The Tragedy of St. Helena by Walter Runciman

W >> Walter Runciman >> The Tragedy of St. Helena

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

It was the perpetual spirit of war that overshadowed the whole of
Europe which prevented his rule from solving a great problem. He, in
this, was invariably the aggrieved. The plan which he had carried into
practical solution was wrecked by the allies, and in less than a
century after the great reformer had been removed from the sphere of
enmity and usefulness, Prince Bismarck forced these small States into
unification with the German Empire, thereby carrying into effect the
very system Napoleon was condemned for bringing under his suzerainty.
What satire, what malignity of fate, that Bismarck, a positive
refutation of genius in comparison with the French Emperor, should
succeed in resurrecting the fabric that the latter had so proudly
built up for France, only to be in a few short years the prize of
Germany, recognised by the very Powers who fought with such embittered
aggressiveness against the great captain and statesman who made not
only modern France, but modern Europe; and who at any time during his
reign could, by making a sign, as he has said, have had the nobles of
France massacred. These bloodsucking creatures were always in the road
of reform, always steeped overhead in political intrigue, always
concerned in plots against the life of Napoleon, and always shrieking
with resentment when they and their accomplices were caught. Some
writers are so completely imbued with the righteousness of murdering
Napoleon, they convey the impression that when any attempt failed, the
perpetrators, instead of being punished, should have had the
decoration of the Legion of Honour placed upon them by himself. They
are also quite unconscious that they are backing a mean revenge and an
awful mockery of freedom when they eloquently shout "Hosanna!"

According to them St. Helena was the only solution of the problem, if
it may be so called, and the Powers who sent him there must have had
an inspiration from above. They have no conception that the Allies
perpetrated another crucifixion on the greatest and (if we are to
judge him by _reliable_ records) the best man of the nineteenth
century. Ah! fickle France! you are blighted with eternal shame for
having allowed these cowardly vindictive conspirators, popularly
called the Allies, to besmear _you_, as well as themselves, with the
blood of a hero.

France had resources at her command which could and should have been
used to drive the invaders beyond her boundaries. Frenchmen can never
live down the great blunder of abandoning their Emperor, forsaking
themselves and the duty they owed to their native land. They forsook
in the hour of need all that was noble and honourable, and cast
themselves into a cauldron of treason, such as has never been heard of
in the world's history. They were soon disillusioned, but it was then
too late. The poison had done its work, and France was placed under
the subjection of traitors, place-hunters and foreign Powers for many
years to come.

I have already said that Louis XVIII. was put on the throne, not by
the French people, but by their conquerors and their myrmidons. He did
not long survive his ignoble accession. Then came Charles X., who had
to fly to Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh because he governed so ill. His
qualification to rule was in putting down all reform and liberty;
after him came Louis Philippe, but even he only governed on
sufferance, though on the whole he occupied an onerous position with
creditable success. A monarch who rules under the tender mercies of a
capricious people, and worse still, a capricious and not too
scrupulous monarchy of monarchs, is not to be envied, and this was
exactly the position of Louis Philippe. He was beset by the noisy
clamour of many factions, besides having to keep a shrewd eye on those
lofty men to whom he had to look with perpetual nervous tension for
the stability and endurance of his throne. He knew the heart of the
nation was centred on St. Helena, and that a wave of repentance was
passing over the land. The people wished to atone for the crime they
allowed to be committed in 1815.

Louis Philippe showed great wisdom and foresight. Nothing could have
been done with more suitable delicacy than the negotiations which
caused the British Government to consent to give the remains of the
Emperor up to the French. The air of importance and swagger put into
it by Lord Palmerston is supremely farcical, but then the whole
senseless blunder from beginning to end was a farce, which does not
redound to our credit. It is incredible that a nation so thickly
stocked with men of ability in every important department should have
had the misfortune to have her affairs entrusted to Ministers and
officials who were childishly incompetent and ludicrously vindictive.
Men of meagre mental calibre, who hold office under the Crown or
anywhere else, are invariably fussy, pompous, overbearing, and
stifling with conceit. This condition of things was in full swing
during the Napoleonic regime and captivity, and that is the period we
are concerned about. There does not appear to have been a single man
of genius in Europe but himself. The population of France who were
contemporary with him during his meteoric leadership remembered him as
a matchless reformer and an unconquerable warrior. Their devotion and
belief in his great gifts had sunk deeply into their being. A couple
of generations had come into existence from 1815 to 1840, but even to
those who knew him only as a captive, he was as much their Emperor and
their hero and martyr as he was to his contemporaries. The pride of
race, the glory of the Empire and of its great founder, was suckled
into them from the time of birth, and as they grew into manhood and
womanhood they became permeated with a passionate devotion to his
cause. They claimed that his deliverance to the people "he loved so
well" was a right that should not be withheld. The spirit of sullen
determination that he should be given up had taken deep root. They had
arrived at the point when the igniting of a spark would have created
a conflagration. There was to be no more chattering. They meant
business, and were resolved that they would stand no more red-tape
fussy nonsense from either their Government or the Government who kept
a regiment of British soldiers to guard his tomb, lest he should again
disturb the peace of Europe. They let it be known that no more of that
kind of humbug would be tolerated without reprisals, and the hint was
taken. Louis Philippe grasped the situation, and formed an expedition
with his son Prince Joinville as chief, who was accompanied by Baron
Las Cases, member of the Chamber of Deputies; General Count Bertrand;
M. l'Abbe Conquereau, almoner to the expedition; four former servants
of Napoleon--viz., Saint Denis and Noverraz, valets-de-chambre;
Pierron, officer of the kitchen; and Archambaud, butler--Marchand, one
of the executors, and the quarrelsome and disloyal General Gourgaud,
of whom we may have something more to say further on. This same
Gourgaud, who lied so infamously about his Imperial benefactor when he
landed in London, has said that "he could not express what he felt
when he again found himself near that extraordinary being, that giant
of the human race, to whom he had sacrificed all and to whom he owed
all he was." These thoughts, and many more not uttered, would come to
him when he stood beside the sepulchre of the master whom he had so
grievously wronged and who was now and henceforth to be recognised as
having been the "legitimate ruler of his country."

Count Montholon, the most devoted and most constant follower of
Napoleon and his family, was not of the expedition. He was engaged in
helping the nephew of his hero to ascend the throne of his illustrious
uncle, and the effort landed them both in the fortress of Ham. Louis
Philippe and his Ministers were very jealous of anyone sharing in any
part of the glory of having Napoleon brought to the banks of the
Seine. Hence, when King Joseph and Prince Louis Napoleon offered the
arms of the Emperor to the nation, the King refused them, but
prevailed upon General Bertrand to give them to him, that he might
give them to the nation. Napoleon had given the sword he wore at
Austerlitz and his arms to Bertrand when on his deathbed. Prince Louis
could not stand the great captain's name being trumpeted about for
other people's glory. He claimed that it belonged to him. He was the
legitimate heir to all its glory, and this too previous assumption got
him imprisoned in Ham for asserting what he protested was his right.

Meanwhile the _Bellepoule_ goes lumbering along, impeded by calms and
gales, but anchored safely off Jamestown on October 8, 1840. Of course
many formalities had to be carried out, so that the exhumation did not
commence until the 15th at midnight. They came upon the coffin at ten
in the forenoon, opened it, and found the body well preserved. Thereon
everyone was overcome with emotion. After the coffin was deposited
with profound solemnity and the national flag placed over it, the
honours which would have been paid to the Emperor had he been living
were paid to his remains on October 18, 1840.

The expedition set sail, and had only been a few days out when the
captain of a passing vessel called the _Hamburg_ informed Prince
Joinville that war between France and Great Britain was imminent, and
two or three days later this was confirmed by circumstantial
information to him by a Dutch vessel called the _Egmont_. Officers of
the two other vessels of the expedition were ordered aboard the
_Bellepoule_, a council of war held, and a determined resistance
resolved upon. The decks were cleared for action, guns were mounted,
and every form of princely comfort dispensed with. The son of Louis
Philippe added lustre to the name of Bourbon by the heroic decision
that, whatever the fortune of battle might be, he would sink his ship
rather than allow the remains of the Emperor to fall into the hands
of the British again. The resolve was worthy of Napoleon himself.

Every precaution was taken to evade capture, but as the information
proved to be unfounded, the expedition was not interrupted by hostile
cruisers, nor even by contrary winds, and long before it was expected
the historic frigate sailed quietly into the harbour of Cherbourg at
5.0 a.m. on November 30, 1840. She had made the passage from St.
Helena in forty-two days. Then the great and unexampled triumph
commenced.

Europe was a second time in mourning, bowing its head in reverence and
shame. Never have there been such universal tokens of condemnation of
the captivity and the creatures who engineered it, and never such
unequalled joy and homage as were paid to the memory of the great
dead. During the eight days the lying-in-state lasted, more than two
hundred thousand people came to the Invalides daily. Thousands never
got within the coveted grounds, yet they came in increasing numbers
each successive day, notwithstanding the rigour of the biting weather.

It may be said that the whole world was moved with the desire to show
sympathy with this unsurpassed national devotion and worldwide
repentance. His remains are now in the church of the Invalides, where
the daily pilgrimage still goes on. The interest in the victim of the
stupidity of the British Administration never flags. Each day the dead
Emperor is canonised, and his prophetic words that posterity would do
him justice are being amply fulfilled.

The Christian Kings that made saintly war on Napoleon, and combined to
commit an atrocious crime in the name of the founder of our faith,
were dead. God in His mercy had dispensed with their sagacious
guidance in human affairs, and it may be they were paying a lingering
penalty for the diabolical act at the very time their prisoner's ashes
reached the shores of his beloved country and convulsed it with
irrepressible joy. They and many of their accomplices were gone. Four
Popes had reigned and passed on to their last long sleep. The Spanish
nation, which contributed to his downfall, had been smitten with the
plague of chronic revolution. They had been deprived of the great
guiding spirit who alone could administer that wholesome discipline
which was so necessary to keep the turbulent spirits in restraint.
Only Bernadotte, whom Napoleon had put in the way of becoming King of
Norway and Sweden, remained to represent the galaxy of Kings. A few of
the traitor Marshals were left, but Augereau had died soon after the
banishment and Berthier had committed suicide a few day before the
Battle of Waterloo by jumping out a window. Soult, Oudinot, and the
guilty Marmont were in evidence in these days of great national
rejoicing. Davoust, Jourdan, Macdonald, and Massena had passed behind
the veil. It was the defection of Berthier and Marmont, whom he
regarded as his most trusted and loyal comrades-in-arms, that crushed
the Emperor at the time of the first abdication. It was a cruel stab,
which sunk deep into his soul, and never really healed, but the most
heartless incident in connection with this betrayal was the
appointment of Marmont, the betrayer, by the Emperor Francis to be the
military instructor of Napoleon's son while he was held in captivity
and ignorance at Vienna.

Fouche, whose treason and predatory misdeeds should have had him shot
long before the dawn of disaster to the Empire came, joined the
Ministry of Louis XVIII., whom he had arduously assisted to the
throne, but in 1816 he was included in the decree against the
murderers of Louis XVI., and had to make himself scarce. He went to
Prague, then to Trieste, and died there in 1820.

Talleyrand died at Paris in 1838.

Both men were unscrupulous intriguers, without an atom of moral sense
or loyalty, and both possessed ability, differing in kind, perhaps,
which they used in the accomplishment of their own ends. France can
never overestimate the great evil these two men did to the national
cause. Napoleon's power and penetrating vision kept them in check only
when he could grasp the nettle. Even when absent on his campaigns,
they knew he was kept in close touch with what was going on. It was
not until treason became entangled within treason that their evil
designs had fuller scope and more disastrous results. Bourrienne,
another rascal already referred to in this book, lost his fortune and
his reason in 1830, and died in a lunatic asylum at Caen of apoplexy
in February, 1834. It is a notable fact that nearly the whole of the
prominent figures in the drama of the Empire and its fall had passed
beyond the portal before the great captain's remains were brought back
to France. These individuals are only remembered now as uninspired
small men, benighted in mind, who had wrought ignobly to bring about
the fall of a powerful leader, and to the end of their days were
associated with and encouraged a fiendish persecution of the Emperor
while he lived, and of his family before and after his death.

But the pious care of his tomb by a regiment of British soldiers, paid
for by British taxpayers, from 1821 until the patriotic exhumation in
1840; by stately and solemn permission of the British Government,
excels the comic genius of a gang of plethoric parochial innkeepers.
If it were not so degrading to the national pride of race, we might
regard it as taking rank amongst the drollest incidents of human life.
What a gang of puffy, mildewed creatures were at the head British
affairs in those days! Indeed, they expose the human soul at its
worst, and a curious feature is their ingrained belief in the
integrity of all their doings, which beggars the English vocabulary
describe. How the people tolerated the drain on human life and the
material resources of country is also phenomenal.

Thousands of lives were sacrificed and millions of money squandered,
with the sole object of destroying and humiliating one man, who, had
he been handled discreetly, would have proved greater public asset
than he was. Sir Hudson Lowe would not be known to posterity but for
the guilty part he played in the tragedy. He left St. Helena on July
25, 1821, and was presented on the eve of his departure with an
address from the inhabitants. It has been said that document was
inspired from Plantation House, but that is scarcely credible.
Besides, we are not inclined to discount any credit Lowe and his
friends and accomplices can derive from it. It does not glow with
devotion nor regret at his resigning his command. Indeed, it is
nothing more nor less than a cold, polite way of bidding him farewell.
Forsyth makes much of this, with the object of proving his popularity
with the islanders and the itinerant persons in the service of the
Crown. He only makes his case worse by embarking on so hopeless a
task. As a matter of fact, this extraordinary representative of the
British Government had roused the whole population of St. Helena at
one time and another to a pitch of passion and scorn that puts it
beyond doubt that no genuine regret could have been consistently
expressed by a single soul, except those few composing his staff, who
were as guilty as himself and were always ready to lick his boots for
a grain of favour; and yet it is quite certain, notwithstanding the
heroic fooleries and the care to make Plantation House a sanctuary of
guilty secrecy, there was nothing that transpired, either important or
unimportant, concerning the inhabitants of Longwood, that was not
promptly passed along. Needless to say, these communications relieved
the dull monotony of the exiles, and even Gourgaud was driven to
cynical mockery by the ridiculous character of some of the piteous
stories that filtered through. There never was any difficulty in
verifying the truth of them when it was thought necessary or useful to
do so. On the authority of Lowe's biographer, we are told that this
immortal High Commissioner was presented to his precious sovereign on
November 14, 1821, and was on the point of kissing his hand, but His
Majesty, overwhelmed with the preeminence of the great man who stood
before him, indicated that there was to be no kissing of hands. His
services to his King and country demanded a good shake of the hand and
hearty congratulations from His Christian Majesty. Lowe's arduous and
exemplary task was admitted with tears in the kingly eyes, and so
overcome was His Majesty that he took Lowe's hand again, and shook it
a second time, combining with the handshake a further flow of grateful
thanks and the appointment to a colonelcy of the 93rd Regiment These
compliments were well deserved, coming, as they did from a monarch
whose will he had discharged with such brutal fidelity. But what of
the afterthought, the reaction which began to hum round his ears
almost immediately after this fulsome display of enthusiastic
approbation? A vast public, never in favour of the Government's
vaunted policy of heroism over an unfortunate foe, swung round with a
vengeance. The indignation against the perpetrators of this cruel
assassination had no bounds. It was not confined to Britain. The
civilised world was shocked. The willing tool of the Government got
the worst of it, and the perfidy will cling to his name throughout
eternity.

O'Meara's book, "A Voice from St. Helena; or, Napoleon in Exile,"
published in 1822, sold like wildfire. In vain Bathurst, Castlereagh,
and Liverpool tried to check the flood of public censure that poured
in upon them from everywhere. Sir Hudson Lowe, beside himself with
apprehension, appealed to them for protection, but none was
forthcoming. Indeed, they were too busy searching out some means by
which the blow could be eased off themselves, and with studious
politeness left their accomplice to plan out his defence as best he
could; and the world knows what a sorry job he made of it. His
coadjutors in the great tragedy were not the kind of people to share
any part of the public censure that could be reflected on to their
gaoler. Pretty compliments had been paid to him by the King and some
of his Ministers previous to the realisation of the full force of
public indignation. Bathurst sent him a letter in 1823 reminding him
that his treatment had been beyond that of ordinary governors, that he
was working out an idea of having him recommended to a West Indian
governorship, and that he was not to suppose that this gracious
interest in him was in order to silence the clamour that was being
raised against him. This communication was made in November, and in
December Lowe was told that he was to go to Antigua as Governor. For
special reasons this favour was refused, and two years afterwards he
accepted command of the forces at Ceylon, and was still there when Sir
Walter Scott's exculpation of the British Government appeared in 1828.
Scott was employed for that special purpose.

The ex-Governor searched the pages of this extraordinary work for a
vindication of himself, but never a word that could be construed into
real approval was there. He obtained leave of absence from the
Governor of Ceylon and made his way to England, ostensibly to
vindicate his character. He landed at St. Helena, paid a visit to
Longwood, otherwise known as the "Abode of Darkness" since the
Imperial tenant named it so when he gave O'Meara his benediction on
the occasion of his last parting from him, when he was banished from
the island. Sir Hudson was shocked at seeing the place reverted back
to a worse state than it was previous to the exiles being forced into
it. Then it was a dirty, unwholesome barn, overrun with vermin; now it
was worse than a piggery. The aspect touched a tender chord in this
man who had been the cause of making the Emperor's compulsory sojourn
a sorrowful agony.

Reflections of all that happened during those five memorable years
must have crowded in upon him and racked him with feelings of bitter
remorse for his avoidable part in the cruel drama; and as he stood
upon the spot that had been made famous by England's voluntary
captive, it was not unnatural that he should have been overcome by a
strange and possibly a purifying sadness. All of that which he had
regarded in other days, under different conditions, as unjustifiable
splendour had vanished. The Imperial bedroom and study were now made
use of to accommodate and give shelter to cows, horses, and pigs.
Other agricultural commodities were strewn about everywhere. Nothing
was left that would indicate that it was consecrated to fame and
everlasting pity. The triumph of death came to it only some six years
before. And now Sir Hudson Lowe, we doubt not, filled with pensive
regret, looked down on the nameless tomb of the great captain, guarded
by sentinels with fixed bayonets, ready to thrust them into any
unauthorised intruder into the sacred precincts of the Valley of
Napoleon, or the Geranium Valley, which is also known by the name of
Punch Bowl.

Ah! what thickly gathering memories must have come to him in that
solemn hour on that smitten rock of bitter and brutal vengeance! All
we shall ever know of that melancholy visit as it really affected Lowe
has been told by his biographer. We are left to imagine a good deal,
and therefore must conclude that he would be less than human if he did
not realise that the shadow of retribution was pursuing him. If his
thoughts of himself were otherwise, he was soon to be disillusioned.

He spent three days on the Rock, and had a good reception and
send-off, and ere long made his appearance in London and presented
himself to his quasi-friend, Bathurst, who, with an eye to his own and
his colleagues' interests, discouraged the idea of publishing an
answer to Sir Walter Scott's book. Bathurst, in fact (with unconscious
drollery), advised Lowe to hurry back to Ceylon without delay, lest
meanwhile a vacancy of the governorship should occur and he might lose
his opportunity. He was assured of the Government's appreciation of
him as their most trusted and loyal public servant, while as a matter
of fact it was ludicrously obvious that his presence was quite as
objectionable to them in England as it was to the exiles in St.
Helena. He was fully alive to, and did not underestimate, the amount
of dirty work he had done for them, and very properly expected to be
amply rewarded. It never occurred to him that retribution was
over-shadowing them as well as himself, and that they could not openly
avow their displeasure at the odium he was the cause of bringing on
the Government and on the British name by reason of his having so
rigidly carried out their perfidious regulations. Had public opinion
supported them, their action would have been claimed as a sagacious
policy, but it didn't, so this poor, wretched, tactless, incompetent
tool became almost as much their aversion as the great prisoner
himself. In fact, things went so ill with them that they would have
preferred it had Lowe indulged every whim of his prisoner, granted him
full liberty to roam wherever he liked, recognised him as Emperor, and
even been not too zealous in preventing his escape; and they must have
wished that, in the first instance, they had not thought of St.
Helena, but wisely and generously granted him hospitality in our own
land. This last would have been the best thing that could have
happened for everybody concerned.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16