El alma de Napoleón

by Léon Bloy, Fondo de Cultura Económica (Editor)

Las relaciones inesperadas entre hechos, palabras y experiencias en apariencia del todo desvinculados, el rápido viraje de algo absolutamente cotidiano hacia la más profunda verdad del misterio de la vida de Dios o hacia lo enormemente cómico, constituyen los rasgos más característicos, como hombre y como escritor, del pensamiento y la visión de Léon Bloy. En esta obra, según él mismo expresa, quiere dejar ver "lo que había de deseable y de magnífico en el sufrimiento del más glorioso de todos los mortales".

Genres: History

120 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1912

About the author

Bloy was born in Notre-Dame-de-Sanilhac, in the arondissement of Périgueux, Dordogne. He was the second of six sons of Voltairean freethinker and stern disciplinarian Jean Baptiste Bloy and his wife Anne-Marie Carreau, pious Spanish-Catholic daughter of a Napoleonic soldier. After an agnostic and unhappy youth in which he cultivated an intense hatred for the Roman Catholic Church and its teaching, his father found him a job in Paris, where he went in 1864. In December 1868, he met the aging Catholic author Barbey d'Aurevilly, who lived opposite him in rue Rousselet and became his mentor. Shortly afterwards, he underwent a dramatic religious conversion.

Bloy's works reflect a deepening devotion to the Catholic Church and most generally a tremendous craving for the Absolute. His devotion to religion resulted in a complete dependence on charity; he acquired his nickname ("the ungrateful beggar") as a result of the many letters requesting financial aid from friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers, all the while carrying on with his literary work, in which his eight-volume Diary takes an important place.

Bloy was a friend of the author Joris-Karl Huysmans, the painter Georges Rouault, and the philosopher Jacques Maritain, and was instrumental in reconciling these intellectuals with Roman Catholicism. However, he acquired a reputation for bigotry because of his frequent outbursts of temper; and his first novel, Le Désespéré, a fierce attack on rationalism and those he believed to be in league with it, made him fall out with the literary community of his time and even many of his old friends. Soon, Bloy could count such prestigious authors as Emile Zola, Guy de Maupassant, Ernest Renan, Alphonse Daudet, Joris-Karl Huysmans, Paul Bourget and Anatole France as his enemies.

In addition to his published works, he left a large body of correspondence with public and literary figures. He died in Bourg-la-Reine.

Reviews

[Richard Robinson · Rating 5 out of 5]

The book blurb says it all I suppose.

Iʼm a huge fan of Napoleon I, and Léon Bloy, so I loved this book, naturally. Anything and everything about Napoleon, his history, his achievements, his battles, his administration, his legacy, his personal life, the ground he stood on – excite me. Always have, always will. Call me naïve, call me childish, call me lots of things: Iʼm a fan of Napoleon, the man, the legend, and the myth.

It's a good read. Translated (by myself) in honor of the very great general, and in time for the 200th anniversary of his death, on May 5, 2021... Vive lʼEmpereur!

[Francisco Barrios · Rating 4 out of 5]

Léon Bloy es célebre por haber perfeccionado la provocación como figura retórica; sin embargo, más allá de esto, aplicó los métodos exegéticos a la historia y, con resultados siempre debatibles, aunque profundamente originales, delineó una historia imbuida de simbolismo y referencias bíblicas que anticipa los escritos filosóficos de Gabriel Marcel.

En este trabajo sobre Napoleón, Bloy nos invita a aceptar la hipótesis de que este haya sido un “instrumento” de la Voluntad divina (pp. 17, 21, 30, etc.) para sepultar definitivamente el régimen anterior a la Revolución Francesa. Una vez hecho esto, procederá a exponer su grandeza (cercana a la del propio Mesías, p.12), a minimizar sus errores (¿qué errores son imputables, por definición, a una “herramienta”?, p. 28), a hacer patente que todo lo que hizo Napoleón lo hizo por su alma (p. 37) que, en su grandeza, se encontraba tan sola como la Montaña o el Océano (p. 34).

Claro que si uno no admite la existencia del alma, de Dios, o inclusive que Napoleón haya sido un engrane más en la maquinaria divina del devenir histórico, se encontrará frente a un trabajo grandilocuente, muy original y con un tono cercano a la epopeya. La edición de Conaculta estuvo bien cuidada, la traducción de Aurelio Garzón del Camino es increíble; pero algunas notas históricas y bíblicas podrían ayudar sin duda a penetrar en un texto como este más fácilmente. Muy recomendable.

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

''Er zijn duizend volumes geschreven over Napoleon, maar niemand weet daadwerkelijk wie hij precies was.'' Bloy stelt zichzelf als een grove Mozes die schrijft over Napoleon als heraut van de Heilige Geest. Voor hem was de Keizer het laatste gezicht van God op voordat hij, op filosofische wijze, verdween. Bloy schrijft genadeloos en wreed om zo korte metten te maken met alles en iedereen die tegen Napoleon stond, voor hem en na hem. Een fascinerend en unieke kijk die men laat denken over de grotere betekenis van Napoleon in de wereld.

[sebas42 · Rating 3 out of 5]

“Emperador o cargador, nadie conoce su fardo ni su corona.”

Hay algo en las batallas y vida de Napoleón que me da mucha esperanza por alguna razón.

[Joe Olipo · Rating 1 out of 5]

I don't think of him,
but I use his lines all the time
— Eileen Myles, Skies (2001)

On the Soul of The Soul of Napoleon

An attentive person, having observed contemporary events before they were secreted into history, can only conclude that the patina which covers over the past is composed, primarily, of bullshit. In confrontation with the statement of record, her testimony is a discordant one: "Well, it wasn't quite like that . . . but who am I to say." Perhaps the task of the historian is to secret out the truth behind such so-called minor testimony; especially at those sites where one finds the historical patina particularly thick. Roberto Calasso makes such a claim in his early writing, arguing that: "The true historian [. . .] can compete with Plutarchian figures — those who have become invisible through too much testimony, a solid carapace secreted by history to distance them from us. At that extreme of his obstinate pursuit, the historian wants to encounter Napoleon as a stranger. Then he unites with the visionary and, like Léon Bloy, can have the impudence to start a book with the words: 'The story of Napoleon is certainly the least known of all stories'." (The Ruin of Kasch, 1983). This appears to be high praise indeed, (in fact, it's what lead me to search out this book), but Nota Bene there is another way to read this excerpt. Léon Bloy, who one might think is being praised as a "true historian", is actually receiving accolades for a certain style of prose. Calasso's praise is not necessarily a comment on the author's scholarship. He has rather been struck by impudence.

Where to place the soul of the Emperor. In Chateaubriand's writing (Memoirs from Beyond the Grave, 1850) we find The Great One depressed, dressed in his driver's livery; scenes in which the author himself makes a dubious appearance. In Tolstoy (War and Peace, 1867), the Emperor's battles — the outcomes of which, in retrospect, he had little power to influence — are projected upon the screen of material circumstance. The Corsican comet appears to track there-and-back across the continent as if on rails. In Contemporary historiography (Napoleon: A Life, 2014), abstracted from personal grievance by at least a century, Napoleon is but an exceptional case, nonetheless a "product-of-the-times". He becomes, in somewhat sycophantic biography (Winner of the 2015 Grand Prix of the Foundation Napoleon and nominee for the 2015 Plutarch Award), almost-but-not-quite like those Plutarchan figures about whom a young Napoleon evidently read lots: ”Late in life, Napoleon called Pasquale Paoli 'a fine character who neither betrayed England nor France but was always for Corsica', and a 'great friend of the family' who had 'urged me to enter into the English service,' [. . .] He also claimed, with perhaps less truth, that Paoli had paid him the 'great compliment' of saying: 'That young man will be one of Plutarch's ancients'” (Andrew Roberts, Napoleon: A Life, 2014). Yet Bloy's text rejects the Plutarchan theme. It draws neither from the psychological reading nor the materialist one.

The texte propre, which commences according to those expectations engendered by Calasso, also signals the premature closure of an historical analysis: "The history of Napoleon is quite certainly the most unknown of all histories. Books that claim to recount it are innumerable, and there is no end to documents of every sort. In reality, Napoleon is perhaps less known to us than Alexander. The more one studies, the more one discovers that he is the man whom nothing resembles and that's all there is" (15). What follows, unfortunately, is a mystical-romantic reading with a particular Catholic bend. The Soul of Napoleon (1912) seems to have bounced off the patina of history as if stunned; or rather, in the process of drilling hard boards, seems to have slipped, "Assuredly, [Napoleon] did not know that he was an instrument, nothing more than a magnificent instrument, for the monstrance of a divine parable [. . .] All these things, and many others, that one does not know, were necessary, and the proof without rejoinder is that they happened in plain sight of God who does not make errors and who wanted these things from time immemorial" (92). Essentially, Bloy's text appears to be doing in fact the converse of what Calasso's praise would lead us to believe. It has not gotten further into the history, rather it has transubstantiated, in a frustrated mode, the slow work of obstinate pursuit into the mystical intuition which understands "Greatness" at a glance, and therefore doesn't have to drive hard. In this way the text, like Napoleon's exhausted cavalry at Leipzig, finds itself no longer capable of mounting an argument.

In the visionary mode, even the Corsican's weaknesses, the tactical blunders he could not help, become occasion for praise: "Such is the beauty of history, such is politics, and such was the recompense for the magnanimity of Napoleon, who almost always forgave and was never forgiven. It remains to be seen what became of his soul, his too great soul, in that horrible whirlwind of iniquities" (108). Here I am reminded of the massacre at Jaffa in which Napoleon had thousands of prisoners, euphemistically, "driven into the sea". This was unforgiving, and also a tactical blunder. The massacre, like a Rubicon across which one does not retreat, more or less capped the failure of the campaign in the Levant. Such occasions seem to temper the political mistakes in which Napoleon forgave, perhaps too frequently, his friends and relations; such was his temperament, magnanimous, that he would not have done otherwise.

Were it possible for Napoleon's Great Soul to have regrets, the Saint-Domingue affair is likely among them. We discover among Napoleon's letters the recognition that his attempt to re-enslave the people modern-day Haiti was always already a lost cause. He destroyed a million lives nonetheless, "'The Saint-Domingue business was a great piece of folly on my part,' Napoleon later admitted. 'It was the greatest error that in all my government I ever committed. I ought to have treated with the black leaders, as I would have done the authorities in a province,'" (Napoleon: A Life, 2014). Is it possible for an historian to spin "the Saint-Dominigue business" into an historic success without resorting to a mystical deliberation upon the Soul — perhaps this is possible, but only in a white-nationalist mode.

The Soul of Napoleon (1912) is not concerned with Saint-Dominigue, a so-called footnote in history of which it makes no mention. Mysticism is capable of stepping around this, as it steps around everything. The text, which commences to argue that Napoleon was a "poet of the soul," makes one wonder whether this is meant in earnest or in jest. Perhaps the whole Saint-Dominigue expedition is to be considered mere material for a palinode (i.e. a poem in which the poet retracts a previous position). The way Bloy frames it, one might claim with equal veracity that Napoleon was a "playwright of the soul", a "doctor of the soul", or rather a "cobbler of the soul":

"One will be incapable of understanding anything about Napoleon as long as one does not see in him a poet, an incomparable poet in action. His poem is his entire life, and there is nothing that equals it. He always thought as a poet and could act only as he thought, the visible world being for him merely a mirage. His astounding proclamations bear sufficient witness [. . .] Napoleon is he then [sic] the poet of destiny? The events he speaks of [sic] have demonstrated historically the irreality [sic], or, if one prefers, the inanity of his great designs, but they did not demonstrate it in the soul of that Emperor of emperors, where they had, clearly, a prophetic consistency, a [sic] indemonstrable reality" (117).

An un-happy co-incidence of bad writing: the quality of the argument in these final phrases seems to be reflected in the quality of the translation. The selection is notable for two Gallicisms and an improper indefinite article in the space of two sentences. In such circumstances I am sometimes tempted to turn back to the translator's forward to renew my stores of good will. My edition of The Soul of Napoleon (1912), translated by Richard Robinson, however, does not contain the expected material, i.e. a brief reflection on the task of the translator. There is no discussion of the translation process at all. Robinson's forward — in bizarre fashion — consists instead of a white nationalist harangue against the Black Lives Matter movement.

The so-called "translator's forward" is a muddle, being a presentation of history, an argument about history, and (inadvertently) a piece of history itself. In this way we have perhaps an opportunity to see what history is good for, if anything.

I'm a huge fan of Napoleon I, or Bonaparte. Until about a month ago, as i turns out, it wasn't my intention to translate this book, not yet. I had something else on my mind. I stumbled, tripped, fell over this article in the March 6, 2021 issue of The Economist: 'Despot, genius or both? France argues about Napoleon: As his bicentenary approaches, tempers rise.'

When I saw the title to the article, I got excited. Anything and everything about Napoleon, his history, his achievements, his battles, his administration, his legacy, his personal life, the ground he stood on —excite [sic] me. Always has, always will. Call me naïve or childish: I'm a fan of Napoleon.

But as I started to read the article, quickly my enthusiasm changed. True to the article's subtitle, I got incensed, and my temper rose. It rose to the degree where I nearly put down the article (well, nearly clicked away from it) when I got to this section: 'The Black Lives Matter movement has emboldened those who reject any celebration of a leader who reintroduced slavery to the French West Indies in 1802. Nicholas Mayer-Rossignol, the Socialist mayor of Rouen, says he wants to replace the imposing bronze statue of the emperor on horseback that stands outside his Normandy town hall.'

Now, I'm not a proponent of slavery. It's almost silly that I should feel the need to say that. But [sic] it is a historical fact, slavery, and not just a recent one. To talk of slavery in the context of Napoleon seems self-serving to me. Slavery is one of the last things that comes to anyone's mind when thinking or talking about Napoleon. Napoleon's greatness does not stand on whether he sent or did not send slaves anywhere. To judge him on that count is like judging a doctor as if he were a pastry cook. And how is it that the BLM [sic], or those who subscribe to it [sic], get to measure Western [sic] leaders and heroes, culture, achievements, and marvels [sic] by the yardstick they choose? Did I agree to that? Did you?

[. . .]

No one needs their temper raised, which often begets violence. When it's a question of a statue or a monument, or a book that one does not like or approve of, we should just look the other way, turn the other cheek, like I do when I see the signs and slogans on so many lawns, in so many windows, ad nauseam, in my neighborhood and city, proselytizing to me, about something I don't subscribe to, and co-opting my nation. 'In Our America…' Our? That includes me, right? Or did I give my neighbors and fellow citizens the right to speak exclusively on my behalf all of a sudden? No, I did not, but I leave the signs in place on their lawns and in their windows all the same." (10)

Well, one can put anything in a book, I suppose. A few things are notable here. First, the translator appears to have completed his work some time between the publication of the Economist article under discussion (March 6th, 2021) and the date this text was accepted for publication (April 5, 2021). Noting that this text appears to have been put together in less than a month, we have an inadvertent answer to our initial question regarding its somewhat dubious quality. The loose, chatty prose on display here also seems to speak to this.

It's striking how the writer of this section appears more or less entirely misinformed. I do not mean merely his evaluation of the Black Lives Matter movement, what he calls "the BLM". (The grammatical inconsistency of this phrase is apparently part of its intended use as a right-wing catchword.) I am regarding in particular the details of Napoleonic history he seems to get wrong. To me, it is inconceivable that someone who calls himself a "fan" of Napoleon twice in the first two paragraphs of the text hasn't managed to read a detailed biography. Yet Robinson's presentation of the Saint-Domingue expedition as a question of, "whether he sent or did not send slaves anywhere," is so euphemistic as to be outside of history. It seems that being a "fan" means working to rehabilitate errors that even the Big Man himself considered folly.

Though the foreword drags on, there is no line in which a coherent argument is being made. This despite what the translator appears to think. It is apparently unfair to judge Napoleon because, "[slavery] is one of the last things that comes to mind when thinking of him," as if history were a word association game. Judging Napoleon is like, "judging a doctor as if he were a pastry cook," as if the dictates of an absolute monarch should be evaluated on the scale of his hobbies. More perplexing is the rhetorical question, "How is it that the BLM [sic], get to measure Western [sic] leaders by the yardstick they choose," as if this were not the entire point of the Napoleonic saga: there is no divine authority dispensing heroes from on-high. Ask a Jacobin, a Bourbon, and a Bonapartist whether the statue of Napoleon at Rouen should be torn down and you'll get four different answers. There's a certain parallel here between methodologies of the translator's forward and the translated text. Both seem to go no deeper than the patina. In the translator's case, it's not clear whether he has read the history at all.

Having read his screed in full, we know it wasn't simple curiosity that caused the translator to "stumble upon" the article that set him off. Likely, it was curated for his Feed. He clicked the link because he read the headline and wanted to engage with ragebait. Feelings came first, then thoughts followed. He did not "nearly put down the article" nor "nearly click away". He got exactly what he wanted out of it: he got mad. Rage with the patina of an argument. More ammunition against "the BLM". And though it is obvious to us, the translator does not appear self-aware in this process. Neither does he seem to realize, but this inadvertent document of the reactionary working himself up seems to be the one thing in this text true to history itself.

Of course, such an emotional response is disproportionate. Even a dyed-in-the-wool white nationalist prompted by the same article might manage a couple pages on Napoleon's "contentious legacy" and "modern-day relevance" applying an academic patina to his aggression. One wonders what brought on this surge of emotion for a statue in Rouen which the author, with his implied American identity, will likely never visit. Whom is he threatening when he writes "no one needs their temper raised, which often begets violence", as if he weren't always the angriest person in the room. Presumably, our tentative answer is that the translator consumes a lot of right wing media.

The question becomes more interesting when we investigate beneath the patina of this explanation. The translator has done us the courtesy of providing some corroborating evidence, but the findings are not what we expect. In an interview published earlier this year, a Richard Robinson, who fits the description, is a British ex-pat living in Hungary and working as a translator and musician. Reportedly, he has lived in Hungary for the past thirty years. But if this is true, his statements in this section are even more bizarre in retrospect: Why does the author of the forward present himself as an American citizen indignant about not having been consulted for his opinion, "[. . .] co-opting my nation. 'In Our America…' Our? That includes me, right?". Evidently, it does not. Unless the Black Lives Matter movement has taken Budapest by storm, his statement that, "I see [Black Lives Matter] signs and slogans on so many lawns, in so many windows, ad nauseam, in my neighborhood and city," is also a patent falsehood.

These stretchers are so large, the statements so discordant, that one wonders whether we have the right person at all. Is it possible we're talking about a different soul. The translator, who is also a Goodreads author, has posted as review of the text in which he quotes the forward. So much for the theory that an aberrant editor had his hands in the mix. This is the right guy. But is it possible to imagine a Hungarian national who has consumed so much right-wing media that he repeats the rhetorical flourishes of American white nationalism by rote, even when it requires he misrepresent himself. (Do I have to ask?) Were this the case, one would discover nothing beneath the patina of fabricated rage lying beneath his argument. Rage deriving from imbibing propaganda for the wrong "target audience"; an emotion with no material connection to his situation. One imagines an equivalent situation: discovering a modern-day American to be a vehement Bonapartist. The rhetoric of Bloy requires only a minor correction: "The more one studies the more one discovers that [beneath his rage] there is nothing and that's all there is." And yet, were we satisfied in our certainty that the man's soul could be characterized thus, we might conclude with the same methodology Bloy employs here. We would have merely developed our own taxonomy of minor souls. There's a certain patina covering over our translator, the ex-pat Hungarian, who might be American nonetheless, a translator of children's books, some French texts, a musician, a white nationalist, and yet perhaps a subaltern who has someone else translating under his good name. The crucial lesson: one should not proceed straight to the soul. The trick, to get beyond bullshit, is to maintain all this in tension.

[Manuel Taboada · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me ha sorprendido este escrito de Léon Bloy sobre Napoleón, un personaje que, como español, no me despierta demasiada simpatía, aunque ciertamente fue un estratega genial. Digo que me ha sorprendido porque, conociendo al autor, esperaba una crítica corrosiva y sin paños calientes, como en él suele ser habitual, del emperador que trató de propagar los ideales de la Revolución Francesa, que además no mostró precisamente el comportamiento de lo que podríamos llamar un "cristiano ejemplar", y cuya codicia llevó a tantos a la muerte. Y no es que esta obra sea un panegírico del corso, ni mucho menos, pero las reflexiones que se hacen sobre él nos lo presentan como una ficha destacada del tablero del mundo, destinada por algún designio incognoscible de Dios a representar un papel muy elevado.

Bloy ve a Napoleón como un instrumento de Dios, incluso si este no es consciente de su papel. Según él, Napoleón encarnó una fuerza que trascendía lo humano, un destino casi mesiánico, capaz de alterar la historia de Europa y el mundo. Aunque Bloy critica la soberbia y las faltas morales de Napoleón, también subraya que su grandeza no podía explicarse únicamente desde una perspectiva terrenal. Para Bloy, Napoleón es un "misterio" que apunta a algo más alto, un hombre marcado por un propósito divino que él mismo quizás nunca comprendió del todo.

En este sentido, El alma de Napoleón no es tanto una defensa directa como un intento de interpretar su vida y su impacto histórico desde una perspectiva espiritual. Bloy parece sugerir que la ambivalencia de Napoleón –su grandeza y sus fallas– lo convierte en un símbolo de la humanidad misma, atrapada entre el orgullo y el anhelo de trascendencia.

Además, Bloy nos pone de manifiesto el enorme contraste entre la grandeza del emperador y la miseria de la Europa que le toca vivir. Los párrafos dedicados a Inglaterra, Prusia, Austria o el zar Alejandro son muy duros, en el estilo más polémico del autor, y tampoco sale muy bien parada España (algo injustamente en mi opinión). Tampoco son elogios precisamente lo que se le dedica a la familia de Napoleón, o a muchos de sus subalternos, bien por su negligencia o bien por la traición que llevarían a cabo.

[Rodrigo Cornejo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Se acerca a lo divino a través de la devastación de las Guerras Napoleónicas. De paso nos regala sendos insultos a España por retrógrada y condena la hipocresía de Inglaterra de forma clarividente. Infaltable leerlo si uno tiene dignidad.

[Jérémy Brancart · Rating 5 out of 5]

Majestueux, déroutant, unique !!
Une synthèse mystique d’une biographie de Napoléon WAW
Coup de cœur pour un des plus beaux textes que je n’ai jamais lu, le chapitre XIV
Je conseille de connaître les bases de l’histoire Napoleonienne avant de s’attaquer à ce texte éblouissant.

[Richard Robinson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Now available in English for those who cannot, or don't wish to (?) read it in the original French: see https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/5...

[Tomás · Rating 5 out of 5]

Panfletín bonapartista con la percepción de la realidad completamente alterada: sencillamente exquisito.

[Juan Manuel De León Hurtado · Rating 5 out of 5]

'El Alma de Napoleón' es una obra del escritor y crítico francés León Bloy publicada en 1891; tiene un estilo literario único, gracias a su enfoque y abordaje en temas religiosos y filosóficos de forma integral. Esta es una novela (bastante corta) que explora los pensamientos y sentimientos de Napoleón Bonaparte, el famoso líder militar y político francés, desde una perspectiva humana, espiritual y filosófica. León Bloy, se acerca al alma del Emperador francés con una mirada profunda desde la psicología, tratando de penetrar en las motivaciones y conflictos internos de éste personaje histórico.

A lo largo de la novela, Bloy presenta a Napoleón como un hombre atrapado entre su ambición terrenal y su búsqueda espiritual. La obra se desarrolla como un diálogo interior del protagonista, explorando sus pensamientos sobre Dios, el poder, el significado de la vida y su legado en la historia. A medida que la historia avanza, el lector es testigo de la lucha interna de Napoleón por reconciliar sus deseos mundanos con sus inquietudes religiosas, espirituales y filosóficas, examinando temas como la vanidad, el poder, la mortalidad y la búsqueda de un propósito más profundo en la vida.

Hay que tener en cuenta que León Bloy utiliza un lenguaje poético y filosófico (bastante olvidado para esta nuestra época), creando una atmósfera introspectiva y reflexiva a lo largo de la novela.

En 'El Alma de Napoleón', Bloy nos da una visión cercana, ideal, única y provocadora de la figura histórica, desafiando al lector a reflexionar sobre la complejidad del ser humano y su relación con lo divino. Ésta novela es un viaje literario profundo y emotivo que explora la lucha interna de un hombre cuyo destino quedó grabado en la historia, pero cuya búsqueda de significado trasciende las limitaciones del tiempo, el espacio y hasta lo humano (que al final está destinado a lo divino).

Esta es una novela que explora las cuestiones fundamentales de la existencia humana y nos invita a adentrarnos en la mente y el corazón de Napoleón Bonaparte mientras nos lleva a reflexionar sobre nuestro lugar en el universo y la búsqueda de sentido en un mundo en constante cambio.

5/5 en calificación.