Having passed two hours on the spot where Napoleon lived and died, we
rode onwards to the vale which contains his bones: it is about half a
mile from Longwood, and within a few hundred yards of the cottage of
Madame Bertrand, to whom he indicated the spot in which he desired to
rest, should the English not allow his remains to lie on the banks of
the Seine. Soon after leaving Bertrand's house, we caught sight of the
tomb, at the bottom of the ravine called Slane's valley, and, descending
a zig-zag path, we quickly reached the spot. About half an acre round
the grave is railed in. At the gate we were received by an old corporal
of the St. Helena corps, who has the care of the place. The tomb itself
consists of a square stone, about ten feet by seven, surrounded with a
plain iron-railing. Four or five weeping-willows, their stems leaning
towards the grave, hang their pensile branches over it.
Who could contemplate without interest the little spot of earth which
covers all that remains of mortal of the man who made Europe tremble!
who carried his victorious arms from the Nile to the Elbe, from Moscow
to the Pillars of Hercules; who bore his eagles triumphantly through
Vienna, Rome, Berlin, Madrid! Beneath our feet lay he, who "du monde
entre ses mains a vu les destinées"--
"The desolator desolate, the victor overthrown!"
"They that see thee," saith the inspired prophet, "they that see thee
shall narrowly look upon thee, and consider thee, saying, Is this the
man that made the earth to tremble, and did shake kingdoms; that made
the world as a wilderness, and destroyed the cities thereof; that opened
not the house of his prisoners? All the kings of the nations, even all
of them, lie in glory every one in his own house. Thou shalt not be
joined with them in burial, because thou hast destroyed thy land, and
slain thy people; the seed of evil-doers shall never be renowned."[5]
[5] Isaiah, xiv. 16, 17, 18, 20.
The willows are decaying fast, and one of them rests upon the sharp
spears of the railing, which are buried in its trunk--as though it were
comitting suicide for very grief! The foliage of the rest is thinned and
disfigured by the frequent and almost excusable depredations of
visiters. Fresh cuttings have however, been planted by the Governor, who
intends, moreover, to set cypresses round the outer fence. Madame
Bertrand's immortelles have proved, alas! mortal.
The fine, tall, old corporal, who came out from England with the
ex-emperor, was full of his praises: "I saw the General often," said the
old fellow; "he had an eye in his head like an eagle!" He described the
visit of the French pilgrims to this spot--their Kibla--as most
affecting. Some are extravagant beyond measure in their grief, falling
on their faces round the railing (which they never enter, as foreigners
do), praying, weeping, and even tearing their hair. Whilst we were
there, my friend of yesterday came towards the spot; but when he saw our
large, and, I fear me, rather unimpressed party, he turned upwards, and
disappeared. After inscribing our names in a book--into which also
appropriate poetry, as well as ribald nonsense finds its way--we drank
to Napoleon's immortal memory in his own favourite spring, and mounting
our steeds spurred towards Plantation House.
On the road, we passed within view of "the Briars," where the chief
resided during the building of Longwood; and where he,
"Whose game was kingdoms, and whose stakes were thrones!
His table earth, his dice were human bones!"
played at whist with the owner, Mr. Balcombe, for _sugar-plums!_
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