Recollections of Napoleon at St. Helena/Chapter 15

THE LEGEND OF FRIAR'S VALLEY.—BUST OF THR YOUNG KING OF ROME.—THE EMPEROR'S EMOTION ON SHEWING IT.—EXHIBITION OF SOME TOYS SENT BY LADY HOLLAND TO MADAME DERTRAND'S CHILDREN, ETC. ETC.

It was not long after Napoleon had been at Longwood, that chance took him in one of his rides to a romantic glen named "The Friar's Valley," a wildly picturesque spot, so called from the peculiar formation of a huge rock fashioned by nature's hand into the figure of a monk with his cowl ​thrown back, dressed in flowing robes, with a rosary at his side. He forms a peculiar feature in the grotesque scenery with which great part of the island abounds; that immediately around it, consisting of stupendous sterile rocks, detached by deep and frightful ravines, some rising perpendicularly many hundred feet; and here and there are seen bare masses of stone towering aloft, with flowering aloes bursting forth from fissures in their iron coloured sides. I have endeavoured to convey, in the annexed sketch, some faint idea of this romantic though desolate looking valley. Napoleon had heard of the legend connected with it, and asked me if I had ever seen the "Will-o'-the-Wisp," which he was told lighted the old friar's lantern. I said I had been often frightened by it, for when quite a little child, my mother, thinking the air on the mountains purer than that of St. James's Valley, generally sent me thither under the care of an old negro nurse, ​who resided in a little cottage directly overlooking the vale. Oftentimes would she threaten, if I did not repeat my letters correctly, to give me to the monk, who would carry me off in his lantern.

I perfectly recollect how heartily the emperor laughed at my describing the tricks I played old Sarah. I had a box of letters, which it was her daily duty to see me arrange and place in alphabetical order: my great fun was to turn them topsy-turvy, at the same time keeping them quite straight. When I placed them properly, I arranged them unevenly; but the dear old nurse, who did not understand a letter in her alphabet, was certain to commend me for the neat arrangement I had effected; but I was threatened with the friar when my lesson presented an untidy appearance, however right it might be.

The story attached to the valley was this. The place where the friar now stands, was supposed once to have been the site of a ​Roman Catholic chapel, adjoining which was the residence of the officiating priest, a monk of the Franciscan order, who was considered an example of Christian piety and humility, his life being passed in the performance of acts of charity and benevolence, such as attending the sick, relieving the oppressed; and often did he interpose his charitable interference between the severe taskmaster and his wretched slaves, when the latter were condemned for some triffing offence to undergo fearful mutilations or the cruel lash. Thus in acts of piety this man of God pursued his way, blessing and blessed, till his senses became enthralled by the surpassing beauty of a mountain nymph, who dwelt in a cottage not far removed from the friar's lonely habitation. It was in one of his rambles in search of some object of charity that his eyes first encountered this lovely daughter of the Atlantic isle, tending a herd of her father's mountain goats; they bad strayed ​so far that she had vainly tried to collect them, and was returning tired and sad to her dwelling, when, encountering the monk, she humbly told her tale, and asked his assistance. It was readily accorded, for who could resist such an appeal, enhanced by so much beauty? The scattered flock was reunited, and the young girl, gracefully acknowledging his service, with a light heart returned to her home. It would have been well for the good father had that interview been the last, but fate ordained it otherwise. Again and again be sought her mountain cot, pouring into the maiden's ear his tale of love and adoration, and finally besought her to be his bride. She promised, but on one condition only, to listen to his suit—he must renounce his creed, and become of her faith: upon these terms alone would she consent, and until he had resolved thus to prove his devotion, must not hope to see her again. The struggle was a fearful one in the breast of the monk; ​but love triumphed in the end: he forsook the faith of his fathers, broke his vows, and became a renegade. In due course of time the wedding-day was fixed the ceremony was to be performed in that very chapel which had so often re-echoed the apostate's pious prayers for his suffering flock, and the bride, accompanied by her attendant maidens, approached the altar. The service was read, and just as the bridegroom was clasping the hand of his beloved, a fearful crash resounded, the rock was rent asunder, and every vestige of the chapel, and of those it contained, for ever disappeared. In its place stands the gaunt image of the grim friar,—an example and a sad warning to those who suffer their evil passions to prevail over their better judgment.

​I remember one morning seeing the emperor much moved; he had been exhibiting a marble bust of the King of Rome, which had been sent to him by the Empress Marie Louise. He took us into his bedroom to inspect them, and we were ​loud in our praises of the beauty of the child who could have furnished the sculptor with so attractive a subject for his classical art. Napoleon gazed on it with proud satisfaction, and was evidently much delighted at our warm encomiums upon its loveliness. My mother told him he ought indeed to exult at being the father of such a beautiful creature as that boy must be. Smiles seemed to light up his face, and my mother often said, she never saw a countenance at the time so interestingly expressive of parental fondness. The bust of the young Napoleon was the size of life, exquisitely chiselled in white marble; and on it was inscribed "Napoleon Francois Charles Joseph," &c., it bore the decoration of the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. It was sent mysteriously to Napoleon, and arrived in charge of a sailor, who had received it through the orders of Marie Louise: the sculptor resided at Leghorn, and the empress had it conveyed to the gunner of a ship bound for St. Helena, (it ​was said,) as a silent token of her regard and unchanged affection for the ex-emperor.

When we had seen and admired this treasure, Madame Bertrand invited us to accompany her, and be charmed by the exhibition of a variety of presents from Lady Holland, which had been sent out and had arrived only a few days before. They offered a rich feast to my eyes; such an assemblage of beautiful trinkets I had never beheld, and I viewed them again and again in an ecstasy of delight.

Lady Holland was very kind to Mesdames Bertrand and Montholon, especially to the former; and many were the grateful prayers 1 have heard her offer for the happiness of that excellent lady, who evinced such true charity in displaying so many considerate attentions, which could not but be highly appreciated under such circumstances. Napoleon, when speaking of her ladyship, always called her "La bonne Lady Holland," and expressed himself very grateful ​for her kindness and attention to him, when abandoned by the world in that desolate island. He remarked, that all the members of the family of the great Fox abounded in liberal and generous sentiments. In speaking of that statesman he used to say, "He was sincere and honest in his intentions, and had he lived, England would not have been desolated by war; he was the only minister who knew the interests of his country." He said he was received with a kind of triumph in every city of the French empire, and fêted and welcomed by all its inhabitants. Every town he visited seemed to vie with the other which should offer him the greatest honours. He related a circumstance which, he said, must have made a gratifying impression on the mind of that great man. One day Fox visited St. Cloud. The private apartments of the palace there were never shown, being exclusively kept for the use of the emperor; however, by some accident the minister ​and Mrs. Fox opened one of the doors of the sanctum, and entered; there they beheld statues of the great men of all times and nations—Sydney, Hampden, Washington, Cicero, Lord Chatham, and amongst the rest his own, which was instantly recognised by his lady, who exclaimed, "My dear, this is yours." This little incident, though trifling, procured him great attentions, and spread directly through Paris.