THE EMPEROR'S VISITORS
"Who danced the best at the Governor's ball?" Napoleon asked Betsy one
day.
"Mrs. Wilks, the Governor's lady."
This was before the arrival of Sir Hudson Lowe.
"What sort of dances are in fashion there?"
"Quadrilles, country dances. Mr. C. brought them to St. Helena."
"Oh, he is a great dandy!"
"Yes; he will sit with his feet above his head an hour before dressing,
the more readily to squeeze them into tight shoes. He wore an epaulette
nearly down to his elbow, and his sword hilt was embroidered with golden
oak leaves. The same embroidery confined his stockings, on each knee,
like the order of the garter. When he first arrived he was disgusted
that St. Helena ladies knew only kitchen dances and reels, and finally
he drilled quadrilles and other new dances into them."
Betsy's description of the young dandy amused Napoleon. "Bring him to
Longwood some day," he said.
A pass was obtained for the young man and Napoleon received him most
politely. "I hear from Mees Betsee that you are a great dandy,--and what
a fine coat!"
The young man, who had been in some fear of the Emperor, felt better.
"You are more fortunate than myself," continued Napoleon, "for I have to
wear my coat turned." Although this was true, it was only because there
was no cloth his shade of green on the island.
On the whole Napoleon liked the young dandy, especially as he spoke
French fluently.
But Napoleon was not always glad, or even willing, to receive visitors.
In fact, after the first few months on the island, he practically
refused to allow strangers to be presented to him, unless there was some
special reason for his seeing them.
One day, when Napoleon was still at The Briars, the girls were walking
with him down Pomegranate Walk, which led to the garden, when he heard
strangers' voices. He did not wish to meet them, and began to run away,
but, unluckily, when he reached the garden gate he found it locked.
Napoleon was not likely to turn aside from anything he had undertaken to
do, and as the voices drew nearer, too impatient to wait, he insisted on
jumping over the gate fence. There was a prickly pear on top, the thorns
of which caught him so that at first he could not extricate himself.
Then he had to descend rather ignominiously on the garden side, before
the strangers appeared. The thorns had really done considerable damage,
and it took no little skill on Dr. O'Meara's part to extract them.
To Betsy's friends Napoleon was apt to be more obliging than to others,
and tourists, many of whom stayed over at St. Helena on their way to or
from Africa or India, frequently sought her services to effect an
introduction.
"Sir," said Betsy to Napoleon one day, "may I present a lady to you? She
is just here from India. Her husband has high rank."
Napoleon was not fond of women visitors, but he gave his consent to
Betsy's request.
At the appointed time the lady from India appeared, gowned in crimson
velvet bordered with pearls. Her black hair was braided and adorned with
pearls, and butterflies of diamonds and emeralds and rubies. She was one
of the plainest women Betsy had ever seen, and she was fearful of the
impression she would make on Napoleon.
After Napoleon had asked the usual questions, "Are you married?" and
"How many children have you?" he looked closely at her to see what
compliment he could best pay her.
At length, after a pause that might have embarrassed a less complacent
woman, he said politely, "Madame, you have the most luxuriant hair."
That the lady from India had fine hair was so evident a fact, that she
need not have been so exceedingly pleased by Napoleon's compliment. Yet
she was so overcome by it that when she returned to England she sent
letters to the newspapers speaking of the Emperor's great admiration for
her.
Napoleon, in reality, did not at all like this visitor, and when she had
gone he said severely to the young girl:
"You shall introduce me to no more ladies." His tone was so unusually
severe that Betsy did not dare confess what really was the case, that
she had brought Mrs. S. to see Napoleon merely to tease him, knowing
that it was positively disagreeable to him to meet very plain women.
Betsy one day came to him full of excitement over a traveller whom she
had just seen.
"Oh, he is extraordinary; queerer than any one I have ever met here. His
long black beard reaches to his waist, and he wears a regular mandarin's
dress."
"An Englishman dressed like a Chinaman?"
"Yes! You know he has been there so long, and he has done the most
wonderful things! Why, he has even travelled to Thibet and talked to the
Grand Lama."
The Emperor's interest was aroused.
"I have always wished to hear something about the Grand Lama," he said,
"especially about the way he is worshipped, for I believe that much I
have read is fabulous. I should like to see this traveller."
"I knew you would," cried Betsy, "and he is anxious to see you, too. He
was a prisoner of war once in France, and he says you treated him very
kindly; so he has brought you some presents, and if--"
"Yes, and if he can get a pass--"
The sentence was left unfinished. But Mr. Manning obtained a pass to see
the Emperor and presented him with a number of curious things that he
had collected in his travels.
"The Lama," he said in answer to a question, "when I saw him, was a very
intelligent boy of seven, and I went through the same form of worship as
the others who were introduced into his presence."
"Were you not afraid of being seized as a spy?" asked Napoleon.
The traveller hesitated, as if not quite pleased by the question. Then,
with a laugh, he pointed to his dress and beard, as if they were a
sufficient answer.
"Did you pass for an Englishman?" persisted the Emperor. "The shape of
your nose is too good for a Tartar."
"No," replied Mr. Manning; "I was generally taken for a Hindoo." The
bystanders, looking at his fine eyes and regular features, could easily
understand that in the role of a Hindoo he must certainly have been
successful.
The conversation between the two--the Emperor and the traveller--lasted
for some time.
"Travellers," said Napoleon, "are privileged to tell marvellous stories,
but I hope you are not doing this in describing to me all the wonders of
Thibet."
Then he continued his questions, asking much about the Lama, and the
customs and religion of his people. His queries showed that he already
possessed a fund of information about this strange country, and Mr.
Manning finally said, "You have as much information on Thibet as I have
myself."
Napoleon accepted the compliment, but the many questions that he
continued to ask, especially concerning the Chinese and their language
and habits, showed that he was quite willing to admit Mr. Manning's
greater knowledge of the Orient.
When the unusually long interview had ended, Napoleon turned to Betsy
with an expression in which sadness was mingled with satisfaction.
"This conversation," he cried, "has given me more pleasure than anything
I have experienced for many long months."
Betsy, realizing the Emperor's capacity for finding entertainment in
hearing about the small things that made up the life of St. Helena,
always gratified him by describing the little festivities in which she
took part, or even the larger affairs of which she knew only by what
others told her. Like all places garrisoned by British regiments, there
was always much going on, as the phrase is, on the island, and the
gossip of the place, usually harmless enough in itself, never failed to
entertain him.
Sometimes he tried to draw from the little girl information that for one
reason or another she did not care to give him--sometimes merely to
tease him, sometimes because she feared that what she said might disturb
him.
"So you have been calling on Lady Lowe at Plantation House," he said,
after one of her visits to the wife of the Governor. "Tell me, does she
ask about your visits to Longwood?"
"There, that is just the kind of thing she asks me. I am sure to be
questioned what we say and do in your presence;" and beyond this Betsy
would give Napoleon little satisfaction.
"Who is the most beautiful woman on the island?" he asked on another
occasion.
"Madame Bertrand," replied Betsy, never at a loss for an answer, "is
more beautiful than any one I have ever seen. Every one else seems
insignificant beside her. Why, when my father saw her on the
_Northumberland_ he was very much struck by her. Her features may not be
strictly beautiful, but her expression is intellectual. Besides, her
bearing is so queenlike and dignified!"
"But don't you think Madame Montholon pretty?"
"No," responded Betsy unhesitatingly, in spite of the fact that she had
much regard for Madame Montholon.
"Marchand," cried Napoleon, apparently changing the subject, "bring me
my snuffbox,--you know which."
The faithful Marchand obeyed, and when he returned Napoleon took the
snuffbox from his hands to show the girls--for Jane was with Betsy--a
miniature on the lid.
It was a portrait of Madame Montholon, taken many years earlier.
"Yes, it is like her," Betsy admitted, "and beautiful, too."
"She was just like that when she was young," responded the Emperor.
Although Napoleon was fond of teasing Betsy, whenever he found that he
could serve her in any way he never failed to show himself a true
friend.
Once Dr. O'Meara came upon Betsy alone in the garden with tears in her
eyes. To his inquiry as to the cause of her sorrow, she pouted, and at
first hesitated in her reply. On second thoughts she exclaimed, "It is
too mean! Just because I didn't do my lessons yesterday, to keep me home
from the races!"
"Were you warned?"
"Oh, yes, but I did not expect to be punished."
"Probably this isn't the first time, and your parents are bound to make
you remember."
"Oh, it is my father, and it's the meanest thing! He has lent Tom to
somebody. My pony is not in the stable. Who could have been so mean as
to borrow the only pony that I can ride? All the others have ridden off,
and there is no way for me to go."
Dr. O'Meara listened sympathetically. Probably he did not exactly
understand the situation or he would hardly have encouraged a young girl
to disobey her parents. It was quite natural that to Betsy, the lover of
gayety, her punishment seemed greater than she deserved. Every one that
she knew was going to the races, for the Deadwood races, instituted by
John Rous, were made a kind of festival by the people of the island.
Since every one she knew had gone to Deadwood, there was no horse at
hand that she could borrow. For the moment Napoleon's little neighbor
was troubled by no sense of duty; the only question was how to reach
Deadwood.
Dr. O'Meara, after Betsy had poured out her soul to him, rode on towards
Longwood at a rapid pace. Not long afterwards her heart leaped with joy
when she saw Dr. O'Meara winding down the mountain, followed by a slave
with a superb gray horse. At once she recognized Mameluke, one of
Napoleon's stable, and, as the horses drew nearer, she saw that above
his crimson saddlecloth Mameluke wore a lady's saddle. Even before Dr.
O'Meara spoke, she understood what his quick return meant.
"Here, Miss Betsy, cheer up," he cried when he drew near the little
girl. "This horse is for you. When the Emperor heard of your
disappointment, he ordered the quietest horse in his stable to be sent
to you."
Regardless of consequences to herself, pleased by the good-natured
attention of the Emperor, light-hearted Betsy on Mameluke went to the
races. Perhaps she would have hesitated had she known that her father,
rather than she herself, was to be the sufferer by her heedless act, for
afterwards it gave her great pain to learn that Mr. Balcombe had been
severely reprimanded by Governor Lowe for having committed a breach of
discipline in letting his daughter borrow a horse belonging to the
Longwood establishment.
But for the time Betsy had the fun of the races, and the next day she
went over to Longwood to thank Napoleon.
"Aha, Mees Betsee," he said after their first greeting, "perhaps you do
not know that I too saw the races."
"But I did not see you there."
"Ah, where were your eyes? You were not thinking of me; but they were
amusing."
After a little more teasing, Betsy learned that Napoleon had seen the
Deadwood races from an upper window of General Gorgaud's house.
"You were so amused," he added, "that you forgot to be afraid. I have
told your father you should never be encouraged in foolish fears."
"I wish you had been really there!"
"Ah, gayety is not for me." Napoleon's face became grave.
Betsy, noticing this, added quickly, "But you are coming to my birthday
fete."
"Surely! It will not be far away at Rous Cottage."
The day of the birthday was bright and fair, and as large numbers of
guests had assembled, Rous Cottage, which had been chosen for this
picnic fete, was named for the gallant flag officer of the
_Northumberland_, whom Napoleon admired and called "a very brave man."
In the earlier part of the celebration, Betsy, flying among her friends,
was too much absorbed to notice that Napoleon had not come, but when she
missed him she began to look eagerly in the direction in which she might
expect to see him appear. He had said he would come to the party, and
Betsy expected him to keep his promise, though it was an unheard-of
thing for him to mingle in a gay crowd.
After a while she was delighted to see him in the distance, riding along
the hills. Soon she saw that he was no longer riding. His horse was at a
standstill. What could this mean? Presently a messenger from the Emperor
appeared to say that he would content himself by looking on.
The young hostess was not satisfied with this. Rushing off to the hill
where Napoleon waited, she stood before him.
"This is not keeping your promise. You said you would come, indeed you
did, and you should not disappoint me on my birthday."
Napoleon smiled at his young friend, but he spoke with decision:
"No; I won't come down to be stared at by a crowd who wish to gratify
their curiosity by a sight of me."
Betsy begged and pleaded, using every effort to make him change his
mind, but he was firm. Nothing could change him.
A friend in England had sent Betsy a huge birthday cake, ornamented with
a large eagle. That she should have had a cake decorated with this
imperial emblem occasioned much comment on the island. In fact, in the
eyes of some, Mr. Balcombe and his family were under more or less of a
cloud on account of their open admiration for the illustrious prisoner
of St. Helena. When Betsy found that her words made no impression on
Napoleon, she left him for a few moments, only to return with a slice of
the cake.
"You must eat this thick slice," she said, holding it out to him. "It is
the least you can do for getting us into this disgrace. Some people
think it almost treason when they see the eagle on the cake."
Napoleon ate the cake with evident appreciation. Then he pinched Betsy's
ear in his usual familiar fashion, saying as he did so, "Saucy
simpleton!" As he galloped away Betsy could not help smiling, as she
heard him singing, or rather trying to sing in his most unmusical voice,
"_Vive, Henri Quatre_."