(2 of 2)
The fourth, quite the most insignificant of the sextette, is chiefly re- iteration and somewhat flippant reiteration at that—a good journalistic summary, nothing more.
The fifth from the start assumes that Napoleon was a great man and a great actor and, in a series of sub-headed paragraphs, gives amazingly well a poignant outline of his life. The observations are keen, the style pleasing, the treatment intelligent. Considering its scope and the fact that it is written from a semimilitary standpoint, the book is an excellent piece of work, easy to lead, easy to digest.
The sixth and last book is allegedly by the Great Man himself. Written, as the title hints, at St. Helena, the book is virtually Napoleon's confession of his faith; and his faith was something not to be measured by known standards. It was primarily his faith in himself. It is a story of an Imperial Ego in which the Egoist describes the events of his reign "because his character and his intentions may be strangely misrepresented." They probably are, have been, and will continue to be. Napoleon proceeds to set matters right. The task is not small; his book is, however, too small to save him from the misrepresentations he feared. In the main, he tells alike of his successes and his failures, his love for Josephine, the reason for his escape from Elba, etc. The sentences are short, sometimes overbearing, sometimes modest—a perfect tally with Napoleon's character. If the manuscript is a forgery—this is unlikely, for, as the translator remarks, Napoleon "went out of his way" to disavow it—it is only possible to congratulate the forger on his vicarious cerebrations.