It is with St. Helena that all biographies of Napoleon Bonaparte
hitherto published have ended, and perhaps it is just as well that
these entertaining works, prepared by purely finite minds, should end
there. It is well for an historian not to tell more than he knows, a
principle which has guided our pen from the inception of this work to
this point, and which must continue to the bitter end. We shall be
relentless and truthful to the last, even though in so doing we are
compelled to overthrow all historical precedent.
Bonaparte arrived at St. Helena in October, 1815. He had embarked,
every one supposed, with the impression that he was going to America,
and those about him, fearing a passionate outbreak when he learned
the truth, tried for a time to convince him that he had taken the
wrong steamer; then when they found that he could not be deceived in
this way, they made allusions to the steering-gear having got out of
order, but the ex-Emperor merely smiled.
"You cannot fool me," he said. "I know whither I am drifting. I
went to a clairvoyant before leaving Paris, who cast a few dozen
horoscopes for me and they all ended at St. Helena. It is
inevitable. I must go there, and all these fairy tales about wrong
steamers and broken rudders and so on are useless. I submit. I
could return if I wished, but I do not wish to return. By a mere
speech to these sailors I could place myself in command of this ship
to-day, turn her about and proclaim myself Emperor of the Seas; but I
don't want to. I prefer dry land and peace to a coup de tar and the
throne of Neptune."
All of which shows that the great warrior was weary.
Then followed a dreary exile of uneventful years, in which the ex-
Emperor conducted paper campaigns of great fierceness against the
English government, which with unprecedented parsimony allowed him no
more than $60,000 a year and house rent.
"The idea of limiting me to five thousand dollars a month," he
remarked, savagely, to Sir Hudson Lowe. "It's positively low."
"It strikes me as positively high," retorted the governor. "You know
well enough that you couldn't spend ten dollars a week in this place
if you put your whole mind on it, if you hadn't insisted on having
French waiters in your dining-room, whom you have to tip every time
they bring you anything."
"Humph!" said Bonaparte. "That isn't any argument. I'm a man used
to handling large sums. It isn't that I want to spend money; it's
that I want to have it about me in case of emergency. However, I
know well enough why they keep my allowance down to $60,000."
"Why is it?" asked Sir Hudson.
"They know that you can't be bought for $60,000, but they wouldn't
dare make it $60,000 and one cent," retorted the captive. "Put that
in your cigarette and smoke it, Sir Harlem, and hereafter call me
Emperor. That's my name, Emperor N. Bonaparte."
"And I beg that you will not call me Sir Harlem," returned the
governor, irritated by the Emperor's manner. "My name is Hudson, not
Harlem."
"Pray excuse the slip," said the Emperor, scornfully. "I knew you
were named after some American river, I didn't know which. However,
I imagined that the Harlem was nearer your size than the Hudson,
since the latter has some pretensions to grandeur. Now please flow
down to the sea and lose yourself, I'm getting sleepy again."
So, in constant conflict with Sir Hudson, who refused to call him by
his title, and whom in consequence he refused to call by his proper
name, answering such epithets as "Corporal" and "Major" with a
savagely-spoken "Delaware" or an ironically respectful "Mohawk,"
Bonaparte dwelt at St. Helena until the 5th of May, 1821, when,
historians tell us, he died. This is an error, for upon that date
Bonaparte escaped. He had fought death too many times to succumb to
him now, and, while the writers of history have in a sense stated the
truth when they say that he passed away in the night, their readers
have gained a false impression. It is the fact that Napoleon
Bonaparte, like Dante and Virgil, passed over the dark river Styx as
the honored leader of the rebellious forces of Hades. He did pass
away in the night, but he went as he went from Elba, and, as we shall
see, with more successful results.
For years the Government of Erebus had been unsatisfactory to many of
its subjects, mainly on account of the arbitrary methods of the
Weather Department.
"We are in a perpetual broil here," Caesar had said, "and I for one
am getting tired of it. The country demands a change. This
administration doesn't give us anything but dog-days."
For this the Roman warrior had been arrested and kept in an oven at
the rear of the Erebian Tuileries, as Apollyon's Palace was called,
for two centuries.
"The next rebel gets a gridiron, and the third will be served to
Cerberus en brochette," cried Apollyon.
Thus matters had gone on for five or six hundred years, and no one
had ventured to complain further, particularly in view of Caesar's
comments upon the horrid details of his incarceration published
several years after his release, under the title of "Two Centuries in
an Oven; or, Four Thousand and Six in the Shade."
At the end of the eighteenth century, however, the aspect of affairs
had changed. Apollyon had spent a great deal of his time abroad, and
had failed to note how the revolution in America, the Reign of Terror
in France, and the subsequent wars in Europe had materially increased
the forces of the Republican Party in Hades. The French arrivals
alone should have been sufficient to convince Apollyon that his
attention to domestic affairs was needed, and that the
Americanization of his domain was gaining a most considerable
headway. All the movement really needed was a leader, but there was
none to lead.
"Caesar's book has made us timid. I don't want any of it," said
Alcibiades.
"I've had enough of public life," said Charlemagne.
"It's hot enough for us as it is," said all four of the "Three
Musketeers."
"We'll have to get somebody who is not aware of the possibilities of
our climate," observed Frederick the Great.
"Try Napoleon Bonaparte," suggested Louis XIV., with a chuckle,
feeling that here was an opportunity to do one of two things, to get
even with Apollyon, or, in case of the failure of the rebellion, to
be revenged upon Bonaparte for his treatment of the Bourbons by
securing for him the warmest reception the Kingdom of Hades could
afford.
The suggestion, according to documents at hand which seem to be
veracious, was adopted with enthusiasm. The exile was communicated
with, and joy settled upon the people of Hades when word was received
that Bonaparte was on his way. As we have seen, on the night of the
5th of May he left St. Helena, and on the 10th he landed on the right
bank of the Styx. A magnificent army awaited him. To the Old Guard,
many of whom had preceded him, was accorded the position of honor,
and as Bonaparte stepped ashore the roof of Erebus was rent with
vivas. Such a scene has never been witnessed before, and may never
be witnessed again. The populace flocked about him, and strove to
kiss his hand; some went so far as to clip off samples of his uniform
to treasure in their homes. It was evident that the government must
look to itself.
"What is this noise?" asked Apollyon, who had returned to his domain
only the night before.
"Bonaparte has arrived," returned the head Imp, "and the people are
in revolt."
Apollyon paled and summoned his ministers.
Meanwhile Bonaparte had held a council of war, appointing Caesar,
Pompey, Alcibiades, and Charlemagne marshals of Hades.
"The first thing to be done is to capture the coal-yards," he said,
taking in the situation at a glance. "Caesar, let the coal-yards be
your care. Alcibiades will take the Three Musketeers, and by night
will make a detour to the other side of the palace and open the
sluices of the vitriol reservoir, which I understand run into the
Styx. Pompey will surprise the stokers in the national engine-room
with a force of ten thousand, put out the fires, and await further
orders. Charlemagne will accompany me with the army to the palace,
where I shall demand an audience with the king."
It will be seen at once that, granting the success of all these
manoeuvres, Apollyon could not possibly hold out. As the Hollanders
had only water with which to flood their country and rout their
enemies, so Apollyon had only fire with which to wither an invader or
a rebellious force. The quick mind of Bonaparte took this in on the
instant. He was no longer listless and sleepy, for here was the
grandest opportunity of his life, and he knew it.
Fortune favored him. In Hades fortune was a material personality,
and not an abstract idea as she is with us, and when she met
Bonaparte on his triumphal march along the Styx, she yielded to that
fascination which even phlegmatic Englishmen could not deny that he
possessed; and when at this meeting the man of the hour took her by
the hand and breathed softly into her ear that she was in very truth
the only woman he had ever loved, she instinctively felt that he had
at last spoken from his heart of hearts.
"I believe you, Bonaparte," she murmured softly, "and I think I have
shown you in the past that I am not indifferent to you. I am with
you--Apollyon is doomed."
Thus encouraged, Bonaparte, followed by his constantly growing army,
proceeded to the palace.
Apollyon received him with dignity.
"I am glad to receive so distinguished a person," he said.
"Thank you," said Bonaparte, "but this is not a society function,
Your Highness--I have come here on business, so spare me your
flatteries."
Apollyon turned purple with rage.
"Insolent!" he cried. "Consider yourself under arrest."
"Certainly," said Bonaparte, calmly. "Will you kindly hand me your
crown?"
Apollyon rose in his wrath, and ordered his aides to arrest
Bonaparte, and to cast him into the furnace. "Make it a million
degrees Farenheit," he roared.
"I regret to inform your majesty," said the chief aide, "that word
has just been received that the fires are out, the coal-yard has been
captured by the rebels, and five adventurous spirits have let all the
vitriol out of the reservoir into the Styx."
"Summon my guards, and have this man boned, then!" raged Apollyon.
"It is also with regret that I have to tell you," returned the aide,
"that the Royal Guard has gone over to the enemy, having been
promised higher wages."
"We have Cerberus left," cried Apollyon, "let him take this base
intruder and tear him limb from limb."
Napoleon burst out into a laugh. "You will excuse me, Your Majesty,"
he said. "But Cerberus is already fixed. We poisoned two of his
heads, and he is even now whining for his life with the third."
"Then am I undone," moaned Apollyon, covering his face with his
hands.
"You are," said Bonaparte, "but we'll tie you up again in short
order. We'll put you on one of your own gridirons and do you to a
turn."
Of course this was the end.
In three days Napoleon had made himself master of the kingdom, had
proclaimed the Empire with himself at its head. Apollyon was treated
with consideration. His life was spared, but he was shorn of his
power. Bonaparte sent him into exile at Paris, where, according to
report, he still lives.
"Now for a new coronation," said the victor. "Send for the pope."
"Not this tune!" cried Caesar with a laugh. "The popes have always
studiously avoided this place."
"Then," said Napoleon with a smile, "let Fortune crown me. After
all, it has always been she who did it--why not now?"
Hence it was that at the dawning of New Year's day of 1822, Napoleon
Bonaparte opened a new and most highly successful career. His power
has increased day by day until now, when there is evidence that he
has the greater part of the world in his firm grasp.
Some years later his beloved Bourrienne arrived.
"Remember, Bourrienne," he said, as he installed his old and faithful
secretary in his new office, "you have always written my autographs
for me, and shall still continue to do so, only please note the
change. It is no longer Bonaparte, or Napoleon, Emperor of the
French, it has become Napollyon, Emperor of Hades."
And to Fouche, when that worthy arrived, he said:
"Fouche, this is different from the old show. That original Empire
of mine was ruined by just one thing. I was eternally anxious to
provide for the succession, and out of that grew all my troubles; but
here, as the little girl said about the apple-core, there ain't a-
goin' to be no succession. I am here to stay. Meanwhile, Fouche, I
have an impression that you and Augureau took more pleasure out of my
misfortunes than I did; wherefore I authorize you to send for
Augereau and take him swimming in the vitriol tank. It will do you
both good."
As for Joseph, when he heard of his brother's new acquisition he
reformed at once, led an irreproachable life in America, whither he
had fled, and when he died went to the other place.
Footnote:
{1} Napoleon's English at this time was not of the best quality