Napoleon's Young Neighbor

by Helen Leah Reed

It is indeed a fact worth remembering, that Napoleon's suite, in spite of the fact that to a great extent Napoleon obliged them to practise the rigid etiquette of a court, were all devoted to him. It is true that they had to stand in his presence and in certain ways keep up a ceremony that seemed absurd in an establishment as simple as that of Longwood; but there were many hours of relaxation. In these hours of relaxation Napoleon played cards with his friends, or chess, or—after he went to Longwood—billiards. He was fond of reading aloud, and not infrequently favored his friends with a long reading. Sometimes he indulged in declamation, for he was rather proud of the fact that he had learned something of this art from the great Talma. In his later years at Longwood he devised ways of getting his needed exercise indoors and worked almost too vigorously at gardening.

An old St. Helena newspaper has an account of his exertions in his garden, not long before his death, which has a pathos of its own: "A few weeks before his death the Emperor labored with a spade in his garden so long and so severely as to be faint with fatigue. Some one suggested the probable injury to his health. 'No,' said he, 'it cannot injure my health; that is lost beyond all hope. It will but shorten my days.'"

The disease from which Napoleon died was one that he had inherited from his father,—one, indeed, for which there is no cure. So it cannot be said with certainty that his life might have been prolonged if he had been more careful to get enough, and only enough, of the right kind of exercise. Yet though his life may have had to run in its natural course, his last years would have been much happier if there had been no friction between him and the Governor of St. Helena.

The last three years of Napoleon's life were undoubtedly the loneliest he had known. He missed Las Cases, Gorgaud, the Balcombes, and O'Meara, whom the Governor was at last able to get out of the way. Napoleon kept himself busy with his gardening and his books, and when, in 1819, the Government began to build a new house for him, he spent much time watching its progress, although with true forebodings he often said that he should never live to occupy it.

He still refused to take exercise, and once in a fit of depression stayed in the house for three months. Thus his health continued to suffer and he grew stout and clumsy. When he did go out he was apt to drive around the eight miles of his enclosure at breakneck speed, in a carriage drawn by six horses. In October, 1820, he sent word to Sir William Doveton that he would be glad to breakfast with him. Sir William was, of course, happy to receive his distinguished guest, and breakfast was served on the lawn to Napoleon and Generals Bertrand and Montholon. The breakfast in the society of Sir William Doveton and his family passed off pleasantly, and Napoleon started to walk home. Unluckily he had not the strength to carry out his good intentions, and on the way back to Longwood he had to stop at a cottage by the way to rest, while his carriage was sent for.

Betsy would have been glad, if the fact had ever come to her ears, to learn that in his last year or two Napoleon had another little friend who to a certain degree could fill the place in his affections always ready for children. This was the young daughter of a soldier of the garrison, little Julia, nine years old, who was intelligent and companionable.

When he knew that Julia was coming to see him, Napoleon always had fruits and sweetmeats ready for her. Not long before he died he hung a gold watch and chain around Julia's neck, saying, "Wear this for my sake." On the cover he had scratched an inscription with his penknife, "The Emperor to his little friend Julia." When she visited him they sat or walked in the garden, and Napoleon found some amusement in giving her drawing lessons from nature. One fine morning in April, when Julia appeared, Napoleon invited her inside the house where the breakfast table was laid. Standing by the table, he filled her little basket with fruit and sweet things, and at last put a bottle of wine in the basket, saying, "For your father to drink my health in."

Alas! it was too late for any one to wish Napoleon good health. Not long after he had suggested the toast for Julia's father, he had to go to bed. Whatever others thought, he was sure that he would never rise. He probably knew that the end was near. The very end came suddenly, and many on St. Helena, who had not known of the seriousness of his condition, were greatly surprised to hear of his death on the fifth of May.

Before the funeral Napoleon's body lay in state, and naval and military officers and many others were permitted to view it. When Sir Hudson Lowe looked at Napoleon immediately after his death, he was impressed by the nobility of the dead man's expression. "His face in death," he wrote to Lord Bathurst, "was the most beautiful I have ever seen." Yet even to the dead Napoleon the Governor maintained the same attitude as to the living, for when it came to the question of the inscription to be placed on the Emperor's coffin, he would not permit the simple "Napoleon" with dates and places of birth and death, but insisted that in addition it should bear the surname "Bonaparte."

British soldiers carried Napoleon from the house to the car that was to bear him to the burial place; but the horses that drew the car were four that had belonged to the late Emperor. Orders had been issued to conduct his funeral as that of a general of the highest rank. In consequence the left side of the road from Longwood to the grave was lined with troops. It was a solemn and impressive procession that moved along as escort, paying the last earthly honors to Napoleon, on whose coffin lay his sword and the mantle of Marengo.