THE OLIGARCHY, THEIR AGENTS AND APOLOGISTS
It would be an easy task to enlarge on the excellent qualities of this
wonderful man. Volumes could be written about this phase of his
dazzling career alone, and yet we have miscreants such as Talleyrand
proclaiming to the Conference of "Christian Kings" and traitors that
the greatest, most powerful, and most humane prince of the age "must
be exterminated like a mad dog." The news of his flight from Elba and
arrival in Paris, vociferously acclaimed by the French people as their
lawful sovereign, threw this band of parasites into apoplectic terror;
Talleyrand, of all creatures, dictating to the Conference as to the
wording of the proclamation that should be issued outlawing his
Emperor, whom he and they styled "Usurper." If it were not so
outrageous a violation of decency, we would look upon it as the most
comical incident notified in history. Talleyrand, the most
accomplished traitor and barefaced thief in Europe, except perhaps
Bourrienne, he who could not prevent himself from fumbling in his
sovereign's and everybody else's pockets whenever the opportunity
occurred, to be allowed to sit in conference with the anointed rulers
of Europe is really too comic.
Napoleon was styled "Usurper" by these saintly Legitimists, not one of
whom attained kingship so honourably and legitimately as the man whom
they had sworn to destroy, even though the whole of Europe were to be
drenched in blood by the process of it. They set themselves to
disfranchise and usurp the rights of the French people, who had only
just again ratified by millions of votes his claim to the throne, and
the gallant and heroic response to their requisition that he should
leave Elba and become their ruler again. Surely it will never be
contended that Napoleon's claims were less legitimate than those of
the Prince of Orange, or the Elector of Hanover, or Frederic William
the great Elector, whose sole qualification for kingship consisted in
having the instincts of a tiger. Of the latter Lord Macaulay says,
"His palace was hell, and he the most execrable of fiends." His sole
ambition seemed to be to pay fabulous sums for giant soldiers, and he
showed an inhuman aversion to his son, afterwards known as Frederic
the Great, and his daughter Wilhelmina. He was as ignorant and
ill-conditioned a creature as could be found in the whole world, a
cowardly rascal who found pleasure in kicking ladies whom he might
meet in the street and ordering them "home to mind their brats." No
more need be said of the father of the great Frederic, whose "Life"
took Thomas Carlyle thirteen years in searching musty German histories
to produce. Carlyle says, "One of the reasons that led me to write
'Frederic' was that he managed not to be a liar and charlatan as his
century was"; and indeed his adoration for Frederic is quite
pardonable. He had spent thirteen years of his life in the supreme
effort of making him a hero, and his great work, contained in eight
volumes, is a matchless piece of literature; but there is nothing in
it to justify anyone believing that Frederic was neither a liar nor a
charlatan. It is true Frederic finished better than he began, but
truthfulness and honesty were not conspicuous virtues of his. He lied,
broke faith, and plundered wherever and whenever it suited his
purpose, and some of his other vices were unspeakable. There is no
doubt he was both a quack and a coward when he broke the Pragmatic
Sanction and began to steal the territory of Maria Theresa. The powers
of England, France, Spain, Russia, Poland, Prussia, Sweden, Denmark,
the Germanic body, all had agreed by treaty to keep it. Had he been an
honourable man and possessed of the qualities Carlyle credits him
with, he would have stood by his oath. Instead of defending his ally,
he pounced upon her like a vulture, and plunged Europe into a
devastating, bloody war, with the sole object of robbery; and all he
could say for himself in extenuation of such base conduct was:
"Ambition, interest, the desire of making people talk about me,
carried the day; and I decided for war."
Truly Frederic was not a good man, and his reputation for being great
was mainly acquired because the Powers and circumstances allowed him
to succeed after seven long years of sanguinary conflict.
Indeed, there was not a single act in the whole of Napoleon's career
that approaches the lawlessness and cruelty of Frederic. He really
usurped nothing, and Frederic usurped everything that he could put his
hands on, regardless of every moral law; but then he ignored all moral
laws. There is no need for comparison, but it is just as well to point
out that the plea of legitimacy is very shallow, and the contention of
the Allies is an amazing burlesque emanating from the brains of an
industrious mediocrity.
These legitimate monarchs, through their Ministers, used barefacedly
to inspire journalists to write the doctrine of waste of blood as
being a natural process of dealing with the problem of overpopulation.
History is pregnant with proof that their cry for peace was an
impudent hypocrisy. They might have had it at any time, but this did
not suit their policy of legitimacy. Countless thousands of human
beings were slaughtered to satisfy the aversion of kings and nobles to
the plan of one man who towered above them, and insisted on breaking
up the nefarious system of feudalism and kingship by divine right.
They loathed both him and his system. They plotted for his
assassination, and intrigued with all the ferocity of wild animals
against his humane and enlightened government. He trampled over all
their satanic dodges to overthrow the power that had been so often
enthusiastically placed in his hands by the sovereign people. He
constructed roads and canals, and introduced new methods of creating
commerce. He introduced a great scheme of expanding education,
science, art, literature. Every phase of enlightenment was not only
initiated, but made compulsory so far as he could enforce its
application. He re-established religion, and gave France a new code of
laws that are to this day notoriously practical, comprehensive, and
eminently just.
He not only re-established religion, but he upheld the authority of
the Pope as the recognised head of the Roman Church. He built his
"pyramids in the sea," established a free press, and declared himself
in favour of manhood suffrage. He included in his system a unification
of all the small continental States, and was declaimed against as a
brigand for doing it. Wherever his plans were carried out the people
were prosperous and happy, so long as they were allowed to toil in
their own way in their fields and in other industrial pursuits.
It was the perpetual spirit of war that overshadowed the whole of
Europe which prevented his rule from solving a great problem. He, in
this, was invariably the aggrieved. The plan which he had carried into
practical solution was wrecked by the allies, and in less than a
century after the great reformer had been removed from the sphere of
enmity and usefulness, Prince Bismarck forced these small States into
unification with the German Empire, thereby carrying into effect the
very system Napoleon was condemned for bringing under his suzerainty.
What satire, what malignity of fate, that Bismarck, a positive
refutation of genius in comparison with the French Emperor, should
succeed in resurrecting the fabric that the latter had so proudly
built up for France, only to be in a few short years the prize of
Germany, recognised by the very Powers who fought with such embittered
aggressiveness against the great captain and statesman who made not
only modern France, but modern Europe; and who at any time during his
reign could, by making a sign, as he has said, have had the nobles of
France massacred. These bloodsucking creatures were always in the road
of reform, always steeped overhead in political intrigue, always
concerned in plots against the life of Napoleon, and always shrieking
with resentment when they and their accomplices were caught. Some
writers are so completely imbued with the righteousness of murdering
Napoleon, they convey the impression that when any attempt failed, the
perpetrators, instead of being punished, should have had the
decoration of the Legion of Honour placed upon them by himself. They
are also quite unconscious that they are backing a mean revenge and an
awful mockery of freedom when they eloquently shout "Hosanna!"
According to them St. Helena was the only solution of the problem, if
it may be so called, and the Powers who sent him there must have had
an inspiration from above. They have no conception that the Allies
perpetrated another crucifixion on the greatest and (if we are to
judge him by _reliable_ records) the best man of the nineteenth
century. Ah! fickle France! you are blighted with eternal shame for
having allowed these cowardly vindictive conspirators, popularly
called the Allies, to besmear _you_, as well as themselves, with the
blood of a hero.
France had resources at her command which could and should have been
used to drive the invaders beyond her boundaries. Frenchmen can never
live down the great blunder of abandoning their Emperor, forsaking
themselves and the duty they owed to their native land. They forsook
in the hour of need all that was noble and honourable, and cast
themselves into a cauldron of treason, such as has never been heard of
in the world's history. They were soon disillusioned, but it was then
too late. The poison had done its work, and France was placed under
the subjection of traitors, place-hunters and foreign Powers for many
years to come.
I have already said that Louis XVIII. was put on the throne, not by
the French people, but by their conquerors and their myrmidons. He did
not long survive his ignoble accession. Then came Charles X., who had
to fly to Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh because he governed so ill. His
qualification to rule was in putting down all reform and liberty;
after him came Louis Philippe, but even he only governed on
sufferance, though on the whole he occupied an onerous position with
creditable success. A monarch who rules under the tender mercies of a
capricious people, and worse still, a capricious and not too
scrupulous monarchy of monarchs, is not to be envied, and this was
exactly the position of Louis Philippe. He was beset by the noisy
clamour of many factions, besides having to keep a shrewd eye on those
lofty men to whom he had to look with perpetual nervous tension for
the stability and endurance of his throne. He knew the heart of the
nation was centred on St. Helena, and that a wave of repentance was
passing over the land. The people wished to atone for the crime they
allowed to be committed in 1815.
Louis Philippe showed great wisdom and foresight. Nothing could have
been done with more suitable delicacy than the negotiations which
caused the British Government to consent to give the remains of the
Emperor up to the French. The air of importance and swagger put into
it by Lord Palmerston is supremely farcical, but then the whole
senseless blunder from beginning to end was a farce, which does not
redound to our credit. It is incredible that a nation so thickly
stocked with men of ability in every important department should have
had the misfortune to have her affairs entrusted to Ministers and
officials who were childishly incompetent and ludicrously vindictive.
Men of meagre mental calibre, who hold office under the Crown or
anywhere else, are invariably fussy, pompous, overbearing, and
stifling with conceit. This condition of things was in full swing
during the Napoleonic regime and captivity, and that is the period we
are concerned about. There does not appear to have been a single man
of genius in Europe but himself. The population of France who were
contemporary with him during his meteoric leadership remembered him as
a matchless reformer and an unconquerable warrior. Their devotion and
belief in his great gifts had sunk deeply into their being. A couple
of generations had come into existence from 1815 to 1840, but even to
those who knew him only as a captive, he was as much their Emperor and
their hero and martyr as he was to his contemporaries. The pride of
race, the glory of the Empire and of its great founder, was suckled
into them from the time of birth, and as they grew into manhood and
womanhood they became permeated with a passionate devotion to his
cause. They claimed that his deliverance to the people "he loved so
well" was a right that should not be withheld. The spirit of sullen
determination that he should be given up had taken deep root. They had
arrived at the point when the igniting of a spark would have created
a conflagration. There was to be no more chattering. They meant
business, and were resolved that they would stand no more red-tape
fussy nonsense from either their Government or the Government who kept
a regiment of British soldiers to guard his tomb, lest he should again
disturb the peace of Europe. They let it be known that no more of that
kind of humbug would be tolerated without reprisals, and the hint was
taken. Louis Philippe grasped the situation, and formed an expedition
with his son Prince Joinville as chief, who was accompanied by Baron
Las Cases, member of the Chamber of Deputies; General Count Bertrand;
M. l'Abbé Conquereau, almoner to the expedition; four former servants
of Napoleon--viz., Saint Denis and Noverraz, valets-de-chambre;
Pierron, officer of the kitchen; and Archambaud, butler--Marchand, one
of the executors, and the quarrelsome and disloyal General Gourgaud,
of whom we may have something more to say further on. This same
Gourgaud, who lied so infamously about his Imperial benefactor when he
landed in London, has said that "he could not express what he felt
when he again found himself near that extraordinary being, that giant
of the human race, to whom he had sacrificed all and to whom he owed
all he was." These thoughts, and many more not uttered, would come to
him when he stood beside the sepulchre of the master whom he had so
grievously wronged and who was now and henceforth to be recognised as
having been the "legitimate ruler of his country."
Count Montholon, the most devoted and most constant follower of
Napoleon and his family, was not of the expedition. He was engaged in
helping the nephew of his hero to ascend the throne of his illustrious
uncle, and the effort landed them both in the fortress of Ham. Louis
Philippe and his Ministers were very jealous of anyone sharing in any
part of the glory of having Napoleon brought to the banks of the
Seine. Hence, when King Joseph and Prince Louis Napoleon offered the
arms of the Emperor to the nation, the King refused them, but
prevailed upon General Bertrand to give them to him, that he might
give them to the nation. Napoleon had given the sword he wore at
Austerlitz and his arms to Bertrand when on his deathbed. Prince Louis
could not stand the great captain's name being trumpeted about for
other people's glory. He claimed that it belonged to him. He was the
legitimate heir to all its glory, and this too previous assumption got
him imprisoned in Ham for asserting what he protested was his right.
Meanwhile the _Bellepoule_ goes lumbering along, impeded by calms and
gales, but anchored safely off Jamestown on October 8, 1840. Of course
many formalities had to be carried out, so that the exhumation did not
commence until the 15th at midnight. They came upon the coffin at ten
in the forenoon, opened it, and found the body well preserved. Thereon
everyone was overcome with emotion. After the coffin was deposited
with profound solemnity and the national flag placed over it, the
honours which would have been paid to the Emperor had he been living
were paid to his remains on October 18, 1840.
The expedition set sail, and had only been a few days out when the
captain of a passing vessel called the _Hamburg_ informed Prince
Joinville that war between France and Great Britain was imminent, and
two or three days later this was confirmed by circumstantial
information to him by a Dutch vessel called the _Egmont_. Officers of
the two other vessels of the expedition were ordered aboard the
_Bellepoule_, a council of war held, and a determined resistance
resolved upon. The decks were cleared for action, guns were mounted,
and every form of princely comfort dispensed with. The son of Louis
Philippe added lustre to the name of Bourbon by the heroic decision
that, whatever the fortune of battle might be, he would sink his ship
rather than allow the remains of the Emperor to fall into the hands
of the British again. The resolve was worthy of Napoleon himself.
Every precaution was taken to evade capture, but as the information
proved to be unfounded, the expedition was not interrupted by hostile
cruisers, nor even by contrary winds, and long before it was expected
the historic frigate sailed quietly into the harbour of Cherbourg at
5.0 a.m. on November 30, 1840. She had made the passage from St.
Helena in forty-two days. Then the great and unexampled triumph
commenced.
Europe was a second time in mourning, bowing its head in reverence and
shame. Never have there been such universal tokens of condemnation of
the captivity and the creatures who engineered it, and never such
unequalled joy and homage as were paid to the memory of the great
dead. During the eight days the lying-in-state lasted, more than two
hundred thousand people came to the Invalides daily. Thousands never
got within the coveted grounds, yet they came in increasing numbers
each successive day, notwithstanding the rigour of the biting weather.
It may be said that the whole world was moved with the desire to show
sympathy with this unsurpassed national devotion and worldwide
repentance. His remains are now in the church of the Invalides, where
the daily pilgrimage still goes on. The interest in the victim of the
stupidity of the British Administration never flags. Each day the dead
Emperor is canonised, and his prophetic words that posterity would do
him justice are being amply fulfilled.
The Christian Kings that made saintly war on Napoleon, and combined to
commit an atrocious crime in the name of the founder of our faith,
were dead. God in His mercy had dispensed with their sagacious
guidance in human affairs, and it may be they were paying a lingering
penalty for the diabolical act at the very time their prisoner's ashes
reached the shores of his beloved country and convulsed it with
irrepressible joy. They and many of their accomplices were gone. Four
Popes had reigned and passed on to their last long sleep. The Spanish
nation, which contributed to his downfall, had been smitten with the
plague of chronic revolution. They had been deprived of the great
guiding spirit who alone could administer that wholesome discipline
which was so necessary to keep the turbulent spirits in restraint.
Only Bernadotte, whom Napoleon had put in the way of becoming King of
Norway and Sweden, remained to represent the galaxy of Kings. A few of
the traitor Marshals were left, but Augereau had died soon after the
banishment and Berthier had committed suicide a few day before the
Battle of Waterloo by jumping out a window. Soult, Oudinot, and the
guilty Marmont were in evidence in these days of great national
rejoicing. Davoust, Jourdan, Macdonald, and Masséna had passed behind
the veil. It was the defection of Berthier and Marmont, whom he
regarded as his most trusted and loyal comrades-in-arms, that crushed
the Emperor at the time of the first abdication. It was a cruel stab,
which sunk deep into his soul, and never really healed, but the most
heartless incident in connection with this betrayal was the
appointment of Marmont, the betrayer, by the Emperor Francis to be the
military instructor of Napoleon's son while he was held in captivity
and ignorance at Vienna.
Fouché, whose treason and predatory misdeeds should have had him shot
long before the dawn of disaster to the Empire came, joined the
Ministry of Louis XVIII., whom he had arduously assisted to the
throne, but in 1816 he was included in the decree against the
murderers of Louis XVI., and had to make himself scarce. He went to
Prague, then to Trieste, and died there in 1820.
Talleyrand died at Paris in 1838.
Both men were unscrupulous intriguers, without an atom of moral sense
or loyalty, and both possessed ability, differing in kind, perhaps,
which they used in the accomplishment of their own ends. France can
never overestimate the great evil these two men did to the national
cause. Napoleon's power and penetrating vision kept them in check only
when he could grasp the nettle. Even when absent on his campaigns,
they knew he was kept in close touch with what was going on. It was
not until treason became entangled within treason that their evil
designs had fuller scope and more disastrous results. Bourrienne,
another rascal already referred to in this book, lost his fortune and
his reason in 1830, and died in a lunatic asylum at Caen of apoplexy
in February, 1834. It is a notable fact that nearly the whole of the
prominent figures in the drama of the Empire and its fall had passed
beyond the portal before the great captain's remains were brought back
to France. These individuals are only remembered now as uninspired
small men, benighted in mind, who had wrought ignobly to bring about
the fall of a powerful leader, and to the end of their days were
associated with and encouraged a fiendish persecution of the Emperor
while he lived, and of his family before and after his death.
But the pious care of his tomb by a regiment of British soldiers, paid
for by British taxpayers, from 1821 until the patriotic exhumation in
1840; by stately and solemn permission of the British Government,
excels the comic genius of a gang of plethoric parochial innkeepers.
If it were not so degrading to the national pride of race, we might
regard it as taking rank amongst the drollest incidents of human life.
What a gang of puffy, mildewed creatures were at the head British
affairs in those days! Indeed, they expose the human soul at its
worst, and a curious feature is their ingrained belief in the
integrity of all their doings, which beggars the English vocabulary
describe. How the people tolerated the drain on human life and the
material resources of country is also phenomenal.
Thousands of lives were sacrificed and millions of money squandered,
with the sole object of destroying and humiliating one man, who, had
he been handled discreetly, would have proved greater public asset
than he was. Sir Hudson Lowe would not be known to posterity but for
the guilty part he played in the tragedy. He left St. Helena on July
25, 1821, and was presented on the eve of his departure with an
address from the inhabitants. It has been said that document was
inspired from Plantation House, but that is scarcely credible.
Besides, we are not inclined to discount any credit Lowe and his
friends and accomplices can derive from it. It does not glow with
devotion nor regret at his resigning his command. Indeed, it is
nothing more nor less than a cold, polite way of bidding him farewell.
Forsyth makes much of this, with the object of proving his popularity
with the islanders and the itinerant persons in the service of the
Crown. He only makes his case worse by embarking on so hopeless a
task. As a matter of fact, this extraordinary representative of the
British Government had roused the whole population of St. Helena at
one time and another to a pitch of passion and scorn that puts it
beyond doubt that no genuine regret could have been consistently
expressed by a single soul, except those few composing his staff, who
were as guilty as himself and were always ready to lick his boots for
a grain of favour; and yet it is quite certain, notwithstanding the
heroic fooleries and the care to make Plantation House a sanctuary of
guilty secrecy, there was nothing that transpired, either important or
unimportant, concerning the inhabitants of Longwood, that was not
promptly passed along. Needless to say, these communications relieved
the dull monotony of the exiles, and even Gourgaud was driven to
cynical mockery by the ridiculous character of some of the piteous
stories that filtered through. There never was any difficulty in
verifying the truth of them when it was thought necessary or useful to
do so. On the authority of Lowe's biographer, we are told that this
immortal High Commissioner was presented to his precious sovereign on
November 14, 1821, and was on the point of kissing his hand, but His
Majesty, overwhelmed with the preeminence of the great man who stood
before him, indicated that there was to be no kissing of hands. His
services to his King and country demanded a good shake of the hand and
hearty congratulations from His Christian Majesty. Lowe's arduous and
exemplary task was admitted with tears in the kingly eyes, and so
overcome was His Majesty that he took Lowe's hand again, and shook it
a second time, combining with the handshake a further flow of grateful
thanks and the appointment to a colonelcy of the 93rd Regiment These
compliments were well deserved, coming, as they did from a monarch
whose will he had discharged with such brutal fidelity. But what of
the afterthought, the reaction which began to hum round his ears
almost immediately after this fulsome display of enthusiastic
approbation? A vast public, never in favour of the Government's
vaunted policy of heroism over an unfortunate foe, swung round with a
vengeance. The indignation against the perpetrators of this cruel
assassination had no bounds. It was not confined to Britain. The
civilised world was shocked. The willing tool of the Government got
the worst of it, and the perfidy will cling to his name throughout
eternity.
O'Meara's book, "A Voice from St. Helena; or, Napoleon in Exile,"
published in 1822, sold like wildfire. In vain Bathurst, Castlereagh,
and Liverpool tried to check the flood of public censure that poured
in upon them from everywhere. Sir Hudson Lowe, beside himself with
apprehension, appealed to them for protection, but none was
forthcoming. Indeed, they were too busy searching out some means by
which the blow could be eased off themselves, and with studious
politeness left their accomplice to plan out his defence as best he
could; and the world knows what a sorry job he made of it. His
coadjutors in the great tragedy were not the kind of people to share
any part of the public censure that could be reflected on to their
gaoler. Pretty compliments had been paid to him by the King and some
of his Ministers previous to the realisation of the full force of
public indignation. Bathurst sent him a letter in 1823 reminding him
that his treatment had been beyond that of ordinary governors, that he
was working out an idea of having him recommended to a West Indian
governorship, and that he was not to suppose that this gracious
interest in him was in order to silence the clamour that was being
raised against him. This communication was made in November, and in
December Lowe was told that he was to go to Antigua as Governor. For
special reasons this favour was refused, and two years afterwards he
accepted command of the forces at Ceylon, and was still there when Sir
Walter Scott's exculpation of the British Government appeared in 1828.
Scott was employed for that special purpose.
The ex-Governor searched the pages of this extraordinary work for a
vindication of himself, but never a word that could be construed into
real approval was there. He obtained leave of absence from the
Governor of Ceylon and made his way to England, ostensibly to
vindicate his character. He landed at St. Helena, paid a visit to
Longwood, otherwise known as the "Abode of Darkness" since the
Imperial tenant named it so when he gave O'Meara his benediction on
the occasion of his last parting from him, when he was banished from
the island. Sir Hudson was shocked at seeing the place reverted back
to a worse state than it was previous to the exiles being forced into
it. Then it was a dirty, unwholesome barn, overrun with vermin; now it
was worse than a piggery. The aspect touched a tender chord in this
man who had been the cause of making the Emperor's compulsory sojourn
a sorrowful agony.
Reflections of all that happened during those five memorable years
must have crowded in upon him and racked him with feelings of bitter
remorse for his avoidable part in the cruel drama; and as he stood
upon the spot that had been made famous by England's voluntary
captive, it was not unnatural that he should have been overcome by a
strange and possibly a purifying sadness. All of that which he had
regarded in other days, under different conditions, as unjustifiable
splendour had vanished. The Imperial bedroom and study were now made
use of to accommodate and give shelter to cows, horses, and pigs.
Other agricultural commodities were strewn about everywhere. Nothing
was left that would indicate that it was consecrated to fame and
everlasting pity. The triumph of death came to it only some six years
before. And now Sir Hudson Lowe, we doubt not, filled with pensive
regret, looked down on the nameless tomb of the great captain, guarded
by sentinels with fixed bayonets, ready to thrust them into any
unauthorised intruder into the sacred precincts of the Valley of
Napoleon, or the Geranium Valley, which is also known by the name of
Punch Bowl.
Ah! what thickly gathering memories must have come to him in that
solemn hour on that smitten rock of bitter and brutal vengeance! All
we shall ever know of that melancholy visit as it really affected Lowe
has been told by his biographer. We are left to imagine a good deal,
and therefore must conclude that he would be less than human if he did
not realise that the shadow of retribution was pursuing him. If his
thoughts of himself were otherwise, he was soon to be disillusioned.
He spent three days on the Rock, and had a good reception and
send-off, and ere long made his appearance in London and presented
himself to his quasi-friend, Bathurst, who, with an eye to his own and
his colleagues' interests, discouraged the idea of publishing an
answer to Sir Walter Scott's book. Bathurst, in fact (with unconscious
drollery), advised Lowe to hurry back to Ceylon without delay, lest
meanwhile a vacancy of the governorship should occur and he might lose
his opportunity. He was assured of the Government's appreciation of
him as their most trusted and loyal public servant, while as a matter
of fact it was ludicrously obvious that his presence was quite as
objectionable to them in England as it was to the exiles in St.
Helena. He was fully alive to, and did not underestimate, the amount
of dirty work he had done for them, and very properly expected to be
amply rewarded. It never occurred to him that retribution was
over-shadowing them as well as himself, and that they could not openly
avow their displeasure at the odium he was the cause of bringing on
the Government and on the British name by reason of his having so
rigidly carried out their perfidious regulations. Had public opinion
supported them, their action would have been claimed as a sagacious
policy, but it didn't, so this poor, wretched, tactless, incompetent
tool became almost as much their aversion as the great prisoner
himself. In fact, things went so ill with them that they would have
preferred it had Lowe indulged every whim of his prisoner, granted him
full liberty to roam wherever he liked, recognised him as Emperor, and
even been not too zealous in preventing his escape; and they must have
wished that, in the first instance, they had not thought of St.
Helena, but wisely and generously granted him hospitality in our own
land. This last would have been the best thing that could have
happened for everybody concerned.
Ill-treatment of the most humble prisoner or assassination of the most
exalted can never be popular with the British people. Sir Hudson got a
cold douche when he obtained an interview with the Duke of
Wellington. His Grace in so many words told him that they wished to
have nothing to do with him. He could not recommend him for a post in
the Russian army. He could not hold out hopes of him getting the
governorship of Ceylon should a vacancy occur. He had been hardly
used, but there was no help for it. Parliament would not grant him the
pension he asked for. Lowe replied that he would stand or fall by its
decision, but the Duke snapped him off by stating that Mr. Peel would
never make such a proposal to the House of Commons. No other course
was open to him now but to return to Ceylon. He did not get the
vacancy which occurred in 1830, and returned to England, but never got
a public appointment again.
He presented a wordy memorial in 1843, complaining of having been kept
out of employment for twelve years. The governorship of Ceylon had
been vacant three times, the Ionian Islands four times; he had been
Governor there in 1812. In other parts of the Empire appointments that
he supposed he could have filled were given to others. Poor creature!
He died in 1844, a broken and ruined man.
He lacked every quality that is essential in an administrator, and was
utterly void of humour, imagination, or the capacity to manage men.
His suspicious disposition and lack of judgment made it eminently
impossible for him to fulfil any delicate position, and it was a
monstrous libel on the knowledge of the fitness of things to entrust
him with the governorship of St. Helena.
Lord Teynham made a violent attack on Lowe in the House of Lords in
1833. The Duke of Wellington was bound to defend his satellite, and
did so with some vigour, as the attack was really on him and certain
members of his Government. Lord Teynham replies with equal vigour: "He
had no intention of aspersing the private character of Sir Hudson, but
as regards his conduct while Governor of St. Helena, he maintained,
and always would, that Lowe was cried out upon by all the people of
Europe as a person unfit to be trusted with power." Lord Teynham a few
days afterwards made a sort of apology, no doubt inspired by
interested persons, for personal plus international reasons. They were
high of heart, these dauntless confederates, in the early and middle
stages of the captivity, and, indeed, they bore themselves with
braggart defiance of public opinion, until many strong manifestations
of inevitable trouble encompassed them, and, like all despots, who are
invariably cowards, they lived in mortal terror lest this creature of
theirs should break out into St. Helena leprosy again and impose
further humiliation upon them. Lowe had talked of actions for libel
against Barry O'Meara, and in a whimsical, half-hearted way worried
his employers to give battle, and the law officers of the Crown stated
a case but advised against taking action, and so it was never brought,
though O'Meara kept telling them in so many words to come on. "I am
anxious that you should have the opportunity of defending the charges
I have brought against you. I am anxious too that the public should
know more than I have written." That in effect was the attitude of the
gallant doctor, who was the first to call serious attention to the
goings on in the "Abode of Darkness." Needless to say, no action was
ever taken, and, in face of all the incriminating facts, it was never
intended that any should be taken. Even High Toryism became alarmed at
the consequences. The Duke of Wellington, brave and gallant soldier
though he was, shrank from so impossible an ordeal. The best he could
say of him was, "He was a stupid man," "A bad choice," "and totally
unfit to take charge of Bonaparte."
Wellington may have been a brave and skilful general, but he did not
know how to be generous to an unfortunate enemy who was himself always
kind and considerate in the hour of victory. Wellington's expressions
about Lowe are more than significant, though his conduct towards the
poor cat's-paw is characteristic of a mean, flinty soul. But his
behaviour towards Napoleon would have put any French Jacobin to the
blush, and has belittled him for all time in the eyes of everybody who
has a spark of human feeling in him.
Meneval[22] says that Waterloo was won by the French in the middle of
the day of that fateful battle, but a caprice of fortune--the arrival
of Bulow's corps and Blucher's army, and the absence of Grouchy's
corps--snatched from Napoleon's hands the triumph which was within his
grasp. Wellington had even said to General Hill, who came to take his
orders at the most critical moment of the battle: "I have no orders to
give you. There is nothing left for us but to die here. Our retreat is
even cut off behind us."
Wellington's despairing words have been handed down in various forms.
Notably he is reported to have said, "Oh! for night or Blücher." When
he heard the firing, "That is old Blücher at last!" &c. That he was in
a tight place there is little doubt, and many authorities have stated
that had Grouchy come up according to orders, the allied forces would
have been cut to pieces.
Whether it was "caprice of fortune" or not, Wellington claimed to have
won the battle. "Caprice of fortune" had nothing to do with it. It
was a hard-fought battle. Treachery and desertion at an important
juncture undoubtedly weakened the chances of French success. Meneval
adds that "in no encounter of such importance did the French army
display more heroism and more resolution than at the Battle of
Waterloo." Napoleon at St. Helena attributed his defeat to a variety
of circumstances: to treachery, and to his orders not being carried
out as they should have been by some of his generals, and often
concludes: "It must have been Fate, for I ought to have succeeded." He
was accustomed to say that "One must never ask of Fortune more than
she can grant," and possibly he erred in this.
Though nearly a century has passed since the catastrophe to France,
the cause of it is still controversial. It is certain that the conduct
of Marshal Soult, who was second in command, gave reason for
suspicion. An old corporal told the Emperor that he was to "be assured
that Soult was betraying him." General Vandamme was reported to have
gone over to the enemy. It was also reported to the Emperor by a
dragoon that General Henin was exhorting the soldiers of his corps to
go over to the Allies, and while this was going on the General had
both legs blown away by a cannon shot. Lieutenants, colonels, staff
officers, and, it is said, officers who were bearing despatches
deserted, but it is significant that there is not a single instance
given of the common soldier forsaking his great chief's cause. Lord
Wolseley declares that if Napoleon had been the man he was at
Austerlitz, he would have won the Battle of Waterloo. Wolseley is
supported in this view by many writers.
After Lutzen, Bautzen, and Dresden, Byron said that "bar epilepsy and
the elements, he would back Napoleon against the field." It is well
known the odds he had to battle with, including the vilest treachery
within his own circle.
Marshal Grouchy's conduct will always remain doubtful, even to the
most friendly critics. High treason bubbling up everywhere must have
had a dulling effect on the mind of the great genius, though he
battled with the increasing vigour of it with amazing courage. He saw
the current was running too strong for him to stem unless he
determined to again risk the flow of rivers of blood. This he shrank
from, and abdicated the throne a second time. And then the barbarous,
crimeful story began.
Sir Hudson Lowe's appointment was a national calamity, but he was the
nominee of Wellington's coadjutors, and carried out their wishes with
a criminal exactitude, and they should have stood by him in his dire
distress, instead of which they allowed him to die in poverty, broken
in spirit, and a victim to calumny which they ought to have been manly
enough to share.
Whatever may be said in exculpation of them and him, _they_ were
undoubtedly too seriously involved to enter upon a fight that would
have ended disastrously for all of them, and so, with unusual wisdom,
they never got further than threats.
Sir Hudson was dead something like nine years before Forsyth burst
upon the public with his eccentric vindication of the unamiable and
unfortunate ex-Governor. The zealous biographer's research for
material favourable to his deified hero caused him to ransack prints
that were written by unfriendly authors and vindictive critics of the
great captive. Even the State Papers, the most unreliable of all
documents on this particular subject, were used to prove the goodness
of Sir Hudson, and when quotations were unavailing, the author
proceeded to concoct the most amazing ideas in support of the task he
had set himself to prove.
Writers of anti-Napoleonic history who take in the St. Helena period
are filled with wonder and contempt of the Emperor, who, according to
their refined and accurate judgment of the fitness of things, should
have been eternally grateful to the British Government that they did
not have him shot. Why should he complain in the fretful way he does
of his treatment and his condition? A great man would have shown his
appreciation of all the money that was being spent on the needs for
his existence and for the better security of his person. It ill
becomes him to complain of improper treatment after all the trouble
and commotion he has caused at one time and another. Indeed, a great
man would bear the burden of captivity with equanimity and praise the
men who gave him the opportunity of showing how a great soldier could
carry himself in such unequalled adversity.
This in effect is what these high-minded men of letters say should
have been the attitude of England's guest. He should have received his
treatment, harsh and arbitrary though it was, with Christian
fortitude, and ought to have borne in mind that he was in the custody
of a Christian King and a Christian people. Dr. Max Lenz, who has
written a most interesting and on the whole moderate account of
Napoleon, considering his nationality, drifts into the same
stereotyped closing phraseology of how Napoleon worried and almost
wore out the good Sir Hudson Lowe, who only did his duty, and gave in
to Napoleon whenever he could see his way to do so.
But on the authority of Gourgaud, whom Lord Rosebery would appear to
regard as the most truthful of all the St. Helena chroniclers, this
eulogy is totally unwarranted, for truly there is no reliable
contemporary writer who would have risked his reputation by making so
reckless a statement that could so easily be proved to be a deliberate
fabrication. This is not to say that fabrication was an uncommon
trick, but the Governor's reputation in relation to Napoleon was so
well and widely known, that no person who claimed to have a clear,
balanced judgment could defend his silly, vicious conduct.
Napoleon never altered his opinion of Lowe's perfidy towards him. On
one occasion, in conversation with the truthful Gourgaud, he exclaims,
"Ah! I know the English. You may be sure that the sentinels stationed
round this house have orders from the Governor to kill me. They will
pretend to give me a thrust with a bayonet by mistake some day."
Gourgaud reports him as saying on another occasion, "Hudson Lowe is a
Sicilian grafted on a Prussian; they must have chosen him to make me
die under his charge by inches. It would have been more generous to
have shot me at once."
It would be absurd to affirm that Napoleon said these things without
sound foundation, and although, when his personal vanity and abnormal
jealousy was aroused by some fancied injury to himself, Gourgaud
would resort to the most remarkable fibbing, what he relates as to his
master's opinion of the Governor may be relied on, being, as it is,
confirmed in a more complete form by O'Meara, Las Cases, Montholon,
Bertrand, Antommarchi, and each of the Commissioners. The former
sacrificed everything rather than be a party to what he termed
treatment that was an "outrage on decency."
These are only a few of the men who bear witness against Sir Hudson
being termed "good"; and I may add one other to the galaxy, poor Dr.
Stokoe, who shrank from having the abominable indignity of inquisitor
and spy tacked on to his high office and distinguished profession. He
refused, as O'Meara had done, to sacrifice his manhood or his sense of
honour. Tricked into a false position by Lowe and the virtuous (?) Sir
Robert Plampin, Dr. Stokoe, who had only paid five professional visits
to Longwood, was deprived of his position and all its advantages,
after twenty-five years' service in the Navy, because he refused to
become a sneak and a rascal at the bidding of these two unspeakable
Government officials, the one disgracing the service of his country in
the capacity of Governor and the other the name of a sailor and an
Admiral.
In 1819 Stokoe resigned his position on the _Conqueror_, and sailed
for England. Lowe sent a report addressed to the Lords of the
Admiralty by the same vessel, and Stokoe had scarcely landed when he
was bundled back to St. Helena. He rejoined the _Conqueror_ under the
impression that his conduct had been approved, but was disillusioned
by being forthwith put under arrest. A bogus court-martial was
instituted in the interests of Lowe, and Plampin and these packed
scallywags sentenced him to dismissal from the Navy. The charges
against Stokoe were that he failed to report himself to Plampin at the
Briars after a visit to Longwood, and that in his report he had
designated the patient as the Emperor instead of General Bonaparte.
This is a sample of the "good old times" that a certain species of
creature delights to show forth his wisdom in talking about. I believe
the immortal John Ruskin indulged occasionally in reminding a
twentieth-century world of these days that were so blissful.
Forsyth, the self-reputed impartial historian, neglects to insert in
his work in defence of Lowe's conduct the following amazing charges,
which shall be fully given. They have been published before, but they
are so unique, so unmanly, and so perfidious, I think they ought to be
given to the public again, so that the amiable reader may know the
depth of infamy to which England had sunk in the early part of the
nineteenth century. Here is the whole story on which Dr. Stokoe was
condemned. His bulletin about Napoleon's health asserted that "The
more alarming symptom is that which was experienced in the night of
the 16th instant, a recurrence of which may soon prove fatal,
particularly if medical attendance is not at hand." The Governor and
the worthy Admiral were incensed at such unheard-of arrogance in
making a report not in accordance with their wishes and that of the
Government and the oligarchy, so the indictment of Stokoe, based on
this bulletin, proceeds: "Intending thereby, contrary to the character
and duty of a British officer, to create a false impression or belief
that General Bonaparte was in imminent or considerable danger, and
that no medical assistance was at hand, he, the said Mr. John Stokoe,
not having witnessed any such symptom, and knowing that the state of
the patient was so little urgent that he was at Longwood four hours
before he was admitted to see him, and further, knowing that Dr.
Verling was at hand, ready to attend if required in any such emergency
or considerable danger. He had knowingly and willingly designated
General Bonaparte in the said bulletin in a manner different from that
in which he was designated in the Act of Parliament for the better
custody of his person, and contrary to the practice of His Majesty's
Government, of the Lieutenant-General Governor of the island, and of
the said Rear Admiral, and he had done so at the especial instance and
request of the said General Bonaparte or his attendants, though he,
Mr. John Stokoe, well knew that the mode of designation was a point in
dispute between the said General Bonaparte and Lieutenant-General Sir
Hudson Lowe and the British Government, and that by acceding to the
wish of the said General Bonaparte he, the said Mr. John Stokoe, was
acting in opposition to the wish and practice of his own superior
officers, and to the respect which he owed them under the general
printed instructions." The very idea of any grown man being expected
to have "respect" for superior officers who had no more sense of
justice, dignity, or self-respect than to produce such a blatant
document for the supreme purpose of covering up a sample of mingled
folly and rascality, and ruining a poor man who was at their
ill-conditioned mercy!
Indeed, we need no further justification for Napoleon's statements as
to what the official intention was towards him. Without a doubt Dr.
Max Lenz is too reckless in his generosity towards Lowe, for his
actions from beginning to end of his career prove that he was a
dreadful creature. The thought of him and of those incarnate spiders
who kept spinning their web, and for six mortal years disgracing
humanity, is in truth enough to unsettle one's reason. Vainly they had
ransacked creation in search of persons in authority to support them
in the plea of justification, but never a soul came forth to share
what is now regarded as ingrained criminality.
Perhaps the virulent treatment of Byron ranks with the meanest and
most impotent actions of the militant oligarchists because of his
shocking (?) sympathy with England's enemy. The fierce though
exquisite weaver of rhymes, who had been the idol of the nation and
the drawing-room, was sought after by the highest and most cultured in
the land. Byron had fallen a victim to public displeasure partly
because he gave way to excesses that shocked the orthodoxy of a
capricious public. He had reached a pinnacle of fame such as no man of
his years had ever attained, and suddenly without warning he fell, a
victim to unparalleled vituperation. His faults, if the meagre
accounts that have been handed down are true, were great, but many of
them were merely human. His marriage was not compatible, and his love
entanglements embarrassing. His temper and habits were very similar to
those of other geniuses, and great allowances should be made for
personalities whose mental arrangements may be such as to nullify
normal control.
It is all very well to say that these men should be compelled to
adhere to a conventional law because ordinary mortals are expected to
do so, but a man like Byron was not ordinary. In his particular line
he was a great force with a brain that took spasmodic twists. It is
absurd to expect that a being whose genius produced "Childe Harold"
and "Manfred" could be fashioned into living a quite commonplace
domestic life. Miss Milbanke, who married him, and the public who
first blessed and then cursed and made him an outcast, were not
faultless. Had they been possessed of the superiority they piously
assumed, they would have seen how impossible it was for this eccentric
man of stormy passions to be controlled and overridden by
conventionality.
It is possible the serene critic may take exception to this form of
reasoning and produce examples of genius, such as Wordsworth, who
lived a strictly pious life, never offending any moral law by a
hairbreadth; but Wordsworth was not made like Byron; he had not the
personality of the poor wayward cripple who at one time had brought
the world to his feet, neither had Wordsworth to fight against such
wild hereditary complications as Byron. Wordsworth never caught the
public imagination, while Byron had the power of inflaming it. But,
alas! neither his magnetic force nor his haughty spirit could stem the
whirlwind of hatred, rage, and calumny that took possession of the
virtuous and capricious public. The story of cruelty to his wife grew
in its enormity, his reported liaisons multiplied beyond all human
reason. The bleached, white hearts of the oligarchal party had been
lashed into fury by his withering ridicule and charge of hypocrisy,
but the climax came like a tornado when the poet's sense of fair play
caused him to satirise the Prince Regent and eulogise the Emperor
Napoleon with unique pathos and passion.
This was high treason! He had at last put himself beyond the mercy of
the chosen people. They had twaddled and stormed about his immorality,
but his praise of Napoleon sent them into diabolic frenzy. He was
proclaimed an outlaw and hounded out of the country. The beautiful and
rich Lady Jersey, a leader of society, convinced that he was
misunderstood and was being treated with unreasonable severity,
defended him with all the strength of her resolute character, but
malignity had sunk too deep even for her power and influence to avert
the disaster. So intense was the feeling engendered against him that
it became dangerous for him to drive out without risking an exhibition
of virulent hostility. Had he merely abused the Prince Regent, it is
improbable that any exception would have been taken to it; but to
praise and show compassion for the Man of the French Revolution, who
had fought for a new condition of things which threatened the fabric
on which their order held its dominating and despotic sway, was an
enormity they were persuaded even God in heaven could not tolerate;
why then, should _they_ be expected to do so?--they were only human.
Both public and private resentment ran amok, and thus it was that the
immortal poet's belauding of the immortal Emperor became linked to the
ignominy of being accused of gross immorality. The reaction against
this eccentric being was a fanaticism. There was neither sense nor
reason in it, and as he said, "If what they say of me be true, then I
am not fit for England; but if it be false, then England is not fit
for me"; and with this thought thrilling in his mind he left his
native land, never more to see it.
Caught without a doubt by the spirit of the great man whose eulogy had
given such offence in certain quarters, he embarked on the crusade of
emancipating the Greeks, was stricken with fever, and died at
Missolonghi.
Adhering to human tradition, the nation which had so recently cast
him out became afflicted with grief. Men and women cast reflection on
themselves for their misguided judgment of him, and he became a god in
memory again, his wife being a singular exception in the great
demonstration of national penitence. The incomparable poet had sinned
grievously, if rumour may be relied upon, but he was made to suffer
out of all proportion to his sinning. His faults were only different
from other men's. It may be said quite truly that one of his defects
was in having been born a genius, and allowing himself to be idolised
by a public whose opinions and friendships were shifty. Second, he
erred in disregarding and satirising puritanical conventionalisms.
Thirdly, and probably the most provocative of all, was his defiance of
the fiery patriotism of some of the ruling classes in lauding him whom
they stigmatised as the enemy of the human race and lampooning the
precious Prince Regent. His extraordinary talents did not shield him,
any more than they did the hero of fifty pitched battles whose
greatness he had extolled.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Vol. iii. pp. 451-2.