"Exposed to the factions which distract my country and to the enmity of the greatest Powers of Europe, I have closed my political career, and I come, like Themistocles, to throw myself upon the hospitality of the British people. I put myself under the protection of their laws, which I claim from your Royal Highness, as the most powerful, the most constant, and the most generous of my enemies."[534]

On the 14th Gourgaud and Las Cases took this letter to the "Bellerophon," whereupon Maitland assured them that he would convey Napoleon to England, Gourgaud preceding them on the "Slaney"; but that the ex-Emperor would be entirely at the disposal of our Government. This last was made perfectly clear to Las Cases, who understood English, though at first he feigned not to do so; but, unfortunately, Maitland did not exact from him a written acknowledgment of this understanding. Gourgaud was transferred to the "Slaney," which soon set sail for Torbay, while Las Cases reported to Napoleon on L'Ile d'Aix what had happened. Thereupon Bertrand wrote to Maitland that Napoleon would come on board on the morrow:

" ... If the Admiral, in consequence of the demand that you have addressed to him, sends you the permits for the United States, His Majesty will go there with pleasure; but in default of them, he will go voluntarily to England as a private individual to enjoy the protection of the laws of your country."

Now, either Las Cases misinterpreted Maitland's words and acts, or Napoleon hoped to impose on the captain by the statements just quoted. Maitland had not sent to Hotham for permits; he held out no hopes of Napoleon's going to America; he only promised to take him to England to be at the disposal of the Prince Regent. Napoleon, taking no notice of the last stipulation, now promised to go to England, not as Emperor, but as a private individual. He took this step soon after dawn on the 15th, when any lingering hopes of his escape were ended by the sight of Admiral Hotham's ship, "Superb," in the offing. On leaving the French brig, "Epervier," he was greeted with the last cheers of Vive l'Empereur, cheers that died away almost in a wail as his boat drew near to the "Bellerophon." There he was greeted respectfully, but without a salute. He wore the green uniform, with gold and scarlet facings, of a colonel of the Chasseurs a Cheval of the Guard, with white waistcoat and military boots; and Maitland thought him "a remarkably strong, well-built man." Keeping up a cheerful demeanour, he asked a number of questions about the ship, and requested to be shown round even thus early, while the men were washing the decks. He inquired whether the "Bellerophon" would have worsted the two French frigates and acquiesced in Maitland's affirmative reply. He expressed admiration of all that he saw, including the portrait of Maitland's wife hanging in the cabin; and the captain felt the full force of that seductive gift of pleasing, which was not the least important of the great man's powers.

He was accompanied by General and Mme. Bertrand, the former a tall, slim, good-looking man, of refined manners and domestic habits, though of a sensitive and hasty temper; his wife, a lady of slight figure, but stately carriage, the daughter of a Irishman named Dillon, who lost his life in the Revolution. Her vivacious manners bespoke a warm impulsive nature, that had revelled in the splendour of her high ceremonial station and now seemed strained beyond endurance by the trials threatening her and her three children. The Bertrands had been with Napoleon at Elba, and enjoyed his complete confidence. Younger than they were General (Count) Montholon and his wife—he, a short but handsome man, his consort, a sweet unassuming woman—who showed their devotion to the ex-Emperor by exchanging a life of luxury for exile in his service. Count Las Cases, a small man, whose thin eager face and furtive glances revealed his bent for intrigue, was the eldest of the party. He had been a naval officer, had then lived in England as an emigre, but after the Peace of Amiens took civil service under Napoleon; he now brought with him his son, a lad of fifteen, fresh from the Lycee. We need not notice the figures of Savary and Lallemand, as they were soon to part company. Maingaud the surgeon, Marchand the head valet, several servants, and the bright little boy of the Montholons completed the list.

The voyage passed without incident. Napoleon's health and appetite were on the whole excellent, and he suffered less than the rest from sea-sickness. The delicate Las Cases, who had donned his naval uniform, was in such distress as to move the mirth of the crew, whereupon Napoleon sharply bade him appear in plain clothes so as not to disgrace the French navy. For the great man himself the crew soon felt a very real regard, witness the final confession of one of them to Maitland: "Well, they may abuse that man as much as they like, but if the people of England knew him as well as we do, they would not hurt a hair of his head."—What a tribute this to the mysterious power of genius!

On passing Ushant, he remained long upon deck, silent and abstracted, casting melancholy looks at the land he was never more to see. As they neared Torbay, the exile was loud in praise of the beauty of the scene, which he compared with that of Porto Ferrajo. Whatever misgivings he felt before embarking on the "Bellerophon" had apparently disappeared. He had been treated with every courtesy and had met with only one rebuff. He prompted Mme. Bertrand, who spoke English well, to sound Maitland as to the acceptance of a box containing his (Napoleon's) portrait set in diamonds. This the captain very properly refused.[535]

In Torbay troubles began to thicken upon the party. Gourgaud rejoined them on the 24th: he had not been allowed to land. Orders came on the 26th for the "Bellerophon" to proceed to Plymouth; and the rumour gained ground that St. Helena would be their destination. It was true. On July 31st, Sir Henry Bunbury, Secretary to the Admiralty, and Lord Keith, Admiral in command at Plymouth, laid before him in writing the decision of our Government, that, in order to prevent any further disturbance to the peace of Europe, it had been decided to restrain his liberty—"to whatever extent may be necessary for securing that first and paramount object"—and that St. Helena would be his place of residence, as it was healthy, and would admit of a smaller degree of restraint than might be necessary elsewhere.

Against this he made a lengthy protest, declaring that he was not a prisoner of war, that he came as a passenger on the "Bellerophon" "after a previous negotiation with the commander," that he demanded the rights of a British citizen, and wished to settle in a country house far from the sea, where he would submit to the surveillance of a commissioner over his actions and correspondence. St. Helena would kill him in three months, for he was wont to ride twenty leagues a day; he preferred death to St. Helena. Maitland's conduct had been a deliberate snare. To deprive him (Napoleon) of his liberty would be an eternal disgrace to England; for in coming to our shores he had offered the Prince Regent the finest page of his history.—Our officials then bowed and withdrew. He recalled Keith, and when the latter remarked that to go to St. Helena was better than being sent to Louis XVIII. or to Russia, the captive exclaimed "Russia! God keep me from that."[536]

It is unnecessary to traverse his statements at length. The foregoing recital of facts will have shown that he was completely at the end of his resources, and that Maitland had not made a single stipulation as to his reception in England. Indeed, Napoleon never reproached Maitland; he left that to Las Cases to do; and the captain easily refuted these insinuations, with the approval of Montholon. If there was any misunderstanding, it was certainly due to Las Cases.[537]

Indeed, the thought of Napoleon settling dully down in the Midlands is ludicrous. How could a man who revelled in vast schemes, whose mind preyed on itself if there were no facts and figures to grind, or difficulties to overcome, ever sink to the level of a Justice Shallow? And if he longed for repose, would the Opposition in England and the malcontents in France have let him rest? Inevitably he would become a rallying point for all the malcontents of Europe. Besides, our engagements to the allies bound us to guard him securely; and we were under few personal obligations to a man who, during the Peace of Amiens, persistently urged us to drive forth the Bourbons from our land, who at its close forcibly detained 10,000 Britons in defiance of the law of nations, and whose ambition added L600,000,000 to our National Debt.

Ministers had decided on St. Helena by July 28th. Their decision was clinched by a Memorandum of General Beatson, late Governor of the island, dated July 29th, recommending St. Helena, because all the landing places were protected by batteries, and the semaphores recently placed on the lofty cliffs would enable the approach of a rescue squadron to be descried sixty miles off, and the news to be speedily signalled to the Governor's House. Napoleon's appeal and protests were accordingly passed over; and, in pursuance of advice just to hand from Castlereagh at Paris, Ministers decided to treat him, not as our prisoner, but as the prisoner of all the Powers. A Convention was set in hand as to his detention; it was signed on August 2nd at Paris, and bound the other Powers to send Commissioners as witnesses to the safety of the custody.[538]

His departure from Plymouth was hastened by curious incidents. Crowds of people assembled there to see the great man, and shoals of boats—Maitland says more than a thousand on fine days—struggled and jostled to get as near the "Bellerophon" as the guard-boats would allow. Two or three persons were drowned; but still the swarm pressed on. Many of the men wore carnations—a hopeful sign this seemed to Las Cases—and the women waved their handkerchiefs when he appeared on the poop or at the open gangway. Maitland was warned that a rescue would be attempted on the night of the 3rd-4th; and certainly the Frenchmen were very restless at that time. They believed that if Napoleon could only set foot on shore he must gain the rights of Habeas Corpus.[539] And there seemed some chance of his gaining them. Very early on August 4th a man came down from London bringing a subpoena from the Court of King's Bench to compel Lord Keith and Captain Maitland to produce the person of Napoleon Bonaparte for attendance in London as witness in a trial for libel then pending. It appears that some one was to be sued for a libel on a naval officer, censuring his conduct in the West Indies; and it was suggested that if he (the defendant) could get Napoleon's evidence to prove that the French ships were at that time unserviceable, his case would be strengthened. An attorney therefore came down to Plymouth armed with a subpoena, with which he chased Keith on land and chased him by sea, until his panting rowers were foiled by the stout crew of the Admiral's barge. Keith also found means to let Maitland know how matters stood early on the 4th, whereupon the "Bellerophon" stood out to sea, her guard-boat keeping at a distance the importunate man with the writ.

The whole affair looks very suspicious. What defendant in a plain straightforward case would ever have thought of so far-fetched a device as that of getting the ex-Emperor to declare on oath that his warships in the West Indies had been unseaworthy? The tempting thought that it was a trick of some enterprising journalist in search of "copy "must also be given up as a glaring anachronism. On the other hand, it is certain that Napoleon's well-wishers in London and Plymouth were moving heaven and earth to get him ashore, or delay his departure.[540] In common with Sieyes, Lavalette, and Las Cases, he had hoped much from the peculiarities of English law; and on July 28th he dictated to Las Cases a paper, "suited to serve as a basis to jurists," which the latter says he managed to send ashore.[541] If this be true, Napoleon himself may have spurred on his friends to the effort just described. Or else the plan may have occurred to some of his English admirers who wished to embarrass the Ministry. If so, their attempt met with the fate that usually befalls the efforts of our anti-national cliques on behalf of their foreign heroes: it did them harm: the authorities acted more promptly than they would otherwise have done: the "Bellerophon" put to sea a few days before the Frenchmen expected, with the result that they were exposed to a disagreeable cruise until the "Northumberland" (the ship destined for the voyage in place of the glorious old "Bellerophon") was ready to receive them on board.[542]

Dropping down from Portsmouth, the newer ship met the "Bellerophon" and "Tonnant," Lord Keith's ship, off the Start. The transhipment took place on the 7th, under the lee of Berry Head, Torbay. After dictating a solemn protest against the compulsion put upon him, the ex-Emperor thanked Maitland for his honourable conduct, spoke of his having hoped to buy a small estate in England where he might end his days in peace, and declaimed bitterly against the Government.

Rear-Admiral Sir George Cockburn, of the "Northumberland," then came by official order to search his baggage and that of his suite, so as to withdraw any large sums of money that might be thereafter used for effecting an escape. Savary and Marchand were present while this was done by Cockburn's secretary with as much delicacy as possible: 4,000 gold Napoleons (80,000 francs) were detained to provide a fund for part maintenance of the illustrious exile. The diamond necklace which Hortense had handed to him at Malmaison was at that time concealed on Las Cases, who continued to keep it as a sacred trust. The ex-Emperor's attendants were required to give up their swords during the voyage. Montholon states that when the same request was made by Keith to Napoleon, the only reply was a flash of anger from his eyes, under which the Admiral's tall figure shrank away, and his head, white with years, fell on his breast. Alas, for the attempt at melodrama! Maitland was expressly told by Lord Keith not to proffer any such request to the fallen chief.

Apart from one or two exclamations that he would commit suicide rather than go to St. Helena, Napoleon had behaved with a calm and serenity that contrasted with the peevish gloom of his officers and the spasms of Mme. Bertrand. This unhappy lady, on learning their fate, raved in turn against Maitland, Gourgaud, Napoleon, and against her husband for accompanying him, and ended by trying to throw herself from a window. From this she was pulled back, whereupon she calmed down and secretly urged Maitland to write to Lord Keith to prevent Bertrand accompanying his master. The captain did so, but of course the Admiral declined to interfere. Her shrill complaints against Napoleon had, however, been heard on the other side of the thin partition, and fanned the dislike which Montholon and Gourgaud had conceived for her, and in part for her husband. These were the officers whom he selected as companions of exile. Las Cases was to go as secretary, and his son as page.

Savary, Lallemand, and Planat having been proscribed by Louis XVIII., were detained by our Government, and subsequently interned at Malta. On taking leave of Napoleon they showed deep emotion, while he bestowed the farewell embrace with remarkable composure. The surgeon, Maingaud, now declined to proceed to St. Helena, alleging that he had wanted to go to America only because his uncle there was to leave him a legacy! At the same time Bertrand asked that O'Meara, the surgeon of the "Bellerophon," might accompany Napoleon to St. Helena. As Maingaud's excuse was very lame, and O'Meara had had one or two talks with Napoleon in Italian, Keith and Maitland should have seen that there was some understanding between them; but the Admiral consented to the proposed change. As to O'Meara's duplicity, we may quote from Basil Jackson's "Waterloo and St. Helena": "I know that he [O'Meara] was fully enlisted for Napoleon's service during the voyage from Rochefort to England." The sequel will show how disastrous it was to allow this man to go with the ex-Emperor.

In the Admiral's barge that took him to the "Northumberland" the ex-Emperor "appeared to be in perfect good humour," says Keith, "talking of Egypt, St. Helena, of my former name being Elphinstone, and many other subjects, and joking with the ladies about being seasick."[543] In this firm matter-of-fact way did Napoleon accept the extraordinary change in his fortunes. At no time of his life, perhaps, was he so great as when, forgetting his own headlong fall, he sought to dispel the smaller griefs of Mmes. Bertrand and Montholon. A hush came over the crew as Napoleon mounted the side and set foot on the deck of the ship that was to bear him away to a life of exile. It was a sight that none could behold unmoved, as the great man uncovered, received the salute, and said with a firm voice: "Here I am, General, at your orders."

The scene was rich, not only in personal interest and pathos, but also in historic import. It marks the end of a cataclysmic epoch and the dawn of a dreary and confused age. We may picture the Muse of History, drawn distractedly from her abodes on the banks of the Seine, gazing in wonder on that event taking place under the lee of Berry Head, her thoughts flashing back, perchance, to the days when William of Orange brought his fleet to shore at that same spot and baffled the designs of the other great ruler of France. The glory of that land is now once more to be shrouded in gloom. For a time, like an uneasy ghost, Clio will hover above the scenes of Napoleon's exploits and will find little to record but promises broken and development arrested by his unteachable successors.

But the march of Humanity is only clogged: it is not stayed. Ere long it breaks away into untrodden paths amidst the busy hives of industry or in the track of the colonizing peoples. The Muse follows in perplexity: her course at first seems dull and purposeless: her story, when it bids farewell to Napoleon, suffers a bewildering fall in dramatic interest: but at length new and varied fields open out to view. Democracy, embattled for seven sad years by Napoleon against her sister, Nationality, little by little awakens to a consciousness of the mistake that has blighted his fortune and hers, and begins to ally herself with the ill-used champion of the Kings. Industry, starved by War, regains her strength and goes forth on a career of conquest more enduring than that of the great warrior. And the peoples that come to the front are not those of the Latin race, whom his wars have stunted, but those of the untamable Teutonic stock, the lords of the sea and the leaders of Central Europe.

* * * * *

The treatment of the ex-Emperor henceforth differed widely from that which had been hastily arranged by the Czar for his sojourn at Elba. In that case he retained the title of Emperor; he reigned over the island, and was free to undertake coasting trips. As these generous arrangements had entailed on Europe the loss of more than 80,000 men in killed and wounded, it is not surprising that the British Ministers should now have insisted on far stricter rules, especially as they and their Commissioner had been branded as accomplices in the former escape. His comfort and dignity were now subordinated to security. As the title of Emperor would enable him to claim privileges incompatible with any measure of surveillance, it was firmly and consistently denied to him; while he as persistently claimed it, and doubtless for the same reason. He was now to rank as a General not on active service; and Cockburn received orders, while treating him with deference and assigning to him the place of honour at table, to abstain from any acknowledgment of the imperial dignity. Napoleon soon put this question to the test by rising from dinner before the others had finished; but, with the exception of his suite, the others did not accompany him on deck. At this he was much piqued, as also at seeing that the officers did not uncover in his presence on the quarter-deck; but when Cockburn's behaviour in this respect was found to be quietly consistent, the anger of the exiles began to wear off—or rather it was thrust down.

One could wish that the conduct of our Government in this matter had been more chivalrous. It is true that we had only on two occasions acknowledged the imperial title, namely during the negotiations of 1806 and 1814; and to recognize it after his public outlawry would have been rather illogical, besides feeding the Bonapartists with hopes which, in the interests of France, it was well absolutely to close. Ministers might also urge that he himself had offered to live in England as a private individual, and that his transference to St. Helena, which allowed of greater personal liberty than could be accorded in England, did not alter the essential character of his detention. Nevertheless, their decision is to be regretted. The zeal of his partisans, far from being quenched, was inflamed by what they conceived to be a gratuitous insult; and these feelings, artfully worked upon by tales, medals, and pictures of the modern Prometheus chained to the rock, had no small share in promoting unrest in France.

Apart from this initial friction, Napoleon's relations to the Admiral and officers were fairly cordial. He chatted with him at the dinner-table and during the hour's walk that they afterwards usually took on the quarter-deck. His conversations showed no signs of despair or mental lethargy. They ranged over a great variety of topics, general and personal. He discussed details of navigation and shipbuilding with a minuteness of knowledge that surprised the men of the sea.

From his political conversations with Cockburn we may cull the following remarks. He said that he really meant to invade England in 1803-5, and to dictate terms of peace at London. He stoutly defended his execution of the Duc d'Enghien, and named none of the paltry excuses that his admirers were later on to discover for that crime. Referring to recent events, he inveighed against the French Liberals, declared that he had humoured the Chambers far too much, and dilated on the danger of representative institutions on the Continent. However much a Parliament might suit England, it was, he declared, highly perilous in Continental States. With respect to the future of France, he expressed the conviction that, as soon as the armies of occupation were withdrawn, there would be a general insurrection owing to the strong military bias of the people and their hatred of the Bourbons, now again brought back by devastating hordes of foreigners.[544]

This last observation probably explains the general buoyancy of his bearing. He did not consider the present settlement as final; and doubtless it was his boundless fund of hope that enabled him to triumph over the discomforts of the present, which left his companions morose and snappish. "His spirits are even," wrote Glover, the Admiral's secretary, at the equator, "and he appears perfectly unconcerned about his fate."[545] His recreations were chess, which he played with more vehemence than skill, and games of hazard, especially vingt-et-un: he began to learn "le wisth" from our officers. Sometimes he and Gourgaud amused themselves by extracting the square and cube roots of numbers; he also began to learn English from Las Cases. On some occasions he diverted his male companions with tales of his adventures, both military and amorous. His interest in the ship and in the events of the voyage did not flag. When a shark was caught and hauled up, "Bonaparte with the eagerness of a schoolboy scrambled on the poop to see it."

His health continued excellent. Despite his avoidance of vegetables and an excessive consumption of meat, he suffered little from indigestion, except during a few days of fierce sirocco wind off Madeira. He breakfasted about 10 on meat and wine, and remained in his cabin reading, dictating, or learning English, until about 3 p.m., when he played games and took exercise preparatory to dinner at 5. After a full meal, in which he partook by preference of the most highly dressed dishes of meat, he walked the deck for an hour or more. On one evening, the Admiral begged to be excused owing to a heavy equatorial rain-storm; but the ex-Emperor went up as usual, saying that the rain would not hurt him any more than the sailors; and it did not. The incident claims some notice: for it proves that, whatever later writers may say as to his decline of vitality in 1815, he himself was unaware of it, and braved with impunity a risk that a vigorous naval officer preferred to avoid. Moreover, the mere fact that he was able to keep up a heavy meat diet all through the tropics bespeaks a constitution of exceptional strength, unimpaired as yet by the internal malady which was to be his doom.

That one element of conviviality was not wanting at meals will appear from the official return of the consumption of wine at the Admiral's table by his seven French guests and six British officers: Port, 20 dozen; Claret, 45 dozen; Madeira, 22 dozen; Champagne, 13 dozen; Sherry, 7 dozen; Malmsey, 5 dozen.[546] The "Peruvian" had been detached from the squadron to Guernsey to lay in a stock of French wines specially for the exiles; and 15 dozen of claret—Napoleon's favourite beverage—were afterwards sent on shore at St. Helena for his use.

Doubtless the evenness of his health, which surprised Cockburn, Warden, and O'Meara alike, was largely due to his iron will. He knew that his exile must be disagreeable, but he had that useful faculty of encasing himself in the present, which dulls the edge of care. Besides, his tastes were not so exacting, or his temperament so volatile, as to shroud him in the gloom that besets weaker natures in time of trouble. Alas for him, it was far otherwise with his companions. The impressionable young Gourgaud, the thought-wrinkled Las Cases, the bright pleasure-loving Montholons, the gloomy Grand Marshal, Bertrand, and his mercurial consort, over whose face there often passed "a gleam of distraction"—these were not fashioned for a life of adversity. Thence came the long spells of ennui, broken by flashes of temper, that marked the voyage and the sojourn at St. Helena.

The storm-centre was generally Mme. Bertrand; her varying moods, that proclaimed her Irish-Creole parentage, early brought on her the hostility of the others, including Napoleon; and as the discovery of her little plot to prevent Bertrand going to St. Helena gave them a convenient weapon, the voyage was for her one long struggle against covert intrigues, thinly veiled sarcasms, sea-sickness, and despair. At last she has to keep to her cabin, owing to some nervous disorder. On hearing of this Napoleon remarks that it is better she should die—such is Gourgaud's report of his words. Unfortunately, she recovers: after ten days she reappears, receives the congratulations of the officers in the large cabin where Napoleon is playing chess with Montholon. He receives her with a stolid stare and goes on with the game. After a time the Admiral hands her to her seat at the dinner-table, on the ex-Emperor's left. Still no recognition from her chief! But the claret bottle that should be in front of him is not there: she reaches over and hands it to him. Then come the looked-for words: "Ah! comment se porte madame?"—That is all.[547]

For Bertrand, even in his less amiable moods, Bonaparte ever had the friendly word that feeds the well-spring of devotion. On the "Bellerophon," when they hotly differed on a trivial subject, Bertrand testily replied to his dogmatic statements: "Oh! if you reply in that manner, there is an end of all argument." Far from taking offence at this retort, Napoleon soothed him and speedily restored him to good temper—a good instance of his forbearance to those whom he really admired.

Certainly the exiles were not happy among themselves. Even the amiable Mme. Montholon was the cause of one quarrel at table. After leaving Funchal, Cockburn states that a Roman Catholic priest there has offered to accompany the ex-Emperor. Napoleon replies in a way that proves his utter indifference; but the ladies launch out on the subject of religion. The discussion waxes hot, until the impetuous Gourgaud shoots out the remark that Montholon is wanting in respect for his wife. Whereupon the Admiral ends the scene by rising from table. Sir George Bingham, Colonel of the 53rd Regiment sailing in the squadron, passes the comment in his diary: "It is not difficult to see that envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness are firmly rooted in Napoleon's family, and that their residence in St. Helena will be rendered very uncomfortable by it."[548]

Intrigues there are of kaleidoscopic complexity, either against the superior Bertrands or the rising influence of Las Cases. This official has but yesterday edged his way into the Emperor's inner circle, and Gourgaud frankly reminds him of the fact: "'If I have come [with the Emperor] it is because I have followed him for four years, except at Elba. I have saved his life; and one loves those whom one has obliged.... But you, sir, he did not know you even by sight: then, why this great devotion of yours?'—I see around me," he continues, "many intrigues and deceptions. Poor Gourgaud, qu'allais-tu faire dans cette galere?"[549]

The young aide-de-camp's influence is not allowed to wane for lack of self-advertisement. Thus, when the battle of Waterloo is mentioned at table, he at once gives his version of it, and stoutly maintains that, whatever Napoleon may say to the contrary, he (Napoleon) did mistake the Prussian army for Grouchy's force: and, waxing eloquent on this theme, he exclaims to his neighbour, Glover, "that at one time he [Gourgaud] might have taken the Duke of Wellington prisoner, but he desisted from it, knowing the effusion of blood it would have occasioned."[550]—It is charitable to assume that this utterance was inspired by some liquid stronger than the alleged "stale water that had been to India and back."

On the whole, was there ever an odder company of shipmates since the days of Noah? A cheery solid Admiral, a shadowy Captain Ross who can navigate but does not open his lips, a talkative creature of the secretary type, the soldierly Bingham, the graceful courtly Montholons, the young General who out-gascons the Gascons, the wire-drawn subtle Las Cases, the melancholy Grand Marshal and his spasmodic consort—all of them there to guard or cheer that pathetic central figure, the world's conqueror and world's exile.

Meanwhile France was feeling the results of his recent enterprise. Enormous armies began to hold her down until the Bourbons, whose nullity was a pledge for peace, should be firmly re-established. Bluecher, baulked of his wish to shoot Bonaparte, was with difficulty dissuaded by the protests of Wellington and Louis XVIII. from blowing up the Pont de Jena at Paris; and the fierce veteran voiced the general opinion of Germans, including Metternich, that France must be partitioned, or at least give back Alsace and Lorraine to the Fatherland. Even Lord Liverpool, our cautious Premier, wrote on July 15th that, if Bonaparte remained at large, the allies ought to retain all the northern fortresses as a security.[551] But the knowledge that the warrior was in our power led our statesmen to bear less hardly on France. From the outset Wellington sought to bring the allies to reason, and on August 11th he wrote a despatch that deserves to rank among his highest titles to fame. While granting that France was still left "in too great strength for the rest of Europe," he pointed out that "revolutionary France is more likely to distress the world, than France, however strong in her frontier, under a regular Government; and that is the situation in which we ought to endeavour to place her."

This generous and statesmanlike judgment, consorting with that of the Czar, prevailed over the German policy of partition; and it was finally arranged by the Treaty of Paris of November 20th, 1815, that France should surrender only the frontier strips around Marienburg, Saarbruecken, Landau, and Chambery, also paying war indemnities and restoring to their lawful owners all the works of art of which Napoleon had rifled the chief cities of the continent. In one respect these terms were extraordinarily lenient. Great Britain, after bearing the chief financial strain of the war, might have claimed some of the French colonies which she restored in 1814, or at least have required the surrender of the French claims on part of the Newfoundland coast. Even this last was not done, and alone of the States that had suffered loss of valuable lives, we exacted no territorial indemnity for the war of 1815.[552] In truth, our Ministers were content with placing France and her ancient dynasty in an honourable position, in the hope that Europe would thus at last find peace; and the forty years of almost unbroken rest that followed justified their magnanimity.

But there was one condition fundamental to the Treaty of Paris and essential to the peace of Europe, namely, that Napoleon should be securely guarded at St. Helena.

* * * * *



CHAPTER XLII

CLOSING YEARS

After a voyage of sixty-seven days the exiles sighted St. Helena—"that black wart rising out of the ocean," as Surgeon Henry calls it. Blank dismay laid hold of the more sensitive as they gazed at those frowning cliffs. What Napoleon's feelings were we know not. Watchful curiosity seemed to be uppermost; for as they drew near to Jamestown, he minutely scanned the forts through a glass. Arrangements having been made for his reception, he landed in the evening of the 17th October, so as to elude the gaze of the inhabitants, and entered a house prepared for him in the town.

On the morrow he was up at dawn, and rode with Cockburn and Bertrand to Longwood, the residence of the Lieutenant-Governor. The orders of our East India Company, to which the island then belonged, forbade his appropriation of Plantation House, the Governor's residence; and a glance at the accompanying map will show the reason of this prohibition. This house is situated not far from creeks that are completely sheltered from the south-east trade winds, whence escape by boat would be easy; whereas Longwood is nearer the surf-beaten side and offers far more security. After conferring with Governor Wilks and others, Cockburn decided on this residence.

"At Longwood," wrote Cockburn, "an extent of level ground, easily to be secured by sentries, presents itself, perfectly adapted for horse exercise, carriage exercise, or for pleasant walking, which is not to be met with in all the other parts of the island. The house is certainly small; but ... I trust the carpenters of the 'Northumberland' will in a little time be able to make such additions to the house as will render it, if not as good as might be wished, yet at least as commodious as necessary."[553]



"Napoleon," wrote Glover, "seemed well satisfied with the situation of Longwood, and expressed a desire to occupy it as soon as possible." As he disliked the publicity of the house in Jamestown, Cockburn suggested on their return that he should reside at a pretty little bungalow, not far from the town, named "The Briars." He readily assented, and took up his abode there for seven weeks, occupying a small adjoining annexe, while Las Cases and his son established themselves in the two garrets. A marquee was erected to serve as dining-room. It was a narrow space for the lord of the Tuileries, but he seems to have been not unhappy. There he dictated Memoranda to Las Cases or Gourgaud in the mornings, and often joined the neighbouring family of the Balcombes for dinner and the evening. Mr. Balcombe, an elderly merchant, was appointed purveyor to the party; he and his wife were most hospitable, and their two daughters, of fifteen and fourteen years, frequently beguiled Napoleon's evening hours with games of whist or naive questions. On one supreme occasion, in order to please the younger girl, Napoleon played at blindman's buff; at such times she ventured to call him "Boney"; and, far from taking offence at this liberty, he delighted in her glee. It is such episodes as these that reveal the softer traits of his character, which the dictates of policy had stunted but not eradicated.[554]

In other respects, the time at "The Briars" was dull and monotonous, and he complained bitterly to Cockburn of the inadequate accommodation. The most exciting times were on the arrival of newspapers from Europe. The reports just to hand of riots in England and royalist excesses in France fed his hopes of general disorders or revolutions which might lead to his recall. He believed the Jacobins would yet lord it over the Continent. "It is only I who can tame them."

Equally noteworthy are his comments on the trials of Labedoyere and Ney for their treason to Louis XVIII. He has little pity for them. "One ought never to break one's word," he remarked to Gourgaud, "and I despise traitors." On hearing that Labedoyere was condemned to death, he at first shows more feeling: but he comes round to the former view: "Labedoyere acted like a man without honour," and "Ney dishonoured himself."[555]

We may hereby gauge the value which Napoleon laid on fidelity. For him it is the one priceless virtue. He esteems those who staunchly oppose him, and seeks to gain them over by generosity: for those who come over he ever has a secret contempt; for those who desert him, hatred. Doubtless that is why he heard the news of Ney's execution unmoved. Brilliantly brave as the Marshal was, he had abandoned him in 1814, and Louis XVIII. in the Hundred Days. The tidings of Murat's miserable fate, at the close of his mad expedition to Calabria, leave Napoleon equally cold.—"I announce the fatal news," writes Gourgaud, "to His Majesty, whose expression remains unchanged, and who says that Murat must have been mad to attempt a venture like that."—Here again his thoughts seem to fly back to Murat's defection in 1814. Later on, he says he loved him for his brilliant bravery, and therefore pardoned his numerous follies. But his present demeanour shows that he never forgave that of 1814.[556]

Meanwhile, thanks to the energy of Cockburn and his sailors, Longwood was ready for the party (December 9th, 1815), and the Admiral hoped that their complaints would cease. The new abode contained five rooms for Napoleon's use, three for the Montholons, two for the Las Cases, and one for Gourgaud: it was situated on a plateau 1,730 feet above the sea: the air there was bracing, and on the farther side of the plain dotted with gum trees stretched the race-course, a mile and a half of excellent turf. The only obvious drawbacks were the occasional mists, and the barren precipitous ravines that flank the plateau on all sides. Seeing, however, that Napoleon disliked the publicity of Jamestown, the isolation of Longwood could hardly be alleged as a serious grievance. The Bertrands occupied Hutt's Gate, a small villa about a mile distant.

The limits within which Napoleon might take exercise unaccompanied by a British officer formed a roughly triangular space having a circumference of about twelve miles. Outside of those bounds he must be so accompanied; and if a strange ship came in sight, he was to return within bounds. The letters of the whole party must be supervised by the acting Governor. This is the gist of the official instructions. Napoleon's dislike of being accompanied by a British officer led him nearly always to restrict himself to the limits and generally to the grounds of Longwood.

And where, we may ask, could a less unpleasant place of detention have been found? In Europe he must inevitably have submitted to far closer confinement. For what safeguards could there have been proof against a subtle intellect and a personality whose charm fired thousands of braves in both hemispheres with the longing to start him once more on his adventures? The Tower of London, the eyrie of Dumbarton Castle, even Fort William itself, were named as possible places of detention. Were they suited to this child of the Mediterranean? He needed sun; he needed exercise; he needed society. All these he could have on the plateau of Longwood, in a singularly equable climate, where the heat of the tropics is assuaged by the south-east trade wind, and plants of the sub-tropical and temperate zones alike flourish.[557]

But nothing pleased the exiles. They moped during the rains; they shuddered at the yawning ravines; they groaned at the sight of the red-coats; above all, they realized that escape was hopeless in face of Cockburn's watchful care. His first steps on arriving at the island were to send on to the Cape seventy-five foreigners whose presence was undesirable. He also despatched the "Peruvian" to hoist the British flag on the uninhabited island, Ascension, in order, as he wrote to the Admiralty, "to prevent America or any other nation from planting themselves [sic] there ... for the purpose of favouring sooner or later the escape of General Bonaparte." Four ships of war were also kept at St. Helena, and no merchantmen but those of the East India Company were to touch there except under stress of weather or when in need of water.

These precautions early provoked protests from the exiles. Bertrand had no wish to draw them up in the trenchant style that the ex-Emperor desired; but Gourgaud's "Journal" shows that he was driven on to the task (November 5th). It only led to a lofty rejoinder from Cockburn, in which he declined to relax his system, but expressed the wish to render their situation "as little disagreeable as possible." On December 21st, Montholon returned to the charge with a letter dictated by Napoleon, complaining that Longwood was the most barren spot on the island, always deluged with rain or swathed in mist; that O'Meara was not to count as a British officer when they went beyond the limits, and had been reprimanded by the Admiral for thus acting; and that the treatment of the exiles would excite the indignation of all times and all people. To this the Admiral sent a crushing rejoinder, declining to explain why he had censured O'Meara or any other British subject: he asserted that Longwood was "the most pleasant as well as the most healthy spot of this most healthful island," expressed the hope that, when the rains had ceased, the party would change their opinion of Longwood, and declared that the treatment of the party would "obtain the admiration of future ages, as well as of every unprejudiced person of the present."

We now know that the Admiral's trust in the judicial impartiality of future ages was a piece of touching credulity, and that the next generation, like his own, was greedily to swallow sensational slander and to neglect the prosaic truth. But, arguing from present signs, he might well believe that Montholon's letter was a tissue of falsehoods; for that officer soon confessed to him that "it was written in a moment of petulance of the General [Bonaparte] ... and that he [Montholon] considered the party to be in point of fact vastly well off and to have everything necessary for them, though anxious that there should be no restrictions as to the General going unattended by an officer wherever he pleased throughout the island."[558] On the last point Cockburn was inflexible.

The Admiral's responsibility was now nearly at an end. On April 14th, 1816, there landed at St. Helena Sir Hudson Lowe, the new Governor, who was to take over the powers wielded both by Cockburn and Wilks. The new arrival, on whom the storms of calumny were thenceforth persistently to beat, had served with distinction in many parts. Born in 1769, within one month of Napoleon, he early entered our army, and won his commission by service in Corsica and Elba, his linguistic and military gifts soon raising him to the command of a corps of Corsican exiles who after 1795 enlisted in our service. With these "Corsican Rangers" Lowe campaigned in Egypt and finally at Capri, their devotion to him nerving them to a gallant but unavailing defence of this islet against a superior force of Murat's troops in 1808.[559] In 1810 Lowe and his Corsicans captured the Isle of Santa Maura, which he thereafter governed to the full satisfaction of the inhabitants. Early in 1813 he was ordered to Russia, and thereafter served as attache on Bluecher's staff in the memorable advance to the Rhine and the Seine. He brought the news of Napoleon's first abdication to England, was knighted by the Prince Regent, and received Russian and Prussian orders of distinction for his services. At the close of 1814 he was appointed Quartermaster-General of our forces in the Netherlands and received flattering letters of congratulation from Bluecher and Gneisenau, the latter expressing his appreciation of "Your rare military talents, your profound judgment on the great operations of war, and your imperturbable sang froid in the day of battle. These rare qualities and your honourable character will link me to you eternally." In 1822, when O'Meara was slandering Lowe's character, the Czar Alexander met his step-daughter, the Countess Balmain, at Verona, and in reference to Sir Hudson's painful duties at St. Helena, said of him: "Je l'estime beaucoup. Je l'ai connu dans les temps critiques."[560]

Lowe's firmness of character, command of foreign languages, and intimate acquaintance with Corsicans, seemed to mark him out as the ideal Governor of St. Helena in place of the mild and scholarly Wilks. And yet the appointment was in some ways unfortunate. Though a man of sterling worth, Lowe was reserved, and had little acquaintance with the ways of courtiers. Moreover, the superstitious might deem that all the salient events of his career proclaimed him an evil genius dogging the steps of Napoleon; and, as superstition laid increasing hold on the great Corsican in his later years, we may reasonably infer that this feeling intensified, if it did not create, the repugnance which he ever manifested to la figure sinistre of the Governor. Lowe also at first shrank from an appointment that must bring on him the intrigues of Napoleon and of his partisans in England. Only a man of high rank and commanding influence could hope to live down such attacks; and Lowe had neither rank nor influence. He was the son of an army surgeon, and was almost unknown in the country which for twenty-eight years he had served abroad.

His first visits to Longwood were unfortunate. Cockburn and he arranged to go at 9 a.m., the time when Napoleon frequently went for a drive. On their arrival they were informed that the Emperor was indisposed and could not see them until 4 p.m. of the next day, and it soon appeared that the early hour of their call was taken as an act of rudeness. On the following afternoon Lowe and Cockburn arranged to go in together to the presence; but as Lowe advanced to the chamber, Bertrand stepped forward, and a valet prevented the Admiral's entrance, an act of incivility which Lowe did not observe. Proceeding alone, the new Governor offered his respects in French; but on Napoleon remarking that he must know Italian, for he had commanded a regiment of Corsicans, they conversed in Napoleon's mother-tongue. The ex-Emperor's first serious observation, which bore on the character of the Corsicans, was accompanied by a quick searching glance: "They carry the stiletto: are they not a bad people?"—Lowe saw the snare and evaded it by the reply: "They do not carry the stiletto, having abandoned that custom in our service: I was very well satisfied with them." They then conversed a short time about Egypt and other topics. Napoleon afterwards contrasted him favourably with Cockburn: "This new Governor is a man of very few words, but he appears to be a polite man: however, it is only from a man's conduct for some time that you can judge of him."[561]

Cockburn was indignant at the slight put upon him by Napoleon and Bertrand, which succeeded owing to Lowe's want of ready perception; but he knew that the cause of the exiles' annoyance was his recent firm refusal to convey Napoleon's letter of complaint direct to the Prince Regent, without the knowledge of the Ministry. Failing to bend the Admiral, they then sought to cajole the retiring Governor, Wilks, who, having borne little of the responsibility of their custody, was proportionately better liked. First Bertrand, and then Napoleon, requested him to take this letter without the knowledge of the new Governor. Wilks at once repelled the request, remarking to Bertrand that such attempts at evasion must lead to greater stringency in the future. And this was the case.[562] The incident naturally increased Lowe's suspicion of the ex-Emperor.

At first there was an uneasy truce between them. Gourgaud, though cast down at the departure of the "adorable" Miss Wilks, found strength enough to chronicle in his "Journal" the results of a visit paid by Las Cases to Lowe at Plantation House (April 26th): the Governor received the secretary very well and put all his library at the disposal of the party; but the diarist also notes that Napoleon took amiss the reception of any of his people by the Governor. This had been one of the unconscious crimes of the Admiral. With the hope of brightening the sojourn of the exiles, he had given several balls, at which Mmes. Bertrand and Montholon shone resplendent in dresses that cast into the shade those of the officers' wives. Their triumph was short-lived. When la grande Marechale ventured to desert the Emperor's table on these and other festive occasions, her growing fondness for the English drew on her sharp rebukes from the ex-Emperor and a request not to treat Longwood as if it were an inn.[563] Many jottings in Gourgaud's diary show that the same policy was thenceforth strictly maintained. Napoleon kept up the essentials of Tuileries etiquette, required the attendance of his courtiers, and jealously checked any familiarity with Plantation House or Jamestown.

On some questions Lowe was more pliable than the home Government, notably in the matter of the declarations signed by Napoleon's followers. But in one matter he was proof against all requests from Longwood: this was the extension of the twelve-mile limit. It afterwards became the custom to speak as if Lowe could have granted this. Even the Duke of Wellington declared to Stanhope that he considered Lowe a stupid man, suspicious and jealous, who might very well have let Napoleon go freely about the island provided that the six or seven landing-places were well guarded and that Napoleon showed himself to a British officer every night and morning. Now, it is futile to discuss whether such liberty would have enabled Napoleon to pass off as someone else and so escape. What is certain is that our Government, believing he could so escape, imposed rules which Lowe was not free to relax.

Napoleon realized this perfectly well, but in the interview of April 30th, 1816, he pressed Lowe for an extension of the limits, saying that he hated the sight of our soldiers and longed for closer intercourse with the inhabitants. Other causes of friction occurred, such as Lowe's withdrawal of the privilege, rather laxly granted by Cockburn to Bertrand, of granting passes for interviews with Napoleon; or again a tactless invitation that Lowe sent to "General Bonaparte" to meet the wife of the Governor-General of India at dinner at Plantation House. But in the midst of the diatribe which Napoleon shortly afterwards shot forth at his would-be host—a diatribe besprinkled with taunts that Lowe was sent to be his executioner—there came a sentence which reveals the cause of his fury: "If you cannot extend my limits, you can do nothing for me."[564]

Why this wish for wider limits? It did not spring from a desire for longer drives; for the plateau offered nearly all the best ground in the island for such exercise. Neither was it due to a craving for wider social intercourse. There can be little doubt that he looked on an extension of limits as a necessary prelude to attempts at escape and as a means of influencing the slaves at the outlying plantations. Gourgaud names several instances of gold pieces being given to slaves, and records the glee shown by his master on once slipping away from the sentries and the British officer. These feelings and attempts were perfectly natural on Napoleon's part; but it was equally natural that the Governor should regard them as part of a plan of escape or rescue—a matter that will engage our closer attention presently.

Napoleon had only two more interviews with Lowe namely, on July 17th and August 18th. In the former of these he was more conciliatory; but in the latter, at which Admiral Sir Pulteney Malcolm was present, he assailed the Governor with the bitterest taunts. Lowe cut short the painful scene by saying: "You make me smile, sir." "How smile, sir?" "You force me to smile: your misconception of my character and the rudeness of your manners excite my pity. I wish you good day." The Admiral also retired.[565]

Various causes have been assigned for the hatred that Napoleon felt for Lowe. His frequents taunts that he was no general, but only a leader of Corsican deserters, suggests one that has already been referred to. It has also been suggested that Lowe was not a gentleman, and references have been approvingly made to comparisons of his physiognomy with that of the devil, and of his eye with "that of a hyaena caught in a trap." As to this we will cite the opinion of Lieutenant (later Colonel) Basil Jackson, who was unknown to Lowe before 1816, and was on friendly terms with the inmates both of Longwood and of Plantation House:

"He [Lowe] stood five feet seven, spare in make, having good features, fair hair, and eyebrows overhanging his eyes: his look denoted penetration and firmness, his manner rather abrupt, his gait quick, his look and general demeanour indicative of energy and decision. He wrote or dictated rapidly, and was fond of writing, was well read in military history, spoke French and Italian with fluency, was warm and steady in his friendships, and popular both with the inhabitants of the isle and the troops. His portrait, prefixed to Mr. Forsyth's book, is a perfect likeness."[566]

If overhanging eyebrows, a penetrating glance, and rather abrupt manners be thought to justify comparisons with the devil or a hyaena, the art of historical portraiture will assuredly have to be learnt over again in conformity with impressionist methods. That Lowe was a gentleman is affirmed by Mrs. Smith (nee Grant), who, in later years, when prejudiced against him by O'Meara's slanders, met him at Colombo without at first knowing his name:

"I was taken in to dinner by a grave, particularly gentlemanly man, in a General's uniform, whose conversation was as agreeable as his manner. He had been over half the world, knew all celebrities, and contrived without display to say a great deal one was willing to hear.... Years before, with our Whig principles and prejudices, we had cultivated in our Highland retirement a horror of the great Napoleon's gaoler. The cry of party, the feeling for the prisoner, the book of Surgeon O'Meara, had all worked my woman's heart to such a pitch of indignation that this maligned name [Lowe] was an offence. We were to hold the owner in abhorrence. Speak to him, never! Look at him, sit in the same room with him, never! None were louder than I, more vehement; yet here was I beside my bugbear and perfectly satisfied with my position. It was a good lesson."[567]

The real cause of Napoleon's hatred of Lowe is hinted at by Sir George Bingham in his Diary (April 19th). After mentioning Napoleon's rudeness to Cockburn on parting with him, he proceeds:

"You have no idea of the dirty little intrigues of himself [Napoleon] and his set: if Sir H. Lowe has firmness enough not to give way to them, he will in a short time treat him in the same manner. For myself, it is said I am a favourite [of Napoleon], though I do not understand the claim I have to such."[568]

Yes! Lowe's offence lay not in his manners, not even in his features, but in his firmness. Napoleon soon saw that all his efforts to bend him were in vain. Neither in regard to the Imperial title, nor the limits, nor the transmission of letters to Europe, would the Governor swerve a hair's breadth from his instructions. At the risk of giving a surfeit of quotations, we must cite two more on this topic. Basil Jackson, when at Paris in 1828, chanced to meet Montholon, and was invited to his Chateau de Fremigny; during his stay the conversation turned upon their sojourn at St. Helena, to the following effect:

"He [Montholon] enlarged upon what he termed la politique de Longwood, spoke not unkindly of Sir Hudson Lowe, allowing he had a difficult task to execute, since an angel from Heaven, as Governor, could not have pleased them. When I more than hinted that nothing could justify detraction and departure from truth in carrying out a policy, he merely shrugged his shoulders and reiterated: 'C'etait notre politique; et que voulez-vous?' That he and the others respected Sir Hudson Lowe, I had not the shadow of a doubt: nay, in a conversation with Montholon at St. Helena, when speaking of the Governor, he observed that Sir Hudson was an officer who would always have distinguished employment, as all Governments were glad of the services of a man of his calibre.

"Happening to mention that, owing to his inability to find an officer who could understand and speak French, the Governor was disposed to employ me as orderly officer at Longwood, Montholon said it was well for me that I was not appointed to the post, as they did not want a person in that capacity who could understand them; in fact, he said, we should have found means to get rid of you, and perhaps ruined you."[569]

Las Cases also, in a passage that he found it desirable to suppress when he published his "Journal" wrote as follows (November 30th, 1815):

"We are possessed of moral arms only: and in order to make the most advantageous use of these it was necessary to reduce into a system our demeanour, our words, our sentiments, even our privations, in order that we might thereby excite a lively interest in a large portion of the population of Europe, and that the Opposition in England might not fail to attack the Ministry on the violence of their conduct towards us."[570]

We are now able to understand the real nature of the struggle that went on between Longwood and Plantation House. Napoleon and his followers sought by every means to bring odium upon Lowe, and to furnish the Opposition at Westminster with toothsome details that might lead to the disgrace of the Governor, the overthrow of the Ministry, and the triumphant release of the ex-Emperor. On the other hand, the knowledge of the presence of traitors on the island, and of possible rescuers hovering about on the horizon, kept Lowe ever at work "unravelling the intricate plotting constantly going on at Longwood," until his face wore the preoccupied worried look that Surgeon Henry describes.

That both antagonists somewhat overacted their parts does not surprise us when we think of the five years thus spent within a narrow space and under a tropical sun. Lowe was at times pedantic, witness his refusal to forward to Longwood books inscribed to the "Emperor Napoleon," and his suspicions as to the political significance of green and white beans offered by Montholon to the French Commissioner, Montchenu. But such incidents can be paralleled from the lives of most officials who bear a heavy burden of responsibility. And who has ever borne a heavier burden?[571]

Napoleon also, in his calmer moods, regretted the violence of his language to the Governor. He remarked to Montholon: "This is the second time in my life that I have spoilt my affairs with the English. Their phlegm leads me on, and I say more than I ought. I should have done better not to have replied to him." This reference to his attack on Whitworth in 1803 flashes a ray of light on the diatribe against Lowe. In both cases, doubtless, the hot southron would have bridled his passion sooner, had it produced any visible effect on the colder man of the north. Nevertheless, the scene of August 18th, 1816, had an abiding influence on his relations with the Governor. For the rest of that weary span of years they never exchanged a word.

Lowe's official reports prove that he did not cease to consult the comfort of the exiles as far as it was possible. The building of the new house, however, remained in abeyance, as Napoleon refused to give any directions on the subject: and the much-needed repairs to Longwood were stopped owing to his complaints of the noise of the workmen. But by ordering the claret that the ex-Emperor preferred, and by sending occasional presents of game to Longwood, Lowe sought to keep up the ordinary civilities of life; and when the home Government sought to limit the annual cost of the Longwood household to L8,000, Lowe took upon himself to increase that sum by one half.

Napoleon's behaviour in this last affair is noteworthy. On hearing of the need for greater economy, he readily assented, sent away seven servants, and ordered a reduction in the consumption of wine. A day or two later, however, he gave orders that some of his silver plate should be sold in order "to provide those little comforts denied them." Balcombe was accordingly sent for, and, on expressing regret to Napoleon at the order for sale, received the reply: "What is the use of plate when you have nothing to eat off it?" Lowe quietly directed Balcombe to seal up the plate sent to him, and to advance money up to its value (L250); but other portions of the plate were broken and sold later on. O'Meara reveals the reason for these proceedings in his letter of October 10th: "In this he [Napoleon] has also a wish to excite odium against the Governor by saying that he has been obliged to sell his plate in order to provide against starvation, as he himself told me was his object."[572]

Another incident that embittered the relations between Napoleon and the Governor was the arrival from England of more stringent regulations for his custody. The chief changes thus brought about (October 9th, 1816) were a restriction of the limits from a twelve-mile to an eight-mile circumference and the posting of a ring of sentries at a slight distance from Longwood at sunset instead of at 9 p.m.[573] The latter change is to be regretted; for it marred the pleasure of Napoleon's evening strolls in his garden; but, as the Governor pointed out, the three hours after sunset had been the easiest time for escape. The restriction of limits was needful, not only in order to save our troops the labour of watching a wide area that was scarcely ever used for exercise, but also to prevent underhand intercourse with slaves.

Was there really any need for these "nation-degrading" rules, as O'Meara called them? Or were they imposed in order to insult the great man? A reference to the British archives will show that there was some reason for them. Schemes of rescue were afoot that called for the greatest vigilance.

As we have seen (page 527, note), a letter had on August 2nd, 1815, been directed to Mme. Bertrand (really for Napoleon) at Plymouth, stating that the writer had placed sums of money with well-known firms of Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Charlestown on his behalf, and that he (Napoleon) had only to make known his wishes "avec le the de la Chine ou les mousselines de l'Inde": for the rest, the writer hoped much from English merchantmen. This letter, after wide wanderings, fell into our hands and caused our Government closely to inspect all letters and merchandise that passed into, or out of, St. Helena. Its attention was directed specially to the United States. There the Napoleonic cult had early taken root, thanks to his overthrow of the kings and his easy sale of Louisiana; the glorifying haze of distance fostered its growth; and now the martyrdom of St. Helena brought it to full maturity. Enthusiasm and money alike favoured schemes of rescue.

In our St. Helena Records (No. 4) are reports as to two of them. Forwarded by the Spanish Ambassador at Washington, the first reached Madrid on May 9th, 1816, and stated that a man named Carpenter had offered to Joseph Bonaparte (then in the States) to rescue Napoleon, and had set sail on a ship for that purpose. This was at once made known to Lord Bathurst, our Minister for War and the Plantations, who forwarded it to Lowe. In August of that year our Foreign Office also received news that four schooners and other smaller vessels had set sail from Baltimore on June 14th with 300 men under an old French naval officer, named Fournier, ostensibly to help Bolivar, but really to rescue Bonaparte. These fast-sailing craft were to lie out of sight of the island by day, creep up at night to different points, and send boats to shore; from each of these a man, in English uniform, was to land and proceed to Longwood, warning Napoleon of the points where the boats would be ready to receive him. The report concludes: "Considerable sums in gold and diamonds will be put at his disposal to bribe those who may be necessary to him. They seem to flatter themselves of a certain co-operation on the part of certain individuals domiciled or employed at St. Helena."[574]

Bathurst sent on to Lowe a copy of this intelligence. Forsyth does not name the affair, though he refers to other warnings, received at various times by Bathurst and forwarded to the Governor, that there were traitors in the island who had been won over by Napoleon's gold to aid his escape.[575] I cannot find out that the plans described above were put to the test, though suspicious vessels sometimes appeared and were chased away by our cruisers. But when we are considering the question whether Bathurst and Lowe were needlessly strict or not, the point at issue is whether plans of escape or rescue existed, and if so, whether they knew of them. As to this there cannot be the shadow of doubt; and it is practically certain that they were the cause of the new regulations of October 9th, 1816.

We have now traced the course of events during the first critical twelvemonth; we have seen how friction burst into a flame, how the chafing of that masterful spirit against all restraint served but to tighten the inclosing grasp, and how the attempts of his misguided friends in America and Europe changed a fairly lax detention into actual custody. It is a vain thing to toy with the "might-have-beens" of history; but we can fancy a man less untamable than Napoleon frankly recognizing that he had done with active life by assuming a feigned name (e.g., that of Colonel Muiron, which he once thought of) and settling down in that equable retreat to the congenial task of compiling his personal and military Memoirs. If he ever intended to live as a country squire in England, there were equal facilities for such a life in St. Helena, with no temptations to stray back into politics. The climate was better for him than that of England, and the possibilities for exercise greater than could there have been allowed. Books there were in abundance—2,700 of them at last: he had back files of the "Moniteur" for his writings, and copies of "The Times" came regularly from Plantation House: a piano had been bought in England for L120. Finally there were the six courtiers whose jealous devotion, varying moods, and frequent quarrels furnished a daily comedietta that still charms posterity.

What then was wanting? Unfortunately everything was wanting. He cared not for music, or animals, or, in recent years, for the chase. He himself divulged the secret, in words uttered to Gallois in the days of his power: "Je n'aime pas beaucoup les femmes, ni le jeu—enfin rien: je suis tout a fait un etre politique!"—He never ceased to love politics and power. At St. Helena he pictured himself as winning over the English, had he settled there. Ah! if I were in England, he said, I should have conquered all hearts.[576] And assuredly he would have done so. How could men so commonplace as the Prince Regent, Liverpool, Castlereagh, and Bathurst have made head against the influence of a truly great and enthralling personality? Or if he had gone to the United States, who would have competed with him for the Presidency?

As it was, he chose to remain indoors, in order to figure as the prisoner of Longwood,[577] and spent his time between intrigues against Lowe and dictation of Memoirs. On the subject of Napoleon's writings we cannot here enter, save to say that his critiques of Caesar, Turenne, and Frederick the Great, are of great interest and value; that the records of his own campaigns, though highly suggestive, need to be closely checked by the original documents, seeing that he had not all the needful facts and figures at hand; and that his record of political events is in the main untrustworthy: it is an elaborate device for enhancing the Napoleonic tradition and assuring the crown to the King of Rome.

We turn, then, to take a brief glance at his last years. The first event that claims notice is the arrest of Las Cases. This subtle intriguer had soon earned the hatred of Montholon and Gourgaud, who detested "the little Jesuit" for his Malvolio-like airs of importance and the hints of Napoleon that he would have ceremonial precedence over them. His rapid rise into favour was due to his conversational gifts, literary ability, and thorough knowledge of the English people and language. This last was specially important. Napoleon very much wished to learn our language, as he hoped that any mail might bring news of the triumph of the Whigs and an order for his own departure for England. His studies with Las Cases were more persevering than successful, as will be seen from the following curious letter, written apparently in the watches of the night: it has been recently re-published by M. de Brotonne.

"COUNT LASCASES,

"Since sixt week y learn the English and y do not any progress. Sixt week do fourty and two day. If might have learn fivty word, for day, i could know it two thousands and two hundred. It is in the dictionary more of fourty thousand: even he could most twenty; bot much of tems. For know it or hundred and twenty week, which do more two years. After this you shall agree that the study one tongue is a great labour who it must do into the young aged."

How much farther Napoleon progressed in his efforts to absorb our language by these mathematical methods we do not know; for no other English letter of his seems to be extant. The arrest and departure of his tutor soon occurred, and there are good grounds for assigning this ultimately to the jealousy of the less cultured Generals. Thus, we find Gourgaud asserting that Las Cases has come to St. Helena solely "in order to get talked about, write anecdotes, and make money." Montholon also did his best to render the secretary's life miserable, and on one occasion predicted to Gourgaud that Las Cases would soon leave the island.[578]

The forecast speedily came true. The secretary intrusted to his servant, a dubious mulatto named Scott, two letters for Europe sewn up in a waistcoat: one of them was a long letter to Lucien Bonaparte. The servant showed the letters to his father, who in some alarm revealed the matter to the Governor. It is curious as illustrating the state of suspicion then prevalent at St. Helena, that Las Cases accused the Scotts of being tools of the Governor; that Lowe saw in the affair the frayed end of a Longwood scheme; while the residents there suspected Las Cases of arranging matters as a means of departure from the island. There was much to justify this last surmise. Las Cases and his son were unwell; their position in the household was very uncomfortable; and for a skilled intriguer to intrust an important letter to a slave, who was already in the Governor's black books, was truly a singular proceeding. Besides, after the arrest, when the Governor searched Las Cases' papers in his presence, they were found to be in good order, among them being parts of his "Journal." Napoleon himself thought Las Cases guilty of a piece of extraordinary folly, though he soon sought to make capital out of the arrest by comparing the behaviour of our officers and their orderlies with "South Sea savages dancing around a prisoner that they are about to devour."[579] After a short detention at Ross Cottage, when he declined the Governor's offer that he should return to Longwood, the secretary was sent to the Cape, and thence made his way to France, where a judicious editing of his "Memoirs" and "Journal" gained for their compiler a rich reward.

Gourgaud is the next to leave. The sensitive young man has long been tormented by jealousy. His diary becomes the long-drawn sigh of a generous but vain nature, when soured by real or fancied neglect. Though often unfair to Napoleon, whose egotism the slighted devotee often magnifies into colossal proportions, the writer unconsciously bears witness to the wondrous fascination that held the little Court in awe. The least attention shown to the Montholons costs "Gogo" a fit of spleen or a sleepless night, scarcely to be atoned for on the morrow by soothing words, by chess, or reversi, or help at the manuscript of "Waterloo." Again and again Napoleon tries to prove to him that the Montholons ought to have precedence: it is in vain. At last the crisis comes: it is four years since the General saved the Emperor from a Cossack's lance at Brienne, and the recollection renders his present "humiliations" intolerable. He challenges Montholon to a duel; Napoleon strictly forbids it; and the aggrieved officer seeks permission to depart.

Napoleon grants his request. It seems that the chief is weary of his moody humours; he further owes him a grudge for writing home to his mother frank statements of the way in which the Longwood exiles are treated. These letters were read by Lowe and Bathurst, and their general purport seems to have been known in French governmental circles, where they served as an antidote to the poisonous stories circulated by Napoleon and his more diplomatic followers. Clearly nothing is to be made of Gourgaud; and so he departs (February 13th, 1818). Bidding a tearful adieu, he goes with Basil Jackson to spend six weeks with him at a cottage near Plantation House, when he is astonished at the delicate reserve shown by the Governor. He then sets sail for England. The only money he has is L100 advanced by Lowe. Napoleon's money he has refused to accept.[580]

And yet he did not pass out of his master's life. Landing in England on May 1st, he had a few interviews with our officials, in which he warned them that Napoleon's escape would be quite easy, and gave a hint as to O'Meara being the tool of Napoleon. But soon the young General came into touch with the leaders of the Opposition. No change in his sentiments is traceable until August 25th, when he indited a letter to Marie Louise, asserting that Napoleon was dying "in the torments of the longest and most frightful agony," a prey to the cruelty of England! To what are we to attribute this change of front? The editors of Gourgaud's "Journal" maintain that there was no change; they hint that the "Journal" may have been an elaborate device for throwing dust into Lowe's eyes; and they point to the fact that before leaving the island Gourgaud received secret instructions from Napoleon bidding him convey to Europe several small letters sewn into the soles of his boots. Whether he acted on these instructions may be doubted; for at his departure he gave his word of honour to Lowe that he was not the bearer of any paper, pamphlet, or letter from Longwood. Furthermore, we hear nothing of these secret letters afterwards; and he allowed nearly four months to elapse in England before he wrote to Marie Louise. The theory referred to above seems quite untenable in face of these facts.[581]

How, then, are we to explain Gourgaud's conduct at St. Helena and afterwards? Now, in threading the mendacious labyrinths of St. Helena literature it is hard ever to find a wholly satisfactory clue; but Basil Jackson's "Waterloo and St. Helena" (p. 103) seems to supply it in the following passage:

"To finish about Gourgaud, I may add that on his reaching England, after one or two interviews with the Under-Secretary of State, he fell into the hands of certain Radicals of note, who represented to him the folly of his conduct in turning against Napoleon; that, as his adherent, he was really somebody, whereas he was only ruining himself by appearing inimical. In short, they so worked upon the poor weak man, that he was induced to try and make it appear that he was still l'homme de l'Empereur: this he did by inditing a letter to Marie Louise, in which he inveighed against the treatment of Napoleon at the hands of the Government and Sir H. Lowe, which being duly published, Gourgaud fell to zero in the opinion of all right-minded persons."

This seems consonant with what we know of Gourgaud's character: frank, volatile, and sensitive, he could never have long sustained a policy of literary and diplomatic deceit. He was not a compound of Chatterton and Fouche. His "Journal" is the artless outpouring of wounded vanity and brings us close to the heart of the hero-worshipper and his hero. At times the idol falls and is shivered but love places it on the shrine again and again, until the fourth anniversary of Brienne finds the spell broken. Even before he leaves St. Helena the old fascination is upon him once more; and then Napoleon seeks to utilize his devotion for the purpose of a political mission. Gourgaud declines the role of agent, pledges his word to the Governor, and keeps it; but, thanks to British officialism or the seductions of the Opposition, hero-worship once more gains the day and enrolls him beside Las Cases and Montholon. This we believe to be the real Gourgaud, a genuine, lovable, but flighty being, as every page of his "Journal" shows.

One cannot but notice in passing the extraordinary richness of St. Helena literature. Nearly all the exiles kept diaries or memoirs, or wrote them when they returned to Europe. And, on the other hand, of all the 10,000 Britons whom Napoleon detained in France for eleven years, not one has left a record that is ever read to-day. Consequently, while the woes of Napoleon have been set forth in every civilized tongue, the world has forgotten the miseries causelessly inflicted on 10,000 English families. The advantages possessed by a memoir-writing nation over one that is but half articulate could not be better illustrated. For the dumb Britons not a single tear is ever shed; whereas the voluble inmates of Longwood used their pens to such effect that half the world still believes them to have been bullied twice a week by Lowe, plied with gifts of poisoned coffee, and nearly eaten up by rats at night. On this last topic we are treated to tales of part of a slave's leg being eaten off while he slept at Longwood—nay, of a horse's leg also being gnawed away at night—so that our feelings are divided between pity for the sufferers and envy at the soundness of their slumbers.

Longwood was certainly far from being a suitable abode; but a word from Napoleon would have led to the erection of the new house on a site that he chose to indicate. The materials had all been brought from England; but the word was not spoken until a much later time; and the inference is inevitable that he preferred to remain where he was so that he could represent himself as lodged in cette grange insalubre.[582] The third of the Longwood household to depart was the surgeon, O'Meara. The conduct of this British officer in facilitating Napoleon's secret correspondence has been so fully exposed by Forsyth and Seaton that we may refer our readers to their works for proofs of his treachery. Gourgaud's "Journal" reveals the secret influence that seduced him. Chancing once to refer to the power of money over Englishmen, Napoleon remarked that that was why we did not want him to draw sums from Europe, and continued: "Le docteur n'est si bien pour moi que depuis que je lui donne mon argent. Ah! j'en suis bien sur, de celui-la!"[583] This disclosure enables us to understand why the surgeon, after being found out and dismissed from the service, sought to blacken the character of Sir Hudson Lowe by every conceivable device. The wonder is that he succeeded in imposing his version of facts on a whole generation.

The next physician who resided at Longwood, Dr. Stokoe, was speedily cajoled into disobeying the British regulations and underwent official disgrace. An attempt was then made, through Montholon, to bribe his successor, Dr. Verling, who indignantly repelled it and withdrew from his duty.[584]

There can be no doubt that Napoleon found pleasure in these intrigues. In his last interview with Stuermer, the Austrian Commissioner at St. Helena, Gourgaud said, in reference to this topic: "However unhappy he [Napoleon] is here, he secretly enjoys the importance attached to his custody, the interest that the Powers take in it, and the care taken to collect his least words." Napoleon also once remarked to Gourgaud that it was better to be at St. Helena than as he was at Elba.[585] Of the same general tenour are his striking remarks, reported by Las Cases at the close of his first volume:

"Our situation here may even have its attractions. The universe is looking at us. We remain the martyrs of an immortal cause: millions of men weep for us, the fatherland sighs, and Glory is in mourning. We struggle here against the oppression of the gods, and the longings of the nations are for us.... Adversity was wanting to my career. If I had died on the throne amidst the clouds of my omnipotence, I should have remained a problem for many men: to-day, thanks to misfortune, they can judge of me naked as I am."

In terseness of phrase, vividness of fancy, and keenness of insight into the motives that sway mankind, this passage is worthy of Napoleon. He knew that his exile at St. Helena would dull the memory of the wrongs which he had done to the cause of liberty, and that from that lonely peak would go forth the legend of the new Prometheus chained to the rock by the kings and torn every day by the ravening vulture. The world had rejected his gospel of force; but would it not thrill responsive to the gospel of pity now to be enlisted in his behalf? His surmise was amazingly true. The world was thrilled. The story worked wonders, not directly for him, but for his fame and his dynasty. The fortunes of his race began to revive from the time when the popular imagination transfigured Napoleon the Conqueror into Napoleon the Martyr. Viewed in this light, and thrown up into telling relief against the sinister policy of the Holy Alliance of the monarchs, the dreary years spent at St. Helena were not the least successful of his career. Without them there could have been no second Napoleonic Empire.