LONGWOOD DAYS
Many a time when in the company of Napoleon and the members of his
suite, Betsy must have realized that this pleasant intercourse could not
last always.
Few people remained indefinitely long at St. Helena,--few people,
indeed, besides the natives and the one life prisoner, the Emperor
Napoleon. Betsy, however, had no desire to leave her beloved island. She
loved its climate and its scenery, and she was happy with the many
people who were her friends. It was a gay little place, with numerous
officers quartered there with their families,--a much gayer place than
it would have been had not the British Government thought it necessary
to make it a great military stronghold for the safeguarding of the
Emperor,--a much gayer place than it had been before Napoleon's arrival.
[Illustration: LONGWOOD]
Almost every day some form of amusement offered itself--races, balls,
picnics, and sham fights. There was also a pretty little theatre on the
island, established by the popular Commissary General, where amateur
plays were performed by the officers, to the great entertainment of all
who saw them.
Madame Montholon and Madame Bertrand and, to a certain extent, the
gentlemen of the Emperor's suite entered more or less into the
festivities of the place. It was only Napoleon who always stayed at home
alone. Betsy, who was an especial favorite of Madame Bertrand, was often
at Longwood, and very often the latter was the young girl's chaperon at
balls or other entertainments.
Yet even when no special gayety was in view, Betsy enjoyed her visits to
Longwood, and the ingenuous girl with her frank speech certainly
brightened the lives of the exiles. As for Betsy herself it was a great
advantage for her to be so much in the society of these French people,
with their cultivation and gayety. On cool evenings chairs were brought
out on the lawn leading to the billiard-room, and there the Countess of
Montholon and Madame Bertrand, with their husbands and children, would
spend the hour after sunset listening to the crickets, of which there
were thousands. Sometimes they sat on the lawn in the moonlight, gazing
long at the sky, which at St. Helena is of a peculiarly deep blue.
Doubtless at such times the hearts of the poor exiles were far away
among home scenes in France, and even lively Betsy for the time was
quiet and subdued.
One splendid starry night, as they were all on the lawn near the
billiard-room steps after a very sultry day, they heard a sound as if
heavy wagons were lumbering over the ground beneath. Those nearer the
house thought that it was about to fall about their heads. Dr. O'Meara
and Major Blakeney, Captain of the Guard, hastening from the room,
expected to find the ladies half dead with fright. All the household,
some from their beds, rushed out, looking wonderingly into the sky, and
little Tristram Montholon ran to his mother, screaming that some one had
tried to throw him out of his bed.
This was in September, and the strange rumbling was caused by an
earthquake, the first one in St. Helena for a long time. Many feared for
their friends in the valleys with the sharp precipices, but fortunately
in the end it was shown that there had been no loss of life.
Napoleon was in bed at the time of the shock.
"Ah Mees Betsee," he asked the next morning, "were you frightened by the
_tremblement de terre_? You look pale and quiet."
Betsy admitted that she had had a little fear at the earthquake.
"I thought," said Napoleon, turning to General Bertrand, "that the
_Conqueror_ had blown up in the harbor; but the second or third shock
showed that it was an earthquake."
The _Conqueror_ was the seventy-four gun ship whose arrival Betsy had
seen Napoleon observe with great interest.
Betsy, for several nights after the earthquake, was too frightened to go
to bed, and in a day or two she was ill with a severe cold, caught while
sitting on the veranda. In this case, as always in illness, Napoleon was
sympathetic, blaming the climate and adding that the houses ought to
have plenty of fireplaces to protect people from sudden changes.
"What would be the use of fireplaces," asked Betsy, "when we have no
coals?"
"Then burn the orange trees," responded Napoleon.
From this remark Betsy saw that for some reason the Emperor was not in
good humor, for he was one of those who realized the need of more trees
on St. Helena, and later--if he had not then begun--devoted much time
and money to planting trees in the neighborhood of Longwood. Perhaps the
presence of the _Conqueror_ in the harbor disturbed him, since this was
the vessel that had brought Admiral Pamplin, who was to relieve Admiral
Malcom. Sir Pultney Malcom had come to St. Helena with Napoleon, and the
two had grown to be very good friends. The Admiral, a courteous old man,
with exquisite, kindly manners, showed great consideration for the
exile. He paid Napoleon many visits, sent him newspapers, and so far as
he could tried to protect him from various annoying things said or done
by Governor Lowe.
It was not strange, then, that Napoleon should feel depressed at the
thought of Admiral Malcom's departure, and, in consequence, seem a
little more brusque than usual with Betsy in talking of her cold.
Napoleon well understood the value of regular occupation and spent many
hours daily in reading and writing. He had few of the works of reference
that he needed for his historical work, yet he persevered in spite of
all difficulties. In the end he really had something to show, volumes of
military commentaries, essays on great generals and historical sketches,
chiefly of the time of the French Republic. These writings may not all
be perfectly accurate, but they show a wonderful memory and grasp of
facts. The inaccuracies, indeed, are chiefly such as must result when a
man writes without the proper documents and books to verify his
statements.
The Memoirs left by Napoleon, the many volumes of conversations
collected by his friends on subjects of general interest, as well as
those books that relate to the military profession, show the wonderful
strength of his mind. His temperate habits were, of course, a great help
in carrying out the broad plans that he made for hard work. He took
little wine, and then only used it as a medicine.
Napoleon's hours for rising and going to bed were very irregular. Often
on moonlight nights he would rise at three o'clock, and when at The
Briars he would go to the garden before Toby was up, getting the key
from the place where the old slave had hidden it. He would then have an
early breakfast of fresh fruits.
Not infrequently, in those early days of his stay at St. Helena, Betsy
would see him in the early morning riding around the lawn on his
beautiful horse Hope, and when she talked with him she would learn that
already he had that day dictated a number of letters. Hope was the first
horse Napoleon rode on the island, and it pleased him to think that this
name was an augury.
When it came to his bed hour, Napoleon's habits were most uncertain.
Frequently, when he was restless, he would have Marchand read him to
sleep.
At times when he was ill he resented the doctor's efforts to get him to
take medicine. He had original ideas on the best treatment of the sick,
and believed strongly in the efficacy of the salt-water bath.
However heterodox his views on any subject, Napoleon seldom hesitated to
express them, at least to those in whom he had confidence.
"I have no faith whatever in medicine," said Napoleon one day to a very
clever medical man who was on the island. "My own remedies are
starvation and the warm bath. Churchmen," he added, "are often
hypocrites, because too much is expected of them. Politicians must have
a conventional conscience, and soldiers are cut-throats and robbers. But
surgeons are neither too good nor too bad; their mission is to benefit
mankind, and they have opportunities to study human nature as well as
science. I have a higher opinion of the surgical profession than of any
other. The practice of the law," he concluded, "is too severe for poor
human nature, for he who distorts truth and exults at the success of
injustice at last will hardly know right from wrong."
* * * * *
Napoleon liked sailors, and often talked with those who conducted
fatigue parties around the island.
One day he asked the girls if they had met one active young reefer, who
happened to belong to a distinguished family.
"He is one of the few combinations of high birth and intelligence I have
ever seen."
"We know him," was the reply, "and he is one of the most popular men in
the ward-room. Oh, how funny he was when we first knew him!" added
Betsy. "He was coming back from the Admiral's ball. We met an old cart,
and he was surrounded by brother middies, all shouting, 'Lord W.'s
carriage stops the way.' Well, we couldn't get past, as the cart had
been dragged inside the arch through which we were to pass. Afterwards
this same young man had a narrow escape. He was rowing guard when hailed
by sentry. On account of the surf, the sentry could not hear him give
the password, and so he fired among the crew."
"Yes, he can do anything. Sir Pultney Malcom put him in charge of the
government farm, and said he had never seen such vegetables produced on
the sterile rocks of St. Helena."
"Whatever British sailors take in hand," said Napoleon, "they never
leave undone."
* * * * *
A marble bust of the King of Rome was sent to Napoleon, probably by
Maria Louisa. Napoleon gazed on it with proud satisfaction and he seemed
pleased with the praises of Betsy and her mother.
"You ought to be proud to be the father of so beautiful a boy," said
Mrs. Balcombe.
Smiles lit Napoleon's face, and Betsy, child though she was, was
impressed by his expression of paternal fondness.
The bust was of white marble and executed by Caracci, and it bore the
names Napoleon Francois Charles Joseph. The child was shown wearing the
Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor. It had been brought from Leghorn by
the gunner of a ship bound to St. Helena, and although it had come so
mysteriously, people generally understood that Maria Louisa herself had
taken the trouble to have it sent in this way to Napoleon, her husband.
"Now, come," said Madame Bertrand, after the sisters had spent some time
admiring Napoleon's gifts, "let me show you my presents;" for the ship
that had brought the bust brought things also to others of the French
exiles. These were chiefly for Countess Bertrand and Countess Montholon
from Lady Holland, who often remembered them in this way.
"La bonne Lady Holland," as Napoleon called her, was one of the few
English women not afraid to show her sympathy with Napoleon and those
who had followed him to St. Helena. He was very grateful for her
attentions to him now when he was abandoned by the world. "All members
of the family of Fox," he said, "abound in liberal, generous sentiments.
Fox was sincere in his intentions, and had he lived England would not
have been devastated by war. He was the only minister who rightly
understood the interests of his country." To show that he had always
appreciated Fox, Napoleon told of a visit that the latter with his wife
paid to St. Cloud. By mistake he opened the door of a private room, and
he was surprised to see there his own statue among those of
distinguished citizens of the world, Hampden, Washington, Cicero, Lord
Chatham and his son.
The regulation that an officer must accompany him on his rides was a
continued annoyance to Napoleon. At first he submitted, and rode off,
painfully realizing that a representative of his jailers constantly kept
his eye on him. After a time he decided that he would not ride if he
could not ride alone, and during the last four years of his life he was
not on a horse. As he had depended on riding for exercise during the
greater part of his life, he now suffered from giving it up. He not only
began to grow extremely stout, but his general health became poorer.
It disturbed Napoleon greatly that the English always addressed him as
"General Bonaparte." The title "Emperor" would have been so barren on
St. Helena that it is hard to understand why Napoleon should have cared
much about it. He might easily have been as philosophic about this as he
was about other things.
Soon after his arrival Sir Hudson Lowe addressed a card of invitation to
"General Bonaparte."
"Send this card to General Bonaparte," said Napoleon to Count Bertrand.
"The last I heard of him was at the Pyramids and Mt. Tabor." Yet
Napoleon was never happier, never better loved by the French people,
than when, as General Bonaparte, he was received with the greatest
enthusiasm on his return from his Italian campaign.
The English, on their part, were foolish in objecting to the use of a
title to which he once had had a perfect right, with all its power and
dignity. Now, deprived of the substance, there was no reason for
forbidding him the pleasure of treasuring the shadow. Sir George
Cockburn seems to have been almost childish in writing to Count
Bertrand:
"I have no cognizance of any Emperor being actually upon this island, or
of any person possessing such dignity (as stated by you) having come
here."
Language like this was far more absurd than Napoleon's obstinacy on the
subject. Even his good friend, Admiral Malcom, could not change his
views. In the course of a conversation on the subject of letting him
have the title "Emperor," Malcom said decidedly:
"Still, it would be impossible to treat you as a sovereign."
"Why, they might leave me my honors to amuse me. It would do no harm on
this rock."
"But you would have to be styled Emperor."
"No; they could not do that. I have abdicated."
"But you object to be called General."
"That is because I am no longer a general,--not since I returned from
Egypt,--but why not call me 'Napoleon'?"
It was a long and painful discussion, and it did not end even with
Napoleon's death. The British Government, since Napoleon was securely in
its power, could have afforded to let him wear the title that had once
been his by right, even though on St. Helena it would have shown itself
an almost foolishly vain ornament. The foreign Commissioners were told
by the countries that they represented to give him this title, but the
Act of Parliament dealing with the distinguished prisoner had called him
"Napoleon Bonaparte," and this, or "General Bonaparte," he was to be to
all who had dealings with him at St. Helena.
Within his own circle--and in this circle the Balcombe family may be
included--he was ever "the Emperor."
* * * * *
Napoleon often showed great kindness to the sick. For example, when a
certain officer, Captain Meynell, was ill under Mr. Balcombe's roof at
The Briars, Napoleon sent Cipriani, his _maitre d'hotel_, daily to
inquire about him, and seemed really concerned when he asked about him.
Not long after he left The Briars, Betsy had a severe illness. When
Napoleon heard of this he sent constantly to inquire for her, and the
messenger usually brought her some delicacy made by Piron.
Napoleon's kindness of heart was also shown by his attitude toward the
Malay slave, named Toby, who had care of the beautiful garden at The
Briars. When no one was in it the garden was kept locked and the key was
left in Toby's hands. Toby and Napoleon speedily became friends, and the
black man always spoke of the Emperor as "that good man, Bony." He
always placed the key of the garden where Napoleon could reach it under
the wicket. The black man was original and entertaining, and so
autocratic that no one at The Briars ever disputed his authority. His
story was rather pathetic.
He had been enticed from his native place many years before, brought to
St. Helena by the English, smuggled on shore and illegally sold as a
slave, let out to whoever would hire him, and his earnings chiefly
appropriated to his master. Napoleon perhaps recognized in Toby a
kindred spirit, or at least felt a common bond in the fact that both had
been brought unwillingly to the island. Certainly he liked him, and,
when he had heard his story, wished to buy and free him. But for
political reasons, when Mr. Balcombe made Napoleon's wishes known to Sir
Hudson Lowe, he could not get his consent.
Toby, however, was grateful to Napoleon for his wish to help him, and
continued his devoted admirer. On going from The Briars, Napoleon
presented Toby with twenty-nine napoleons and always inquired for his
health. When Napoleon left The Briars, Toby often arranged bouquets and
fruits to go to Longwood,--"to that good man, Bony."
Toby, from all accounts, was an attractive fellow. His countenance had a
frank and benevolent expression. His eyes were animated and sparkling,
his aspect not abject, but prepossessing. So at least he appeared to
Betsy, and one day she was interested to hear Napoleon reflecting upon
him:
"What, after all, is a poor prisoner but a machine? As for poor Toby, he
endures his misfortunes very quietly; he stoops to his work, and spends
his days in innocent tranquillity. This man, after all, had his family
and his happiness and his liberty, and it was a horrible act of cruelty
to bring him here to languish in the fetters of his slavery."
Toby, however, was not the only slave on St. Helena. Not long after the
first discovery of the island by the Portuguese, Juan Denova Castella, a
nobleman, was exiled there for desertion and had to spend four years in
complete solitude, except for a few slaves that he was allowed to have
with him. The Portuguese did not colonize St. Helena, and after a time
the Dutch held it for many years. When they had deserted it, the East
India Company, with plenty of capital, took possession and naturally
fell back on slave labor to cultivate the fields. When the Dutch saw
that St. Helena was likely to prove profitable to the English they tried
to get it back again, but the effort was unsuccessful, and since 1666 it
has been counted an English possession. At one time a law was passed
restricting the importation of slaves, for the colonists had begun to
fear that they might outnumber the Europeans. There was, however, an old
law that every Madagascar ship should leave one slave to work the
company's plantations. The slaves were often troublesome, but the
cruelty with which they were treated was inexcusable. Probably many a
poor creature on the island had been stolen from his home, just as we
know poor Toby had been stolen.
After the arrival of Sir Hudson Lowe, the new Governor reminded the
people of St. Helena that their island was the last British possession
to retain slavery. Various plans were proposed for doing away with it,
and at last, at his suggestion, it was agreed that after Christmas Day,
1818, all children born of slave women should be considered free. Thus
the great evil gradually ceased.
This good action on the part of Sir Hudson Lowe--that he helped gain
freedom for the slaves--made him no better liked by Napoleon and his
friends. From the first, indeed, the Governor was suspicious of
Napoleon's friends, and the fear that they were plotting for Napoleon's
escape was one of the reasons, probably, for the regulations that
greatly annoyed Napoleon. It seemed as if he wished Napoleon to be
surrounded entirely by English, for one of his early acts was to tell
the French that they were at liberty to leave St. Helena whenever they
wished. Every facility, he said, would be offered them to return to
Europe. Had he known human nature better, Sir Hudson Lowe would have
realized that persons who had given up so much to follow Napoleon would
hardly desert him merely because conditions on the island did not suit
them.
At last, on one pretext or another, he contrived to have several of
Napoleon's attendants sent away,--Santini, the clever little
lamplighter, the jack-of-all-trades, who had so often amused Betsy's
small brothers with his toys; Rousseau, his artificer; and Archambaud,
his coachman, whose reckless driving of the jaunting car always struck
terror to Betsy's heart. Most important of all, however, was the
departure of Count Las Cases, who had never failed to frown on Betsy's
hoydenish pranks. With Count Las Cases went his son, the boy about whom
Napoleon had loved to tease Betsy. It was before the end of Napoleon's
first year at Longwood that these two were sent away on the charge of
bribing a young native of St. Helena to carry a letter to Europe for
them. This would not have been a serious offence, except for the reason
that the Governor had made a regulation that no letter should be sent to
Europe without passing through his hands.
For a time Las Cases and his son were in prison on the island. Later
they were despatched to the Cape of Good Hope, where they were detained
seven months and at last sent to England.
"Let them take away all my Frenchmen," said Napoleon sadly, after the
departure of Las Cases. "I do not want them." He especially missed Las
Cases, since it was to him that he daily dictated the material for his
Memoirs.
Not long after the departure of Las Cases, Napoleon was greatly
disturbed because the Governor would not let him receive a visit from a
botanist just arrived from Europe, who was known lately to have seen
Maria Louisa and the little King of Rome. Betsy sympathized with him in
his indignation at this and other needless restrictions.
Sometimes, however, she felt like laughing at him.
"Where is the Emperor, where is the Emperor?" she asked one morning,
when staying at Longwood after a ball.
At first no one could inform her, but at last some one said, "Go over
there; he is building a ditch."
Going in the direction indicated, the young girl found Napoleon
superintending the building of a trench that he was having constructed,
so that he might have a place where he could walk unobserved.
"Do not laugh!" he said, after Betsy had come upon him, standing with
folded arms and downcast gaze. "Do not laugh! I must have a walk of my
own, where no one can look at me when I go out."
Even though she smiled, Betsy understood Napoleon's feeling. In his
early days at The Briars, when he was permitted to walk out unattended,
Napoleon was fond of strolling some distance from the cottage. Later
when he could not go far without the watchful eye of an officer upon
him, he almost gave up walking. At a certain hour of the afternoon, as
it was known that he took a short walk along a straight path not far
from the house, the curious often stationed themselves at a distance
where they could observe him. On account of this annoying observation,
Napoleon conceived the plan of digging a ditch or trench. The ditch
served at least one purpose: while it was digging it gave Napoleon
plenty of occupation in directing the workmen. When it was finished it
is said that he never used it as a promenade.
His unwillingness to take exercise resulted in a serious illness. During
this time Betsy and her sister did not see him, but whenever they met
Dr. O'Meara they eagerly questioned him about their friend. "I would
rather die at once than walk, as you prescribe." These were the words of
Napoleon that Dr. O'Meara reported to the sisters. "I have tried
persuasion of every kind, but I cannot get him to take exercise," he
said, "although I have told him that this is the only thing that can
possibly cure him. I urged him to let me call in another surgeon, so
that if he should grow no better, too much blame need not fall on me,
and what was his reply?"
Dr. O'Meara paused for a moment, and then repeated Napoleon's exact
words: "If all the physicians in the world were collected, they would
but repeat what you have already advised me--to take constant exercise
on horseback. I am well aware of the truth of what you say, but if I
were to call in another surgeon, it would be like sending a physician to
a starving man instead of giving him a loaf of bread. I have no
objection to your making known to him my state of health, if it be any
satisfaction to you; but I know that he will say, 'Exercise.' As long as
this strict surveillance is enforced, I will never stir."
In vain Dr. O'Meara repeated his arguments. Napoleon had but one reply,
"Would you have me render myself liable to insult from the sentries
surrounding my house, as Madame Bertrand was, some days ago?"
"Jane," said Betsy, who always saw the funny side of things, "what a
fine caricature this would have made for the London print
shops--Napoleon stopped at the gates by a sentinel, charging him with a
fixed bayonet! How the Londoners would laugh! No, I don't blame Napoleon
for staying indoors."
But when Betsy saw the Emperor after this illness, her heart was filled
with pity. His skin was a waxy yellow and his cheeks hung in deep
pouches. His ankles were terribly swollen, and he could not stand
without the support of a table on one side and the shoulder of an
attendant on the other.
As Betsy looked at him, tears fell from her eyes and she could hardly
keep from sobbing aloud.
"Ah!" said Napoleon kindly. "Do not cry, Mees Betsee. I am almost
well--and the good O'Meara will surely cure me."
Upon this Betsy became more cheerful, but later, when they were out of
the Emperor's hearing, Mrs. Balcombe shook her head sorrowfully, as she
turned to Betsy, saying, "He has the stamp of death on his brow."
Had Napoleon been less obstinate, within the eight miles of enclosure
allotted him he might certainly have taken enough exercise of various
kinds to preserve his health.