It would be, indeed, easy for us, standing aloof and remote from these agitating struggles, to pass a sweeping condemnation on the one party or the other, or perhaps upon each of them; and to show that reason and temper on either side would have led to a very different course of proceeding on both, had it been permitted by those human infirmities to which, unhappily, those who have power or pretensions are more liable than the common class, who never possessed the one, and make no claim to the other.
Neither would it be difficult for us to conceive a governor of St. Helena, in the abstract, who, treating the reviling and reproaches with which he was on all occasions loaded by Buonaparte, as the idle chidings of a storm, which must howl around whatever it meets in its course, would, with patience and equanimity, have suffered the tempest to expend its rage, and die away in weakness, the sooner that it found itself unresisted. We can conceive such a person wrapping himself up in his own virtue, and, while he discharged to his country the duty she had intrusted to him, striving, at the same time, by such acts of indulgence as might be the more gratifying because the less expected, or perhaps merited, to melt down the sullenness which the hardship of his situation naturally imposed on the prisoner. We can even conceive that a man of such rare temper might have found means, in some happy moment, of re-establishing a tolerable and ostensible good understanding, if not a heartfelt cordiality, which, could it have existed, would so much have lessened the vexations and troubles, both of the captive and of the governor. All this is very easily conceived. But in order to form the idea of such a man, we must suppose him, in the case in question, stoically impassive to insults of the grossest kind, insults poured on him before he had done any thing which could deserve them, and expressed in a manner which plainly intimated the determination of Napoleon to place himself at once on the most hostile terms with him. This must have required the most uncommon share of calmness and candour. It is more natural that such a functionary as the governor of St. Helena—feeling the impulse of ill usage from a quarter where no regular satisfaction could be had—if he did not use the power which he held for the time, to the actual annoyance and vexation of the party by whom he had been deliberately insulted, should be apt at least to become indifferent how much, or how little, his prisoner was affected by the measures which he adopted, and to go forward with the necessary means of confining the person, without being so solicitous as he might otherwise have been, to spare the feelings. An officer, termed to his face a liar, a brigand, an assassin, a robber, a hangman, has few terms to keep with him by whom he has been loaded with such unworthy epithets; and who, in using them, may be considered as having declared mortal war, and disclaimed the courtesy, while he defied the power, of the person to whom he addressed them.
In the same manner, judging with the coolness of a third party, we should be inclined to say, that the immediate attendants and followers of Napoleon might have here served their master more effectually, by endeavouring to accommodate the subjects of dispute with Sir Hudson Lowe, than by aggravating and carrying them still farther by their own subordinate discussions with the governor and his aides-de-camp, and thus heating their master's passions by their own. But while that was the line of conduct to be desired, it is impossible to deny that another was more naturally to be expected. Generals Bertrand, Montholon, and Gourgaud, were all soldiers of high reputation, who rising to fame under Napoleon's eye, had seen their own laurels flourish along with his. In the hour of adversity, they had most laudably and honourably followed him, and were now sharing with him the years of solitude and exile. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at, that they, wearied of their own restrained and solitary condition, enraged, too, at every thing which appeared to add to the calamitous condition of their fallen master, should be more disposed to increase the angry spirit which manifested itself on both sides, than, by interposing their mediation, to endeavour to compose jars which might well render Napoleon's state more irritable and uncomfortable, but could not, in any point of view, tend to his comfort, peace, or even respectability.
But perhaps we might have been best entitled to hope, from the high part which Napoleon had played in the world, from the extent of his genius, and the natural pride arising from the consciousness of talent, some indifference towards objects of mere form and ceremony, some confidence in the genuine character of his own natural elevation, and a noble contempt of the change which fortune could make on circumstances around him. We might have hoped that one whose mental superiority over the rest of his species was so undeniable, would have been the last to seek with eagerness to retain the frippery and feathers of which the wind of adverse fortune had stripped him, or to be tenacious of that etiquette, which now, if yielded to him at all, could only have been given by compassion. We might have thought the conqueror in so many bloody conflicts, would, even upon provocation, have thought it beneath him to enter on a war of words with the governor of an islet in the Atlantic, where foul language could be the only weapon on either side, and held it a yet greater derogation, so far to lay aside his high character, as to be the first to engage in so ignoble a conflict. It might, we should have supposed, have been anticipated by such a person, not only that calm and patient endurance of inevitable misfortunes is the noblest means of surmounting them, but that, even with a view to his liberty, such conduct would have been most advisable, because most politic. The people of Europe, and especially of Britain, would have been much sooner apt to unite in the wish to see him removed from confinement, had he borne himself with philosophical calmness, than seeing him, as they did, still evincing within his narrow sphere the restless and intriguing temper which had so long disturbed the world, and which now showed itself so engrained in his constitution, as to lead him on to the unworthy species of warfare which we have just described. But the loftiest and proudest beings of mere humanity are like the image which the Assyrian monarch beheld in his dream—blended of various metals, uniting that which is vile with those which are most precious; that which is frail, weak, and unsubstantial, with what is most perdurable and strong. Napoleon, like many an emperor and hero before him, sunk under his own passions after having vanquished nations; and became, in his exile, the prey of petty spleen, which racked him almost to frenzy, and induced him to hazard his health, or perhaps even to throw away his life, rather than submit with dignified patience to that which his misfortunes had rendered unavoidable.
[CHAPTER XCVI.]
Napoleon's Domestic Habits—Manner in which he spent the day—his Dress—Nature of the Fragments of Memoirs he dictated to Gourgaud and Montholon—His admiration of Ossian—He prefers Racine and Corneille to Voltaire—Dislike of Tacitus—His Vindication of the Character of Cæsar—His Behaviour towards the Persons of his Household—Amusements and Exercises—His Character of Sir Pulteney Malcolm—Degree of his Intercourse with the Islanders, and with Visitors to the Island—Interview with Captain Basil Hall—with Lord Amherst and the Gentlemen attached to the Chinese Embassy.
DOMESTIC HABITS.
The unpleasant and discreditable disputes, of which we have given some account in the last chapter, form, unhappily, the most marked events of Napoleon's latter life. For the five years and seven months that he remained in the island of St. Helena, few circumstances occurred to vary the melancholy tenor of his existence, excepting those which affected his temper or his health. Of the general causes influencing the former, we have given some account; the latter we shall hereafter allude to. Our present object is a short and general view of his personal and domestic habits while in this melancholy and secluded habitation.
Napoleon's life, until his health began to give way, was of the most regular and monotonous character. Having become a very indifferent sleeper, perhaps from his custom of assigning, during the active part of his life, no precise time for repose, his hours of rising were uncertain, depending upon the rest which he had enjoyed during the earlier part of the night. It followed from this irregularity, that during the day time he occasionally fell asleep, for a few minutes, upon his couch or arm-chair. At times, his favourite valet-de-chambre, Marchand, read to him while in bed until he was composed to rest, the best remedy, perhaps, for that course of "thick-coming fancies," which must so oft have disturbed the repose of one in circumstances so singular and so melancholy. So soon as Napoleon arose from bed, he either began to dictate to one of his generals, (Montholon or Gourgaud generally,) and placed upon record such passages of his remarkable life as he desired to preserve; or, if the weather and his inclination suited, he went out for an hour or two on horseback. He sometimes breakfasted in his own apartment, sometimes with his suite, generally about ten o'clock, and almost always à la fourchette. The fore part of the day he usually devoted to reading, or dictating to one or other of his suite, and about two or three o'clock received such visitors as had permission to wait upon him. An airing in the carriage or on horseback generally succeeded to this species of levee, on which occasions he was attended by all his suite. Their horses, supplied from the Cape of Good Hope, were of a good race and handsome appearance. On returning from his airings, he again resumed the book, or caused his amanuensis take up the pen until dinner-time, which was about eight o'clock at night. He preferred plain food, and eat plentifully, and with an apparent appetite. A very few glasses of claret, scarce amounting to an English pint in all, and chiefly drank during the time of dinner, completed his meal. Sometimes he drank champagne; but his constitutional sobriety was such, that a large glass of that more generous wine immediately brought a degree of colour to his cheek. No man appears to have been in a less degree than Napoleon, subject to the influence of those appetites which man has in common with the lower range of nature. He never took more than two meals a day, and concluded each with a small cup of coffee. After dinner, chess, cards, a volume of light literature, read aloud for the benefit of his suite, or general conversation, in which the ladies of his suite occasionally joined, served to consume the evening till ten or eleven, about which time he retired to his apartment, and went immediately to bed.