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THE TRAGEDY OF ST. HELENA
BY
SIR WALTER RUNCIMAN, BART.
AUTHOR OF
"WINDJAMMERS AND SEA TRAMPS,"
"THE SHELLBACK'S PROGRESS,"
"LOOKING SEAWARD AGAIN," ETC.
T. FISHER UNWIN
LONDON: ADELPHI TERRACE
LEIPSIC: INSELSTRASSE 20
1911
PREFACE
In my early sea-life, I used to listen to the eccentric and
complicated views expressed by a race of seamen long since passed
away. Occasionally there were amongst the crew one or two who had the
true British hypothetical belief in the demoniacal character of
Napoleon, but this was not the general view of the men with whom I
sailed; and after the lapse of many years, I often wonder how it came
about that such definite partiality in regard to this wonderful being
could have been formed, and the conclusion that impresses me most is,
that his many acts of kindness to his own men, the absence of flogging
and other debasing treatment in his own service, his generosity and
consideration for the comfort of British prisoners during the wars,
his ultimate defeat by the combined forces of Europe, the despicable
advantage they took of the man who was their superior in everything,
and to whom in other days the allied Kings had bent in homage, had
become known to the English sailors.
How these rugged men came to their knowledge of Napoleon and formed
their opinions about him may be explained in this way. Hundreds of
seamen and civilians were pressed into the King's service, many of
whom were taken ruthlessly from vessels they partly owned and
commanded. Indeed, there was no distinction. The pressgangs captured
everybody, irrespective of whether they were officers, common able
seamen, or boys, to say nothing of those who had no sea experience.
Both my own grandfathers and two of my great uncles were kidnapped
from their vessels and their families into the navy, and after many
years of execrable treatment, hard fighting, and wounds, they landed
back into their homes broken men, with no better prospect than to
begin life anew. It was natural that the numerous pressed men should
detest the ruffianly man-catchers and their employers, if not the
service they were forced into, and that they would nurse the wrong
which had been done to them.
They would have opportunities of comparing their own lot with that of
other nationalities engaged in combat against them, and though both
might be bad, it comes quite natural to the sailor to imagine his
treatment is worse than that of others; and there is copious evidence
that the British naval service was not at that period popular.
Besides, they knew, as everybody else should have known, that Napoleon
was beloved by his navy and army alike. Then, after the Emperor had
asked for the hospitality of the British nation, and became its guest
aboard the _Bellerophon_, the sailors saw what manner of man he was.
And later, his voyage to St. Helena in the _Northumberland_ gave them
a better chance of being impressed by his fascinating personality. It
is well known how popular he became aboard both ships; the men of the
squadron that was kept at St. Helena were also drawn to him in
sympathy, and many of the accounts show how, in their rough ardent
way, they repudiated the falsehoods of his traducers. The exiled
Emperor had become _their_ hero and _their_ martyr, just as
impressively as he was and remained that of the French; and from them
and other sources were handed down to the generation of merchant
seamen those tales which were told with the usual love of hyperbole
characteristic of the sailor, and wiled away many dreary hours while
traversing trackless oceans. They would talk about the sea fights of
Aboukir and Trafalgar, and the battles of Arcola, Marengo, Jena,
Austerlitz, the Russian campaign, the retreat from Moscow, his
deportation to Elba, his escape therefrom, and his matchless march
into Paris, and then the great encounter of Waterloo, combined with
the divorce of Josephine and the marriage with Marie Louise; all of
which, as I remember it now, was set forth in the most voluble and
comical manner. Some of their most engaging chanties were composed
about him, and the airs given to them, always pathetic and touching,
were sung by the sailors in a way which showed that they wanted it to
be known that they had no hand in, and disavowed, the crime that was
committed. As an example, I give four verses of the chanty "Boney was
a Warrior," as it was sung in the days I speak of. It is jargon, but
none the less interesting.
"They sent him to St. Helena!
Oh! aye, Oh!
They sent him to St. Helena,
John France Wa! (François.)
Oh! Boney was ill-treated!
Oh! aye, Oh!
Oh! Boney was ill-treated,
John France Wa!
Oh! Boney's heart was broken!
Oh! aye, Oh!
Oh! Boney's heart was broken!
John France Wa!
But Boney was an Emperor!
Oh! aye, Oh!
But Boney was an Emperor!
John France Wa!"
--and so on.
Although at that time I had, in common with others, anti-Napoleonic
ideas, I was impressed by the views of the sailors. Later in life,
when on the eve of a long voyage, nearly forty years ago, I happened
to see Scott's "Life of Napoleon" on a bookstall, and being desirous
of having my opinion confirmed, I bought it. A careful reading of this
book was the means of convincing me of the fact that "Boney _was_
ill-treated," and this in face of the so-called evidence which Sir
Walter Scott had so obviously collected for the purpose of exonerating
the then English Government.
The new idea presented to my mind led me to take up a course of
serious reading, which comprised all the "Lives" of Napoleon on which
I could lay my hands, all the St. Helena Journals, and the
commentaries which have been written since their publication. As my
knowledge of the great drama increased, I found my pro-Napoleonic
ideas increasing in fervour. Like the Psalmist when musing on the
wickedness of man, "my heart was hot within me, and at the last I
spake with my tongue."
I may here state in passing that there is no public figure who lived
before or since his time who is surrounded with anything approaching
the colossal amount of literature which is centred on this man whose
dazzling achievements amazed the world. Paradoxical though it may
appear now, in the years to come, when the impartial student has
familiarised himself with the most adverse criticisms, he will see in
this literature much of the hand of enmity, cowardice, and delusion
and, as conviction forces itself upon him, there evolve therefrom the
revelation of a senseless travesty of justice.
I offer no apology for the opinions contained in this book, which have
been arrived at as the result of many years of study and exhaustive
reading. I give the volume to the public as it is, in the hope that it
may attract in other ways to a fair examination of Napoleon's complex
and fascinating character.
WALTER RUNCIMAN.
_December 3, 1910._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE ABODE OF DARKNESS
CHAPTER II
THE MAN OF THE REVOLUTION--CRITICISM, CONTEMPORARY AND OTHERWISE
CHAPTER III
THREE GENERATIONS: MADAME LA MÈRE, MARIE LOUISE, AND THE KING OF ROME
CHAPTER IV
THE OLIGARCHY, THEIR AGENTS AND APOLOGISTS
CHAPTER V
MESDAMES DE STAËL AND DE REMUSAT
CHAPTER VI
JOSEPHINE
CHAPTER VII
RELIGIOUS NOTIONS OF NAPOLEON
BIBLIOGRAPHY
LIST OF EVENTS AND DATES HAVING REFERENCE TO NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
INDEX
CHAPTER I
THE ABODE OF DARKNESS
In Clause 2 of his last will, dated Longwood, April 15, 1821, the
Emperor Napoleon states: "It is my wish that my ashes may repose on
the banks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people whom I have
loved so well."
At London, September 21, 1821, Count Bertrand and Count Montholon
addressed the following letter to the King of England:--
"SIRE,--We now fulfil a sacred duty imposed on us by the Emperor
Napoleon's last wishes--we claim his ashes. Your Ministers,
Sire, are aware of his desire to repose in the midst of the
people whom he loved so well. His wishes were communicated to
the Governor of St. Helena, but that officer, without paying any
regard to our protestations, caused him to be interred in that
land of exile. His mother, listening to nothing but her grief,
implores from you, Sire, demands from you, the ashes of her son;
she demands from you the feeble consolation of watering his tomb
with her tears. If on his barren rock as when on his throne, he
was a terror of the world, when dead, his glory alone should
survive him. We are, with respect, &c, &c,
(Signed) COUNT BERTRAND.
COUNT MONTHOLON."
In reply to this touching act of devotion to their dead chief the
English Ambassador at Paris wrote in December, 1821, that the English
Government only considered itself the depository of the Emperor's
ashes, and that it would deliver them up to France as soon as the
latter Government should express a desire to that effect. The two
Counts immediately applied to the French Ministry, but without result.
On May 1, 1822, a further letter was sent to Louis XVIII., by the
grace of God King of France and Navarre, concerning the redepositing
of the ashes of Napoleon, Emperor, thrice proclaimed by the grace of
the people.
On the accession of Louis Philippe to the throne the rival parties
were each struggling for ascendancy. The glory of the days of the
Empire had been stifled by the action of the European Powers and their
French allies, but the smouldering embers began to show signs of
renewed activity, and a wave of Napoleonic popularity swept over the
land. Philippe and his Ministry were not indifferent to what was going
on, and in order to distract attention from the chaos which the new
condition of things was creating, the plan of having the "ashes" of
the illustrious chief brought to the country and the people whom he
"loved so well" was suggested as a means of bringing tranquillity to
France and security to the throne.
M. Thiers, the head of a new Ministry, entered into negotiations with
the English Government, and M. Guizot addressed an official note to
Lord Palmerston, who was then Secretary for Foreign Affairs.
This precious communication is embodied in the following
document:--"The undersigned, Ambassador Extraordinary and
Plenipotentiary of His Majesty the King of the French, has the honour,
conformably to instructions received from His Government, to inform
His Excellency the Minister of Foreign Affairs to Her Majesty the
Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, that the King ardently
desires that the mortal remains of Napoleon may be deposited in a tomb
in France, in the country which he defended and rendered illustrious,
and which proudly preserves the ashes of thousands of his companions
in arms, officers and soldiers, devoted with him to the service of
their country. The undersigned is convinced that Her Britannic
Majesty's Government will only see in this desire of His Majesty the
King of the French a just and pious feeling, and will give the orders
necessary to the removal of any obstacle to the transfer of Napoleon's
remains from St. Helena to France."
This document was sent to the British Embassy in Paris, and the wishes
of M. Thiers and his Government were conveyed in orthodox fashion to
the British Foreign Secretary by the Ambassador, in the following
letter, dated Paris, May 4, 1840:--
"MY LORD,--The French Government have been requested, in several
petitions addressed to the Chambers, to take the necessary steps
with regard to the Government of Her Majesty the Queen of Great
Britain, in order to obtain an authorisation for removing the
ashes of the Emperor Napoleon to Paris. These petitions were
favourably received by the Chambers, who transmitted them to the
President of the Council, and to the other Ministers, his
colleagues. The Ministers having deliberated on this point, and
the King having given his consent to the measures necessary to
meet the object of the petitioners, M. Thiers yesterday
announced to me officially the desire of the French Government
that Her Majesty's Government would grant the necessary
authority to enable them to remove the remains of the Emperor
Napoleon from St. Helena to Paris. M. Thiers also calls my
attention to the fact that the consent of the British Government
to the projected measure would be one of the most efficacious
means of cementing the union of the two countries, and of
producing a friendly feeling between France and
England.--(Signed) GRANVILLE."
So that this King of the French and M. Thiers realise, after a
quarter of a century, that the hero who was driven to abdicate,
and then banished from France, _did_ defend his country and make
it illustrious, and that the removal of his ashes to France was
the "_most_ efficacious means" of cementing the union of the
country that forsook him in his misfortune with the country that
sent him to perish on a rock. His ashes, indeed, were to produce
a friendly feeling between these two countries. What a
burlesque!
Napoleon's motto was "Everything for the French people." He
seems to have predicted that after his death they would require
his "ashes" to tranquillise an enraged people. Of the other
contracting party he says in the fifth paragraph of his
will:--"I die prematurely, assassinated by the English oligarchy
and its deputy; the English nation will not be slow in avenging
me."
Well, it is requested that his ashes shall be given up to France so
that peace may prevail. And now follows the great act of
condescension:--
"MY LORD,--Her Majesty's Government having taken into
consideration the request made by the French Government for an
authorisation to remove the remains of the Emperor Napoleon from
St. Helena to France, you are instructed to inform M. Thiers
that Her Majesty's Government will with pleasure accede to the
request. Her Majesty's Government entertains hopes that its
readiness to comply with the wish expressed will be regarded in
France as a proof of Her Majesty's desire to efface every trace
of those national animosities which, during the life of the
Emperor, engaged the two nations in war. Her Majesty's
Government feels pleasure in believing that such sentiments, if
they still exist, will be buried for ever in the tomb destined
to receive the mortal remains of Napoleon. Her Majesty's
Government, in concert with that of France, will arrange the
measures necessary for effecting the removal.
--(Signed) PALMERSTON."
One of the chief features of this State document is its veiled
condition that in consideration of H.B.M. Government giving up the
remains of Napoleon, it is to be understood that every _trace_ of
national animosity is to be effaced. Another is, now that his mortal
remains are in question, he is styled "the Emperor Napoleon."
Twenty-five years before, when the atrocious crime of captivity was
planned, Lord Keith, in the name of the British Government, addressed
a communication to "General Bonaparte." The title of Emperor which his
countrymen had given to him was, until his death, officially ignored,
and he was only allowed to be styled "General" Bonaparte--the rank
which the British Government in that hour of his misfortune thought
best suited to their illustrious captive. He was, in fact, so far as
rank was concerned, to be put on a level with some and beneath others
who followed him into captivity. Well might he "protest in the face of
Heaven and mankind against the violence that was being enacted"
towards him. Well might he appeal to history to avenge him. There is
nothing in history to equal the malignancy of the conquerors'
treatment of their fallen foe. We shall see now and hereafter
prejudices making way, reluctantly it may be, but surely, for the
justice that should be done him.
Three days after the gracious reply of the British Government, May 20,
1840, the French King signified his desire to carry out the wishes of
the Chambers by putting the following document before them:--
"GENTLEMEN,--The King has commanded Prince Joinville [his son]
to repair with his frigate to the island of St. Helena, there to
receive the mortal remains of the Emperor Napoleon. The frigate
containing the remains of Napoleon will present itself, on its
return, at the mouth of the Seine; another vessel will convey
them to Paris; they will be deposited in the Hospital of the
Invalides. Solemn ceremonies, both religious and military, will
inaugurate the tomb which is to retain them for ever. It is of
importance, gentlemen, that this august sepulture should not be
exposed on a public place, amidst a noisy and unheeding crowd.
The remains must be placed in a silent and sacred spot, where
all those who respect glory and genius, greatness and
misfortune, may visit them in reverential tranquillity.
"He was an Emperor and a King, he was the legitimate sovereign
of our country, and, under this title, might be interred at St.
Denis; but the ordinary sepulture of kings must not be accorded
to Napoleon; he must still reign and command on the spot where
the soldiers of France find a resting-place, and where those who
are called upon to defend her will always seek for inspiration.
His sword will be deposited in his tomb.
"Beneath the dome of the temple consecrated by religion to the
God of Armies, a tomb worthy, _if possible_, of the name
destined to be graven on it will be erected. The study of the
artist should be to give to this monument a simple beauty, a
noble form, and that aspect of solidity which shall appear to
brave all the efforts of time. Napoleon must have a monument
durable as his memory. The grant for which we have applied to
the Chambers is to be employed in the removal of the remains to
the Invalides, the funeral obsequies, and the construction of
the tomb. We doubt not, gentlemen, that the Chamber will concur
with patriotic emotion in the royal project which we have laid
before them. Henceforth, France, and France alone, will possess
all that remains of Napoleon; his tomb, like his fame, will
belong solely to his country.
"The monarchy of 1830 is in fact the sole and legitimate heir of
all the recollections in which France prides itself. It has
remained for this monarchy, which was the first to rally all the
strength and conciliate all the wishes of the French Revolution,
to erect and to honour without fear the statue and the tomb of a
popular hero; for there is one thing, and one thing alone, which
does not dread a comparison with glory, and that is Liberty."[1]
The appeal is generous and just in its conception and beautifully
phrased. It was received with enthusiasm throughout the whole of
France. Louis Philippe and his Government had accurately gauged what
would, more than anything, for the time being, subdue the rumbling
indications of discord and revolt. The King had by this popular act
caught the imagination of the people. He had made his seat on the
throne secure for a time, and his name was immortal. The great mass of
the people and his Government were behind him, and he made use of this
to his own advantage. Napoleon's dying wish is to be consummated. "The
blind hatred of kings" is relaxed; they are no longer afraid of his
mortal remains; they see, and see correctly, that if they continue to
"pursue his blood" he will be "avenged, nay, but, perchance, cruelly
avenged." The old and the new generation of Frenchmen clamour that as
much as may be of the stigma that rests upon them shall be removed,
threatening reprisals if it be not quickly done. The British
Government diplomatically, and with almost comic celerity, gravely
drop "the General Bonaparte" and style their dead captive "the Emperor
Napoleon."
Louis Philippe, overwhelmed with the greatness of the dead monarch,
bursts forth in eloquent praise of this so-called "usurper" of other
days. He was not only an Emperor and a King, but the _legitimate
sovereign_ of his country. No ordinary sepulture is to be his--it is
to be an august sepulture, a silent sacred spot which those who
respect glory, genius, and greatness may visit in "reverential
tranquillity." Henceforth, by Royal Proclamation, history is to know
him as an Emperor and a King. He is to have a tomb as durable as his
memory, and his tomb and fame are to belong to his country for
evermore. The legitimate heir of Napoleon's glory is the author of one
of the finest panegyrics that has ever been written; a political move,
if you will, but none the less the document is glowing with the
artistic phrasing that appeals to the perceptions of an emotional
race.
But the real sincerity was obviously not so much in the author of the
document as in the great masses, who were intoxicated with the desire
to have the remains of their great hero brought home to the people he
had loved so well. It may easily be imagined how superfluously the
French King and his Government patted each other on the back in
self-adoration for the act of funereal restoration which they took
credit for having instituted. If they took too much credit it was only
natural. But not an item of what is their due should be taken from
them. The world must be grateful to whoever took a part in so noble a
deed. At the same time the world will not exonerate the two official
contracting parties from being exactly free from interested motives.
The one desired to maintain domestic harmony, and this could only be
assured by recalling the days of their nation's glory; and the other,
_i.e._, the British Government, had their eye on some Eastern business
which Palmerston desired to go smoothly, and so the dead Emperor was
made the medium of tranquillity, and, it may be, expediency, in both
cases.
In short, Prince Joinville was despatched from Toulon in feverish
haste with the frigate _Bellespoule_ and the corvette _Favorite_.
These vessels were piously fitted out to suit the august occasion.
Whatever the motives or influences, seen or unseen, that prompted the
two Governments to carry out this unquestionable act of justice to the
nation, to Napoleon's family, his comrades in arms who were still
living, yea, and to all the peoples of the earth who were possessed of
humane instincts, yet it is pretty certain that fear of a popular
rising suggested the idea, and the genius who thought of the
restoration of the Emperor's ashes as a means of subduing the
gathering storm may be regarded as a public benefactor.
But be all this as it may, it is doubtful if anything so ludicrously
farcical is known to history as the mortal terror of this man's
influence, living or dead. The very name of him, animate or inanimate,
made thrones rock and Ministers shiver. Such was their terror, that
the Allies, as they were called (inspired, as Napoleon believed, by
the British Government--and nothing has transpired to disprove his
theory) banished him to a rock in mid-ocean, caged him up in a house
overrun with rats, put him on strict allowance of rations, and guarded
him with warships, a regiment of soldiers with fixed bayonets, and the
uneasy spirit of Sir Hudson Lowe.
After six years of unspeakable treatment he is said to have died of
cancer in the stomach. Doubtless he did, but it is quite reasonable to
suppose that the conditions under which he was placed in an unhealthy
climate, together with perpetual petty irritations, brought about
premature death, and it is highly probable that the malady might have
been prevented altogether under different circumstances. At any rate,
he was without disease when Captain Cockburn handed him over, and for
some time after. But he knew his own mental and physical make-up; he
knew that in many ways he was differently constituted from other men.
His habits of life were different, and therefore his gaolers should
have been especially careful not to subject this singularly organised
man to a poisonous climate and to an unheard-of system of cruelty.
Yes, and they would have been well advised had they guarded with
greater humanity the fair fame of a great people, and not wantonly
committed acts that have left a stigma on the British name.
Sir Walter Scott, who cannot be regarded as an impartial historian of
the Napoleonic regime, does not, in his unfortunate "Life of
Napoleon," produce one single fact or argument that will exculpate the
British Government of that time from having violated every humane law.
The State papers so generously put at his disposal by the English
Ministry do not aid him in proving that they could not have found a
more suitable place or climate for their distinguished prisoner, or
that he would have died of cancer anyhow. The object of the good Sir
Walter is obvious, and the distressing thing is that this excellent
man should have been used for the purpose of whitewashing the British
Administration.
The great novelist is assured that the "ex-Emperor" was pre-disposed
to the "cruel complaint of which his father died." "The progress of
the disease is slow and insidious," says he, which may be true enough,
but predisposition can be either checked or accelerated, and the
course adopted towards Napoleon was not calculated to retard, but
encourage it. But in order to palliate the actions of the British
Government and their blindly devoted adherents at St. Helena,
Gourgaud, who was not always strictly loyal to his imperial
benefactor, is quoted as having stated that he disbelieved in the
Emperor's illness, and that the English were much imposed upon.
Why does Scott quote Gourgaud if, as he says, it is probable that the
malady was in slow progress even before 1817? The reason is quite
clear. He wishes to convey the impression that St. Helena has a
salubrious climate, that the Emperor was treated with indulgent
courtesy, and had abundance to eat and drink. It will be seen,
however, by the records of other chroniclers who were in constant
attendance on His Majesty, that Sir Walter Scott's version cannot be
relied upon.
If the statements in the annexed letter are true--and there is no
substantial reason for doubting them, supported as they are by
facts--then it is a complete refutation of what Scott has written as
to the health-giving qualities of the island.
Here is the statement of the Emperor's medical adviser (see p. 517,
Appendix, vol. ii., "Napoleon in Exile"):--
"The following extract of an official letter transmitted by me
to the Lords of the Admiralty, and dated the 28th October, 1818,
containing a statement of the vexations inflicted upon Napoleon,
will show that the fatal event which has since taken place at
St. Helena was most distinctly pointed out by me to His
Majesty's Ministers.
"I think it my duty to state, as his late medical attendant,
that considering the disease of the liver with which he is
afflicted, the progress it has made in him, and reflecting upon
the great mortality produced by that complaint in the island of
St. Helena (so strongly exemplified in the number of deaths in
the 66th Regiment, the St. Helena regiment, the squadron, and
Europeans in general, and particularly in His Majesty's ship
_Conqueror_, which ship has lost about one-sixth of her
complement, nearly the whole of whom have died within the last
eight months), it is my opinion that the life of Napoleon
Bonaparte will be endangered by a longer residence in such a
climate as that of St. Helena, especially if that residence be
aggravated by a continuance of those disturbances and
irritations to which he has hitherto been subjected, and of
which it is the nature of his distemper to render him peculiarly
susceptible.--(Signed) BARRY E. O'MEARA, Surgeon R.N. To John
Wilson Croker, Esq., Secretary to the Admiralty."
It is a terrible reflection to think that this note of warning should
have gone unheeded. A body of men with a spark of humane feeling would
have thrown political exigencies to the winds and defied all the
powers of earth and hell to prevent them from at once offering their
prisoner a home in the land of a generous people. What had they to
fear from a man whose political career ended when he gave himself up
to the captain of the _Bellerophon_, and whose health was now
shattered by disease and ill-usage? Had the common people of this
nation known all that was being perpetrated in their name, the Duke of
Wellington and all his myrmidons could not have withstood the revolt
against it, and were such treatment to be meted out to a political
prisoner of our day, the wrath of the nation might break forth in a
way that would teach tyrants a salutary lesson.
But this great man was at the mercy of a lot of little men. They were
too cowardly to shoot him, so they determined on a cunning dastardly
process of slow assassination. The pious bard who sings the praises of
Napoleon's executioners--Wellington and his coadjutors--and whose
"History" was unworthy of the reputations of himself and his
publishers, will have sunk into oblivion when the fiery soul of the
"Sultan Kebir"[2] will seize on the imagination of generations yet
unborn, and intoxicate them with the memory of the deeds that he had
done.
Napoleon has said, "In the course of time, nothing will be thought so
fine nor seize the attention so much as the doing of justice to me. I
shall gain ground every day on the minds of the people. My name will
become the star of their rights, it will be the expression of their
regrets."[3] This statement is as prophetic as many others, more or
less important, made by Napoleon to one or other of his suite. It is
remarkable how accurately he foretold events and the impressions that
would be formed of himself.
Had the warning given so frequently to Sir Hudson Lowe been conveyed
to his Government, and had they acted upon it, there is little doubt
that a change of climate would have prolonged the Emperor's life. But
in going over those dreary nauseous documents which relate the tale,
one becomes permeated with the belief that the intention was to
torture, if not to kill. Dr. Antommarchi, who succeeded Dr. O'Meara as
medical attendant to the Emperor, confirms all that O'Meara had
conveyed so frequently to the Governor and to the Admiralty. The
Council sent for him to give them information as to the climate of
St. Helena. They express the opinion that at Longwood it is "good."
Antommarchi replies, "Horrible," "Cold," "Hot," "Dry," "Damp,"
"Variation of atmosphere twenty times in a day." "But," said they,
"this had no influence on General Bonaparte's health," and the blunt
reply of Antommarchi is flung at them, "It sent him to his grave."
"But," came the question, "what would have been the consequences of a
change of residence?" "That he would still be living," said
Antommarchi. The dialogue continues, the doctor scoring heavily all
the way through. At length one of the Council becomes offended at his
daring frankness, and blurts forth in "statesmanlike" anger: "What
signifies, after all, the death of General Bonaparte? It rids us of an
implacable enemy."
This noble expression of opinion was given three days after George IV.
had deplored the death of Napoleon. It is not of much consequence,
except to confirm the belief of the French that the death-warrant had
been issued. The popular opinion at the time when the Emperor gave
himself up to the British was that had he come in contact with George
IV. the great tragedy would not have happened.
We are not, however, solely dependent on what the two doctors have
said concerning the cause of his untimely demise. All those who knew
anything about Longwood, from the common sailor or soldier upwards,
were aware of the baneful nature of its climate. Counts Las Cases,
Montholon, and Bertrand had each represented it to the righteous Sir
Hudson Lowe as being deadly to the health of their Emperor. Discount
their statements as you will, the conviction forces itself upon you
that their contentions are in the main, if not wholly, reliable.
But the climate, trying and severe as it was, cannot be entirely
blamed for killing him, though it did the best part of it. Admiral Sir
George Cockburn, while he acted as Governor, seems to have caused
occasional trouble to the French by the unnecessary restrictions put
upon them, but by the accounts given he was not unkindly disposed. He
showed real anxiety to make the position as agreeable to them as he
could, and no doubt used his judgment instead of carrying out to the
letter the cast-iron instructions given to him by Bathurst. The
Emperor spoke of him as having the heart of a soldier, and regretted
his removal to give place to Sir Hudson Lowe, who arrived in the
_Phaeton_ on April 14, 1816.
The new Governor's rude, senseless conduct on the occasion of his
first visit to Longwood indicated forebodings of trouble. He does not
appear to have had the slightest notion of how to behave, or that he
was about to be introduced to a man who had completely governed the
destinies of Europe for twenty years. Napoleon with his eagle eye and
penetrating vision measured the man's character and capabilities at a
glance. He said to his friends, "That man is malevolent; his eye is
that of a hyena." Subsequent events only intensified this belief.
Perhaps the best that can be said of Lowe is that he possessed
distorted human intelligence. He was amiable when he pleased, a good
business man, so it is said, and the domestic part of his life has
never been assailed; but it would be a libel on all decency to say
that he was suited to the delicate and responsible post he was sent to
fulfil. In fact, all his actions prove him to have been without an
atom of tact, judgment, or administrative quality, and his nature had
a big unsympathetic flaw in it. The fact is, there are indications
that his nature was warped from the beginning, and that he was just
the very kind of man who ought never to have been sent to a post of
such varied responsibilities. His appointment shows how appallingly
ignorant or wicked the Government, or Bathurst, were in their
selection of him.
He was a monomaniac pure and simple. If they thought him best suited
to pursue a policy of vindictiveness, then their choice was perfect,
though it was a violation of all moral law. If, on the other hand,
they were not aware of his unsuitableness, they showed either
carelessness or incapacity which will rank them beneath mediocrity,
and by their act they stamped the English name with ignominy. And yet
there is a pathos at the end of it all when he was brought to see the
cold, inanimate form of the dead monarch. He was seized with fear,
smitten with the dread of retribution, and exclaimed to Montholon,
"His death is my ruin."[4]
Forsyth has done his utmost to justify the actions of Hudson Lowe, but
no one can read his work without feeling that the historian was
conscious all through of an abortive task. He reproduces in vain the
instructions and correspondence between Lowe and his Government, and
the letters and conversations with Napoleon and members of his
household, and deduces from these that the Governor could not have
acted otherwise than in the manner he did. It is easy to twist words
used either in conversations or letters into meanings which they were
never intended to convey, but there are too many evidences of
cold-blooded outbursts of tyrannical intent to be set aside, and
these make it impossible to regard Sir Hudson Lowe in any other light
than that of a petty little despot.
He had ability of a kind. Napoleon said he was eminently suited to
"command bandits or deserters," and tells him in that memorable verbal
conversation which arose through Lowe requesting that 200,000 francs
per annum should be found as a contribution towards the expenses at
Longwood: "I have never heard your name mentioned except as a brigand
chief. You never suffer a day to pass without torturing me with your
insults." This undoubtedly was a bitter attack, and the plainspoken
words used must have wounded Lowe intensely. Probably Napoleon
himself, on reflection, thought them too severe, even though they may
be presumed to be literally true, and it may be taken for granted that
they would never have been uttered but for the spiteful provocation.
A more discerning man would have foreseen that he could not treat a
great being like the late Emperor of the French as though _he_ were a
Corsican brigand without having to pay a severe penalty. An ordinary
prisoner might have submitted with amiable resignation to the
disciplinary methods which, to the oblique vision of Sir Hudson Lowe,
seemed to be necessary, but to treat the Emperor as though he were in
that category was a perversion of all decency, and no one but a Hudson
Lowe would have attempted it. It is quite certain that the dethroned
arbiter of Europe never, in his most exalted period, treated any of
his subordinates with such airs of majesty as St. Helena's Governor
adopted towards him.
Lowe seems to have had an inherent notion that the position in which
he was placed entitled him to pursue a policy of unrelenting severity,
and that homage should be paid as his reward. He thirsted for respect
to be shown himself, and was amazed at the inordinate ingratitude of
the French in not recognising his amiable qualities. It was his habit
to remind them that but for his clemency in carrying out the
instructions of Bathurst and those who acted with him, their condition
could be made unendurable. He was incapable of grasping the lofty
personality of the persecuted guest of England.
The popular, though erroneous, idea that Napoleon was, and ever had
been, a beast of prey, fascinated him; his days were occupied in
planning out schemes of closer supervision, and his nights were
haunted with the vision of his charge smashing down every barrier he
had racked his intellect to construct, and then vanishing from the
benevolent custody of his saintly Government to again wage sanguinary
war and spill rivers of blood. The awful presentiment of escape and
the consequences of it were ever lacerating his uneasy spirit, and
thus he never allowed himself to be forgotten; restrictions impishly
vexatious were ordered with monotonous regularity. Napoleon aptly
described Lowe as "being afflicted with an inveterate itch."
Montholon, in vol. i. p. 184, relates how Lowe would often leap out of
bed in the middle of the night, after dreaming of the Emperor's
flight, mount his horse and ride, like a man demented, to Longwood,
only to be assured by the officer on duty that all was well and that
the smitten hero was still his prisoner. When Napoleon was told of
these nocturnal visitations, he was overcome with mirth, but at the
same time filled with contempt, not alone for this amazing specimen,
but for the creatures who had created him a dignitary.
The tragic farce of sending the Emperor to the poisonous plateau of
Longwood, and giving Lowe Plantation House with its much more healthy
climate to reside at, is a phenomenon which few people who have made
themselves conversant with all the facts and circumstances will be
able to understand. But the policy of this Government, of whom the
Scottish bard sings so rapturously, is a problem that can never be
solved.
To a wise body of men, and in view of the fact that the eyes of the
world were fixed upon them and on the vanquished man, their prisoner,
the primary thought would have been compassion, even to indulgence;
instead of which they and their agents behaved as though they were
devoid of humane feelings.
Lowe's ambition seems to have been to ignore propriety, and to force
his way to the Emperor's privacy in order that he might assure himself
that his charge had not escaped, but his ambition and his heroics were
calmly and contemptuously ignored. "Tell my gaoler," said Napoleon to
his valet Noverras, "that it is in his power to change his keys for
the hatchet of the executioner, and that if he enters, it shall be
over a corpse. Give me my pistols," and it is said by Montholon, to
whom the Emperor was dictating at the time of the intrusion, that Sir
Hudson heard this answer and retired confounded. The ultimatum dazed
him, but he was forced to understand that beyond a certain limit,
heroics, fooleries, and impertinences would not be tolerated by this
terrible scavenger of European bureaucracy.[5] Lowe, in very truth,
discerned the stern reality of the Emperor's piercing words, and he
felt the need of greater caution bearing down on him. He pondered over
these grave developments as he journeyed back to Plantation House,
there to concoct and dispatch with all speed a tale that would chill
his confederates at St. Stephen's with horror, and give them a further
opportunity of showing how wise _they_ were in their plan of
banishment and rigid precautions, and in their selection of so
distinguished and dauntless a person as Sir Hudson Lowe, on whom they
implicitly relied to carry out their Christlike benefactions.
Cartoonists, pamphleteers, Bourbonites, treasonites, meteoric females,
all were supplied with the requisite material for declamatory speeches
to be hurled at the Emperor in the hope of being reaped to the glory
of God and the British ministry. The story of the attempted invasion
of Longwood and its sequel shocks the fine susceptibilities of the
satellites by whom Lowe is surrounded. They bellow out frothy words of
vengeance. Sir Thomas Reade, the noisiest filibuster of them all,
indicates his method of settling matters at Longwood. This incident
arose through Napoleon refusing to see Sir Thomas Strange, an Indian
Judge. Las Cases had just been forcibly removed. The Emperor was
feeling the cruelty of this act very keenly, so he sent the following
reply to Lowe's request that he should see Sir Thomas: "Tell the
Governor that those who have gone down to the tomb receive no visits,
and take care that the Judge be made acquainted with my answer." This
cutting reply caused Sir Hudson to give way to unrestrained anger, and
now Sir Thomas Reade gets his chance of vapouring. Here is his plan:
"If I were Governor, I would bring that dog of a Frenchman to his
senses; I would isolate him from all his friends, who are no better
than himself; then I would deprive him of his books. He is, in fact,
nothing but a miserable outlaw, and I would treat him as such.
By G--! it would be a great mercy to the King of France to rid him of
such a fellow altogether. It was a piece of great cowardice not to
have sent him at once to a court martial instead of sending him
here."[6]
This ebullition of spasmodic courage entitles the
Deputy-Adjutant-General to special mention in the dispatches of his
chief. O'Meara relates another of many episodes with which the
valiant Sir Thomas is associated. Further attempts were made to
violate the privacy of the Emperor on the 11th, 12th, 13th, and 16th
August, 1819, but these were defeated by the fastening of doors. Count
Montholon was indisposed, and the Governor, refusing to correspond
with Count Bertrand, insisted upon having communication with the
Emperor by letter or by one of his officers twice a day. So the
immortal Sir Thomas Reade and another staff officer were selected to
effect a communication. But "the dog of a Frenchman" that the deputy
boasted of "bringing to his senses" refuses admittance, and Sir
Thomas, who has now got his opportunity, evidently has some misgivings
about the loaded pistols that are kept handy in case of an emergency.
The Emperor, in one of his slashing dictated declarations which hit
home with every biting sentence, reminds the Governor again what the
inevitable result will be should indecorous liberty be taken. Sir
Thomas would be made aware of this danger, so contents himself by
knocking at the door and shouting at the top of his voice: "Come out,
Napoleon Bonaparte. We want Napoleon Bonaparte."
This grotesque incident, which is only one of many and worse outrages
that were hatched at Plantation House, reflects a lurid light on the
delirium of antagonism that pervaded the dispositions of some of
England's representatives. The hysterical delight of manufacturing
annoyances was notorious on the island, and Sir Hudson and his
myrmidons shrieked with resentment when dignified defiance was the
only response.
Lowe failed to recognise the important ethical fact that a person who
acts a villainous part can never realise his villainy. So oblivious
was he of this fundamental law that he never ceased to assure the
exiles that he was not only good, but kind. Here is a note that bears
out this self-consciousness: "General Bonaparte cannot be allowed to
traverse the island freely. Had the only question been that of his
safety, a mere commission of the East India Company would have been
sufficient to guard him at St. Helena. He may consider himself
fortunate that my Government has sent a man so kind as myself to guard
him, otherwise he would be put in chains, to teach him how to conduct
himself better."
To this the Emperor answered: "In this case it is obvious that, if the
instructions given to Sir Hudson Lowe by Lords Bathurst and
Castlereagh do not contain an order to kill me, a verbal order must
have been given; for whenever people wish mysteriously to destroy a
man, the first thing they do is to cut him off from all communication
with society, and surround him with the shades of mystery, till,
having accustomed the world to hear nothing said of him, and to forget
him, they can easily torture him or make him disappear."
What a dreadful indictment this is against Bathurst, Castlereagh, and
Lowe, and how difficult to think of these men at the same time as of
Napoleon, whose name had kept the world in awe! Surely their dwarfed
names and those of all the allied traitors and conspirators will pass
on down the ages subjects for mockery and derision, while his shall
still tower above everything unto all time. His faults will be
obscured by the magnificence of his powerful and beneficent reign, and
overshadowed by pity for his unspeakable martyrdom.
But what of the Commissioners representing Russia, Austria, Prussia,
and the Most Christian King of France? How shall they fare at the
hands of posterity? Their crime will not be that they acquiesced in
being sent to St. Helena by their respective Governments, but that
they allowed themselves to be completely cajoled and influenced by the
crafty allurements of Lowe. The representative of Austria is said to
have been a mere cipher in his hands, while the attention of Count
Balmin was wholly taken up in making love to Miss Johnson, the eldest
daughter of Lady Lowe by a former marriage. He eventually married her
and became one of the family. This young lady's charm of character and
goodness had captured the affections of the Longwood colony, and her
tender solicitude for the sorrows of the Emperor caused him to form an
attachment for her which was evidenced by his gracious attentions
whenever she came to Longwood.
The Marquis de Montchenu (who on landing at St. Helena found himself
in the midst of a group of officers attending on Sir Hudson, and
called out, "For the love of God, tell me if any of you speak French")
is not much heard of in his official capacity. Afterwards he appears
to have been enamoured of the Governor's good dinners, but though he
was always hospitable, kind, and glad to see his compatriots at his
breakfast table, the Emperor never would receive him, though he always
showed appreciation of his promptitude in forwarding to him French
papers or books. The Marquis would naturally find it difficult to
assert himself when he heard of the wrongs committed by his host.
The restrictions imposed on the Emperor were by this time having an
ominous effect. O'Meara reported that this was so, and the
Commissioners, whose instructions from their Governments were merely
formal, thought it their duty to bestir themselves, and requested the
Governor to remove the causes in so far as it was "compatible with the
security of his person," lest the result from want of exercise should
be of serious consequences to his health. Sir Hudson was angry at the
turn affairs were taking, as the Commissioners had always accommodated
themselves to his plans. He found, however, that in this instance
humanity had been aroused, and as it would not suit his purpose to run
against his hitherto complacent friends, he thinks to appease their
anxiety in the following extraordinary manner:--
"I am about to arrange in such a way as to allow him to take horse
exercise. I have no wish that he should die of an attack of
apoplexy--that would be very embarrassing both to me and to my
Government. I would much rather he should die of a tedious disease
which our physicians could properly declare to be natural. Apoplexy
furnishes too many grounds for comment."[7]
This insensate mockery of a man is always asserting himself in some
detestable fashion or other.[8]
At one time his benighted mind would swagger him into droll ideas of
attempting to chastise his Imperial prisoner, at another, his
childish fear of the consequences of his chastisement was pathetic,
and when one droll farce after another broke down, he shielded himself
with manifestations of aggrieved virtue.
The Emperor received Lord Amherst, who was a man of some human
feeling, and the noble lord offered to convey to the precious Prince
Regent certain messages. Then Napoleon, aroused by the recollection of
the perfidy which was causing him such infinite suffering, declared
that neither his King nor his nation had any right over him. "Your
country," he exclaims, "sets an example of twenty millions of men
oppressing one individual." With prophetic utterance he foreshadows "a
terrible war hatched under the ashes of the Empire." Nations are to
avenge the ingratitude of the Kings whom he "crowned and pardoned."
And then, as though his big soul had sickened at the thought of it
all, he exclaims, "Inform your Prince Regent that I await as a favour
the axe of the executioner." Lord Amherst was deeply affected, and
promised to tell of all his sufferings and indignities to the Regent,
and also to speak to the saintly Lowe thereon. "Useless," interjects
the Emperor; "crime, hatred, is his nature. It is necessary to his
enjoyment to torture me. He is like the tiger, who tears with his
claws the prey whose agonies he takes pleasure in prolonging." The
audience then closes and the sordid tragedy continues.
The Commissioners are to have bulletins, but no communication with the
Imperial abode. O'Meara is asked to prepare inspired bulletins, and to
report what he hears and learns from the Emperor, and in a general way
act the spy. He refused, and as Lowe required willing tools, not
honest men, he was ultimately banished from the island. The Emperor
embraces him, bestows his benediction, and gives him credentials of
the highest order, together with messages of affection to members of
his family and to the accommodating Marie Louise, who is now mistress
to the Austrian Count Neipperg. He is charged to convey kindly
thoughts of esteem and gratitude to the good Lady Holland for all her
kindness to him. The King of Rome is tenderly remembered, and O'Meara
is asked to send intelligence as to the manner of his education. A
message is entrusted to him for Prince Joseph, who is to give to
O'Meara the private and confidential letters of the Emperors Alexander
and Francis, the King of Prussia, and the other sovereigns of Europe.
He then thanks O'Meara for his care of him and bids him "quit the
abode of darkness and crime."[9]
Before O'Meara left the island, news of the diabolical treatment of
the Emperor had filtered through to Europe in spite of Lowe's
precautions. The _Edinburgh Review_ had published several articles
exposing the Governor's conduct, and when these were delivered at St.
Helena (addressed to Longwood) a great commotion arose at Plantation
House. Reade had orders to buy every one of the obnoxious
publications, but determined men of talent are not easily thwarted in
their object, especially if it is a good one, so the Governor had the
mortification of seeing himself outwitted. O'Meara was confronted and
charged with securing for Montholon the objectionable _Edinburgh
Review_. The articles gave the Emperor great pleasure, and when this
was made known to Lowe it was intolerable to him. O'Meara gets
official notice to quit on July 25, 1818.
Napoleon thought it a bold stroke on the part of the British Ministers
(whom he regarded, and spoke quite openly of, as assassins) to force
his physician from him. The doctor took the precaution to reveal the
place of concealment of his journal to Montholon, who found a way of
having it sent to him in England. This document was read to the
Emperor, who had several errors corrected, which do not appear to have
been of great importance, except one that had reference to the
shooting of the Duc d'Enghien.[10]
On the day following his exit from Longwood O'Meara sent a report on
the exile's illness and his treatment thereof. The report is an
alarming account of the health of the Emperor, who, notwithstanding,
is deprived of medical aid for months. He justly adhered to the
determination of having none other than his own medical attendant.
Lowe sees in this very reasonable request a subtle attempt at planning
escape, and will not concede it. An acrimonious correspondence then
takes place. Letters sent to him by Montholon or Bertrand are returned
because Napoleon is styled Emperor. Montholon in turn imitates Lowe,
and returns his on the ground of incivility, and it must be admitted
the French score off him each time.
Lowe whines to Montholon that Bertrand calls him a fool to the
Commissioners, and accuses him of collecting all the complaints he can
gather together, so that he may have them published. The newspapers,
particularly the _Edinburgh Review_, have slashing articles holding
him up to ridicule and denouncing him as an "assassin." He whimpers
that it is very hard that he, who pays every attention and regard for
the Emperor's feelings, should be pursued and made the victim of
calumnies. These expressions of unctuous pharisaism are coldly
received by the French, who ask no favours but claim justice. Their
thoughts are full of the wrongs perpetrated on the great man who is
the object of their attachment and pity. They will listen to none of
Lowe's canting humbug. They see incontestable evidences of the
Destroyer enfolding his arms around the hero who had thrilled the
nations of the world with his deeds. Their souls throb with fierce
emotion at the agony caused by the venomously malignant tyranny. The
meanest privileges of humanity are denied him, and if they plotted in
order that the world might learn of the hideous oppression, who, with
a vestige of holy pity in him, will deny that their motive was
laudable? Let critics say what they will, these devoted followers of a
fallen and sorely stricken chief are an example of imperishable
loyalty. They had their differences, their petty jealousies, and at
times bemoaned their hard fate, and this oft-times caused the Emperor
to quickly rebuke them.
Gourgaud was the Peter of the family, and a great source of trouble.
He may justly be accused at times of lapsing into disloyalty. He was
guilty both on the island and after his arrival in England of
committing the same fault, but in this latter instance he may have had
a purpose, as he was asking favours from men who were bitterly hostile
to his benefactor. He knew they would be glad to hear anything from so
important an authority as would in any degree justify their action.
Gourgaud, in fact, was more knave than fool, as his subsequent
beseeching appeals on behalf of Napoleon to Marie Louise and other
personages in France very clearly prove.
But take these men and women as a whole, view the circumstances and
conditions of life on this rock of vile memory, inquire as minutely as
you may into their conduct, and you see, towering above all, that
their supreme interest is centred on him whom they voluntarily
followed into exile. He is their ideal of human greatness, their
friend, and their Emperor.
They view Sir Hudson Lowe as they would a distracted phenomenon. The
introduction of new and frivolous vexations is occasionally ignored or
looked upon with despairing amusement. At other times, when their
master's rights, dignity, and matchless personality are assailed, they
resent it with fierce impulse, and this gives Lowe further
opportunities of reminding them of his goodness. But during the long,
weary years of incessant provocation, criminal retaliation was never
thought of except on one occasion, when some new arbitrary rules were
put in force.
Santini, a Corsican, and one of the domestics, brooded over his
master's wrongs. He was generally of a cheerful temperament, but since
the new regulations were enforced it had been noticed that his whole
disposition had changed. He became thoughtful and dejected, and one
day made known to Cipriani his deliberate intention to shoot the
Governor the first time he came to Longwood. Cipriani used all his
influence to dissuade him from committing so rash an act, and finding
that Santini was immovable, he reported the matter to Napoleon, who
had the devoted keeper of his portfolio brought to him, and commanded
him as his Emperor to cease thinking of injuring Sir Hudson. It took
the Emperor some time to persuade Santini, and when he did give his
promise it was with marked reluctance. Santini is spoken of as being
as brave as a lion, an expert with the small sword, and a deadly shot.
He was subsequently sent off the island, the Emperor granting him a
pension of £50 per annum.
Santini was the only one who refused to sign a document put forward
by Lowe in which all the officers and domestics pledged themselves to
conform to the new regulations, which were, as usual, senseless and
severe. They insisted on the words "Emperor Napoleon" being inserted,
but Lowe, with inherent stupid pleasure, would have none other than
the words "Napoleon Bonaparte," and the penalty for refusing to sign
was banishment from the island. Sir Hudson got it into his malevolent
brain that he had pinned them at last. He affirmed that their reason
for not signing what they pretended was their Emperor's and their own
degradation was to give an excuse for being "sent off." Whereupon, as
soon as the Governor's crafty insinuations became known, they all
signed except Santini, who refused to have Napoleon described by any
other term than that of Emperor.
Santini's loyalty to his illustrious master cost him the anguish of
being torn from his service and sent to the Cape of Good Hope in the
English frigate _Orontes_. He stayed there a few days, but returned
almost immediately to St. Helena. He was not, however, allowed to
land; and, having spent some days at the anchorage, sailed on February
25, 1817, for England.
These refractory captives of the British authorities seem to have
been a source of great perplexity to them, to say nothing of the cost
to the nation caused by the hopeless incapacity displayed in dealing
with them. The business grows so farcical that the English guardians
become the laughing-stock of the most menial creatures on the island.
Immediately on his arrival in London Santini issued a touching appeal
to the British people, laying naked the St. Helena atrocities, the
main facts of which have never been contradicted. Any exaggerations
which may appear in the pamphlet, coming as they do from a soldier
whose adoration for his Emperor amounted to fanaticism, may be
excused; but, whatever his faults, the ugly facts remain unshaken.
There is no evidence in all the voluminous publications concerning
Napoleon at St. Helena that there would have been a shred of mourning
put on by the best men and women of any nationality residing on this
inhospitable rock had Santini or any one else despatched the petty
tyrant who was carrying on a nefarious assassination by the consent,
if not the instructions, of an equally nefarious Ministry. Perhaps his
Imperial victim would have been the only person outside his family and
official circle who would have deplored the act. It is pretty
generally admitted that Lowe was detested by all classes who knew of
the villainous methods adopted by him to give pain to Napoleon and to
any one who showed the slightest sympathy towards him.
Letters from and to his wife, "the amiable Austrian Archduchess," his
mother, and other members of his family, were not allowed to pass
unless scrutinised and commented upon by this insatiable gaoler.
Letters written to the Ministry and to well-disposed public men
outside it were not forwarded, on the pretext that the title of
Emperor was used. A marble bust of the Emperor's son was brought to
St. Helena by T.M. Radowich, master gunner aboard the ship _Baring_.
It was taken possession of by the authorities, and had been in Lowe's
hands for some days when he intimated to Count Bertrand that, though
it was against the regulations, he would take upon himself to hand
over some presents sent out by Lady Holland and some left by Mr.
Manning. A more embarrassing matter was the handing over of the bust.
The mystery and comic absurdity of some Government officials of that
time, or even of this, is amazing.
Lowe's dull perceptions had been awakened. He realised that he might
be accused of having committed an exceedingly dirty trick. He thinks
it in keeping with the dignity of his high office to become uneasy
about the retention of these articles, especially the statue of the
King of Rome. So with unconscious humour he asks the Count if he
thinks Napoleon would really like to have his son's bust. The Count
replies, "You had better send it this very evening, and not detain it
until to-morrow." Lowe is aggrieved at the coldness of the reply. He
presumably expected Bertrand to gush out torrents of gratitude. But
the French code of real good taste and humane bearing put Sir Hudson
Lowe beneath their contempt. To them he had become indescribable.
To all those who had access to Napoleon, the burning love he had for
his son was well known, and in one of those outbursts of passionate
anguish he declares to the Countess of Montholon that it was for him
alone that he returned from Elba, and if he still formed some
expectations in exile, they were for him also. He declares that he is
the source of his greatest anguish, and that every day he costs him
tears of blood. He imagines to himself the most horrid events, which
he cannot remove from his mind. He sees either the potion or the
empoisoned fruit which is about to terminate the days of the young
innocent by the most cruel sufferings, and then, after this pouring
out of the innermost soul, he pleads with Madame to compassionate his
weakness, and asks her to console him.
This learned warrior-statesman was also a poet, and but for the
solitude of exile we should probably never have seen that side of this
versatile nature. The lines which he writes to the portrait of his son
are painfully touching. For some reason they were kept concealed, and
found some time afterwards. Here they are, but the English translation
does not do them justice:--
Delightful image of my much-loved boy!
Behold his eyes, his looks, his smile!
No more, alas! will he enkindle joy,
Nor on some kindlier shore my woes beguile.
My son! my darling son! wert thou but here,
My bosom should receive thy lovely form;
Thou'dst soothe my gloomy hours with converse dear,
Serenely we'd behold the lowering storm.
I'd be the partner of thine infant cares,
And pour instruction o'er thy expanding mind,
Whilst in thy heart, in my declining years,
My wearied soul should an asylum find.
My wrongs, my cares, should be forgot with thee,
My power Imperial, dignities, renown--
This rock itself would be a heaven to me,
Thine arms more cherished than the victor's crown.
O! in thine arms, my son! I could forget that fame
Shall give me, through all time, a never-dying name.
Here is another version of the same thoughts:--
TO THE PORTRAIT OF MY SON.
O! cherished image of my infant heir!
Thy surface does his lineaments impart:
But ah! thou liv'st not--on this rock so bare
His living form shall never glad my heart.
My second self! how would thy presence cheer
The settled sadness of thy hapless sire!
Thine infancy with tenderness I'd rear,
And thou shouldst warm my age with youthful fire.
In thee a truly glorious crown I'd find,
With thee, upon this rock, a heaven should own,
Thy kiss would chase past conquests from my mind
Which raised me, demi-god, on Gallia's throne.
Perhaps the Emperor did not wish to show all the anguish by which he
was being hourly devoured, but who can read these lines now without a
pang of emotion? The overpowering conviction that his much-loved boy
would be destroyed haunted him. Many people to this day believe that
he was right, and that his son's health was sedulously undermined. But
if that be so, the Imperial House of Austria will have to answer for
it through all eternity. Napoleon knew that this much-treasured bust
was at Plantation House, and said to O'Meara, if it had not been given
up he would have told a tale which would have made the mothers of
England execrate Lowe as a monster in human shape.
But the Governments of Europe, as well as individuals, were spending
vast sums of money on pamphleteering, and probably those who wrote the
worst libels were the most highly paid. Therefore the women of England
and of other countries were continuously having their minds saturated
with poisonous statements. Many of them firmly believed Napoleon to be
the anti-Christ, and it is only now that the world is beginning to see
through the gigantic plot.
It was stated that the bust had been executed at Leghorn by order of
the faithless Marie Louise. In Hooper's "Life of Wellington," the
statement that "she was grateful to the Duke for winning Waterloo,
because in 1815 she had a lover who afterwards became her husband, and
she was not in a condition to return with safety to her Imperial
spouse," is hard to believe. This mother of the son the poet-Emperor
sings about was deriving pleasure in playing cards for napoleons with
the Duke who was regarded by her husband as one of his most determined
executioners. Her supposed connection with the statue naturally gave
it a larger interest, so the Emperor expressed a desire to see the
gunner, and ordered Bertrand to get permission for him to visit
Longwood.
The Governor, after examining the gunner on oath, and having had him
carefully searched, gave him leave to see Napoleon, but Captain
Poppleton was ordered not to allow him to speak to the French unless
in his presence. This arbitrary condition was resented with quiet,
scornful dignity, and the gunner was asked to withdraw. It is hard to
believe that a man could be so perversely crooked as Sir Hudson Lowe.
How human it was for the exile to long to hear a message from the lips
of one who was credited with having seen and spoken to the mother of
his son, and how inhuman of Lowe to put any obstacles in the way of
his desire being gratified!
The incident became common talk, and in proportion to its circulation,
so did Lowe's reputation suffer. It is questionable whether he could
have found any one unfeeling enough on the island to justify so
despicable an act, except perhaps Sir Thomas Reade, whose baseness in
this and other transactions cannot be adequately described, and whose
nature seems to have been ingrained with the daily thought of
achieving distinction by excelling his master in some form of cruelty.
It is a piteous reflection to think of these two plants of grace, the
one at all times imbued with the idea of some sanguinary plan of
punishment, while the other varied the plan of his doubtful
transactions, at the same time telling the exiles that he was actuated
by the sweetest and purest of motives.
In contrast to Lowe and Reade, the chroniclers speak in the highest
praise of Major Gorriquer. The officers and soldiers of the garrison,
as well as the men of the navy, extended their touching sympathy to
the hero who described his imprisonment as being worse than
"Tamerlane's iron cage." Captain Maitland, in his narrative, relates a
story which indicates the magnetic power of this great soldier.
Maitland was anxious to know what his men thought of Napoleon, so he
asked his servant, who told him that he had heard several of them
talking about him, and one of them had observed, "Well, they may abuse
that man as much as they please; but if the people of England knew him
as well as we do, they would not hurt a hair of his head." To which
the others agreed.
There are many instances recorded where sailors ran the risk of being
shot in order that they might get a glimpse of him, and there is
little doubt the poor gunner-messenger was subjected to inimitable
moral lectures on the sin and pains and penalties of having any
communication whatsoever with the ungentle inhabitants of Longwood.
This good-hearted fellow was as carefully shadowed as though he had
been commissioned to carry the Emperor off. Lowe was infected with the
belief that he had some secret designs, and if he were not kept under
close supervision he might take to sauntering on his own account and
really have some talk with the French, and then what might happen?
This episode was brought to a close by the Emperor directing that a
kind letter should be written to the enterprising sailor, and that a
draft for _£_300 should be enclosed. O'Meara says, "By means of some
unworthy trick he did not receive it for nearly two years."
The reason so much is made of the bust affair is accounted for as
follows:--
Lowe, on first hearing of it being landed, intended to have it seized
and thrown into the sea. He afterwards took possession of the article,
with the idea of making Napoleon a present of it himself. This idea
did not pan out as he expected, and in consequence of public
indignation running so high, he had the bust sent to Longwood
immediately after his conversation with Bertrand. While Las Cases was
waiting at Mannheim in the hope that the pathetic appeals he had made
to the sovereigns on behalf of Napoleon would bring to him a
favourable decision, the Dalmatian gunner heard of him. He was passing
through Germany to his home after a fruitless attempt in London to get
the money Napoleon had enclosed in his letter. The reason given was
that the persons on whom it was drawn were not then in possession of
the necessary funds. Las Cases paid him, and received his appropriate
blessings for his goodness. Imprecations against Lowe were lavishly
bestowed by the gunner. He had been prevented from landing at St.
Helena on his way back from India, and but for this spiteful act of
Lowe's the money would have been paid at once.
Meanwhile the touching appeals of Las Cases to the sovereigns were
unheeded. Even Napoleon's father-in-law, the Emperor of Austria, who
had given his daughter in marriage to the arbiter of Europe, did not
deign to reply, though only a brief time before he had received many
tokens of magnanimity from the French Emperor. So, indeed, had other
kings and queens of that time, not excluding Alexander of Russia; but
more hereafter about these monarchs who had once clamoured for the
honour of alliances with Napoleon and with his family, but who now
were conspirators in the act of a great assassination.
Some three years before, Lord Keith was horrified when Captain
Maitland informed him on board the _Bellerophon_, in Torbay, that the
Duke of Rovigo, Lallemand, Montholon, and Gourgaud had said that their
Emperor would not go to St. Helena, and if he were to consent, they
would prevent it, meaning that they would end his existence rather
than witness any further degradation of him. Lord Keith is indignant,
and replies to Sir Frederick Maitland, "You may tell those gentlemen
who have threatened to be Bonaparte's executioners that the law of
England awards death to murderers, and that the certain consequence of
such an act will be finishing their career on a gallows." Precisely!
The noble lord's fascinating little speech is quite in accord with
justice, but did _he_ ever raise a finger to prevent his colleagues
and their renowned deputy from committing the same crime at St.
Helena, and after this same Bonaparte's demise, were any steps taken
to call to account those whom the great soldier had consistently
declared were causing his premature death? Lord Keith, with his eyes
uplifted to heaven, had said, "England awards death to murderers," and
in this we are agreed, but there must be no fine distinction drawn as
to who the perpetrators are or their reason for doing it. Whether a
person for humanity's sake is despatched by a friendly pistol-shot or
the process of six years of refined cruelty, the crime is the same,
the only difference being (if life has to be taken) that it is more
merciful it should be done expeditiously.
The French revered their Emperor, and could not bear to witness his
dire humiliation at the hands of men so infinitely his inferiors,
hence the thought of unlawfully ending his existence. On the other
hand, members of the British Government were swollen out with haughty
righteousness; they regarded themselves as deputies of the Omnipotent.
They determined in solemn conclave that the man against whom they had
waged war for twenty years, and who was only now beaten by a
combination of circumstances, should be put through the ordeal of an
inquisition. If he held out long, well and good, but should he succumb
to their benign treatment, their faith would be steadfast in their own
blamelessness. They were quite unconscious of being an unspeakable
brood of hollow, heartless mediocrities. Why did Lord Keith not give
_them_, as he did the devoted Frenchmen, a little sermon on the
orthodoxy of the gallows? They were far more in need of his guiding
influence.
The British public were deceived by the most malevolent publications.
The great captive was made to appear so dangerous an animal that
neither soldiers nor sailors could keep him in subjection, and the
stories of his misdeeds when at the height of his ravishing glory were
spread broadcast everywhere. Nothing, indeed, was base enough for the
oligarchy of England and the French Royalists to stoop to.
For a time the flow of wickedness went on unchecked. At last a few
good men and women began to speak out the truth, and as though Nature
revolted against the scoundrelism that had been and was now being
perpetrated, a sharp and swelling reaction came over the public. Men
and women began to express the same views as Captain Maitland's
sailors had expressed, viz.: "This man cannot be so bad as they make
him out to be."
Las Cases had been sent to the Cape, but his journal, containing
conversations, dictations, and the general daily life of the exiles
since they embarked aboard the _Bellerophon_, was seized by Lowe, so
that he might pry into it with the hope of finding seditious entries.
(It may be taken for granted that no eulogy of himself appeared
therein.) The poor Count and his son on arrival at the Cape were
confined in an unhealthy hovel, and treated more like galley-slaves
than human beings. After some weeks of this truly British hospitality
under the Liverpool-Bathurst regime he determines to make a last
appeal to Lord Charles Somerset, then Governor at the Cape, to be more
compassionate. He had been told that nothing but a dog or a horse
attracted either his sympathy or his attention, and frankly admits
that he found himself in error in thinking so harshly of his
lordship, as his appeal met with a prompt and generous response.
The Governor, in fact, expressed his sorrow on learning for the first
time of the Count's illness and the conditions under which he was
living. He immediately put at his disposal his country residence,
servants, and all else that would add to his comfort, and thus earned
the eternal gratitude of a much persecuted father and son. Lord
Charles Somerset, for this gracious act alone, will rank amongst the
good-hearted Englishmen of that troublesome time. It would appear that
the Cape Governor's subordinates were entirely responsible for the
ill-treatment complained of.
It is a puzzle to know for what purpose this gentleman and his son
were detained at the Cape. The Count had frequently pointed out the
folly of his detention, and begged Lord Charles to allow them to take
their passage in a small brig of 200 tons that was bound to Europe.
This request was agreed to, a passport granted, and the captain of the
craft that was to be carried "in the sailors' arms" three thousand
leagues was given stern instructions that should he touch anywhere,
his passengers were to have no communication with the shore, and on
reaching England they were not to be allowed to land without receiving
orders from the Government.
Whatever other charge may be brought against Las Cases, the lack of
courage can never be cited. The act of taking so long a passage in
this cockleshell of a vessel is a sure testimony of his devotion and
bravery. The food and the accommodation were of the very worst, and
though the account given of the low thunder of the waves lashing on
the decks is not very sailorly, there can be little doubt that so long
a passage could not be made without some startling vicissitudes.
At length, after nearly one hundred days from the Cape, they are
safely landed at Dover, and make their way to London to apprise the
immortal Bathurst of their arrival and of their desire to see him, so
that he might listen to some observations about St. Helena matters.
This man of mighty mystery and dignity does not deign to reply, but
sends a Ministerial messenger to inform the Count that it is the
Prince Regent's pleasure that he quits Great Britain instantly. Las
Cases tells the messenger that it is a "very sorry, silly pleasure"
for His Royal Highness to have, but he has to quit all the same, as
England is now governed by "sorry, silly pleasure." Another batch of
papers is taken from him, and he is bundled away to Ostend and from
thence to other inhospitable countries, and ultimately lands at
Frankfort.
The Count writes many clever, rather long, but disturbing letters to
noble lords in England, to members of Governments in other countries,
and to every crowned head interested in the little community they have
in safe and despotic keeping at St. Helena. He sends a petition to the
British Parliament stating in clear, clinching terms another
indictment against the British Ministry and their agent. This document
was sent from the deserts of Tygerberg, but like much more of a
similar kind, not a word was said about it. The author, however, was
not to be fooled or driven from the path which he conceived to be his
duty to his much wronged Emperor, so the petition was published, and
created a great sensation.
This had to be subdued or counteracted, and as the Government were
unaccustomed to manly, straightforward dealing, they fell back on
their natural method of intrigue and the spreading of reports that
were likely to encourage and create prejudice against their captive.
It was imputed to them that while the Congress was sitting at
Aix-la-Chapelle they got up a scare of a daring plot of escape. This
was done at a time when the monarchs were touched with a kind of
sympathy for the man who had so often spared them, and whom their
cruelty was now putting to death.
No wonder that this Ministry of little men were suspected of tricks
degrading and treacherous. The recitals of their distorted versions
of their woes affected the public imagination like a dreary litany.
Vast communities of men were beginning to realise that a tragedy was
being engineered in the name of sanctity and humanity.
Every agency composed of cunning, unscrupulous rascals was enlisted to
picture the Emperor as a hideous monster who should not be allowed to
enjoy the liberty so charitably given him, and who, if he got his
proper deserts, should be put in chains. He was depicted as having a
mania for roaming about the island with a gun, shooting wild cats and
anything else that came within range. Madame Bertrand's pet kids, a
bullock, and some goats were reported to have fallen victims to this
vicious maniac. Old Montchenu and Lowe became alarmed lest he should
kill some human being by mistake; they perplexed their little minds as
to the form of indictment should such an event happen. Should it be
manslaughter or murder? This knotty question was submitted with
touching solemnity to the law officers of the Crown for decision, and
it may be assumed that even their sense of humour must have been
excited when they learned of the quandary of the Governor and the
French Commissioner. The shooting propensity set the ingenious Lowe
a-thinking, and in order to satisfy it he evolved the idea of having
rabbits let adrift, but, as usual, another of his little comforting
considerations is abortive, and the plan has a tragic finish. Shooting
is off. The Emperor's hobby has changed to gardening. The rabbits
become an easy prey to the swarms of rats that prowl about Longwood,
and soon disappear.
It is quite probable that Napoleon did have a fancy for shooting, but
it is well known he was never at any time a sportsman in the sense of
being a good shot--indeed, everything points to his having no taste
for what is ordinarily known as sport, and that he ever shot kids,
goats, or bullocks is highly improbable. That he occasionally went
shooting and got good sport in killing the rats and other vermin which
made Longwood an insufferable habitation to live in is quite true. It
is also quite true that Lowe became demented with fear in case the
shooting should have sanguinary and far-reaching effects. Hence the
foregoing communication to the law officers.
There is little doubt as to the use that was made of the ludicrous
inquiry by Lowe. It must have been handed over to the army of
loathsome libellers--men and women who were willing to do the dirtiest
of all work, that of writing and speaking lies (some abominable in
their character) of a defenceless man, in order that their
vindictiveness should be completely satisfied. Vast sums were
annually expended for no other purpose than to put their afflicted
prisoner through the torture of a living purgatory.
Napoleon did not heed their silly stories of shooting exploits, though
he knew the underlying purpose of them. It was the darker, sordid
wickedness that was daily practised on him that ate like a canker into
mind and body until he was a shattered wreck. It was the foul
treatment of this great man that caused Dr. Barry O'Meara to revolt
and openly proclaim that the captive of St. Helena was being put to
death. As an honourable man he declared he could behold it no longer
without making a spirited protest. He knew that this meant banishment,
ostracism, and persecution by the Government. He foresaw that powerful
agencies would be at work against him, and that no expense would be
spared in order that his statements should be refuted, but he hazarded
everything and defied the world. He came through the ordeal, as all
impartial judges will admit, with cleaner hands and a cleaner tongue
than those who challenged his accuracy.
Make what deductions you may, distort and twist as you like the
unimportant trivialities, the main facts related by O'Meara have never
been really shaken. What is more, he is backed up by Napoleon himself
in Lowe's personal interviews with him, and more particularly by his
letters to the Governor--to say nothing of the substantial backing he
gets from Las Cases, Montholon, Marchand, and Gourgaud--that
shameless, jealous, lachrymose traitor to his great benefactor.
And then there is Santini, whose wish to kill the Governor was not
altogether without good reason, and who was deported from the island
for this and other infringements of the regulations. The publication
of his pamphlet, previously mentioned, created a great sensation, and
it sold like wildfire. It was said to be fabrications, but it was not
_all_ fabrications. Montholon reports that Napoleon criticised the
work, and remarked that some one must have assisted him. Well, so it
was. The story was related to Colonel Maceroni, an Italian, by
Santini, and put into readable form by him, but this does not detract
from that which is really true in it, and a good deal of what O'Meara
contends is confirmed therein.
Then O'Meara's successor, Antommarchi, has even a worse story to
relate. These chronicles vary only in phrase and detail, and even in
these there is wonderful similarity. But when we come down to the
bedrock foundation of their complaints, _i.e._, the policy and
treatment by Lowe and his myrmidons, incited by the Home Government
and their followers, each record bears the stamp of truth--the
indictment is the same though it may be related differently.
Some writers have cast doubt on the authenticity of the St. Helena
chroniclers without having a peg to hang their contentions on. The
answer to all this is, that if never a line had been written by these
men, the State papers, cunningly devised and crafty though most of
them are, would have been ample evidence from which to draw
unfavourable conclusions. Indeed, without State papers being brought
into it at all, there is facing you always the glaring fact of a
determined assassination perpetrated in the name of humanity, and if I
felt any desire to be assured of this, I would take as an authority
William Forsyth's three volumes written in defence of Sir Hudson Lowe.
No author has so completely failed to prove his case. Moreover, no
valid reason has ever been given, or ever can be, for doubting the
veracity of O'Meara and other gentlemen of Napoleon's suite who have
written their experiences of the St. Helena period.
In the first place, those sceptical writers who deal with the
different books that have been published relative to this part of
Napoleon's history were not only not there to witness all that went
on, but some of them were not born for many years after Napoleon and
his contemporaries had passed on. So that it really narrows itself
down to this: the knowledge the sceptics have attained is taken from
documents or books written for the most part by the very men who they
say are not to be relied on as giving a true version of all that took
place during their stay at St. Helena. It cannot be disputed that
these gentlemen were in daily and hourly contact with England's
prisoner, and, as they aver, jotted down everything that passed in
conversation or that transpired in other ways between themselves and
the Emperor, or anybody else.
The history of the St. Helena period, as written by authors who were
on the spot, is, in the present writer's opinion, singularly free from
exaggeration, let alone untruths. Besides, what had any of them to
gain by sending forth distorted statements and untruthful history? No
one knew better than they that every line they wrote would be
contested by those who had relied on the rigid regulations suppressing
all communications except those which passed through the hands of Sir
Hudson Lowe. Certainly O'Meara cannot be accused of having ulterior
motives, nor can any of the others--not even Gourgaud, who acted
alternately traitor and devoted friend. Gourgaud alone seems to have
had a mania for sinning and repenting, writing down during his
childish fits of temper about his supposed wrongs on his shirtcuffs,
and not infrequently his finger-nails, some nasty remark or some
slanderous thoughts about the man whose amiable consideration for him
was notorious amongst the circle at Longwood, and even at Plantation
House. These scribblings were intended for precise entry in his diary,
and if the peevish temper lasted until he got at this precious book,
down they went in rancorous haste.
Yet this hot-headed, jealous chronicler, guided by blind passion and
never by reason while these moods were on him, has been held up as an
authority that may be relied upon as to the doings and sayings of
Napoleon and his immediate followers at the "Abode of Darkness." It is
a well-known axiom that persons who speak or write anything while
jealousy or temper holds them in its grip may not be counted as
reliable people to follow, and that is exactly what happened in
Gourgaud's case. He was the Peter of the band of disciples at St.
Helena, and it may be considered fairly reasonable to assume that
those who have written up the General as a sound historian have done
so with a view to backing up prejudices, big or small, against the
Emperor.
But surely they have committed a very grave error in singling out as
their hero of veracity a man who, in his more normal and charitable
moods, pours out praise and pity for his Imperial chief in astonishing
profusion.
O'Meara's position was very different from any of the other diarists
or writers. He was well aware that if he wrote an honest history it
meant his complete ruin, yet he faced it, and defied the world to
controvert his statements. "In face of the world," he says, "I
challenge investigation," and "investigation" was made with a
vengeance worthy of the Inquisition. If a word or a sentence could by
any possible means be made to appear faulty, a scream of denunciation
was sent forth from one end of Europe to the other, but the crime had
sunk too deeply into the hearts of an outraged public for these
ebullitions to have any real effect. There might be flaws in diction
and even matters of fact, but the sordid reality of the documentary
and verbal story that came to them was never doubted. The big heart of
the British nation was beginning to be moved in sympathy towards the
martyr long before his death, and of course long before O'Meara's book
appeared, though the doctor's advent in Europe was made the occasion
of a vigorous exposure of the progress of the great assassination.
A wave of public opinion was gathering force; the Government, stupid
and treacherous as they were, saw it rising, and renewed their silly
efforts to stem it by causing atrocious duplicity to be instituted at
home and on the martyr rock. Indeed, nothing was beneath their
dignity so long as they succeeded in deceiving an agitated populace
and accomplishing their own evil ends.
But notwithstanding the tactics and the deplorable use made of the
traitor Gourgaud, sympathetic feeling increases. Questions are
frequently asked in the House of Commons, to which evasive answers are
given, but reaction is so obviously gaining ground that Lords
Liverpool, Castlereagh, and the immortal Bathurst become perturbed.
They saw in the accession to power of Lord Holland's party a complete
exposure of their maladministration, and a reversing of their policy
(if it be not a libel to distinguish it as a "policy"). They knew,
too, that once the public is fairly seized with the idea of a great
wrong being perpetrated, no Government, however strong numerically or
in personality, can withstand its opposition. Had the Emperor lived
but a little longer, the vindictive men who tormented him to death
would have been compelled to give way before not only British, but
European, indignation. Public opinion would have enforced the
Administration to deal out better treatment to their captive, have
demanded his removal from the island of sorrow, and probably his
freedom. The public may be capricious, but once it makes up its mind
to do anything no power on earth can stop it, because it has a greater
power behind it. Luckily, or unluckily, for Bathurst & Co., the
spirit of the great captive had passed beyond the portal before
serious public action could be taken.
Three years previous to this the Colonial Secretary in writing to Lowe
says:--"We must expect that the removal of Mr. O'Meara will occasion a
great sensation, and an attempt will be made to give a bad impression
on the subject. You had better let the substance of my instructions be
generally known as soon as you have executed it, that it may not be
represented that Mr. O'Meara has been removed in consequence of any
quarrel with you, but in consequence of the information furnished by
General Gourgaud in England respecting his conduct."[11]
In reading through these State letters, one is struck with the
diplomatically(?) cunning composition of them. There does not seem to
be a manly phrase from beginning to end. Trickery, suspicion, cruelty,
veiled or apparent, and an occasional dash of pious consideration and
bombast sums up these perfidious documents. A few extracts will convey
precisely the character of the men who were carrying on negotiations
which should have been regarded as essentially delicate.
In February, 1821, Bathurst writes to Lowe:--
"Sufficient time will have elapsed since the date of your last
communications to enable you to form a more accurate judgment
with respect to the extent and reality of General Bonaparte's
indisposition. Should your observations convince you that the
illness has been _assumed_, you will of course consider yourself
at liberty to withhold from him the communication which you are
otherwise authorised to make in my despatch No. 21," &c.
On April 11, 1821, Lowe writes to Bathurst:--"The enclosed extract of
a letter from Count Montholon may merit, as usual, your lordship's
perusal." (This, of course, is intended as wit.) "It may be regarded
as a bulletin of General Bonaparte's health, meant for circulation at
Paris."
Dr. Antommarchi, in writing to Signor Simeon Colonna on March 17,
1821, after dilating on his master's health, the climate, &c., bursts
out in a paragraph: "Dear friend, the medical art can do nothing
against the influence of climate, and if the English Government does
not hasten to remove him from this destructive atmosphere, His Majesty
soon, with anguish I say it, will pay the last tribute to the earth";
and in a postscript he adds: "I offer the _undoubted facts_ stated
above, in opposition to the gratuitous assertions in the English
newspapers relative to the good health which His Majesty is stated to
enjoy here."
On March 17, 1821, Montholon writes to Princess Pauline Borghesi:
"The Emperor reckons upon your Highness to make his real situation
known to some English of influence. He dies without succour upon this
frightful rock; his agonies are frightful." At the time Napoleon was
suffering thus, letters were published in some of the Ministerial
newspapers purporting to have come from St. Helena and representing
him to be in perfect health.
On May 6, 1821, Lowe writes to Bathurst announcing the death of the
Emperor. It is a long rigmarole not worth quoting, except that he
condescends to allow the body to be interred with the honours due to a
general officer of the highest rank. Then follows the majestic reply
of Bathurst. He says, "I am happy to assure you that your conduct, as
detailed in those despatches, has received His Majesty's approbation";
which indicates that Lowe did not feel quite happy himself as to how
the effusions would be regarded by his employers, now that the Emperor
had succumbed to their and his own wicked treatment. In his despatches
of February and April, 1821, he had mockingly referred to Napoleon's
indisposition as being faked, and in May he is obliged to write
himself as an unscrupulous liar, but notwithstanding this, his action
meets with the approval of the chief of the executioners, which is
very natural, seeing that this person was regarded as one of the most
prominent scoundrels in Europe. But Sir Hudson Lowe craved for
approbation, and was so mentally constituted that he believed he
deserved it by committing offences against God and man.
"Every good servant does not all commands, no bond but to do just
ones," but Lowe, in his anxiety to please his employers, went to the
furthest limits of injustice. How void of human understanding and what
Mrs. Carlyle called "that damned thing, human kindness" this wretched
man was!
As will be hereafter shown, he had not long to wait after Napoleon's
death and the receipt of tokens of friendliness that had been sent to
him through the Colonial Secretary, before he was made to feel that
the Government was not disposed to carry any part of his public
unpopularity on its shoulders. He had done his best or worst to make
that portion of the earth on which he lived miserable to those he
might have made tolerably happy, without infringing the loutish
instructions of a notoriously stupid Government. Instead of this he
made himself so despised that the Emperor, almost with his last
breath, called all good spirits to bear witness against him and his
murderous confederates.
The great soldier had slipped his moorings on May 6, 1821, and on the
7th or 8th, after much ado with the Governor, a post-mortem
examination was held by Dr. François Antommarchi in the presence of
Drs. Short, Arnott, Burton, and Livingstone. Lowe was represented by
the Chief of Staff. The examination disclosed an ulcerous growth and
an unnaturally enlarged liver, which may be assumed as the ultimate
cause of death, though Antommarchi's report assuredly points to the
fatal nature of the climatic conditions.
The French were anxious to have the body of their Emperor embalmed,
but Hudson Lowe insisted that his instructions forbade this. Napoleon
had commanded that his heart should be put in a silver vase filled
with spirits of wine and sent to Marie Louise. When Sir Hudson Lowe
heard that this was being done, he sent a peremptory order forbidding
it, stating that no part should be preserved but the stomach, which
would be sent to England. Naturally such wanton disregard of the
Emperor's wish was violently resented by the French, and by the best
of the English who were there. A long and heated discussion seems to
have ensued on this question, which ended in the Governor having to
give way--not altogether--but he was compelled to a compromise, viz.,
that the heart and stomach should be preserved and put into the
coffin.
The Governor was then confronted with what to him was another knotty
point. The Emperor had desired that a few gold coins struck during his
reign should be buried with him. After serious consideration this was
graciously allowed, but not without forebodings of trouble arising
therefrom! What the British Government or their idiotic Governor
wanted with Napoleon's stomach, or why they refused to allow his body
to be embalmed, or his heart preserved and sent to his wife, Heaven
only knows. They had monstrously violated all human feeling by
ignoring appeals made to them from all parts of the world to be
merciful to a much afflicted man. They were well informed by the best
medical authorities on the island that the climate was deadly to a
constitution such as his. They ignored reports of his declining health
even up to a few weeks of his death, and then when the Arch-enemy
claimed him, they flooded Europe with the intelligence that he had
succumbed to the malady from which his father died, and that their
tender and benevolent care for him was unavailing. The progress of his
inherited disease could not be checked.
The world is fast beginning to realise the infamy of it all. Not a
thought ever entered their heads but that of torture, veiled or open,
and the appalling clumsiness of their endeavours to conceal their
Satanic designs, so that they might appear in the light of beneficent
hosts, shows that they cowered at the possibility of public vengeance.
Happily for them, Napoleon's death came too near to the terrific
commotion caused by the French Revolution.
Tumult raged round the Emperor during the whole of his public career,
and powerful agencies were constantly proclaiming against him and his
methods. His advent had brought with it a new form of democracy, which
cast down oligarchies and despotisms everywhere. His system destroyed
and affected too many interests not to leave behind it feelings of
revenge, but this revenge did not exist among the common people. Those
who persecuted the common people felt his heavy hand upon them. The
populace entered into his service in shoals, only to betray him when
the time of trial came. He knew the risk he ran, but did not shrink
from it. He hoped that he might bring them to adopt the great
principles he held and the plan he had in view.
His ambition was to seek out all those who had talent and character
and give them the opportunity of developing their gifts for the
benefit of the race. Humble origin had no deterrent effect on him. His
most brilliant officers and men of position sprang from the middle and
lower middle class, and taking them as a whole, their devotion never
gave way, even during the most terrible adversity that ever befell
mortal man. One small instance of admiration and sympathy is evidenced
by the beautiful reverence shown by the officers and men of the
English army and navy, who defiled before the dead hero's remains and
bent their knees to the ground.
Montholon says that "some of the officers entreated to be allowed the
honour of pressing to their lips the cloak of Marengo which covered
the Emperor's feet." Lowe must have felt a pang of remorse when he saw
these simple men pouring out in their sailorly and soldierly way
tokens of profound sorrow. Everything that could had been done to
cause their captive to be regarded as a menace to human safety, and to
be forgotten altogether; but how futile to attempt such a task while
the world of civilisation is swayed by human instinct and not by
barbarity!
The report of Napoleon's death did not relieve the anxieties of the
European Cabinets. They knew the danger of being overwhelmed by a
revulsion of feeling, and the difficulty of stopping the masses once
they are set in motion, and there were strong manifestations of the
popular indignation breaking loose, with all the terrible consequences
of a reign of terror. The feeling of grief was universal and intense.
A spark might have caused a great conflagration. Lord Holland declared
in Parliament that the very persons who detested this great man had
acknowledged that for ten centuries there had not appeared upon earth
a more extraordinary character.... "All Europe," he added, "has worn
mourning for the hero"; and those who contributed to that great
sacrifice are destined to be the objects of the execrations of the
present generation as well as to those of posterity.
Just at the time the great spirit of the hero was passing on to the
Elysian Fields, there, as he used to fancifully foreshadow, to meet
his brave comrades in arms who had preceded him, a tempest of unusual
severity broke over "the abode of darkness and of crimes." Houses were
shaken to their foundation; the favourite willow-tree, where he had
often sat and enjoyed the fresh breezes, was torn up by the hurricane,
as indeed were the other trees round about Longwood. This terrible
disturbance of the elements was characteristically interpreted as
being the voice of the living God proclaiming to the world that the
Emperor was being thundered into eternity to meet his Creator, and to
be judged by Him for the wrongs his political and other opponents said
he was guilty of towards themselves and the human race generally. In
true British orthodoxy, the Great Judge is always claimed as a
fellow-countryman, and Sir Walter Scott is not singular in attributing
this phenomenal disturbance as an indication of coming vengeance
against England's prisoner. The Scottish bard is not altogether
impartial in the send-off of the exile. He associates another colossal
personage with the great Corsican. The Lord Protector, we are
reminded, was similarly borne from time into eternity on the wings of
a devasting tornado. Poor Oliver! whose war-cry was "The Lord of
Hosts," and who never doubted that he was the high commissioner sent
by the Almighty to clean the earth of mischievous Royalists, traitors,
Papists, and other ungovernable creatures in Ireland and elsewhere.
It does not appear to have struck these gentlemen, with their thoughts
centred on Holy Writ and finding comfort in the support it gave to
their contention, that the Great God, instead of making nature break
out with such terrible violence to indicate His displeasure against
this wonderful man, made in His own image and sent by Him to serve
both a divine and a human purpose, was using accumulated natural
forces to show His wrath at the culmination of the most atrocious
tragedy that had ever been perpetrated.
The good Sir Walter and the unctuously pious biographer of Sir Hudson
are obviously overcome by the coincidence of the storm and Napoleon's
death coming simultaneously. To them it is the voice of God shouting
forth gladness that the enemy of the British race is being made to pay
the penalty of all the evil he has wrought. This is a very comforting
conclusion to arrive at after having kept your victim on the rack for
six years and made war on him for twenty, but did it never occur to
them that the greatest sacrifice ever offered culminated in just such
natural disturbances and that at the same time "the veil of the temple
was rent in twain"?
Happily for the fair fame of human rights, many writers of Napoleonic
history have got over national prejudices and timidity, and are
chronicling very different views from those of Sir Walter and the
uninteresting defender of Lowe; and the more impartial the minds who
inquire into the first as well as the last phase of this extraordinary
career, the more will it appear that he was not an enemy, but a
powerful reforming agency of mankind. He vowed over and over again
that he "never conquered unless in his own defence, and that Europe
never ceased to make war upon France and her principles." And again he
asserted: "One of my grand objects was to render education accessible
to everybody. I caused every institution to be formed upon a plan
which offered instruction to the public, either gratis or at a rate so
moderate, as not to be beyond the means of the peasant. The museums
were thrown open to the _canaille_. My _canaille_ would have become
the best educated in the world. All my exertions were directed to
illuminate the mass of the nation instead of brutifying them by
ignorance and superstition." These ideals are in striking contrast to
the policy of the oligarchy of Europe, who were fighting to suppress
knowledge and to re-establish the worst form of superstition and
despotism.
It is a deplorable thought that the nations (and especially Great
Britain) who allied themselves against this man of the people and sent
him to an inhuman death might have saved themselves the eternal
condemnation of future ages had they made their peace with him, as the
sagacious Charles James Fox would have done had he lived. Had they
been wise, they would have made use of his matchless gifts and
well-balanced mind to help forward the regeneration of the human chaos
which was both the cause and the result of the Revolution. Above all,
had the "Liberty loving" British nation been true to her declared
principles, she would either have kept aloof from the conflict that
was raging or found some honourable means of co-operating with him,
and thereby earned a share of the glory that will be eternally
attached to his name in the great effort of extinguishing thraldom and
ameliorating the condition of the masses.
Instead of this, she basely linked her destiny with the traitors of
France and the allies of Europe to dethrone the monarch elected by the
French people, and to place in his stead a king who was forced upon
them by the Allies, and not the people of France. This is a strange
travesty of "Liberty loving" government. Had the great Quaker been
kept in power, instead of Pitt, who was always in a chronic state of
scare and whining that he could never survive the downfall of his
country, the rivers of British blood that were shed and the eight
hundred million pounds sterling of debt need not have been squandered.
All this was done at the bidding of a few men who were entrusted with
the government of a great nation, and either by odious deception, or
sheer incapacity to judge of the fitness of things, caused it to be
believed that they were bound to maintain the balance of power or
_status quo_ which was endangered, and that the one man who had upset
their nerves and incurred their hatred should be removed at all costs.
It is pretty certain that England could easily have kept out of the
continental embroil had the Government been composed of men of talent
and free from oligarchal prejudices, whereas all we got out of it,
plus the loss of life and treasure, was a share in the questionable
glory of Waterloo, the custody of the great figure who was betrayed by
some of his own subjects, "the odium of having his death bequeathed to
the reigning family of England," and the fact that Louis XVIII., by
his own admission to the French nation, was put on the throne by our
own precious Prince Regent.
These are only a few of the results that should not make us proud of
that part of our history. But we have travelled far since those days
of vicious actions. Nothing approaching the perfidy of it could happen
in the present age. It is unthinkable that either the sagacious,
peaceloving, peacemaking monarch on the throne or his Ministers and
people would lend themselves to committing the senseless blunders that
disgraced our name at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Even
allowing that it was inevitable we should wage war against the head of
the French nation, nothing can ever blot out the stain of having
refused him the asylum he asked for, after we had taken so large a
share in bringing about his downfall. He asked in the following letter
to the Prince Regent to be the guest of England, and England made him
its prisoner. Here is the document:--
"The sport of those factions which divide my country and an object of
hostility to the greatest Powers of Europe, I have finished my
political career, and come, like Themistocles, to sit down by the
hearth of the English people. I place myself under the protection of
their laws, which I claim from your Royal Highness as the most
powerful, the most constant, and most generous of my enemies." Had it
been left to the English people instead of to the Government and His
Royal Highness, I do not think this dignified appeal would have been
altogether ignored, as Napoleon's quarrel was not with the people.
They knew that it was the oligarchy that feared and detested him. It
has been said that even His Royal Highness would have granted
hospitality, and it would have saved the nation over which he ruled
the blight of eternal execrations had he been strong enough to stand
against the blundering decision of a revengeful Ministry.
No impartial student of the part played by Napoleon during twenty
years of warfare will deny that the institutions he founded, the laws
that he made, and his mode of government wherever established, were
beneficent, and entirely aimed at the adjustment of inequalities that
had culminated in a great national uprising. His dictatorship was
wielded with a wholesome discipline without unnecessarily using the
lash. He had no cut-and-dried maxim of dealing with unruly people, but
his awful power made them feel that he distinguished between eternal
justice and tyranny. He knew, and he made everybody else know, that
under the circumstances too much liberty would be like poison to some
people. When he said, "No more of this," the aggressors realised that
the doctrine of fraternity as they understood it must not be stretched
further.
Notwithstanding his methods of reproof and restraint, he was idolised
by the masses, even by those he led his armies against and so often
conquered. Even in our own country, where enmity against him was
assiduously nursed by the press and other agencies, there was an
important section who believed we were putting our money on the wrong
horse. This idea was not confined to the poorer classes. Many of our
best and wisest statesmen were strongly opposed to this policy of
hostility against him.
He had starved in the streets of Paris, sold his precious books and
other belongings to provide the means of buying bread to sustain
himself and his much beloved brother Louis, who in after years behaved
to him with base ingratitude. He suffered dreadful privations during
the keen frosty nights, owing to the want of fire, light, and
sometimes sufficient clothing. No wonder that he thought of ending
his woes by plunging into the Seine.
But a glimmering of light came and lifted him out of a numbing
despair. He was made to see in his hour of trial that lassitude must
cease, and that he was meant for other things, and in order to
accomplish them he must be strong and audacious. Fate, fortune, and a
mysterious Providence found in him an indomitable chief whose genius
was intended to change the face of Europe. Like all big men who spring
from obscurity and the deadliness of poverty, and are launched on the
scene to create order out of tumult and chaos, his enemies, in the
nature of things, were both numerous and prolific. At the outset he
adopted the method he so often thundered into his soldiers when on the
eve of battle, viz.: "You must not fear Death, my lads. Defy him, and
you drive him into the enemy's ranks."
One of the charges made against him by serene critics who have been
desirous of showing his weak points is that he was too careless and
forgiving towards the squabbling nest of paid and unpaid murderers who
prowled about in disguise, thirsting after his blood. It is certain
that he carried clemency to a fault in many instances, and this no
doubt contributed to his undoing; but at the same time there is ample
proof that he knew well enough where his foes were to be found, and
whenever the dignity and safety of the State were imperilled, he was
not slow to punish. His habit was not weakness, but only a too
careless regard for his own personal safety.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Montholon, "History of the Captivity of Napoleon," p. 326. The
editor says he is indebted for these details to the official accounts
published at the time by the French Government.
[2] This was the name given to Napoleon by the Arabs. "Kebir" means
"great" (Montholon, vol. iv. p. 245).
[3] These words were dictated to Las Cases by Napoleon at St. Helena
in 1819 (p. 315, vol. iv., of his Journal).
[4] See p. 183, vol. i., "Captivity of Napoleon."
[5] O'Meara, in his second volume, p. 134, states: "The Emperor was so
firmly impressed with the idea that an attempt would be made to
forcibly intrude upon his privacy, that, from a short time after the
departure of Sir George Cockburn, he always kept four or five loaded
pistols and some swords in his apartments, with which he was
determined to despatch the first who entered against his will."
[6] See p. 299, Montholon's "Captivity of Napoleon," vol. i.
[7] See p. 301, vol. i., "Captivity of Napoleon."
[8] See pp. 57-62, bust incident.
[9] The easygoing Joseph had been careless of the letters, which would
have further proved the infamy of the oligarchy. These letters were in
many cases applications for territory. He had intrusted them to a base
friend, by whom they were offered to the various Governments for
£30,000. The Russian Ambassador is reported to have paid £10,000 to
get hold of those concerning his master. His Majesty of Prussia
appears to have had a covetous eye on Hanover. He always entertained a
paternal regard for that country. The sovereigns in general seem to
have compromised themselves deeply in their efforts to secure
territory.
[10] See "Montholon," vol. iii p. 37.
[11] This is an impudent lie. The quarrel was with Lowe because the
doctor refused to be his accomplice.