The Tragedy of St. Helena | Page 5

to erect and to honour without
fear the statue and the tomb of a popular hero; for there is one thing,
and one thing alone, which does not dread a comparison with glory,
and that is Liberty."[1]
The appeal is generous and just in its conception and beautifully
phrased. It was received with enthusiasm throughout the whole of

France. Louis Philippe and his Government had accurately gauged
what would, more than anything, for the time being, subdue the
rumbling indications of discord and revolt. The King had by this
popular act caught the imagination of the people. He had made his seat
on the throne secure for a time, and his name was immortal. The great
mass of the people and his Government were behind him, and he made
use of this to his own advantage. Napoleon's dying wish is to be
consummated. "The blind hatred of kings" is relaxed; they are no
longer afraid of his mortal remains; they see, and see correctly, that if
they continue to "pursue his blood" he will be "avenged, nay, but,
perchance, cruelly avenged." The old and the new generation of
Frenchmen clamour that as much as may be of the stigma that rests
upon them shall be removed, threatening reprisals if it be not quickly
done. The British Government diplomatically, and with almost comic
celerity, gravely drop "the General Bonaparte" and style their dead
captive "the Emperor Napoleon."
Louis Philippe, overwhelmed with the greatness of the dead monarch,
bursts forth in eloquent praise of this so-called "usurper" of other days.
He was not only an Emperor and a King, but the legitimate sovereign
of his country. No ordinary sepulture is to be his--it is to be an august
sepulture, a silent sacred spot which those who respect glory, genius,
and greatness may visit in "reverential tranquillity." Henceforth, by
Royal Proclamation, history is to know him as an Emperor and a King.
He is to have a tomb as durable as his memory, and his tomb and fame
are to belong to his country for evermore. The legitimate heir of
Napoleon's glory is the author of one of the finest panegyrics that has
ever been written; a political move, if you will, but none the less the
document is glowing with the artistic phrasing that appeals to the
perceptions of an emotional race.
But the real sincerity was obviously not so much in the author of the
document as in the great masses, who were intoxicated with the desire
to have the remains of their great hero brought home to the people he
had loved so well. It may easily be imagined how superfluously the
French King and his Government patted each other on the back in
self-adoration for the act of funereal restoration which they took credit

for having instituted. If they took too much credit it was only natural.
But not an item of what is their due should be taken from them. The
world must be grateful to whoever took a part in so noble a deed. At the
same time the world will not exonerate the two official contracting
parties from being exactly free from interested motives. The one
desired to maintain domestic harmony, and this could only be assured
by recalling the days of their nation's glory; and the other, _i.e._, the
British Government, had their eye on some Eastern business which
Palmerston desired to go smoothly, and so the dead Emperor was made
the medium of tranquillity, and, it may be, expediency, in both cases.
In short, Prince Joinville was despatched from Toulon in feverish haste
with the frigate Bellespoule and the corvette Favorite. These vessels
were piously fitted out to suit the august occasion. Whatever the
motives or influences, seen or unseen, that prompted the two
Governments to carry out this unquestionable act of justice to the
nation, to Napoleon's family, his comrades in arms who were still
living, yea, and to all the peoples of the earth who were possessed of
humane instincts, yet it is pretty certain that fear of a popular rising
suggested the idea, and the genius who thought of the restoration of the
Emperor's ashes as a means of subduing the gathering storm may be
regarded as a public benefactor.
But be all this as it may, it is doubtful if anything so ludicrously
farcical is known to history as the mortal terror of this man's influence,
living or dead. The very name of him, animate or inanimate, made
thrones rock and Ministers shiver. Such was their terror, that the Allies,
as they were called (inspired, as Napoleon believed, by the British
Government--and nothing has transpired to disprove his theory)
banished him to a rock in mid-ocean, caged him up in a house overrun
with rats, put him on strict allowance of rations,