FOOTNOTES:
[1] BATTLE OF ABOUKIR.
At the battle of Aboukir Bay the British losses were reported to be 896 killed and wounded. Only one captain fell. 5,225 of the French perished, and 3,105, including wounded, were sent on shore.
When the battle was over, Nelson gave instructions that thanksgiving aboard every ship should be offered to Almighty God for giving His Majesty's forces the victory. It is the author's opinion that but for a good deal of slashing genius and not a little of the devil on the part of Nelson and his men the French would not have fared so badly.
[2] Portraits painted by poor Romney for £40, or less, sell for many thousands at Christie's in these days.
[3] Italics are the author's.
[4] Italics are the author's.
[5] Some authorities speak of Sir William Hamilton as being an amiable, accomplished man, who left on record a letter which reads as follows:—"My study of antiquities has kept me in constant thought of the perpetual fluctuation of everything. The whole art is really to live all the days of our life. Admire the Creator and all His works, to us incomprehensible, and do all the good you can on earth; and take the chance of eternity without dismay."
[6] Sir Harris Nicolas is inclined to believe in the purity of Nelson's attachment and Southey says there is no reason to believe that it was more than platonic. But these views are certainly not borne out by those who knew Nelson and his connection with the Hamiltons intimately.
[7] The name by which Nelson speaks of her occasionally in his correspondence with Lady Hamilton. His daughter bore this name before his death, but he desired that afterwards she should drop the name of Thompson.
[8] "Correspondence and Diaries of John Wilson Croker," vol. ii. p. 233.
[9] O'Meara, vol. i. p. 308.
[10] O'Meara, "Voice from St. Helena," vol. ii. p. 229. "Talks of Napoleon at St. Helena," Gourgand, p. 118.
[11] The body was first seen floating by a Neapolitan fisherman, who reported the matter, but his story was ridiculed. Finally, in order to verify the statement, the principal actors in the shameful tragedy went for a sail in Naples Bay and soon met the body borne along by the swift current as though to meet them. The incident created a profound impression at the time.
[12] This girl of twenty-two, who is known to fame and immortality, purchased a dagger, and called on Marat, who was the most infamous arch-butcher of the Reign of Terror. He was in his bath at the time, but this did not prevent her from making her way to him. He wrote down the names of the conspirators she told him of having seen in Normandy, and he told her he would swiftly have them guillotined. The assurance had scarcely left his lips when in an instant she thrust the instrument of death through his heart. She repudiated the stigma of being thought a murderess, and believed that her act would be the means of saving thousands of lives. She was dragged through the streets, taken to the executioner, and asked for the loan of his shears and cut off a lock of her hair. When asked if she found the journey long, she replied with perfect composure, "Oh no, I am not afraid of being too late." Subsequently one of the Girondin deputies said of her, "She has killed us, but she has taught all how to die."
[13] TROUBRIDGE'S BLUFF LETTER TO LORD NELSON.
"Pardon me, my Lord, it is my sincere esteem for you that makes me mention it. I know you have no pleasure in sitting up all night at cards; why then sacrifice your health, comfort, purse, ease, everything, to the customs of a country where your stay cannot be long? I would not, my Lord, reside in this country for all Sicily. I trust the war will soon be over, and deliver us from a nest of everything that is infamous, and that we may enjoy the smiles of our countrywomen.
"Your Lordship is a stranger to half that happens, or the talk it occasions; if you knew what your friends feel for you, I am sure you would cut all the nocturnal parties. Gambling of the people at Palermo is publicly talked of everywhere. I beseech your Lordship leave off. I wish my pen could tell you my feelings, I am sure you would oblige me.
"I trust your Lordship will pardon me; it is the sincere esteem I have for you that makes me risk your displeasure."
No reply, so far as is known, was ever sent to this outspoken letter.
[14] Castlereagh and Canning fought a duel. Canning was wounded by a bullet in the leg, and it prevented Castlereagh from being an unpopular figure. Indeed, he became for a time, in limited circles, popular. Percival was assassinated. Lord Liverpool was Prime Minister for fifteen years, and departed this life insane. Canning was brilliant, witty, and eloquent, and his outlook was large. It was said that he was spoiled by Pitt, and was consumed by vanity, and was broken by Tory calumniation. Political, commercial, or social intrigue success is always followed by the most deadly reaction on those who practise or encourage it, and I trust that a merciful Providence will shield from the tragedies and maladies that came to some members of this former coalition those of the present, which apparently excels every other in its colossal efforts at doing harm. The best brains are needed now, not romancers.
[15] Subsequent information has proved this statement wanted confirmation.
[16] Captain John Clavell, then first lieutenant of the Royal Sovereign.
[17] The lamented Sir Peter Parker, Bart., who fell in the Chesapeake in 1814, when captain of the Menelaus, leading his men against the Americans.
[18] "Napoleon in Exile," vol. i. p. 56.
The Emporer Napoleon after his Accession
NAPOLEON AND HIS CONNECTION WITH THE WORLD-WAR (1914-1918)
NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL FROM THE FRENCH
Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name—
She abandons me now—but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame.
I have warred with a world which vanquished me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
The last single Captive to millions in war.
Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd me,
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,
Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won—
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,
Had still soar'd with eyes fixed on victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then,—
The violet still grows in the depths of thy valleys;
Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it again—
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice—
There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
I
Napoleon, when at the height of his fame, was looked upon by the European Powers as a man whose lust of conquest was a terrible menace to all constituted authority. The oligarchies thought themselves bound to combine against him in order to reseat the Bourbons on the throne of France and restore law and order to that distracted country. What a travesty of the actual facts!
The people of France had risen against the tyranny and oppression of the French kings and nobles, and out of the welter of the Revolution Napoleon rose to power and, by his magnetic personality, welded the chaotic elements into unity, framed laws which are still in operation, and led his country to wonderful heights of glory.
Well may the crowned heads of Europe have feared this man, whose genius put all their mediocre and unenlightened achievements in the shade. Had they been blessed with the same vision as he, they would not have opposed but co-operated with him, by introducing into their own constitutions saner laws such as some of those in the Code Napoleon. But instead of this, they began a campaign of Press vilification, and Napoleon's every act was held up as the deed of a monster of iniquity. Plots, open and secret, to dethrone him were continually in progress, only to be frustrated by the genius of the man of the people.
As an instance of this, and of the one-sided view taken by all ranks and classes of Napoleon's opponents, let us contrast two cases which are in some respects parallel. The many plots to assassinate the First Consul—especially the one that very nearly succeeded when he was on his way to the opera—and the knowledge that an organized band of conspirators were in red-hot activity and, headed by the Duc d'Enghien, Cadoudal, Moreau, and Pichegru, were determined to kill the head of the State, overthrow the Government, and re-establish the Bourbon dynasty, caused the Duc to be arrested, tried by his fellow-countrymen, and found guilty of the charges brought against him, and, by the blundering of Savary, afterwards Duke of Rovigo, and the persistence of Murat, the death penalty was carried out and he was shot. Had he been permitted to live another twenty-four hours, Napoleon would unquestionably have pardoned him, though he never doubted the justice of the sentence. Much political capital has been made in this country against Napoleon for even sanctioning his arrest and in not preventing the capital sentence of the court from being carried out.[19]
Unquestionably Napoleon regretted the execution, and would have granted a free pardon had some one not blundered or been too zealous in what they conceived to be his and the country's best interests. Almost every writer on this subject is strong in his condemnation of the execution and of Napoleon for not taking surer steps to prevent it. But in judging him in regard to this matter, it is only fair to take into account that he was the ruler of a great empire. Whether he became so by force or not, does not matter; he saved the Revolution, and had already brought some form of order out of bloody chaos.
He had already become the popular head of the French nation, and it devolved upon him to take the most minute precautions against the disturbing effects of the secret and avowed conspirators who directed their operations against his life and the overthrow of his government from London. The precautions taken were drastic, skilfully organized, and far-reaching, and his agents kept him advised of the danger that continually beset him. Even though he had no thought of reprieving the Duc, and deliberately allowed him to be shot, the act of self-preservation, extreme though it may appear, can hardly be termed, under the circumstances, unwarranted. It was a period of wild, uncontrollable passion, and the survivors of the old aristocracy hated the man of genius who had risen to power from the ranks of the people to take the place of the Bourbons. This was the canker that stimulated their enmity.
Had the Duc d'Enghien kept himself aloof from conspirators, and been willing to recognize the facts he would never have been molested. He took the risk of co-operating with desperate men, and paid the penalty by being shot on the 24th March, 1804, at 6.0 a.m., at Vincennes. Had the ruler of any state in Europe carried out a death-sentence for the same reason and under the same circumstances, it would have been regarded as well-merited punishment, and the Press would have preached the gospel of warning to evil doers. But with Napoleon it was different. He was an interloper who had nothing in common with the galaxy of monarchs who ruled Europe at that time. Subsequently they licked his boots, not for love, but through fear. The shooting of the Duc was a fine opportunity for his enemies. They sedulously nursed the Press, published books and pamphlets in every language, and employed the most poisoned pen that could be bought to portray the future ruler of kings in terms of obloquy. The performance of the scribes who direct the pen, which is said to be mightier than the sword, is enough to kill any one with a real sense of humour. Some of the literary productions which were to send the greatest of living men off the face of the earth are quite grotesque in their feminine, shrill advocacy of force towards the "eater of pigs"; the "Anti-Christ"; and the murderer of a kindly-disposed gentleman who was on an innocent visit to the frontier of France for the purpose of negotiating a few private matters that had no political significance; what if he were one of the leaders of a band of fine, desperate fellows who had combined, and sworn to rid France of the Usurper, even at the risk of death! This being their aim and heroic determination, they had no ground of complaint if the iron hand which ruled the country took measures to prevent them from carrying out their beneficent intentions. Of course, I give the sense and not the actual words of the gallant writers of that time who, with a glare in their lion eye (judging from the style of their vapourings), thought that Napoleon could never survive so vigorous a stream of invective! What loose fabrications have been scattered over the earth about this regrettable incident, and what abominable cant has been sent forth extolling the virtues of men like the unfortunate Duc, who put the law at defiance by secretly carrying out a purpose that he knew was pregnant with danger to himself!
Let us contrast, if we can, the Duc d'Enghien's reckless gamble, the consequences of which have been used so consistently to blacken the fame of the Emperor Napoleon, with Nelson's connection with the hanging of the rebel prince Carraciolli; of the latter little has been said, though the shooting of the Duc seems to have been more justifiable than the hanging of the prince, who was an old man. Both were tried and condemned to death by men who, it is said, were prejudiced against them. Nelson could have saved the aged Admiral had his heart been free from revenge and his mind free from the influence of Emma Hamilton. The guilt of the Admiral's death must eternally lie at his door. The outrage can never be effaced, and must for all time be associated with the mean executioners who, to begin with, had naught but vengeance in their minds. Nelson was an Englishman entrusted with England's high sense of honour and love of compassion, and in its name he stained its reputation for fair dealing. On entering the Bay of Naples, a flag of truce was flying at the mast-head of the Seahorse and at the castles of Nuovo and Uovo. The treaty had been ratified by Captain Foote, a high-minded officer.[20] Nelson did not approve of the truce, nor did Lady Hamilton, who was aboard the Foudroyant. One can almost see this brazen figure standing on the quarterdeck of this British ship of war calling out to Nelson, "Haul down the flag of truce, Bronte. There must be no truce with rebels." It almost takes one's breath away to think that a man in Nelson's position should have allowed private feelings to enter into and influence his professional duty. Every now and again we get glimpses of this blatant paramour of his being allowed to assert herself in matters which involved the honour of Great Britain. We are anxious to believe that Nelson put some limit to this lady's interference in matters of high naval policy, but he seems to have been such a fool with women that almost anything ridiculous can be believed of him where they were concerned. Both of them figure badly in the Uovo and Nuovo and Carraciolli affair. The garrison there was so vigorously bombarded that it was driven to capitulate, but only on condition that the safety of the garrison would be guaranteed. Captain Foote at once agreed to this, and to see that it was duly carried out. One of the reasons that led Captain Foote so readily to agree to the conditions submitted to him was the extreme strength of the forts, which could have pounded the city to pieces. The other was the desire to spare human life. What need was there for Nelson to take umbrage at and violate the treaty made by Foote in the British name? Foote had made a good bargain by getting possession of the forts, and a better and nobler one in making it part of his policy to save human life. We wonder whether Nelson's anger did not arise from his being deprived of some of the glory himself. He was desperately fond of it! In any case, he let down England's name badly over the whole transaction.
Fox made a speech on it in the House of Commons which was, and will ever continue to be, an awful indictment. There is nothing in the French Revolution, or in the whole of Napoleon's career, that can be compared with it for ferocity. Great efforts were made to fix the responsibility for breach of faith on Captain Foote, but they failed, since there was not a vestige of foundation on which a case could be made against him, as the documents conclusively proved. He demanded a court-martial, but his friends prevailed upon him to let his case rest on the conclusive facts which were produced and made public and which have never been questioned. There cannot be found a more astonishing revelation of perfidy or inhuman violence in the archives of Europe than that related by Mr. Fox. Here is an extract from his amazing speech:—
When the right honourable gentleman speaks of the last campaign, he does not mention the horrors by which some of these successes were accompanied; Naples, for instance, has been, among others (what is called) delivered; and yet, if I am rightly informed, it has been stained and polluted by murders so ferocious, and cruelties so abhorrent, that the heart shudders at the recital. It has been said, that not only were the miserable victims of the rage and brutality of the fanatics savagely murdered, but that in many instances their flesh was devoured by the cannibals, who are the advocates, if the rumours which are circulated be true. I will mention a fact to give Ministers the opportunity, if it be false, to wipe away the stain that must otherwise affix on the British name. It is said that a party of the Republican inhabitants at Naples took shelter in the fortress of Castle del Uovo. They were besieged by a detachment from the royal army, to whom they refused to surrender, but demanded that a British officer should be brought forward, and to him they capitulated. They made terms with him under the sanction of the British name. It was agreed that their persons and property should be safe, and that they should be conveyed to Toulon. They were accordingly put on board a vessel, but before they sailed, their property was confiscated, numbers of them taken out, thrown into dungeons, and some of them, I understand, notwithstanding the British guarantee, absolutely executed.[21]
This appalling narrative, which was never refuted, is really too horrible to ponder over. It puts in the shade any responsibility Napoleon had for the death of the Duc d'Enghien. It is needless to enlarge on the silly and altogether baseless attacks that were not only allowed to be made, but, we have good grounds for stating, were manufactured by members of the Government and their agents, and circulated for the purpose of distracting the public mind from their own iniquities, and inflaming bitter passions and prejudices by accusing Napoleon of deeds of blood for which he was in no greater degree responsible than were they. The nations were all out for blood at that period (just as they are now), and each claimed a monopoly of all the virtues. "Down, down, with the French is my constant prayer," shouts our greatest hero, and by way of addendum, he announces in Christ-like accents that he hates a Frenchman as he hates the devil. "Down, down, with the British is our constant prayer" shout back the French, who are at present our Allies against another nation who were our Allies against them at that time, showing that Fraternity is decidedly a possible consummation, though it fluctuates from one to another with amazing eccentricity.
In the name of this fraternal spirit, we see the great Napoleon surrounded by a hotbed of assassins demanding his life in the name of the Founder of our faith. He was the ruler, as I have said, of a vast Empire, sworn to protect its laws, its dignity, and its citizen rights by defending himself and his country against either treachery, plotters against his life, or open enemies, no matter from what quarter they came. The Duc d'Enghien violated the law, and was therefore as liable to suffer the consequences as any peasant or middle-class person would have been. But this did not meet with the approval of the international oligarchy, so they set up a screaming factory and blared this murderous deed into the minds of all the Western world. These fervent professors of the Christian faith were in no way particular as to the form or authenticity of their declamatory ebullitions.
But what of Nelson? He was a subject of his King, employed by the King's Government under certain plenary powers to fight the country's battles, defend its right, uphold its dignity, guard its honour, and commit no violence. That is, in plain English, he was to play the game. But he assumed an authority that no Government of England would have dared to have given him by revoking the word of honour of a distinguished officer who had pledged England's word that the lives of the beleaguered men would be spared. I think the writer of the gospel of "Let brotherly love continue," and the rhetoricians who claim that Britons have no competitors in the science of moral rectitude, will have a hard task to square the unworthy declamations against Napoleon's responsibility in the Duc d'Enghien affair with their silence on Nelson's in breaking the truce already referred to, and the awful consequences set forth in Mr. Fox's speech, which is reminiscent of the powerful disciplinary methods of that manly martinet Ivan the Terrible, who was responsible for the massacre of men by the thousand, flaying of prisoners alive, collecting pyramids of skulls, slaughtering of innocent men, and the free use of other ingenious forms of refined scientific torture which tires the spirit to relate. It is hard to forgive Nelson for having smirched his own and England's name with atrocities so terrible. But more humiliating still to British honour is the fact that his part in the breaking of the treaty was dictated to him from the quarter deck of the Foudroyant by a woman whom my vocabulary is unable to describe in fitting terms. I shall emphasize this masculine female's orders to Nelson by quoting them again. Were it not for the comic impertinence of the order, I think it would almost make me feel the bitterness of death. Nelson seems to have been the victim of her dominating spirit, though the evidence in support of him swallowing the whole dose of medicine is quite feeble. That he swallowed too much of it will always detract from his fame. "Haul down the flag of truce, Bronte. No truce with rebels." Nelson lost a great opportunity of adding romance to his naval glory by neglecting his imperative duty in not putting Sir William Hamilton's wife in irons or having her thrown into the sea. A story of this kind would have sounded better, and its effect would have electrified the world in subsequent days, and have given scope to the talents of actors and authors who are eager for dramatic copy.
I think Cardinal Ruffo would have been a supporter of imposing some form of disciplinary restraint on Emma Hamilton. He did strongly insist on the treaty being honourably adhered to, but his view was overruled, and he retired in consequence in bitter indignation.
So much for the vaunted fairness and impartiality of our treatment of Napoleon!
It is only when we come to study the life of this man that we realize how he towered above all his contemporaries in thought, word, and deed. Napoleon's authentic doings and sayings are wonderful in their vast comprehensiveness and sparkling vision, combined with flawless wisdom. When we speak or think of him, it is generally of his military genius and achievements and of what we term his "gigantic ambition"; and in this latter conclusion the platitudinarians, with an air of originality, languidly affirm that this was the cause of his ruin, the grandeur of which we do not understand. But never a word is said or thought of our own terrible tragedies, nor of the victories we were compelled to buy in order to secure his downfall. His great gifts as a lawgiver and statesman are little known or spoken of. Nelson's views of him were of a rigid, stereotyped character. He only varied in his wild manner of describing him as a loathsome despot, whose sole aim was to make war everywhere and to invade England and annihilate her people.