One of the most incredible is the received account of the persons
known as the "Détenus." It is well known that a great number of
English gentlemen passed many years, in the early part of the present
century, abroad;—by their own account, in France. Their statement
was, that while travelling in that country for their amusement, as
peaceable tourists, they were, on the sudden breaking out of a war,
seized by this terrible Buonaparte, and kept prisoners for about
twelve years, contrary to all the usages of civilized nations—to all
principles of justice, of humanity, of enlightened policy; many of
them thus wasting in captivity the most important portion of their
lives, and having all their prospects blighted.

Now whether these persons were in reality exiles by choice, for the
sake of keeping out of the way of creditors, or of enjoying the
society of those they preferred to their own domestic circle, I do not
venture to conjecture. But let the reader consider whether _any_
conjecture can be _more_ improbable than the statement actually made.

It is, indeed, credible that ambition may prompt an unscrupulous man
to make the most enormous sacrifices of human life, and to perpetrate
the most atrocious crimes, for the advancement of his views of
conquest. But that this _great_ man—as he is usually reckoned even by
adversaries—this hero according to some—this illustrious warrior,
and mighty sovereign—should have stooped to be guilty of an act of
mean and petty malice worthy of a spiteful old woman,—a piece of
paltry cruelty which could not at all conduce to his success in the
war, or produce any effect except to degrade his country, and
exasperate ours;—this, surely, is quite incredible. "Pizarro," says
Elvira in Kotzebue's play, "if not always justly, at least act always