, and were artists or thought themselves artists, who delighted in going their own way, whatever that may be, shocking the stolid burgesses and philistines of their era. It's likely that some even worshipped him. They were, as I said, Romantics.
I've always thought this a bit odd, as I think Napoleon was in many ways an exceedingly rational person when weighing ends and means, a master of administration and organization, who was normally not inclined to make decisions based on emotion and impulse. He was of course thought to be unpredictable, and as "the Corsican Ogre" was deemed an excitable and brutal person. He was after all a Frenchman, and worse yet perhaps from the perspective of the English someone of Italian descent, necessarily unstable. He was, though, fully capable of employing this reputation to his advantage as well. I think therefore that much of it was an affectation.
He clearly was an autocrat, a despot, and very much an Emperor in the Roman sense. Quite literally an emperor, in fact, and very deserving of that military title--imperator, a victorious general. In these times it's probable that the fact he was an autocrat is not considered to be as much of a flaw in him as the fact he was a misogynist and a racist, and reestablished slavery in France and its colonies, and empire. Suppression of personal liberty in general appears to be less unworthy than bigotry and enslavement of a race in particular in these culturally sensitive times.
For my part, I've never thought him to be a heroic figure. He's not someone to be emulated. It's not unreasonable to marvel at his energy and swift intelligence, his vast memory and his great military ability. I think it has to be acknowledged he accomplished a great deal. He restored order to a nation which had been through Revolution and Terror, he reorganized a society which in many respects remained mired in feudalism and aristocratic castes and tradition, promoted equality and recognition and reward of merit, created a modern national administration, and fostered and even contributed to the creation of a great system of laws which remains in force in many nations across the world.
He may be said to a tragic figure, though, if not a hero. He died in miserable circumstances 200 years ago today, exiled to a remote island, a captive there for six years. He was by then burnt out and ill, becoming sick and weak as the dull years passed. Chained to a rock like Prometheus, to make an allusion which has long been made. "Tragic" in a way that moralists might use the word as well; someone of great ability who failed to devote his talents to promote the well being and happiness of others.
But in exile he also managed to create his legend, through his memoirs and those of the retainers who were in exile with him, and in that manner became a hero to some. He was in them the Son of the Revolution, greatly misunderstood and condemned, but through his example and ability capable of extending the ideals of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity throughout Europe, destroying the old dynasties which held Europe in slavery for centuries. Anthony Burgess wrote a book about him called Napoleon Symphony, in which this achievement is emphasized. The reference in the title is of course to Beethoven's Eroica Symphony, which Lovely, Lovely Ludwig Von admitted was written with Napoleon in mind but renamed after he declared himself Emperor. By dying Napoleon managed to make himself even greater than he was in life. He was resurrected, as it were, through the legend born in St. Helena; a Christ-like figure in a sense, who suffered and died for France and enlightened people everywhere. Burgess makes this comparison at the end of his book.
The painting of Napoleon above was done in 1814, at the time of his abdication and exile to Elba. For some reason I've always liked it. I certainly like it more than the paintings depicting him as a hero atop a horse, or in his imperial robes, which I think made him look silly. In this painting he looks tired, resigned, contemplative, knowing--I'd say accepting but for the fact he didn't accept that exile (although there is evidence that this was provoked by the failure of the European powers to abide by certain of the terms of his abdication, and even perhaps by threats to his life). I also like one of him at the head of a group of cavalry or an escort, riding through a grey, winter-like landscape, wearing a grey coat and his famous hat. It may depict the retreat from Moscow, but I like to think it shows him leading the remnants of his army, much diminished, in the campaign of 1814 where he faced many enemy commanders with much larger armies invading France and beat them in a series of brilliant victories before the inevitable end.
What is he now, after 200 years? Not a hero. Not a loathsome figure, not the subject of anachronistic contempt. But a remarkable figure of the past who contributed to the world in which we live, for good and bad.
