oo than it had been half a century
earlier.

But the force of the revolution was only checked, not spent; and to
the awakening of general intelligence, the strengthening of national
feeling, and the upbuilding of a sense of common brotherhood among
men, produced by the revolutionary struggles of this epoch, Europe
owes whatever liberty and free government its peoples now enjoy. At
the close of this period national power was no longer in the hands of
the aristocracy, nor in those of kings; it had passed into the third
social stratum, variously designated as the middle class, the burghers
or bourgeoisie, and the third estate, a body of men as little willing
to share it with the masses as the kings had been. Nevertheless, the
transition once begun could not be stopped, and the advance of manhood
suffrage has ever since been proportionate to the capacity of the
laboring classes to receive and use it, until now, at last, whatever
may be the nominal form of government in any civilized land, its
stability depends entirely upon the support of the people as a whole.
That which is the basis of all government--the power of the purse--has
passed into their hands.

This momentous change was of course a turbulent one--the most
turbulent in the history of civilization, as it has proved to be the
most comprehensive. Consequently its epoch is most interesting, being
dramatic in the highest degree, having brought into prominence men and
characters who rank among the great of all time, and having exhibited
to succeeding generations the most important lessons in the most vivid
light. By common consent the eminent man of the time was Napoleon
Bonaparte, the revolution queller, the burgher sovereign, the imperial
democrat, the supreme captain, the civil reformer, the victim of
circumstances which his soaring ambition used but which his unrivaled
prowess could not control. Gigantic in his proportions, and satanic in
his fate, his was the most tragic figure on the stage of modern
history. While the men of his own and the following generation were
still alive, it was almost impossible that the truth should be known
concerning his actions or his motives; and to fix his place in general
history was even less feasible. What he wrote and said about himself
was of course animated by a determination to appear in the best light;
what others wrote and said has been biased by either devotion or
hatred.

Until within a very recent period it seemed th