ly taken upon this topic.

It is clear from the concluding despatches of Cornwallis that he was
wheedled by Joseph Bonaparte into conceding more than the British
Government had empowered him to do; and, though the "secret and most
confidential" despatch of March 22nd cautioned him against narrowing
too much the ground of a rupture, if a rupture should still occur, yet
three days later, and _after the receipt of this despatch_, he signed
the terms of peace with Joseph Bonaparte, and two days later with the
other signatory Powers.[196] It may well be doubted whether peace
would ever have been signed but for the skill of Joseph Bonaparte in
polite cajolery and the determination of Cornwallis to arrive at an
understanding. In any case the final act of signature was distinctly
the act, not of the British Government, but of its plenipotentiary.

That fact is confirmed by his admission, on March 28th, that he had
yielded where he was ordered to remain inflexible. At St. Helena,
Napoleon also averred that after Cornwallis had definitely pledged
himself to sign the treaty as it stood on the night of March 24th, he
received instructions in a contrary sense from Downing Street; that
nevertheless he held himself bound by his promise and signed the
treaty on the following day, observing that his Government, if
dissatisfied, might refuse to ratify it, but that, having pledged his
word, he felt bound to abide by it. This story seems consonant with
the whole behaviour of Cornwallis, so creditable to him as a man, so
damaging to him as a diplomatist. The later events of the negotiation
aroused much annoyance at Downing Street, and the conduct of
Cornwallis met with chilling disapproval.

The First Consul, on the other hand, showed his appreciation of his
brother's skill with unusual warmth; for when they appeared together
at the opera in Paris, he affectionately thrust his elder brother to
the front of the State box to receive the plaudits of the audience at
the advent of a definite peace. That was surely the purest and noblest
joy which the brothers ever tasted.

With what feelings of pride, not unmixed with awe, must the brothers
have surveyed their career. Less than nine years had elapsed since
their family fled from Corsica, and landed on the coast of Provence,
apparently as bankrupt in their political hopes as in their material
fortunes. Thrice did the fickle goddess cast Napoleon to the ground in
the first two years of his n