by Will Durant
The British government spent days determining what to do with him. The predominant opinion was in favor of treating him as an outlaw who had been declared so by the formal declaration of the Allies, and as one who had been leniently dealt with by the Treaty of Fontainebleau, had violated his pledge to observe that treaty, and thereby had forced Europe into another war costly in lives and wealth. Obviously he deserved death, and if merely imprisoned he should be grateful. But now the imprisonment must be such as to make it impossible for the offender to escape and fight again. Some mercy might be due him for having freely surrendered, saving the Allies much trouble; but this mercy must not allow any possibility of escape. So the British government bade Keith inform the prisoner that he must make his home henceforth on the island of St. Helena, some twelve hundred miles west of Africa. It was remote, but it had to be, and its remoteness would relieve the prisoner and his custodians from the necessity of close confinement stringently supervised. England’s allies were consulted, and agreed to the verdict, merely stipulating their right to send commissioners to the island to share in supervision.
Napoleon almost broke down when he learned that he had been condemned to what he considered a living death. He fought back with passionate protests, but yielded when he saw that these were met with silent resolution. He was granted some favors. He was allowed to choose five willing friends to accompany him. He named General Bertrand, his “grand marshal of the palace”; the Comte and Comtesse de Montholon (he had been Napoleon’s aide-de-camp at Waterloo); General Gourgaud, his devoted protector; and (counting for one) the Comte de Las Cases and his son. Each was allowed to take servants and 1,600 francs. Napoleon took several servants, and managed to take a considerable sum of money. Hortense’s diamond necklace was concealed in Las Cases’ belt; 350,000 francs were hidden in the garments of his servants. Each man in the party was required to give up his sword; but when Admiral Keith came to receive Napoleon’s the Emperor threatened to draw it in self-defense, and Keith did not insist.25
On August 4 the Bellerophon left Plymouth for Portsmouth, and there surrendered its prisoner, his retinue, and their belongings to a larger ship, the Northumberland, which on August 8 left for St. Helena.
CHAPTER XXXIX
To the End
I. ST. HELENA
IT was a long trip from England—from August 8 to October 15. Accustomed to action and quick speech, Napoleon bore the tedium hardly. Admiral Sir George Cockburn thought to ease the situation by daily inviting Napoleon and one or other of his companions to dine with him and some officers; the British, however, spent two and a half hours at dinner; Napoleon easily persuaded them to excuse him when the drinking began. He winced when they addressed him as “General” instead of “Emperor,” but he admired their courtesy. His friends suggested that a good way to anesthetize time would be for him to dictate to them his memoirs of rule and war. Now began the narratives, taken down by O’Meara, Las Cases, Gourgaud, or Montholon, which, published by them after his death, played a part in making the memory of Napoleon a living force in France throughout the century.
Men at sea long so for land that even Napoleon must have been pleased when he sighted the rocky coast of St. Helena. One glance could take in most of the island; it was only twenty miles in circumference, and nearly all its population was gathered in the port city, Jamestown, with its one street and five thousand souls. A rough, uneven terrain, rising to a plateau at Long-wood; a tropical climate of heat, mist, and rain; no regular succession of seasons, but incalculable alternations of wet and dry; an unfriendly soil slow to reward tillage with food. It was a “spot of earth” ideal for insulating a troublemaker, but a torture for a man whose life was action demanding a continent for its stage.
He and his party remained on board while Admiral Cockburn sought temporary lodging for them till work should be completed on the big house that the British government had chosen for their collective home. For Napoleon, Las Cases, and son the admiral found a pleasant place, “the Briars,” whose owner, William Balcombe, thought it would be interesting to have an emperor as his guest. Two daughters, aged sixteen and fourteen, brightened the scene; they spoke a little French, played and sang, and became so fond of Napoleon that the younger one wept when he had to move to “Long-wood.”
This was an old farmhouse, some six miles from Jamestown. Its many rooms had been simply but adequately furnished. According to the excellent ground plan drawn by Las Cases, Jr., Napoleon was given six rooms: a large “antechamber and waiting room for visitors,” a parlor, a bedroom, a study, a library, and a large dining room. The inner walls were inelegantly covered with tarred canvas, but there were many windows. Napoleon accepted his suite without initial complaint; he even rejoiced in the bathroom, which he described as “an unheard-of luxury in this unhappy island.”1 “The Emperor,” Las Cases reported, “was satisfied with everything.”2 In another wing of the building rooms were arranged for Las Cases and son, for the Comte and Comtesse de Montholon, General Gourgaud, and Dr. O’Meara, Napoleon’s physician. Large common rooms were provided for Napoleon’s servants,3 and for the servants of his staff. General Bertrand, his wife, and their servants occupied a separate cottage on the road to Jamestown. Servants served for hardly more than their keep.
Napoleon had freedom of movement—on foot, or mounted, or in a carriage—within a radius of five miles from the house; but he had to submit to surveillance by British troops when he went outside the Longwood plateau. Meals for Napoleon and his retinue were sent up daily from the governor of the island, and, within limits, they could order their food.4 Usually the Emperor ate sparingly until eight o’clock in the evening; then he and his staff dined with a leisureliness that left him ready for bed. Napoleon had brought a costly silver service with him from France; it was regularly used; and we hear also of knives, forks, and spoons of gold.5 The dishes were mostly of Sèvres porcelain. The servants were in full uniform of green and gold. Las Cases was impressed by “the elegance of the dinner service, and the neatness with which the tables were laid out.”6 The etiquette of the Tuileries was maintained at Longwood. Napoleon allowed his faithful friends much candor of speech, but no familiarities; they always referred to him as “the Emperor,” and addressed him as “your Majesty.” Letters addressed to him as “General” remained unopened; visitors had to address him as “Emperor” or stay away.
There were many irritations, and some hardships. Rats made themselves at home, even in the Emperor’s hat; they ran around the table legs while he ate; fleas and bugs made no distinction of human ranks; “we are absolutely eaten,” Las Cases complained.7 There were damp mists every other day. Water sometimes failed, and the Emperor missed his hot bath. Constant surveillance, however distant or polite, usually compelled a monastic chastity, just when excessive leisure made temptation doubly acceptable. But where else did a prisoner have so many friends on call, and servants, and a horse and buggy, and all the books he could use? All in all, it was as tolerable a prison as a prisoner could expect, especially after escaping from previous confinement and requiring the expenditure of millions of pounds sterling and flesh to recapture him. Matters went reasonably well till Sir Hudson Lowe came.
II. SIR HUDSON LOWE
He arrived on April 14, 1816, to replace Sir George Cockburn as governor of the island. The British government thought its choice was well considered: Sir Hudson was a conscientious official, who would carry out instructions faithfully. His instructions were to extend the prisoner “every indulgence which may be consistent with the entire security of his person.”
He began well. He brought with him nearly 2,000 French volumes, and placed them at the disposal of Napoleon and his companions. He sent word that he had heard of repairs needed at Longwood, and would soon have them attended to.8 He thought he should visit his distinguished prisoner, and asked his predecessor, Admiral Cockburn, to accompany him. Presumably he did not know that Napoleon, as a precaution against sightseers and busy-bodies, had instructed Bertran
d to allow no one to visit him except through Bertrand’s permission and escort. Sir Hudson and the admiral came unannounced, and sought admission; Napoleon sent reply that he was ill and could not see them. Lowe inquired when might he try again; Napoleon answered, Tomorrow. Lowe’s pride was hurt. He came on the morrow, accompanied by Bertrand. Napoleon received him coldly, and listed some inconveniences from which he suffered: sentinels were stationed too near his house, and sometimes, at night, peered through his windows; he could not ride beyond narrow limits without being followed by an English officer. Lowe promised to do his best.9 After his departure Napoleon remarked to his companions that he had “never seen a countenance so like that of an Italian cutthroat.”10
Sir Hudson had more pride than humor. Returning to his office, he sent word to Napoleon’s aides that the restrictions of which Napoleon complained had been imposed by the British government, and that he had no authority to remove them. He added, again pursuant to his government’s instructions, that all communications between Longwood and the outside world must pass through his hands, and be subject to inspection by him.11 According to Las Cases, the governor refused to transmit letters addressed to “the Emperor Napoleon.”12 He sent an invitation to dinner to General Bertrand and “General Napoleon.” Napoleon refused it.
The quarrel reached high temperature when Lowe informed Bertrand that the British government had complained about the high cost it was incurring for the upkeep of Napoleon and his household of fifty-one persons.13 The government had allowed £8,000 annually for this; the actual expense for the first year was £18,000; the government proposed that any future expenditure over £8,000 should be paid by Napoleon. The Emperor ordered Montholon to sell the imperial silver, and offered to pay the surplus expense of his household if Lowe would pass unopened Napoleon’s letter to his Paris banker; Lowe would not. Napoleon’s family sent him offers of money; he thanked them, but said he could take care of the matter. They offered to come and live with him; he forbade them, saying that they would not long survive the climate and the isolation. Lowe thought to ease the situation by raising the imperial allowance to £12,000 a year.14 But this discussion of his expenses infuriated Napoleon. When Lowe visited him again (July 16, 1816), Napoleon, according to his report to Las Cases, burned all bridges by crying out, “Will you allow me to tell you what we think of you? We think you capable of everything; yes, of everything.… I shall have to complain, not that the worst proceeding of ministers was to send me to St. Helena, but that they gave you the command of it. You are a greater calamity to us than all the wretchedness of this horrible rock.”15 “The Emperor,” says Las Cases, “admitted that he had, during this conversation, repeatedly offended Sir Hudson Lowe.” “I have been thrown quite out of temper. They have sent me more than a jailer! Sir Hudson Lowe is a downright executioner!… My anger must have been powerfully excited, for I felt a vibration in the calf of my left leg.”16
Sir Hudson, overwhelmed, withdrew. They had no further converse.
III. THE GREAT COMPANIONS
The most striking aspect of this incarcerated life is the constant and intense fidelity of the aides who accompanied Napoleon to St. Helena. Presumably the intoxicating aura of fame shared in stimulating their services, but their persistence in them despite the restraints and homesickness of exile, the quarrels of competition for the Emperor’s favor, and the irritation of a depressing climate and a disagreeable governor, lends to their record almost the quality of an Arthurian legend, darkened with jealousies but ennobled with devotion.
Noblest of them was Comte Henri-Gratien Bertrand (1773–1844). He entered history as a military engineer under Napoleon in the first Italian campaign. In the Egyptian expedition he commanded a battalion at the battle of the Pyramids, and was wounded in the victory at Abukir. The bridges that he built across the Danube in the campaign of 1809 were rated by Napoleon as the finest such work since the Romans.17 In 1813 he was made grand marshal of the palace. He remained loyal to Napoleon through the bitter years of retreat before the Allies, accompanied him to Elba, stayed with him during the Hundred Days, rode with him to Rochefort, and sailed with him to England and St. Helena. There he continued as grand marshal, checking visitors, cooling tempers, keeping truce between Napoleon and the governor, and bearing with forgiving patience the attempt to seduce his wife.*She was an English Creole, niece of Lord Dillon, and related to Josephine. She bore with impatient fidelity her isolation, in St. Helena, from the social life of Paris. Bertrand took her back to France five months after Napoleon’s death. He had compiled three volumes of a diary in St. Helena, but refused to publish them. They were deciphered and published in 1949–59, a century after his death. He was buried in the crypt of Les Invalides, beside the remains of Napoleon.
Almost equal in devotion was the Irish surgeon Barry O’Meara (1786–1836). As ship’s doctor on the Northumberland, he attended Napoleon, talked with him in French or Italian, half agreed with his opinion of physicians, and became so strongly attached to him that he asked—and received-permission of the British government to remain in attendance on Napoleon in St. Helena. Sir Hudson Lowe did not approve of such intimacy between a British doctor and a French criminal; he suspected O’Meara of a plot to have Napoleon escape; he insisted on assigning a soldier to accompany the surgeon wherever he went; O’Meara protested; Lowe had him recalled to Britain (July, 1818). In 1822 O’Meara published Napoleon in Exile, or A Voice from St. Helena, a passionate plea for a better treatment of the fallen Emperor. The two volumes had a wide sale, and started a wave of English sympathy for Napoleon. The book contains some errors,19 having been written from memory; but Las Cases defended O’Meara’s account, and all those around Napoleon seem to have had a high opinion of him both as a physician and as a gentleman.
The eventful devotion of Comte Emmanuel-Augustin-Dieudonné de Las Cases (1766–1842), and his voluminous Mémorial de Sainte-Hélène have placed him only next to Napoleon and Lowe in the dramatis personae of the island. He was a minor noble, fought in Condé’s army against the Revolution, emigrated to England, joined in the attempt of some émigrés to invade France at Quiberon, failed to land, returned to England, and lived by teaching history. He drew up an Atlas historique which later won high praise from Napoleon. Soon after the 18th Brumaire he ventured to return to France. He judged Napoleon to be the right medicine for the Revolution; sought every opportunity to serve him, and rose to be a member of the Council of State. Waterloo did not cool his admiration for the Emperor; he went to Malmaison to help him, followed him to Rochefort, to England, and to St. Helena.
Of all the companions he remained closest to the Emperor, was the most zealous in recording his dictation, and kept his high estimate of him through all the storms of the exile’s temper. He noted everything about Napoleon except the faults; he did not, like Cromwell, believe in immortalizing warts. His report of Napoleon’s recollections and observations does not claim to be verbally precise. “The Emperor dictated very rapidly, almost as fast as he speaks in ordinary conversation. I was therefore obliged to invent a kind of hieroglyphic writing; and I, in my turn, dictated this to my son”; or “I sat beside my son as he wrote the Emperor’s dictation…. I always read to the Emperor what he had dictated the preceding day, and then he made corrections and dictated further.”20 However, the language in which Las Cases expressed his own views is so much like that which he ascribes to Napoleon that we cannot accept his report as revealing Napoleon as impartially as in the more vividly immediate journal of Gourgaud.
Anxious to arouse Europe to the hardships which Napoleon was suffering, Las Cases wrote an account of these on a piece of silk, addressed it to Lucien Bonaparte, and entrusted it to a servant who was about to return to Europe. The servant was searched; the message was discovered; Sir Hudson Lowe had Las Cases arrested, confiscated his papers (including conversations with Napoleon), and deported Las Cases and son to Cape Town (November 25, 1816). From that remote point the Count began years of wandering—usually und
er hostile surveillance—in England, Belgium, and Germany. In October, 1818, he presented to the Allies’ Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle (Aachen) a petition from Napoleon’s mother for the release of her son. He himself sent appeals to the rulers of Russia, Prussia, Austria, and England. No answer came. After Napoleon’s death he was allowed to return to France (1822). He secured from the British government his confiscated manuscripts, and published nearly all of them in the Mémorial de Sainte-Hélène (1823). The volumes became the literary event of the year; Las Cases and his heirs were enriched by the sale; and his ardent testimony to the treatment which, he believed, had caused Napoleon’s death became a continuing factor in the “Napoleonic legend” that raised Napoleon III to a more lasting reign than his uncle’s, and gave Las Cases, Jr., a senatorial seat in that Second Empire.
The other companions were jealous of Las Cases as being most frequently and intimately near Napoleon. Especially irked was General Gaspard Gourgaud (1783–1852), who had many claims to favor. He had fought for the Emperor in Spain, Austria, Russia, and France, and had saved his life at Brienne. He was the most expressive and exuberant of the exiles, ardent in friendship, passionate in enmity, challenging Montholon to a duel, and loving Napoleon with a jealous love intolerant of other lovers; “he loves me,” said Napoleon, “as a lover loves his mistress.”21 To restore peace in the camp, Napoleon sent him to Europe (1818) with a message for Czar Alexander. Even so, Gourgaud’s Journal inédit de Sainte-Hélène (1899) is the most fascinating and realistic of all the echoes from St. Helena.