The Tragedy of St. Helena by Walter Runciman

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Ill-treatment of the most humble prisoner or assassination of the most
exalted can never be popular with the British people. Sir Hudson got a
cold douche when he obtained an interview with the Duke of
Wellington. His Grace in so many words told him that they wished to
have nothing to do with him. He could not recommend him for a post in
the Russian army. He could not hold out hopes of him getting the
governorship of Ceylon should a vacancy occur. He had been hardly
used, but there was no help for it. Parliament would not grant him the
pension he asked for. Lowe replied that he would stand or fall by its
decision, but the Duke snapped him off by stating that Mr. Peel would
never make such a proposal to the House of Commons. No other course
was open to him now but to return to Ceylon. He did not get the
vacancy which occurred in 1830, and returned to England, but never got
a public appointment again.

He presented a wordy memorial in 1843, complaining of having been kept
out of employment for twelve years. The governorship of Ceylon had
been vacant three times, the Ionian Islands four times; he had been
Governor there in 1812. In other parts of the Empire appointments that
he supposed he could have filled were given to others. Poor creature!
He died in 1844, a broken and ruined man.

He lacked every quality that is essential in an administrator, and was
utterly void of humour, imagination, or the capacity to manage men.
His suspicious disposition and lack of judgment made it eminently
impossible for him to fulfil any delicate position, and it was a
monstrous libel on the knowledge of the fitness of things to entrust
him with the governorship of St. Helena.

Lord Teynham made a violent attack on Lowe in the House of Lords in
1833. The Duke of Wellington was bound to defend his satellite, and
did so with some vigour, as the attack was really on him and certain
members of his Government. Lord Teynham replies with equal vigour: "He
had no intention of aspersing the private character of Sir Hudson, but
as regards his conduct while Governor of St. Helena, he maintained,
and always would, that Lowe was cried out upon by all the people of
Europe as a person unfit to be trusted with power." Lord Teynham a few
days afterwards made a sort of apology, no doubt inspired by
interested persons, for personal plus international reasons. They were
high of heart, these dauntless confederates, in the early and middle
stages of the captivity, and, indeed, they bore themselves with
braggart defiance of public opinion, until many strong manifestations
of inevitable trouble encompassed them, and, like all despots, who are
invariably cowards, they lived in mortal terror lest this creature of
theirs should break out into St. Helena leprosy again and impose
further humiliation upon them. Lowe had talked of actions for libel
against Barry O'Meara, and in a whimsical, half-hearted way worried
his employers to give battle, and the law officers of the Crown stated
a case but advised against taking action, and so it was never brought,
though O'Meara kept telling them in so many words to come on. "I am
anxious that you should have the opportunity of defending the charges
I have brought against you. I am anxious too that the public should
know more than I have written." That in effect was the attitude of the
gallant doctor, who was the first to call serious attention to the
goings on in the "Abode of Darkness." Needless to say, no action was
ever taken, and, in face of all the incriminating facts, it was never
intended that any should be taken. Even High Toryism became alarmed at
the consequences. The Duke of Wellington, brave and gallant soldier
though he was, shrank from so impossible an ordeal. The best he could
say of him was, "He was a stupid man," "A bad choice," "and totally
unfit to take charge of Bonaparte."

Wellington may have been a brave and skilful general, but he did not
know how to be generous to an unfortunate enemy who was himself always
kind and considerate in the hour of victory. Wellington's expressions
about Lowe are more than significant, though his conduct towards the
poor cat's-paw is characteristic of a mean, flinty soul. But his
behaviour towards Napoleon would have put any French Jacobin to the
blush, and has belittled him for all time in the eyes of everybody who
has a spark of human feeling in him.

Meneval[22] says that Waterloo was won by the French in the middle of
the day of that fateful battle, but a caprice of fortune--the arrival
of Bulow's corps and Blucher's army, and the absence of Grouchy's
corps--snatched from Napoleon's hands the triumph which was within his
grasp. Wellington had even said to General Hill, who came to take his
orders at the most critical moment of the battle: "I have no orders to
give you. There is nothing left for us but to die here. Our retreat is
even cut off behind us."

Wellington's despairing words have been handed down in various forms.
Notably he is reported to have said, "Oh! for night or Bluecher." When
he heard the firing, "That is old Bluecher at last!" &c. That he was in
a tight place there is little doubt, and many authorities have stated
that had Grouchy come up according to orders, the allied forces would
have been cut to pieces.

Whether it was "caprice of fortune" or not, Wellington claimed to have
won the battle. "Caprice of fortune" had nothing to do with it. It
was a hard-fought battle. Treachery and desertion at an important
juncture undoubtedly weakened the chances of French success. Meneval
adds that "in no encounter of such importance did the French army
display more heroism and more resolution than at the Battle of
Waterloo." Napoleon at St. Helena attributed his defeat to a variety
of circumstances: to treachery, and to his orders not being carried
out as they should have been by some of his generals, and often
concludes: "It must have been Fate, for I ought to have succeeded." He
was accustomed to say that "One must never ask of Fortune more than
she can grant," and possibly he erred in this.

Though nearly a century has passed since the catastrophe to France,
the cause of it is still controversial. It is certain that the conduct
of Marshal Soult, who was second in command, gave reason for
suspicion. An old corporal told the Emperor that he was to "be assured
that Soult was betraying him." General Vandamme was reported to have
gone over to the enemy. It was also reported to the Emperor by a
dragoon that General Henin was exhorting the soldiers of his corps to
go over to the Allies, and while this was going on the General had
both legs blown away by a cannon shot. Lieutenants, colonels, staff
officers, and, it is said, officers who were bearing despatches
deserted, but it is significant that there is not a single instance
given of the common soldier forsaking his great chief's cause. Lord
Wolseley declares that if Napoleon had been the man he was at
Austerlitz, he would have won the Battle of Waterloo. Wolseley is
supported in this view by many writers.

After Lutzen, Bautzen, and Dresden, Byron said that "bar epilepsy and
the elements, he would back Napoleon against the field." It is well
known the odds he had to battle with, including the vilest treachery
within his own circle.

Marshal Grouchy's conduct will always remain doubtful, even to the
most friendly critics. High treason bubbling up everywhere must have
had a dulling effect on the mind of the great genius, though he
battled with the increasing vigour of it with amazing courage. He saw
the current was running too strong for him to stem unless he
determined to again risk the flow of rivers of blood. This he shrank
from, and abdicated the throne a second time. And then the barbarous,
crimeful story began.

Sir Hudson Lowe's appointment was a national calamity, but he was the
nominee of Wellington's coadjutors, and carried out their wishes with
a criminal exactitude, and they should have stood by him in his dire
distress, instead of which they allowed him to die in poverty, broken
in spirit, and a victim to calumny which they ought to have been manly
enough to share.

Whatever may be said in exculpation of them and him, _they_ were
undoubtedly too seriously involved to enter upon a fight that would
have ended disastrously for all of them, and so, with unusual wisdom,
they never got further than threats.

Sir Hudson was dead something like nine years before Forsyth burst
upon the public with his eccentric vindication of the unamiable and
unfortunate ex-Governor. The zealous biographer's research for
material favourable to his deified hero caused him to ransack prints
that were written by unfriendly authors and vindictive critics of the
great captive. Even the State Papers, the most unreliable of all
documents on this particular subject, were used to prove the goodness
of Sir Hudson, and when quotations were unavailing, the author
proceeded to concoct the most amazing ideas in support of the task he
had set himself to prove.

Writers of anti-Napoleonic history who take in the St. Helena period
are filled with wonder and contempt of the Emperor, who, according to
their refined and accurate judgment of the fitness of things, should
have been eternally grateful to the British Government that they did
not have him shot. Why should he complain in the fretful way he does
of his treatment and his condition? A great man would have shown his
appreciation of all the money that was being spent on the needs for
his existence and for the better security of his person. It ill
becomes him to complain of improper treatment after all the trouble
and commotion he has caused at one time and another. Indeed, a great
man would bear the burden of captivity with equanimity and praise the
men who gave him the opportunity of showing how a great soldier could
carry himself in such unequalled adversity.

This in effect is what these high-minded men of letters say should
have been the attitude of England's guest. He should have received his
treatment, harsh and arbitrary though it was, with Christian
fortitude, and ought to have borne in mind that he was in the custody
of a Christian King and a Christian people. Dr. Max Lenz, who has
written a most interesting and on the whole moderate account of
Napoleon, considering his nationality, drifts into the same
stereotyped closing phraseology of how Napoleon worried and almost
wore out the good Sir Hudson Lowe, who only did his duty, and gave in
to Napoleon whenever he could see his way to do so.

But on the authority of Gourgaud, whom Lord Rosebery would appear to
regard as the most truthful of all the St. Helena chroniclers, this
eulogy is totally unwarranted, for truly there is no reliable
contemporary writer who would have risked his reputation by making so
reckless a statement that could so easily be proved to be a deliberate
fabrication. This is not to say that fabrication was an uncommon
trick, but the Governor's reputation in relation to Napoleon was so
well and widely known, that no person who claimed to have a clear,
balanced judgment could defend his silly, vicious conduct.

Napoleon never altered his opinion of Lowe's perfidy towards him. On
one occasion, in conversation with the truthful Gourgaud, he exclaims,
"Ah! I know the English. You may be sure that the sentinels stationed
round this house have orders from the Governor to kill me. They will
pretend to give me a thrust with a bayonet by mistake some day."
Gourgaud reports him as saying on another occasion, "Hudson Lowe is a
Sicilian grafted on a Prussian; they must have chosen him to make me
die under his charge by inches. It would have been more generous to
have shot me at once."

It would be absurd to affirm that Napoleon said these things without
sound foundation, and although, when his personal vanity and abnormal
jealousy was aroused by some fancied injury to himself, Gourgaud
would resort to the most remarkable fibbing, what he relates as to his
master's opinion of the Governor may be relied on, being, as it is,
confirmed in a more complete form by O'Meara, Las Cases, Montholon,
Bertrand, Antommarchi, and each of the Commissioners. The former
sacrificed everything rather than be a party to what he termed
treatment that was an "outrage on decency."

These are only a few of the men who bear witness against Sir Hudson
being termed "good"; and I may add one other to the galaxy, poor Dr.
Stokoe, who shrank from having the abominable indignity of inquisitor
and spy tacked on to his high office and distinguished profession. He
refused, as O'Meara had done, to sacrifice his manhood or his sense of
honour. Tricked into a false position by Lowe and the virtuous (?) Sir
Robert Plampin, Dr. Stokoe, who had only paid five professional visits
to Longwood, was deprived of his position and all its advantages,
after twenty-five years' service in the Navy, because he refused to
become a sneak and a rascal at the bidding of these two unspeakable
Government officials, the one disgracing the service of his country in
the capacity of Governor and the other the name of a sailor and an
Admiral.

In 1819 Stokoe resigned his position on the _Conqueror_, and sailed
for England. Lowe sent a report addressed to the Lords of the
Admiralty by the same vessel, and Stokoe had scarcely landed when he
was bundled back to St. Helena. He rejoined the _Conqueror_ under the
impression that his conduct had been approved, but was disillusioned
by being forthwith put under arrest. A bogus court-martial was
instituted in the interests of Lowe, and Plampin and these packed
scallywags sentenced him to dismissal from the Navy. The charges
against Stokoe were that he failed to report himself to Plampin at the
Briars after a visit to Longwood, and that in his report he had
designated the patient as the Emperor instead of General Bonaparte.
This is a sample of the "good old times" that a certain species of
creature delights to show forth his wisdom in talking about. I believe
the immortal John Ruskin indulged occasionally in reminding a
twentieth-century world of these days that were so blissful.

Forsyth, the self-reputed impartial historian, neglects to insert in
his work in defence of Lowe's conduct the following amazing charges,
which shall be fully given. They have been published before, but they
are so unique, so unmanly, and so perfidious, I think they ought to be
given to the public again, so that the amiable reader may know the
depth of infamy to which England had sunk in the early part of the
nineteenth century. Here is the whole story on which Dr. Stokoe was
condemned. His bulletin about Napoleon's health asserted that "The
more alarming symptom is that which was experienced in the night of
the 16th instant, a recurrence of which may soon prove fatal,
particularly if medical attendance is not at hand." The Governor and
the worthy Admiral were incensed at such unheard-of arrogance in
making a report not in accordance with their wishes and that of the
Government and the oligarchy, so the indictment of Stokoe, based on
this bulletin, proceeds: "Intending thereby, contrary to the character
and duty of a British officer, to create a false impression or belief
that General Bonaparte was in imminent or considerable danger, and
that no medical assistance was at hand, he, the said Mr. John Stokoe,
not having witnessed any such symptom, and knowing that the state of
the patient was so little urgent that he was at Longwood four hours
before he was admitted to see him, and further, knowing that Dr.
Verling was at hand, ready to attend if required in any such emergency
or considerable danger. He had knowingly and willingly designated
General Bonaparte in the said bulletin in a manner different from that
in which he was designated in the Act of Parliament for the better
custody of his person, and contrary to the practice of His Majesty's
Government, of the Lieutenant-General Governor of the island, and of
the said Rear Admiral, and he had done so at the especial instance and
request of the said General Bonaparte or his attendants, though he,
Mr. John Stokoe, well knew that the mode of designation was a point in
dispute between the said General Bonaparte and Lieutenant-General Sir
Hudson Lowe and the British Government, and that by acceding to the
wish of the said General Bonaparte he, the said Mr. John Stokoe, was
acting in opposition to the wish and practice of his own superior
officers, and to the respect which he owed them under the general
printed instructions." The very idea of any grown man being expected
to have "respect" for superior officers who had no more sense of
justice, dignity, or self-respect than to produce such a blatant
document for the supreme purpose of covering up a sample of mingled
folly and rascality, and ruining a poor man who was at their
ill-conditioned mercy!

Indeed, we need no further justification for Napoleon's statements as
to what the official intention was towards him. Without a doubt Dr.
Max Lenz is too reckless in his generosity towards Lowe, for his
actions from beginning to end of his career prove that he was a
dreadful creature. The thought of him and of those incarnate spiders
who kept spinning their web, and for six mortal years disgracing
humanity, is in truth enough to unsettle one's reason. Vainly they had
ransacked creation in search of persons in authority to support them
in the plea of justification, but never a soul came forth to share
what is now regarded as ingrained criminality.

Perhaps the virulent treatment of Byron ranks with the meanest and
most impotent actions of the militant oligarchists because of his
shocking (?) sympathy with England's enemy. The fierce though
exquisite weaver of rhymes, who had been the idol of the nation and
the drawing-room, was sought after by the highest and most cultured in
the land. Byron had fallen a victim to public displeasure partly
because he gave way to excesses that shocked the orthodoxy of a
capricious public. He had reached a pinnacle of fame such as no man of
his years had ever attained, and suddenly without warning he fell, a
victim to unparalleled vituperation. His faults, if the meagre
accounts that have been handed down are true, were great, but many of
them were merely human. His marriage was not compatible, and his love
entanglements embarrassing. His temper and habits were very similar to
those of other geniuses, and great allowances should be made for
personalities whose mental arrangements may be such as to nullify
normal control.

It is all very well to say that these men should be compelled to
adhere to a conventional law because ordinary mortals are expected to
do so, but a man like Byron was not ordinary. In his particular line
he was a great force with a brain that took spasmodic twists. It is
absurd to expect that a being whose genius produced "Childe Harold"
and "Manfred" could be fashioned into living a quite commonplace
domestic life. Miss Milbanke, who married him, and the public who
first blessed and then cursed and made him an outcast, were not
faultless. Had they been possessed of the superiority they piously
assumed, they would have seen how impossible it was for this eccentric
man of stormy passions to be controlled and overridden by
conventionality.

It is possible the serene critic may take exception to this form of
reasoning and produce examples of genius, such as Wordsworth, who
lived a strictly pious life, never offending any moral law by a
hairbreadth; but Wordsworth was not made like Byron; he had not the
personality of the poor wayward cripple who at one time had brought
the world to his feet, neither had Wordsworth to fight against such
wild hereditary complications as Byron. Wordsworth never caught the
public imagination, while Byron had the power of inflaming it. But,
alas! neither his magnetic force nor his haughty spirit could stem the
whirlwind of hatred, rage, and calumny that took possession of the
virtuous and capricious public. The story of cruelty to his wife grew
in its enormity, his reported liaisons multiplied beyond all human
reason. The bleached, white hearts of the oligarchal party had been
lashed into fury by his withering ridicule and charge of hypocrisy,
but the climax came like a tornado when the poet's sense of fair play
caused him to satirise the Prince Regent and eulogise the Emperor
Napoleon with unique pathos and passion.

This was high treason! He had at last put himself beyond the mercy of
the chosen people. They had twaddled and stormed about his immorality,
but his praise of Napoleon sent them into diabolic frenzy. He was
proclaimed an outlaw and hounded out of the country. The beautiful and
rich Lady Jersey, a leader of society, convinced that he was
misunderstood and was being treated with unreasonable severity,
defended him with all the strength of her resolute character, but
malignity had sunk too deep even for her power and influence to avert
the disaster. So intense was the feeling engendered against him that
it became dangerous for him to drive out without risking an exhibition
of virulent hostility. Had he merely abused the Prince Regent, it is
improbable that any exception would have been taken to it; but to
praise and show compassion for the Man of the French Revolution, who
had fought for a new condition of things which threatened the fabric
on which their order held its dominating and despotic sway, was an
enormity they were persuaded even God in heaven could not tolerate;
why then, should _they_ be expected to do so?--they were only human.
Both public and private resentment ran amok, and thus it was that the
immortal poet's belauding of the immortal Emperor became linked to the
ignominy of being accused of gross immorality. The reaction against
this eccentric being was a fanaticism. There was neither sense nor
reason in it, and as he said, "If what they say of me be true, then I
am not fit for England; but if it be false, then England is not fit
for me"; and with this thought thrilling in his mind he left his
native land, never more to see it.

Caught without a doubt by the spirit of the great man whose eulogy had
given such offence in certain quarters, he embarked on the crusade of
emancipating the Greeks, was stricken with fever, and died at
Missolonghi.

Adhering to human tradition, the nation which had so recently cast
him out became afflicted with grief. Men and women cast reflection on
themselves for their misguided judgment of him, and he became a god in
memory again, his wife being a singular exception in the great
demonstration of national penitence. The incomparable poet had sinned
grievously, if rumour may be relied upon, but he was made to suffer
out of all proportion to his sinning. His faults were only different
from other men's. It may be said quite truly that one of his defects
was in having been born a genius, and allowing himself to be idolised
by a public whose opinions and friendships were shifty. Second, he
erred in disregarding and satirising puritanical conventionalisms.
Thirdly, and probably the most provocative of all, was his defiance of
the fiery patriotism of some of the ruling classes in lauding him whom
they stigmatised as the enemy of the human race and lampooning the
precious Prince Regent. His extraordinary talents did not shield him,
any more than they did the hero of fifty pitched battles whose
greatness he had extolled.

FOOTNOTES:

[22] Vol. iii. pp. 451-2.

CHAPTER V

MESDAMES DE STAEL AND DE REMUSAT

It is a strange human frailty that cannot stand for long the purgatory
of seeing the elevation of a great public benefactor. The less
competent the critics, the more merciless they are in their
declamation and intrigue. They hint at faults, and if this is too
ineffective, they invent them. Men in prominent public positions
rarely escape the vituperation of the professional scandalmonger.
These creatures exist everywhere. Their vanity is only equal to their
incompetency in all matters that count. Their capacity consists in
knowing the kind of diversion a certain class of people relish, and
the more exalted their prey is, and the larger the reputation he may
have for living a blameless life, the more persistent their
whisperings, significant nods, and winkings become. They know, and
they could tell, a thing or two which would paralyse belief. They
could show how correct they have been in consistently proclaiming
that so and so was a very much overestimated man, and never ought to
have been put into such a high position; "and besides, I don't want to
say all I know, but his depravity! Well, there, I could, if I would,
open some people's eyes, but I don't want to do anybody any harm," and
so on. These condescending ulcerous-minded defamers congratulate
themselves on their goodness of heart in withholding from the public
gaze their nasty imaginary accusations, which are merely the thoughts
of a conceited and putrid mind.

Many and many a poor man, without knowing it, is the innocent victim
of unfounded accusations, hatched and circulated in that subtle,
insinuating way so familiar to the sexless calumniator. The genuine
female traducer is an awful scourge, especially if she be political.
No male can equal her in refined aggressive cunning. She can circulate
a filthy libel by writing a virtuous letter, and never a flaw will
appear to trip her into responsibility for it. And her sardonic smile
is an inarticulate revelation of all she wishes to convey. It is more
than a mere oration. It emits the impression of a bite.

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