to the Emperor's privacy in order that he might assure himself that his charge had not escaped, but his ambition and his heroics were calmly and contemptuously ignored. "Tell my gaoler," said Napoleon to his valet Noverras, "that it is in his power to change his keys for the hatchet of the executioner, and that if he enters, it shall be over a corpse. Give me my pistols," and it is said by Montholon, to whom the Emperor was dictating at the time of the intrusion, that Sir Hudson heard this answer and retired confounded. The ultimatum dazed him, but he was forced to understand that beyond a certain limit, heroics, fooleries, and impertinences would not be tolerated by this terrible scavenger of European bureaucracy.[5] Lowe, in very truth, discerned the stern reality of the Emperor's piercing words, and he felt the need of greater caution bearing down on him. He pondered over these grave developments as he journeyed back to Plantation House, there to concoct and dispatch with all speed a tale that would chill his confederates at St. Stephen's with horror, and give them a further opportunity of showing how wise they were in their plan of banishment and rigid precautions, and in their selection of so distinguished and dauntless a person as Sir Hudson Lowe, on whom they implicitly relied to carry out their Christlike benefactions.
Cartoonists, pamphleteers, Bourbonites, treasonites, meteoric females, all were supplied with the requisite material for declamatory speeches to be hurled at the Emperor in the hope of being reaped to the glory of God and the British ministry. The story of the attempted invasion of Longwood and its sequel shocks the fine susceptibilities of the satellites by whom Lowe is surrounded. They bellow out frothy words of vengeance. Sir Thomas Reade, the noisiest filibuster of them all, indicates his method of settling matters at Longwood. This incident arose through Napoleon refusing to see Sir Thomas Strange, an Indian Judge. Las Cases had just been forcibly removed. The Emperor was feeling the cruelty of this act very keenly, so he sent the following reply to Lowe's request that he should see Sir Thomas: "Tell the Governor that those who have gone down to the tomb receive no visits, and take care that the Judge be made acquainted with my answer." This cutting reply caused Sir Hudson to give way to unrestrained anger, and now Sir Thomas Reade gets his chance of vapouring. Here is his plan: "If I were Governor, I would bring that dog of a Frenchman to his senses; I would isolate him from all his friends, who are no better than himself; then I would deprive him of his books. He is, in fact, nothing but a miserable outlaw, and I would treat him as such. By G—! it would be a great mercy to the King of France to rid him of such a fellow altogether. It was a piece of great cowardice not to have sent him at once to a court martial instead of sending him here."[6]
This ebullition of spasmodic courage entitles the Deputy-Adjutant-General to special mention in the dispatches of his chief. O'Meara relates another of many episodes with which the valiant Sir Thomas is associated. Further attempts were made to violate the privacy of the Emperor on the 11th, 12th, 13th, and 16th August, 1819, but these were defeated by the fastening of doors. Count Montholon was indisposed, and the Governor, refusing to correspond with Count Bertrand, insisted upon having communication with the Emperor by letter or by one of his officers twice a day. So the immortal Sir Thomas Reade and another staff officer were selected to effect a communication. But "the dog of a Frenchman" that the deputy boasted of "bringing to his senses" refuses admittance, and Sir Thomas, who has now got his opportunity, evidently has some misgivings about the loaded pistols that are kept handy in case of an emergency. The Emperor, in one of his slashing dictated declarations which hit home with every biting sentence, reminds the Governor again what the inevitable result will be should indecorous liberty be taken. Sir Thomas would be made aware of this danger, so contents himself by knocking at the door and shouting at the top of his voice: "Come out, Napoleon Bonaparte. We want Napoleon Bonaparte."
This grotesque incident, which is only one of many and worse outrages that were hatched at Plantation House, reflects a lurid light on the delirium of antagonism that pervaded the dispositions of some of England's representatives. The hysterical delight of manufacturing annoyances was notorious on the island, and Sir Hudson and his myrmidons shrieked with resentment when dignified defiance was the only response.
Lowe failed to recognise the important ethical fact that a person who acts a villainous part can never realise his villainy. So oblivious was he of this fundamental law that he never ceased to assure the exiles that he was not only good, but kind. Here is a note that bears out this self-consciousness: "General Bonaparte cannot be allowed to traverse the island freely. Had the only question been that of his safety, a mere commission of the East India Company would have been sufficient to guard him at St. Helena. He may consider himself fortunate that my Government has sent a man so kind as myself to guard him, otherwise he would be put in chains, to teach him how to conduct himself better."
To this the Emperor answered: "In this case it is obvious that, if the instructions given to Sir Hudson Lowe by Lords Bathurst and Castlereagh do not contain an order to kill me, a verbal order must have been given; for whenever people wish mysteriously to destroy a man, the first thing they do is to cut him off from all communication with society, and surround him with the shades of mystery, till, having accustomed the world to hear nothing said of him, and to forget him, they can easily torture him or make him disappear."
What a dreadful indictment this is against Bathurst, Castlereagh, and Lowe, and how difficult to think of these men at the same time as of Napoleon, whose name had kept the world in awe! Surely their dwarfed names and those of all the allied traitors and conspirators will pass on down the ages subjects for mockery and derision, while his shall still tower above everything unto all time. His faults will be obscured by the magnificence of his powerful and beneficent reign, and overshadowed by pity for his unspeakable martyrdom.
But what of the Commissioners representing Russia, Austria, Prussia, and the Most Christian King of France? How shall they fare at the hands of posterity? Their crime will not be that they acquiesced in being sent to St. Helena by their respective Governments, but that they allowed themselves to be completely cajoled and influenced by the crafty allurements of Lowe. The representative of Austria is said to have been a mere cipher in his hands, while the attention of Count Balmin was wholly taken up in making love to Miss Johnson, the eldest daughter of Lady Lowe by a former marriage. He eventually married her and became one of the family. This young lady's charm of character and goodness had captured the affections of the Longwood colony, and her tender solicitude for the sorrows of the Emperor caused him to form an attachment for her which was evidenced by his gracious attentions whenever she came to Longwood.
The Marquis de Montchenu (who on landing at St. Helena found himself in the midst of a group of officers attending on Sir Hudson, and called out, "For the love of God, tell me if any of you speak French") is not much heard of in his official capacity. Afterwards he appears to have been enamoured of the Governor's good dinners, but though he was always hospitable, kind, and glad to see his compatriots at his breakfast table, the Emperor never would receive him, though he always showed appreciation of his promptitude in forwarding to him French papers or books. The Marquis would naturally find it difficult to assert himself when he heard of the wrongs committed by his host.
The restrictions imposed on the Emperor were by this time having an ominous effect. O'Meara reported that this was so, and the Commissioners, whose instructions from their Governments were merely formal, thought it their duty to bestir themselves, and requested the Governor to remove the causes in so far as it was "compatible with the security of his person," lest the result from want of exercise should be of serious consequences to his health. Sir Hudson was angry at the turn affairs were taking, as the Commissioners had always accommodated themselves to his plans. He found, however, that in this instance humanity had been aroused, and as it would not suit his purpose to run against his hitherto complacent friends, he thinks to appease their anxiety in the following extraordinary manner:—
"I am about to arrange in such a way as to allow him to take horse exercise. I have no wish that he should die of an attack of apoplexy—that would be very embarrassing both to me and to my Government. I would much rather he should die of a tedious disease which our physicians could properly declare to be natural. Apoplexy furnishes too many grounds for comment."[7]
This
