It is the nature of France to prefer to have Rostopchine rather than Ballesteros in front of her.
From a still more serious point of view，and one which it is also proper to insist upon here，this war，which wounded the military spirit of France，enraged the democratic spirit.
It was an enterprise of inthralment.
In that campaign，the object of the French soldier，the son of democracy，was the conquest of a yoke for others.A hideous contradiction.
France is made to arouse the soul of nations，not to stifle it.
All the revolutions of Europe since 1792 are the French Revolution：
liberty darts rays from France.
That is a solar fact.
Blind is he who will not see！
It was Bonaparte who said it.
The war of 1823，an outrage on the generous Spanish nation，was then，at the same time，an outrage on the French Revolution.It was France who committed this monstrous violence；by foul means，for，with the exception of wars of liberation，everything that armies do is by foul means.
The words passive obedience indicate this.An army is a strange masterpiece of combination where force results from an enormous sum of impotence.
Thus is war，made by humanity against humanity，despite humanity，explained.
As for the Bourbons，the war of 1823 was fatal to them.
They took it for a success.
They did not perceive the danger that lies in having an idea slain to order.
They went astray，in their innocence，to such a degree that they introduced the immense enfeeblement of a crime into their establishment as an element of strength.
The spirit of the ambush entered into their politics.
1830 had its germ in 1823.The Spanish campaign became in their counsels an argument for force and for adventures by right Divine.
France，having re-established elrey netto in Spain，might well have re-established the absolute king at home.
They fell into the alarming error of taking the obedience of the soldier for the consent of the nation.
Such confidence is the ruin of thrones.
It is not permitted to fall asleep，either in the shadow of a machineel tree，nor in the shadow of an army.
Let us return to the ship Orion.
During the operations of the army commanded by the prince generalissimo，a squadron had been cruising in the Mediterranean.
We have just stated that the Orion belonged to this fleet，and that accidents of the sea had brought it into port at Toulon.
The presence of a vessel of war in a port has something about it which attracts and engages a crowd.
It is because it is great，and the crowd loves what is great.
A ship of the line is one of the most magnificent combinations of the genius of man with the powers of nature.
A ship of the line is composed，at the same time，of the heaviest and the lightest of possible matter，for it deals at one and the same time with three forms of substance，——solid，liquid，and fluid，——and it must do battle with all three.
It has eleven claws of iron with which to seize the granite on the bottom of the sea，and more wings and more antennae than winged insects，to catch the wind in the clouds.
Its breath pours out through its hundred and twenty cannons as through enormous trumpets，and replies proudly to the thunder.
The ocean seeks to lead it astray in the alarming sameness of its billows，but the vessel has its soul，its compass，which counsels it and always shows it the north.In the blackest nights，its lanterns supply the place of the stars.Thus，against the wind，it has its cordage and its canvas；against the water，wood；against the rocks，its iron，brass，and lead；against the shadows，its light；against immensity，a needle.
If one wishes to form an idea of all those gigantic proportions which，taken as a whole，constitute the ship of the line，one has only to enter one of the six-story covered construction stocks，in the ports of Brest or Toulon.
The vessels in process of construction are under a bell-glass there，as it were.
This colossal beam is a yard；that great column of wood which stretches out on the earth as far as the eye can reach is the main-mast.Taking it from its root in the stocks to its tip in the clouds，it is sixty fathoms long，and its diameter at its base is three feet.
The English main-mast rises to a height of two hundred and seventeen feet above the water-line.The navy of our fathers employed cables，ours employs chains.The ****** pile of chains on a ship of a hundred guns is four feet high，twenty feet in breadth，and eight feet in depth.
And how much wood is required to make this ship？
Three thousand cubic metres.It is a floating forest.
And moreover，let this be borne in mind，it is only a question here of the military vessel of forty years ago，of the ****** sailing-vessel；steam，then in its infancy，has since added new miracles to that prodigy which is called a war vessel.At the present time，for example，the mixed vessel with a screw is a surprising machine，propelled by three thousand square metres of canvas and by an engine of two thousand five hundred horse-power.
Not to mention these new marvels，the ancient vessel of Christopher Columbus and of De Ruyter is one of the masterpieces of man.It is as inexhaustible in force as is the Infinite in gales；it stores up the wind in its sails，it is precise in the immense vagueness of the billows，it floats，and it reigns.
There comes an hour，nevertheless，when the gale breaks that sixty-foot yard like a straw，when the wind bends that mast four hundred feet tall，when that anchor，which weighs tens of thousands，is twisted in the jaws of the waves like a fisherman's hook in the jaws of a pike，when those monstrous cannons utter plaintive and futile roars，which the hurricane bears forth into the void and into night，when all that power and all that majesty are engulfed in a power and majesty which are superior.
Every time that immense force is displayed to culminate in an immense feebleness it affords men food for thought，Hence in the ports curious people abound around these marvellous machines of war and of navigation，without being able to explain perfectly to themselves why.
