THE SERIOUS SIDE
As Betsy grew to know Napoleon better, she sometimes observed in his
conversation and manner a sadness that she had not noticed earlier. This
slight melancholy was especially evident when the conversation touched
on Josephine or the little King of Rome. Often Napoleon gazed intently
at Mrs. Balcombe, explaining as he did so that it was because she
reminded him strongly of Josephine. He loved to talk of Josephine,
especially with Madame Bertrand, who was a native of Martinique and was
said also to be a distant relative of the Empress.
One day, for example, Madame Bertrand, in Betsy's presence, brought out
a miniature of Josephine. The Emperor seemed deeply moved as he gazed at
it.
"It is the most perfect likeness of her that I have ever seen."
"It is for you, sir," said Madame Bertrand simply.
Thanking her warmly, Napoleon added, "I will keep it until my death."
On this occasion the Emperor was especially inclined to talk about his
first wife, and Betsy, hearing him, wondered that he had been willing to
separate himself from her.
"Josephine," he said, "was the most feminine woman I have ever
known--all charm and sweetness and grace. _Era la dama la piu graziosa
in Francia._" Then he continued: "Josephine was the goddess of the
toilet. All fashions came from her. Besides this she was humane and
always thoughtful of others. She was the best of women. Although the
English and the Bourbons allow that I did some good, yet they generally
qualify it by saying that it was chiefly through the instrumentality of
Josephine. But the fact is that she never interfered in politics. Great
as my veneration was for her, I could not bear to have it thought that
she in any way ruled my public actions."
Napoleon's praises of Josephine continued to flow on.
"She was the greatest patroness of the arts known in France for years;
but though I loved to attend to her whims, yet I always acted to please
the nation, and whenever I obtained a fine statue or valuable picture I
sent it to the Museum for the people's benefit. Josephine was grace
personified. She never acted inelegantly during the whole time we lived
together. Her toilet was perfection, and she resisted the inroads of
time, to all appearances, by exquisite taste."
Napoleon spoke with deep emotion, "She was the best of women!"
Then, as if in answer to Betsy's unspoken question, he said:
"It was only political motives that led me to give her up. Nothing else
would have separated me from a wife so tenderly loved. Thank God, she
died without witnessing my last misfortune!"
From Josephine Napoleon turned to Maria Louisa, his second wife, the
mother of his son, of whom he spoke tenderly and affectionately:
"She was an amiable and good wife. She would have followed me here, but
they would not let her."
Napoleon next called Betsy's attention to one or two portraits of Maria
Louisa, but Betsy, though she made no criticism, thought then, as she
had thought at other times when studying the face of Maria Louisa, that
the Austrian Princess was at a disadvantage when contrasted with the
members of Napoleon's family, all of whom were handsome and looked
intellectual.
This conversation about Josephine and Maria Louisa was interrupted by
the arrival of a visitor, Count Piontkowski, lately arrived from Europe.
He was a Pole who had fought under Napoleon, and his love for his fallen
leader had led him to follow into exile.
Napoleon himself had no clear remembrance of the Pole as an individual,
and he was therefore the more deeply gratified by the spirit of devotion
that had induced Piontkowski to make the long voyage to St. Helena for
the sake of being near his old commander.
The long interview with the newcomer undoubtedly brought before
Napoleon's mind many sad memories, and when he returned to them Betsy
and the others noticed that he was in unusually low spirits. As he
looked again at the portraits of Josephine and Maria Louisa he grew more
and more dejected, and at last, excusing himself, he went to bed much
earlier than usual, leaving the rest of the party under the influence of
his melancholy.
When the second New Year came around, Napoleon was in less than his
usual good spirits. It was not to Betsy, however, but to Dr. O'Meara
that he said in reply to the physician's "Happy New Year":
"Perhaps the next one will find me better situated. Perhaps I shall be
dead, which will be better still. Worse than this cannot be."
It was not the Emperor's habit to show his sadness for any great length
of time. On this second New Year's the sisters were to go over to
Longwood to carry their New Year greeting and to dine with Madame
Bertrand.
When they first arrived at the house Betsy was disappointed that
Napoleon was nowhere in sight and she wondered that no message or
present came from him, for she knew that the French made a special
festival of New Year's and recalled the generosity of the Emperor just a
year before.
Still there was much to see and enjoy in Madame Bertrand's apartment,
and she and Jane were examining with admiration the presents of Madame
Bertrand and her family, when Napoleon himself entered the room. In each
hand he was carefully carrying a beautiful Sevres cup. As the girls drew
near to look at them, they saw that on one was a portrait of Napoleon
himself, representing him in Turkish costume, and on the other the
figure of an Egyptian woman drawing water.
"Here, Mdlles. Betsee and Jane," he exclaimed, "are two cups for you.
Accept them as a mark of the friendship I entertain for you both and for
your kindness to Madame Bertrand."
Charmed with his beautiful presents, the girls thanked Napoleon warmly.
Betsy, indeed, was so delighted with her cup that she would not let it
go out of her hands, and when at last the time for her departure came
she wrapped it in many folds of cotton to carry it home--at considerable
risk even then, as the journey was made on horseback.
Betsy was a keen observer, and although she was fond of paying Napoleon
back in his own coin when he teased her, she appreciated the depth of
his feelings in his more serious moments.
One beautiful day, when she went over to Longwood, she was impressed by
the brilliancy of the atmosphere, which is, indeed, one of the charms of
St. Helena. Standing on the rocks she watched the waves breaking and
sparkling at their base and noted the sea beyond, glistening like a
sheet of quicksilver. With her spirits especially buoyant under the
influence of the wonderful day, she went up to St. Denis, one of the
Emperor's suite.
"Where is the Emperor?" she asked gayly. "I want to see him."
The Frenchman shook his head so gravely that for the moment the smile
left Betsy's face and she wondered if any misfortune had happened. After
a moment of silence, St. Denis replied:
"The Emperor is watching the _Conqueror_, which is now coming in." The
_Conqueror_ was the vessel bearing the flag of Admiral Pamplin, who was
to succeed Admiral Malcom. "You will find the Emperor," continued St.
Denis, "near Madame Bertrand's, but he is in no mood for badinage
to-day."
If the Frenchman had meant to keep Betsy away from Napoleon, he was not
successful. In spite of his warning Betsy went on toward the cottage. As
soon as she saw the Emperor, she herself came under the influence of his
mood. He was standing on a cliff with General Bertrand, looking out
toward sea, where the _Conqueror_ was still but a speck on the horizon.
Betsy was impressed by the intense melancholy of the exiled Emperor's
expression, as he stood there stern and silent. His eyes were bent sadly
upon the vessel as it came in, beating up proudly to windward.
For some time not a word was uttered by any of the three. Even the
talkative Betsy was silent. At last Napoleon spoke:
"They manage the vessel beautifully; the English are certainly kings
upon the sea," he said. Then his melancholy tone changed to one of
sarcasm. "I wonder what they think of our beautiful island! They cannot
be much elated by the sight of my gigantic walls."
At this moment Betsy did not venture a retort, as was generally the case
when Napoleon railed at her beloved St. Helena. Betsy was alive to all
the beauties of the place, while Napoleon, naturally, saw only its
faults. When Betsy defended the island and waxed eloquent over its
beauties, sometimes he would simply laugh at her impertinence, while at
others, pinching her ear in his favorite fashion, he would say:
"Mees Betsee, how can you possibly dare to have an opinion on the
subject?"
This glimpse of Napoleon, sadly watching the _Conqueror_, was not the
only occasion when Betsy had an opportunity to see the more serious side
of the man whom she admired. Although she was only a young girl, she was
able sometimes by her intelligent questions to draw from him an
explanation of much discussed things in his past. There was, for
example, the oft-repeated story that Napoleon had sanctioned the
butchery of Turkish troops at Jaffa and the poisoning of the sick in the
hospitals.
If the Emperor was vexed with Betsy for touching on forbidden ground, he
did not show his feeling, but entered into an explanation that his young
neighbor was able long afterwards to repeat in his own words. "Before
leaving Jaffa," said Napoleon, "and when many of the sick had been
embarked, I was informed that there were some in the hospital severely
wounded, dangerously ill, and unfit to be moved at any risk. I desired
my medical men to hold a consultation as to what steps had best be taken
with regard to the unfortunate sufferers and to send in their opinions
to me. The result of this consultation was that seven-eighths of the
soldiers were considered past recovery, and that in all probability few
would be alive at the expiration of twenty hours."
Betsy listened attentively, as Napoleon showed how difficult it was to
decide whether it was not more cruel to leave these helpless men to the
mercy of the Turks than to end their misery by a dose of opium: "I
should have desired such a relief for myself under the same
circumstances and I considered it would be an act of mercy to anticipate
their fate by only a few hours. My physician did not enter into my views
of the case, and disapproved of the proposal, saying it was his business
to cure, not to kill. Accordingly I left a rear-guard to protect these
unhappy men from the enemy. They remained until Nature had paid her last
debt and released the expiring soldiers from their agony."
As his auditors did not look convinced of the correctness of his views,
Napoleon turned to Dr. O'Meara, who was of the party.
"I ask you, O'Meara, to place yourself in the situation of one of these
men. Were it demanded of you which fate you would select, either to be
left to suffer the tortures of those miscreants or to have opium
administered to you, which fate would you rather choose? If my own
son--and I believe I love my son as well as any father loves his
child--were in a similar situation, I should advise it to be done. If so
situated myself I should insist upon it, if I had sense enough and
strength to demand it."
Without waiting for comment from the others, Napoleon added that if he
had been capable of secretly poisoning his soldiers or of the barbarity
ascribed to him of driving his carriage over the mutilated bodies of the
wounded, his troops would never have fought under him with the
enthusiasm and reverence they uniformly displayed. "No, no, I should have
been shot long ago. Even my wounded would have tried to pull a trigger
to despatch me."
The Emperor spoke so earnestly that no one could doubt he meant what he
said. Even though they believed that the Turkish prisoners had been
treated with great cruelty, his hearers saw that ambition or a feeling
of necessity had been the impelling motive of the officers who
sanctioned or ordered the cruelty.
Napoleon's conversations with Betsy were of course carried on largely in
French, and but for the little girl's fluency in this language she would
probably have seen much less of the great man. Napoleon himself made a
real effort to learn English. Not only did he study with Las Cases, but
he tried to practise the language with Betsy and her sister. In
conversation, however, he never became very proficient, his
pronunciation was droll, and he was inclined to translate things very
literally. Betsy was less patient than her sister with Napoleon's
English. By his expressed desire she and Jane were always to correct his
mistakes, yet often, in the midst of his efforts, she would run off
without deigning to help him.
"Ah, Mdlle. Betsee," he would then cry in French, "you are a stupid
little creature; when will you become wise?"
Although Napoleon persevered with his English lessons with Las Cases, he
never proceeded much further than to read the newspapers. English books
presented many difficulties, and yet much of the literature that came
his way was in this language. Here again Betsy was able to make herself
very useful by translating books or newspapers for him, and sometimes
she went further and gave him in condensed form the contents of a great
many pages. Even after he went to Longwood, when Betsy went over there
to call on Madame Bertrand, Napoleon would summon her to help him
understand some newly arrived English book.
From Napoleon's own admission to one of his own suite, after he had been
in St. Helena a year or two, we can judge that his progress in English
had not been very rapid. One morning, after the arrival of a number of
French books, he said:
"What a pleasure I have enjoyed! I can read forty pages of French in the
time that it would require to read two of English."
The Emperor enjoyed talking with Betsy, for the little girl was a great
reader herself, and he had the faculty of drawing from her whatever
information she had on a given subject. Occasionally she thoughtlessly
questioned Napoleon on topics that she might better have avoided.
One Sunday, for example, at Madame Bertrand's, he found the girls poring
over a book.
"What are you doing?" he asked abruptly.
"Learning the collect," replied Betsy. "My father is always very angry
if I do not know it." Then she added, not very courteously, "I suppose
you never learned a collect or anything religious in your life, for I
know that you do not believe in the existence of a God."
"You have been told an untruth," replied Napoleon impatiently, evidently
displeased with Betsy. "When you are wiser you will understand that no
one can doubt the existence of a God."
"But you believe in predestination?"
"Whatever a man's destiny calls him to do, that he must fulfil," was the
Emperor's response.
Young though she was, Betsy understood the seriousness that underlay the
superficial gayety most in evidence when Napoleon met her. She decided
that he was not the cold, calculating man that most people thought him,
but rather a man of deep feeling, capable of strong attachments.
One day, not long after he had left The Briars, a lady approached Betsy,
who was in the grounds outside the house.
As she dismounted from her horse Betsy had recognized her as a French
woman of high position, whose husband was one of the diplomatists then
at St. Helena.
"Will you be so good," she said almost timidly to the little girl, "as
to show me the part of the cottage occupied by the Emperor?"
"With pleasure," responded Betsy, leading the way to the Pavilion. The
lady looked about her with great interest.
"Look!" said Betsy, pointing to the spot where the marquee had stood.
"Look at this crown in the turf!"
The lady gazed for some minutes at this empty symbol of the power once
held by the Emperor. The thoughts that it brought up overpowered her.
Losing all self-control, she sank to her knees, sobbing hysterically.
Forgetful of Betsy, she continued to weep so bitterly that the little
girl started for the cottage that she might get her mother, or some one
else of the household, to bring restoratives.
"Stop, stop!" cried the lady, as if realizing her purpose. "Do not call
any one. I shall be myself in a moment." Then, in a voice still filled
with emotion, she added, "Please do me the favor of never mentioning
this to any one. All French people feel as I do. They all treasure
Napoleon's memory as I do, and would willingly die for him."
Betsy gave the required promise and waited patiently until the lady had
recovered her self-possession. Then the latter asked innumerable
questions of the little girl about the life of Napoleon and his suite at
The Briars.
Several times the visitor repeated, "How happy it must have made you to
be with the Emperor!"
When she rode away after her long interview, she put a thick veil over
her face to hide the fact that she had been weeping.
Betsy was true to her word, and although her family, one after another,
asked her why the visitor had made so long a stay, she merely replied
that she had been interested in the Pavilion. But the scene made a deep
impression on the little girl, as showing the remarkable hold of
Napoleon on the hearts of those who had been his subjects. Moreover she
judged, and truly too, that a man for whom such deep feeling was shown
must himself have been of a kind and sympathetic nature.
It is true that she did not need the testimony of any outsider to assure
her of Napoleon's amiability. She was well acquainted with his general
kindliness; she knew of many of his gracious acts, and the charm of his
manner toward all young people had made a deep impression upon her.
Another thing that she noticed convinced Betsy of the softer qualities
of Napoleon's nature. This was the firm devotion of the little band of
Frenchmen and French women who had followed him to St. Helena. They had
made great sacrifices in sharing the exile of Napoleon. There was so
little to hope for, in the way of reward for this devotion, that no
reasonable person could doubt their disinterestedness.