protection of the laws of England. As soon as I set my foot on board
the Bellerophon, I felt myself on the soil of the British people. If
the orders issued by the government to receive myself and my suite
were merely intended as a snare, then they have _forfeited their
bond_. If such an act were really done, it would be in vain for
England in future to speak of her faith, her laws, and her liberty.
"She pretended to offer _the hand of hospitality_ to an enemy, _and
when he had trusted to her fidelity_, she immolated him."
If the _detenus_ at Verdun, and scattered through the various
fortresses of France, had drawn up a petition against the desperate
act which had consigned them to captivity, they might have anticipated
the language with which Napoleon went to the dungeon, that was never
to send him back again amongst mankind.
There was but one preliminary to his departure now to take place. It
was the execution of an order from the Government to examine the
baggage in the strictest manner, and to require the surrender of all
money or jewels of value in the possession of Napoleon and his suite.
Necessary as this act was, for the prevention of bribery, and attempts
to escape from St Helena, not for any undue seizure of private
property, for a most ample allowance was already appointed by the
government for the expenses of the prisoner, this duty seems to have
been most imperfectly performed. As the Count tells us, "the
grand-marshal, gave up 4000 Napoleons, as constituting the Emperor's
chest. We kept secret about 400,000 francs in gold--from three to four
hundred thousand francs in valuables and diamonds, and letters of
credit for more than four million of francs." Whether this immense sum
was overlooked by the extraordinary negligence of those whose duty it
was to fulfil the orders of government, or whether their search was
baffled, the narrative does not disclose. But there can be no question
that the suite were bound to deliver up all that they possessed; and
that there can be as little question that with such sums of money at
his disposal, Napoleon's subsequent complaints of poverty were
ridiculous, and that the subsequent sale of his plate to supply his
table was merely for the purpose of exciting a clamour, and was
charlatanish and contemptible.
We pass rapidly over the details of the voyage. Napoleon spent a
considerable part of his time on the quarter-deck, took opportunities
of conversing affably with the officers, and even with the crew. On one
occasion, after some conversation with the master, he invited him to
dine at the admiral's table. The master declined the invitation, as a
sin against naval etiquette. "Oh! in that case," said Napoleon, "you
must come and dine in my own cabin." The admiral, however, had the good
sense to tell Napoleon, that any one invited by him to the honour of
sitting at his table, was, by that circumstance alone, placed above all
rule of etiquette, and that the master should be welcome to dinner next
day. This conduct, of course, made him very popular on board; but the
chief interest of these important volumes is in the conversations which
he held from time to time with the officers, and especially in the long
details of his military and imperial career, which he dictated at St
Helena, and which make the true novelty and value of the work. In one
of those conversations which he had with them, he referred emphatically
to his own efforts to make France a great naval power. "Unfortunately,"
said he, "I found nobody who understood me. During the expedition to
Egypt, I cast my eyes on Decrés. I reckoned on him for understanding
and executing my projects in regard to the navy. I was mistaken; his
passion was to form a police, and to find out, by means of the
smugglers, every web which your ministers, or the intriguers of
Hartwell, were weaving against me. He had no enlarged ideas; always the
spirit of locality and insignificant detail--paralysing my views." He
then proceeded to state the hopeless condition of the French navy when
he assumed the throne. The navy of Louis XVI. was no longer in
existence; the Republic possessed but four ships of the line; the
taking of Toulon, the battle of the river Jenes in 1793--of Rochefort
in 1794, and finally, the battle of Aboukir, had given the death-blow
to the navy. "Well, notwithstanding the disaster of Trafalgar, which I
owe entirely to the disobedience of Admiral Villeneuve, I left to
France one hundred ships of the line, and 80,000 sailors and marines,
and all this in a reign of ten years." The truth is, that the attempt
to make the French navy was one of the pre-eminent blunders of
Napoleon. France is naturally a great military power, but her people
are not maritime. England is not naturally a great military power, but
her people are maritime. France has an immense land frontier which can
be defended only by a land force. England has no land frontier at all.
The sea is her only frontier, and it, of course, can be defended only
by a fleet. A fleet is not a necessary of existence to France. A fleet
is a necessary of existence to England. It is therefore self-evident
that France only wastes her power in dividing it between her fleet and
her army; and may be a great power, without having a ship; while
England is compelled to concentrate her strength upon her fleet, and
without her fleet must be undone. Thus the law of existence, which is
equivalent to a law of nature, gives the naval superiority to England.
There are symptoms in France at the present day, of falling into
Napoleon's blunder, and of imagining the possibility of her becoming
the naval rival of England. That she may build ships is perfectly
possible, and that she may crowd them with a naval conscription is
equally possible. But the first collision will show her the utter folly
of contending with her partial strength against the power on which
England rests her defence--a struggle between a species of volunteer
and adventurous aggression, and the stern and desperate defence in
which the safety of a nation is supremely involved.
On crossing the Line, the triumph of Neptune was celebrated in the
usual grotesque style. The Deity of the Sea requested permission to
make acquaintance with Napoleon, who received him graciously, and
presented him with five hundred Napoleons for himself and the crew,
upon which he was rewarded with three cheers, and "Long live the
Emperor Napoleon!"
On the 16th of October 1815, the Northumberland cast anchor in the
roads at St Helena. The Count remarks that the 17th, the day on which
he disembarked, reminded him of a disastrous day. It was the
anniversary of the last day of the battle of Leipsig. If distance from
all the habitable parts of the globe were to be the merits of
Napoleon's prison, nothing could have been more appropriate than the
island of St Helena. It was two thousand leagues from Europe, twelve
hundred leagues from the Cape, and nine hundred from any continent. A
volcanic rock in the centre of the ocean.
In the month of April, the frigate Phaeton anchored in the roads,
having the new governor, Sir Hudson Lowe, with his family, on board.
Sir Hudson is now where neither praise nor blame can reach him, but
the choice was unfortunate in the very point for which probably he had
been chosen;--he had been colonel of the Corsican regiment in our
service, had served much in the Mediterranean, and had already been
(as far as we remember) the object of Napoleon's bitterness in some of
his Italian manifestoes. There can be no doubt that the mildest of
governors would have been no favourite with the prisoner of Longwood.
But in the present instance Napoleon's blood boiled at the idea of
being placed under the jurisdiction of the colonel of the Corsican
rangers; and he, accordingly, took every opportunity of exhibiting his
indignation--a sort of feeling which, in a foreigner, and especially
one of southern blood, always amounts to fury.
We pass over a multitude of minor circumstances, though all
characteristic, and all invaluable to the historian of the next
century; but which would retard the more interesting conversations of
the extraordinary captive. On the communication of the convention
signed at Paris in August 1815, declaring him the prisoner of the four
allied powers, and the announcement of the commissioners under whose
charge he was to be placed, Napoleon burst out into a passionate
remonstrance, which, however, he addressed only to the people around
him. On those occasions he always adopted that abrupt and decisive
style which in a Frenchman passes for oracular.
"The expenses of my captivity will certainly exceed ten millions of
francs a-year. It has not been the will of fate that my work should
finish by effecting the social reorganisation of Europe." He then ran
into his old boasting of his probable triumph in his great collision
with the British army. "At Waterloo I ought to have been
victorious--the chances were a hundred to one in my favour; but Ney,
the bravest of the brave, at the head of 42,000 Frenchmen, suffered
himself to be delayed a whole day by some thousands of Nassau troops.
Had it not been for this inexplicable inactivity, the English army
would have been taken _flagrante delicto_, and annihilated without
striking a blow. Grouchy, with 40,000 men, suffered Bulow and Blucher
to escape from him; and finally, a heavy fall of rain had made the
ground so soft that it was impossible to commence the attack at
daybreak. Had I been able to commence early, Wellington's army would
have been trodden down in the defiles of the forest before the
Prussians could have had time to arrive. It was lost without resource.
The defeat of Wellington's army would have been peace, the repose of
Europe, the recognition of the interests of the masses and of the
democracy."
Napoleon was always fluent on this subject; but the only true matter
of surprise is, that so clever a personage should have talked such
nonsense. In the first place, he must have known that Ney with his
40,000 men had been soundly beaten by about half that number, and was
thus unable to move a step beyond Quatre-Bras. In the next, that
Grouchy, instead of suffering the Prussians to escape him, was
gallantly fought by their rear-guard, was unable to make any
impression whatever on them, and if he had not made his escape in the
night, would unquestionably have been crushed to pieces the next day;
and thirdly, as to the English armies being saved by the rain, the
Duke of Wellington fought the French from eleven in the forenoon till
seven in the evening without being driven an inch from the ground. If
the French could not beat him in eight hours, they could not beat him
in as many days. It was not until seven in the evening that the
Prussian guns were heard coming into the field. Even then they were a
mile and a half from Wellington's position. The British then charged,
swept the French before them, Napoleon himself running away amongst
the foremost, leaving 40,000 of his troops on the field or in the
hands of the enemy. It would have been much wiser to have said not a
syllable upon the battle, or much manlier to have acknowledged that he
was more thoroughly beaten than he had ever seen an army beaten
before; and that with 72,000 French veterans in the field, he had been
routed and ruined by 25,000 British, three-fourths of whom had never
fired a shot before in their lives.
We have from time to time some curious acknowledgments of the
political treacheries which formed the actual system of Napoleon's
government, whether consular or imperial. On dictating a note relative
to St Domingo to Count Montholon, he elucidated this policy in the
most unequivocal manner. It will be remembered that, on the peace of
Amiens, he had sent out a powerful fleet and an army of thirty
thousand men to the West Indies. It will also be remembered, that in
reply to the remonstrance of the British government, who naturally
looked on so formidable an armament with considerable suspicion, the
First Consul disclaimed in the most solemn manner all sinister views,
pronounced, with every appearance of sincerity, that his sole object
was the subjection of a French island then in revolt, and when this
object was effected his whole purpose would be accomplished. But in St
Helena, where candour cost nothing, he amply acknowledged the
treachery. "I had two plans," said he, "for St Domingo. The first was
that of acknowledging the power of the blacks, making Toussaint
L'Ouverture governor, and, in fact, making St Domingo a West Indian
vice-royalty. This plan was my favourite, and why? The French flag
would acquire a great development of power in the American waters,
and a variety of expeditions might have been undertaken against
Jamaica and all the Antilles, and against South America, with an army
of thirty thousand blacks trained and disciplined by French officers."
We are to remember that at this time he was at peace with both England
and Spain, whose territories he was thus about to dismember; for we
cannot believe that the affairs of St Domingo were suffered greatly to
occupy his mind. In the busy days from Marengo to the loss of Egypt,
and the conclusion of peace, he had intended to have raised an
universal negro insurrection in our islands. Upon the colours of his
negro army he was to have inscribed "Brave blacks, remember that
France alone recognises your liberty"--which would have been, in fact,
a manifesto, calling upon all the negroes of the West Indies to revolt
without delay. But the negroes of St Domingo, having formed plans of
liberty for themselves, dispatched one of their colonels with a demand
of independence. The chance, therefore, of invading Jamaica through
their means was extinguished at once, and France was punished by the
loss of her greatest colony for ever.
In a conversation with Colonel Wilks, the ex-governor, on taking his
leave, he told him that India had been constantly an object of his
policy--that he had constantly assailed it by negotiations, and would
have reached it by arms, had he been able to come to an understanding
with the Emperor of Russia on the partition of Turkey. He then talked
of his constant wish for peace--a declaration which the colonel
probably received with a smile; and next disclosed a transaction,
which, on any other authority, would have been incredible, but which
amounted to perhaps the boldest and broadest piece of bribery ever
attempted with a distinguished minister.
While the French army was still on the right bank of the Elbe, the
offer of the Austrian mediation was brought by Prince Metternich,
demanding, as a preliminary, the abandonment of the great German
fortresses which still remained in French hands.
"I said to Metternich with indignation," are the words of this
singular conference--"Is it my father-in-law who entertains such a
project? Is it he who sends you to me? How much has England _given
you_, to induce you to play this game against me? Have I not done
enough for your fortune? It is of no consequence--be _frank_--what is
it _you wish_? If _twenty millions_ will not satisfy you, say _what
you wish_?"
He adds, that on this scandalous offer of corruption, Metternich's
sudden sullenness and total silence recalled him to a sense of what he
had just expressed, and that thenceforth he had found this great
minister wholly impracticable. Who can wonder that he did so, or that
the offer was regarded as the deepest injury by a man of honour? But
Napoleon's conception of the matter, to the last, was evidently not
that he had committed an act of bribery, but that he had "mistaken his
man." "It was," as Fouché observed, "_worse_ than a crime, it was a
_blunder_."
One of the absurdities of the crowd who collected anecdotes of
Napoleon, was a perpetual affectation of surprise that he should not
have terminated his imprisonment by his own hand. He was conscious of
the imputation, and it seems to have formed the occasional subject of
his thoughts. But his powerful understanding soon saw through the
sophistry of that species of dramatic heroism, by which a man escapes
"with a bare bodkin" all the duties and responsibilities of his being.
"I have always regarded it," said he, "as a maxim, that a man exhibits
more real courage by supporting calamities, and resisting misfortunes,
than by putting an end to his life. Self-destruction is the act of a
gambler who has lost all, or that of a ruined spendthrift, and proves
nothing but a want of courage."
The attempts to prove that Napoleon wanted personal intrepidity were
at all times childish. His whole career in his Italian campaigns was
one of personal exposure, and from the period when he rose into civil
eminence, he had other responsibilities than those of the mere
general. His life was no longer his own; it was the keystone of the
government. Whether as consul or as emperor, his fall would have
brought down along with it the whole fabric on which the fate of so
many others immediately depended. It is, however, certain, that his
courage was not chivalric, that no gallant fit of glory ever tempted
him beyond the necessary degree of peril, and that he calculated the
gain and loss of personal enterprise with too nice a view as to the
balance of honour and advantage. A man of higher mind--an emperor who
had not forgot that he was a general, would never have deserted his
perishing army in Poland; an emperor who had not forgot that he was a
soldier, would never have sent his Imperial guard, shouting, to
massacre, and stayed himself behind. But to expect this devotion of
courage is to expect a spirit which Napoleon never exhibited; and
which is singular among the military exploits of the south. Napoleon
might have commanded at Platea, but he would never have died at
Thermopylæ.
In days like ours, which begin to familiarize men with the chances of
political convulsion, it may be well worth while to listen to the
conceptions of one who better knew the nature of the French Revolution
than perhaps any among the great actors of the time. Napoleon was
sitting by his fireside, in St Helena, on the 3d of September:--
"To-day," said he, "is the anniversary of a hideous
remembrance, the St Bartholomew of the French Revolution--a
bloody stain, which was the act of the Commune of Paris, a
rival power of the Legislature, which built its strength upon
the _dregs of the passions of the people_. * *
We must acknowledge, that there has been no political change
without a fit of popular vengeance, as soon as, _for any
cause whatever_, the mass of the people _enter into action_.
* *
General rule:--_No social revolution without terror!_ Every
revolution is in principle a _revolt_, which time and success
ennoble and render legal; but of which terror has been one of
the _inevitable phases_. How, indeed, can we understand, that
one could say to those who possess fortune and public
situations, 'Begone, and leave us your fortunes and your
situations,' without first intimidating them, and rendering
any defence impossible? The Reign of Terror began, in fact,
on the night of the 4th of August, when privileges, nobility,
tithes, the remains of the feudal system, and the fortunes of
the clergy, were done away with, and _all those remains of
the old monarchy_ were thrown to the people. Then only did
the people understand the Revolution, because they gained
something, and wished to keep it, even at the expense of
blood."
This language is memorable. It ought to be a lesson to England.
Napoleon here pronounces, that the great stimulant of political
revolution is public robbery. Privileges may be the pretence, but the
real object is plunder; and the progress of reason may be alleged as
the instrument, but the true weapon is terror. In England, we are
preparing the way for a total change. The groundwork of a revolution
is laid from hour to hour; the Aristocracy, the Church, the landed
proprietors, are made objects of popular libel, only preparatory to
their being made objects of popular assault. The League has not yet
taken upon it the office of the Commune of Paris, nor have the nobles,
the clergy, and the bankers, been massacred in the prisons; but when
once the popular passions are kindled by the hopes of national
plunder, the revolution will have begun, and then farewell to the
constitution. The habits of England, we willingly allow, are opposed
to public cruelty; and in the worst excesses, the France of 1793 would
probably leave us behind. But the principle in every nation is the
same--the possessors of property will resist, the plunderers of
property will fight; conflicting banners will be raised, and, after
desperate struggles, the multitude will be the masters of the land.
There can be nothing more evident, than that some of the leaders in
these new movements contemplate the overthrow of the monarchy. There
may be mere dupes in their ranks, the spirit of money-making may be
the temper of others; but there are darker minds among them which
scarcely condescend to conceal their intentions. The presidentship of
a British republic would be not without its charms for the demagogue;
and the bloody revolution of 1641, might rapidly find its still more
sanguinary counterpart in the revolution of the nineteenth century. We
have the history in the annals of France, and the commentator is the
"child and champion of Jacobinism"--Napoleon.
His impression that revolution always fixed its especial object in
plunder, found another authority in one of the peculiar agents of
public disturbance. "Barrère," said Napoleon, "affirmed, and truly,
_Le peuple bat monnaie sur la place Louis XV._" ("The people coin
money in the square of Louis XV.")--alluding to the guillotine, which
enriched the treasury by the death of the nobles, whose wealth became
the property of the nation.
He proceeded, with equal decision and truth: "A revolution is always,
whatever some may think, one of the greatest misfortunes with which
the Divine anger can punish a nation. It is the scourge of the
generation which brings it about; and for a long course of years, even
a century, it is the misfortune of all, though it may be the advantage
of individuals."
Napoleon spent the chief portion of his time in dictating the
recollections of his government, and general defences of his conduct.
Those dictations were sometimes written down by Montholon, and
sometimes by Las Cases. But in November 1816, an order was issued for
the arrest of Las Cases, and his dismissal from the island, in
consequence of his attempting to send, without the knowledge of the
governor, a letter to Prince Lucien, sowed up in the clothes of a
mulatto. This arrest made a prodigious noise among the household of
Napoleon, and was turned to good advantage in England, as an instance
of the cruelty of his treatment. Yet it seems perfectly probable that
the whole was a trick of the Ex-emperor himself, and a mere
contrivance for the purpose of sending to Europe Las Cases as an agent
in his service.
The security of Napoleon's imprisonment was essential to the peace of
Europe; and no precaution could be justly regarded as severe, which
prevented an outbreak so hazardous to the quiet of the world. Among
those precautions, was the strictest prohibition of carrying on any
correspondence with Europe, except through the hands of the governor.
The whole household were distinctly pledged to the observance of this
order, and any infraction of it was to be punished by instant arrest
and deportation from the island.