Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name--
She abandons me now--but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame.
I have warred with a world which vanquished me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
The last single Captive to millions in war.
Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd me,
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,
Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won--
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,
Had still soar'd with eyes fixed on victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France!--but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then,--
The violet still grows in the depths of thy valleys;
Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it again--
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice--
There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
I
Napoleon, when at the height of his fame, was looked upon by the
European Powers as a man whose lust of conquest was a terrible menace
to all constituted authority. The oligarchies thought themselves bound
to combine against him in order to reseat the Bourbons on the throne
of France and restore law and order to that distracted country. What a
travesty of the actual facts!
The people of France had risen against the tyranny and oppression of
the French kings and nobles, and out of the welter of the Revolution
Napoleon rose to power and, by his magnetic personality, welded the
chaotic elements into unity, framed laws which are still in operation,
and led his country to wonderful heights of glory.
Well may the crowned heads of Europe have feared this man, whose
genius put all their mediocre and unenlightened achievements in the
shade. Had they been blessed with the same vision as he, they would
not have opposed but co-operated with him, by introducing into their
own constitutions saner laws such as some of those in the Code
Napoleon. But instead of this, they began a campaign of Press
vilification, and Napoleon's every act was held up as the deed of a
monster of iniquity. Plots, open and secret, to dethrone him were
continually in progress, only to be frustrated by the genius of the
man of the people.
As an instance of this, and of the one-sided view taken by all ranks
and classes of Napoleon's opponents, let us contrast two cases which
are in some respects parallel. The many plots to assassinate the First
Consul--especially the one that very nearly succeeded when he was on
his way to the opera--and the knowledge that an organized band of
conspirators were in red-hot activity and, headed by the Duc
d'Enghien, Cadoudal, Moreau, and Pichegru, were determined to kill the
head of the State, overthrow the Government, and re-establish the
Bourbon dynasty, caused the Duc to be arrested, tried by his
fellow-countrymen, and found guilty of the charges brought against
him, and, by the blundering of Savary, afterwards Duke of Rovigo, and
the persistence of Murat, the death penalty was carried out and he was
shot. Had he been permitted to live another twenty-four hours,
Napoleon would unquestionably have pardoned him, though he never
doubted the justice of the sentence. Much political capital has been
made in this country against Napoleon for even sanctioning his arrest
and in not preventing the capital sentence of the court from being
carried out.[19]
Unquestionably Napoleon regretted the execution, and would have
granted a free pardon had some one not blundered or been too zealous
in what they conceived to be his and the country's best interests.
Almost every writer on this subject is strong in his condemnation of
the execution and of Napoleon for not taking surer steps to prevent
it. But in judging him in regard to this matter, it is only fair to
take into account that he was the ruler of a great empire. Whether he
became so by force or not, does not matter; he saved the Revolution,
and had already brought some form of order out of bloody chaos.
He had already become the popular head of the French nation, and it
devolved upon him to take the most minute precautions against the
disturbing effects of the secret and avowed conspirators who directed
their operations against his life and the overthrow of his government
from London. The precautions taken were drastic, skilfully organized,
and far-reaching, and his agents kept him advised of the danger that
continually beset him. Even though he had no thought of reprieving
the Duc, and deliberately allowed him to be shot, the act of
self-preservation, extreme though it may appear, can hardly be termed,
under the circumstances, unwarranted. It was a period of wild,
uncontrollable passion, and the survivors of the old aristocracy hated
the man of genius who had risen to power from the ranks of the people
to take the place of the Bourbons. This was the canker that stimulated
their enmity.
Had the Duc d'Enghien kept himself aloof from conspirators, and been
willing to recognize the facts he would never have been molested. He
took the risk of co-operating with desperate men, and paid the penalty
by being shot on the 24th March, 1804, at 6.0 a.m., at Vincennes. Had
the ruler of any state in Europe carried out a death-sentence for the
same reason and under the same circumstances, it would have been
regarded as well-merited punishment, and the Press would have preached
the gospel of warning to evil doers. But with Napoleon it was
different. He was an interloper who had nothing in common with the
galaxy of monarchs who ruled Europe at that time. Subsequently they
licked his boots, not for love, but through fear. The shooting of the
Duc was a fine opportunity for his enemies. They sedulously nursed the
Press, published books and pamphlets in every language, and employed
the most poisoned pen that could be bought to portray the future ruler
of kings in terms of obloquy. The performance of the scribes who
direct the pen, which is said to be mightier than the sword, is enough
to kill any one with a real sense of humour. Some of the literary
productions which were to send the greatest of living men off the face
of the earth are quite grotesque in their feminine, shrill advocacy of
force towards the "eater of pigs"; the "Anti-Christ"; and the murderer
of a kindly-disposed gentleman who was on an innocent visit to the
frontier of France for the purpose of negotiating a few private
matters that had no political significance; what if he were one of the
leaders of a band of fine, desperate fellows who had combined, and
sworn to rid France of the Usurper, even at the risk of death! This
being their aim and heroic determination, they had no ground of
complaint if the iron hand which ruled the country took measures to
prevent them from carrying out their beneficent intentions. Of course,
I give the sense and not the actual words of the gallant writers of
that time who, with a glare in their lion eye (judging from the style
of their vapourings), thought that Napoleon could never survive so
vigorous a stream of invective! What loose fabrications have been
scattered over the earth about this regrettable incident, and what
abominable cant has been sent forth extolling the virtues of men like
the unfortunate Duc, who put the law at defiance by secretly carrying
out a purpose that he knew was pregnant with danger to himself!
Let us contrast, if we can, the Duc d'Enghien's reckless gamble, the
consequences of which have been used so consistently to blacken the
fame of the Emperor Napoleon, with Nelson's connection with the
hanging of the rebel prince Carraciolli; of the latter little has been
said, though the shooting of the Duc seems to have been more
justifiable than the hanging of the prince, who was an old man. Both
were tried and condemned to death by men who, it is said, were
prejudiced against them. Nelson could have saved the aged Admiral had
his heart been free from revenge and his mind free from the influence
of Emma Hamilton. The guilt of the Admiral's death must eternally lie
at his door. The outrage can never be effaced, and must for all time
be associated with the mean executioners who, to begin with, had
naught but vengeance in their minds. Nelson was an Englishman
entrusted with England's high sense of honour and love of compassion,
and in its name he stained its reputation for fair dealing. On
entering the Bay of Naples, a flag of truce was flying at the
mast-head of the _Seahorse_ and at the castles of Nuovo and Uovo. The
treaty had been ratified by Captain Foote, a high-minded officer.[20]
Nelson did not approve of the truce, nor did Lady Hamilton, who was
aboard the _Foudroyant_. One can almost see this brazen figure
standing on the quarterdeck of this British ship of war calling out to
Nelson, "Haul down the flag of truce, Bronte. There must be no truce
with rebels." It almost takes one's breath away to think that a man
in Nelson's position should have allowed private feelings to enter
into and influence his professional duty. Every now and again we get
glimpses of this blatant paramour of his being allowed to assert
herself in matters which involved the honour of Great Britain. We are
anxious to believe that Nelson put some limit to this lady's
interference in matters of high naval policy, but he seems to have
been such a fool with women that almost anything ridiculous can be
believed of him where they were concerned. Both of them figure badly
in the Uovo and Nuovo and Carraciolli affair. The garrison there was
so vigorously bombarded that it was driven to capitulate, but only on
condition that the safety of the garrison would be guaranteed. Captain
Foote at once agreed to this, and to see that it was duly carried out.
One of the reasons that led Captain Foote so readily to agree to the
conditions submitted to him was the extreme strength of the forts,
which could have pounded the city to pieces. The other was the desire
to spare human life. What need was there for Nelson to take umbrage at
and violate the treaty made by Foote in the British name? Foote had
made a good bargain by getting possession of the forts, and a better
and nobler one in making it part of his policy to save human life. We
wonder whether Nelson's anger did not arise from his being deprived of
some of the glory himself. He was desperately fond of it! In any case,
he let down England's name badly over the whole transaction.
Fox made a speech on it in the House of Commons which was, and will
ever continue to be, an awful indictment. There is nothing in the
French Revolution, or in the whole of Napoleon's career, that can be
compared with it for ferocity. Great efforts were made to fix the
responsibility for breach of faith on Captain Foote, but they failed,
since there was not a vestige of foundation on which a case could be
made against him, as the documents conclusively proved. He demanded a
court-martial, but his friends prevailed upon him to let his case rest
on the conclusive facts which were produced and made public and which
have never been questioned. There cannot be found a more astonishing
revelation of perfidy or inhuman violence in the archives of Europe
than that related by Mr. Fox. Here is an extract from his amazing
speech:--
When the right honourable gentleman speaks of the last campaign,
he does not mention the horrors by which some of these successes
were accompanied; Naples, for instance, has been, among others
(what is called) delivered; and yet, if I am rightly informed,
it has been stained and polluted by murders so ferocious, and
cruelties so abhorrent, that the heart shudders at the recital.
It has been said, that not only were the miserable victims of
the rage and brutality of the fanatics savagely murdered, but
that in many instances their _flesh_ was _devoured_ by the
cannibals, who are the advocates, if the rumours which are
circulated be true. I will mention a fact to give Ministers the
opportunity, if it be false, to wipe away the stain that must
otherwise affix on the British name. It is said that a party of
the Republican inhabitants at Naples took shelter in the
fortress of Castle del Uovo. They were besieged by a detachment
from the royal army, to whom they refused to surrender, but
demanded that a British officer should be brought forward, and
to him they capitulated. They made terms with him under the
sanction of the British name. _It was agreed that their persons
and property should be safe, and that they should be conveyed to
Toulon._ They were accordingly put on board a vessel, but before
they sailed, their property was confiscated, numbers of them
taken out, _thrown into dungeons_, and some of them, I
understand, notwithstanding the British guarantee, _absolutely
executed_.[21]
This appalling narrative, which was never refuted, is really too
horrible to ponder over. It puts in the shade any responsibility
Napoleon had for the death of the Duc d'Enghien. It is needless to
enlarge on the silly and altogether baseless attacks that were not
only allowed to be made, but, we have good grounds for stating, were
manufactured by members of the Government and their agents, and
circulated for the purpose of distracting the public mind from their
own iniquities, and inflaming bitter passions and prejudices by
accusing Napoleon of deeds of blood for which he was in no greater
degree responsible than were they. The nations were all out for blood
at that period (just as they are now), and each claimed a monopoly of
all the virtues. "Down, down, with the French is my constant prayer,"
shouts our greatest hero, and by way of addendum, he announces in
Christ-like accents that he hates a Frenchman as he hates the devil.
"Down, down, with the British is our constant prayer" shout back the
French, who are at present our Allies against another nation who were
our Allies against them at that time, showing that Fraternity is
decidedly a possible consummation, though it fluctuates from one to
another with amazing eccentricity.
In the name of this fraternal spirit, we see the great Napoleon
surrounded by a hotbed of assassins demanding his life in the name of
the Founder of our faith. He was the ruler, as I have said, of a vast
Empire, sworn to protect its laws, its dignity, and its citizen rights
by defending himself and his country against either treachery,
plotters against his life, or open enemies, no matter from what
quarter they came. The Duc d'Enghien violated the law, and was
therefore as liable to suffer the consequences as any peasant or
middle-class person would have been. But this did not meet with the
approval of the international oligarchy, so they set up a screaming
factory and blared this murderous deed into the minds of all the
Western world. These fervent professors of the Christian faith were in
no way particular as to the form or authenticity of their declamatory
ebullitions.
But what of Nelson? He was a subject of his King, employed by the
King's Government under certain plenary powers to fight the country's
battles, defend its right, uphold its dignity, guard its honour, and
commit no violence. That is, in plain English, he was to play the
game. But he assumed an authority that no Government of England would
have dared to have given him by revoking the word of honour of a
distinguished officer who had pledged England's word that the lives of
the beleaguered men would be spared. I think the writer of the gospel
of "Let brotherly love continue," and the rhetoricians who claim that
Britons have no competitors in the science of moral rectitude, will
have a hard task to square the unworthy declamations against
Napoleon's responsibility in the Duc d'Enghien affair with their
silence on Nelson's in breaking the truce already referred to, and the
awful consequences set forth in Mr. Fox's speech, which is reminiscent
of the powerful disciplinary methods of that manly martinet Ivan the
Terrible, who was responsible for the massacre of men by the thousand,
flaying of prisoners alive, collecting pyramids of skulls,
slaughtering of innocent men, and the free use of other ingenious
forms of refined scientific torture which tires the spirit to relate.
It is hard to forgive Nelson for having smirched his own and England's
name with atrocities so terrible. But more humiliating still to
British honour is the fact that his part in the breaking of the treaty
was dictated to him from the quarter deck of the _Foudroyant_ by a
woman whom my vocabulary is unable to describe in fitting terms. I
shall emphasize this masculine female's orders to Nelson by quoting
them again. Were it not for the comic impertinence of the order, I
think it would almost make me feel the bitterness of death. Nelson
seems to have been the victim of her dominating spirit, though the
evidence in support of him swallowing the whole dose of medicine is
quite feeble. That he swallowed too much of it will always detract
from his fame. "Haul down the flag of truce, Bronte. No truce with
rebels." Nelson lost a great opportunity of adding romance to his
naval glory by neglecting his imperative duty in not putting Sir
William Hamilton's wife in irons or having her thrown into the sea. A
story of this kind would have sounded better, and its effect would
have electrified the world in subsequent days, and have given scope to
the talents of actors and authors who are eager for dramatic copy.
I think Cardinal Ruffo would have been a supporter of imposing some
form of disciplinary restraint on Emma Hamilton. He did strongly
insist on the treaty being honourably adhered to, but his view was
overruled, and he retired in consequence in bitter indignation.
So much for the vaunted fairness and impartiality of our treatment of
Napoleon!
It is only when we come to study the life of this man that we realize
how he towered above all his contemporaries in thought, word, and
deed. Napoleon's authentic doings and sayings are wonderful in their
vast comprehensiveness and sparkling vision, combined with flawless
wisdom. When we speak or think of him, it is generally of his military
genius and achievements and of what we term his "gigantic ambition";
and in this latter conclusion the platitudinarians, with an air of
originality, languidly affirm that this was the cause of his ruin, the
grandeur of which we do not understand. But never a word is said or
thought of our own terrible tragedies, nor of the victories we were
compelled to buy in order to secure his downfall. His great gifts as a
lawgiver and statesman are little known or spoken of. Nelson's views
of him were of a rigid, stereotyped character. He only varied in his
wild manner of describing him as a loathsome despot, whose sole aim
was to make war everywhere and to invade England and annihilate her
people.