Recollections of Napoleon at St. Helena/Chapter 21

IN concluding my brief record of Napoleon, I will spare my readers any lengthened expression of my own opinion of his character. I have placed before them the greater part of what occurred while I was in his society, and have thus given them, as far as I am able, the same means of judging of him as I myself possess. But yet, in a personal intercourse, incidents occur, of too trivial or subtle a nature to be communicated to others, but which are still the truest indications of character, from being the result of impulse, and un​premeditated. Even a look, a tone of the voice, a gesture, in an unreserved moment, will give an insight into the real disposition, which years of a more formal intercourse would fail to convey; and this is particularly the case in the association of a person of mature age with very young people. There is generally a confiding candour and openness about them which invites confidence in return, and which tempts a man of the world to throw off the iron mask of reserve and caution, and to assume once more the simplicity of a little child. This, at least, took place in my intercourse with Napoleon, and I may therefore perhaps venture to say a few words on the general impression he left on my mind after three months' daily communication with him.

The point of character which has, more than any other, been a subject of dispute between Napoleon's friends and his enemies, and which will ever be the most im​portant of all, in the estimation of a woman, is, whether he furnished another proof of the "close affinity between superlative intellect and the warmth of the generous affections," (to use the words of the Rev. ——— Crabbe, in his delightful Life of his Father,) or whether he must be considered only as a consummate calculating machine, the reasoning power perfect, but the heart altogether absent. Bourrienne, who, although conscientious and exact in the main, exhibits no partiality to the emperor, describes him as "trés peu aimant," and reports that he once said, "I have no friend except Duroc, who is unfeeling and cold, and suits me;" and this may have been true in his intercourse with the world, and with men whom he was accustomed to consider as mere machines, the instruments of his glory and ambition, and whom he therefore valued in proportion to the sternness of the stuff of which they were composed. Even his brothers, whom he is ​said to have included in this sweeping ab-negation of friendship, he taught himself to look upon as the means of carrying out his ambitious projects; and as they were not always subservient to his will, but came at times into political collision with him, his fraternal affection, which seldom resisted the rude shocks of contending worldly interests, was cooled and weakened in the struggle. But my own conviction is, that unless Napoleon's ambition, to which every other consideration was sacrificed, interfered, he was possessed of much sensibility and feeling, and was capable of strong attachment.

The Duchess d'Abrantes, who was intimately acquainted with Napoleon at an early age, gives him credit for much more warmth of heart than is allowed to him by the world; and brought up, as she had been, with himself and his family, she was well qualified to form an opinion of him. I think his love of children, and the de​light he felt in their society,—and that, too, at the most calamitous period of his life, when a cold and unattachable nature would have been abandoned to the indulgence of selfish misery,—in itself, speaks volumes for his goodness of heart. After hours of laborious occupation, he would often permit us to join him, and that which would have fatigued and exhausted the spirits of others, seemed only to recruit and renovate him. His gaiety was often exuberant at these moments; he entered into all the feelings of young people, and when with them was a mere child, and, I may add, a most amusing one.

I feel, however, even painfully, the difficulty of conveying to my readers my own impression of the disposition of Napoleon. Matters of feeling are often incapable of demonstration. The innumerable acts of amiability and kindness which he lavished on all around him at my father's house, derived, perhaps, their chief charm from ​the way in which they were done; they would not bear being told. Apart from the sweetness of his smile and manner, their effect would have been comparatively nothing. But young people are generally keen observers of character. Their perceptive faculties are ever on the alert, and their powers of observation not the less acute, perhaps, because their reason lies dormant, and there is nothing to interrupt the exercise of their perceptions. And after seeing Napoleon in every possible mood, and in his most unguarded moments, when I am sure, from his manner, that the idea of acting a part never entered his head, I left him, impressed with the most complete conviction of his want of guile, and the thorough amiability and goodness of his heart. That this feeling was common to almost every one who approached him, the respect and devotion of his followers at St. Helena is a sufficient proof. They had then nothing more to expect from him, ​and only entailed misery on themselves by adhering to his fortunes.

Shortly after he left the Briars for Longwood, I was witness to an instance of the reverence with which he was regarded by those around him. A lady of high distinction at St. Helena, whose husband filled one of the diplomatic offices there, rode up one morning to the Briars. I happened to be on the lawn, and she requested me to show her the part of the cottage occupied by the emperor. I conducted her to the pavilion, which she surveyed with intense interest; but when I pointed out to her the crown which bad been cut from the turf by his faithful adherents, she lost all control over her feelings. Bursting into a fit of passionate weeping, she sank on her knees upon the ground, sobbing hysterically. At last she fell forward, and I became quite alarmed, and would have run to the cottage to tell my mother and procure some restoratives, ​but, starting up, she implored me, in a voice broken by emotion, to call no one, for that she should soon be herself again. She entreated me not to mention to any one what had occurred, and proceeded to say that the memory of Napoleon was treasured in the hearts of the French people as it was in hers, and that they would all willingly die for him. She was herself a Frenchwoman, and very beautiful. She recovered herself after some time, and put a thousand questions to me about Napoleon, the answers to which seemed to interest her exceedingly. She said several times, "How happy it must have made you to be with the emperor!" After a long interview, she put a thick veil down over her still agitated features, and returning to her horse, mounted and rode away. For once, I kept a secret, and, though questioned on the subject, I merely said she had come to see the pavilion, without betraying what had taken place.

​Napoleon, on his first arrival, showed an inclination to mix in what little society St. Helena afforded, and would, I think, have continued to do so, but for the unhappy differences with Sir Hudson Lowe. These at length grew to such a height, that the emperor seemed to consider it almost a point of honour to shut himself ups, and make himself as miserable as possible, in order to excite indignation against the governor. Into the merits of these quarrels, it is not my intention to eater. With all my feeling of partiality for the emperor, I have often doubted whether any human being could have filled the situation of Sir Hudson Lowe, without becoming embroiled with his unhappy captive. The very title by which he was accosted, and the manner of addressing him, when contrasted with the devotion of those around hm, must have seemed almost insulting; and the emperor was most brusque and uncompromising in showing his dislike to any one who did not please ​him; the necessary restrictions on his personal liberty would always have been a fruitful source of discord; and even had Napoleon himself been inclined to submit to his fate with equanimity, it is doubtful whether his followers would have permitted him to do so. Accustomed as they had been to the gaiety and brilliancy of the French capital, their "séjour," to use their own words, on that lone island, could not fail to be "affreux"; and as they were generally the medium of communication between Napoleon and the authorities, the correspondence would necessarily be tinged with more or less of the bitterness of their respective feelings. Their very devotion to the emperor would make them too tenacious and exacting with regard to the deference to which his situation entitled him; and thus orders and regulations, which only seemed to the authorities indispensable to his security, became a crime in their eyes, and were represented to the emperor as ​gratuitous and cruel insults. Napoleon, too, in the absence of every thing more worthy of supplying food to his mighty intellect, did not disdain to interest himself in the merest trifles. My father has often described him as appearing as much absorbed and occupied in the details of some petty squabble with the governor as if the fate of empires had been under discussion. He has often made us laugh with his account of the ridiculous way in which Napoleon spoke of Sir Hudson Lowe; but their disputes were generally on subjects so trivial, that I deem it my duty to draw a veil over these last infirmities of so noble a mind.

One circumstance, however, I may relate: Napoleon, wishing to learn English, procured some English books; amongst them "Æsop's Fables," were sent him. In one of the fables the sick lion, after submitting with fortitude to the insults of the many animals who came to exult over his fallen greatness, at last received a kick in the ​face from the ass. "I could have borne every thing but this," the lion said. Napoleon showed the wood-cut, and added. "It is me and your governor."

Amongst other accusations against Napoleon, some writers have said that he was deficient in courage. He always gave me the idea, on the contrary, of being constitutionally fearless. I have already mentioned his feats of horsemanship, and the speed with which his carriage generally tore along the narrow mountainous roads of St. Helena would have been intolerable to a timid person. I have more than once seen gentlemen, whose horses were rather skittish, when the emperor approached them at a rapid pace, compelled to turn and gallop rapidly for some distance before him, to their great annoyance, until they reached an open space where they could pass his carriage without danger of their horses shying and going down a precipice. He had a description of jaunting-car, to which he ​yoked three Cape horses abreast, in the French style, and if he got any one into this, he seldom let his victim out until he had frightened him heartily. One day he told General Gourgaud to make his horse rear and put his fore feet into the carriage, to my great terror. He seemed, indeed, to possess no nerves himself, and to laugh at the existence of fear in others.

Napoleon, as far as I was capable of judging, could not be considered fond of literature. He seldom introduced the topic in conversation, and I suspect his reading was confined almost solely to scientific subjects. I have heard him speak slightingly of poets, and call them réveurs, and still I believe the most visionary of them all, was the only one he ever perused. But his own vast and undefined schemes of ambition, seemed to have found something congenial in the dreamy sublimities of Ossian.