World of Books by A N Other

‘At this eventful period of my life, I had succeeded in restoring order and tranquillity to a kingdom [torn] asunder by faction, and deluged in blood. That nation had placed me at their head. I came not as your Cromwell did or your Third Richard. No such thing: I found a crown in the kennel; I cleaned it from its filth and placed it on my head...’

All this Napoleon declared in one of his conversations with William Warden, ship’s surgeon on board HMS Northumberland, which took him to St Helena. Warden, who remained with the ex-emperor’s party on the island for some time, recorded his experience in letters home. These were published in 1816.

Napoleon retained dignity and authority, but he was calm and affable conversing with the British officers on the voyage. One was Captain Beatty of the Marines, who had served at the Siege of Acre, an unhappy time for the French. Beatty was greeted with a playful tug of his ear and the words: ‘You rogue, you rogue! You were there, were you?’ All in good humour.

The passage quoted about the crown led on to an account of that first conspiracy against him, involving General Moreau, the Duc de Berry and the Duc d’enghien, a Bourbon prince. ‘The moment was big with evil. I felt myself on a tottering eminence, and I resolved to hurl the thunder back upon the Bourbons, even in the metropolis of the British empire...’

The Duc d’enghien was tried and executed, and Warden pointed out that such precipitate action had been viewed with horror in Britain, especially as an appeal for clemency had, it was thought, been submitted. ‘I was justified in my own mind,’ he answered. ‘I declare that I would have ordered the execution of Louis XVIII [in such circumstances]. I solemnly affirm that no message or letter from the Duke reached me after sentence of death had been passed upon him.’

The Duc de Las Cases, a prominent member of the retinue and former chancellor, then revealed to Warden that a letter offering complete submission had been sent, but had been withheld by Talleyrand until after the execution. (Talleyrand, he was told, encouraged the invasion of Spain on the strength of his ‘unalterable opinion... that [Napoleon’s] life was not secure while a Bourbon reigned in Europe’.)

This was a revealing glimpse into Napoleon’s past, but it came towards the end of Warden’s stay on the island. Most of his conversations until then had been on the subject of his own profession and expertise; Napoleon, it seems, was for ever questioning. How many sick were on board? What was their complaint? Warden believed strongly in the efficacy of bloodletting; Napoleon deplored it. Warden had employed it with good effect on many of the sick on board, and finally on the Countess Bertrand, who was suffering from an inflammation.

The great man was converted, but he retained a touch of scepticism. When he met Warden, he would greet him with the query ‘How many have you bled today?’, clutching his right elbow with his left hand. ‘O, bleed him, bleed him!’ he would say when anyone fell sick.

Mercury too he deplored. General Gourgaud, his former ADC, fell ill with serious dysentery. Blood-letting was not applied in time. ‘What remedy is now proposed?’ asked Napoleon. ‘It will be necessary to have recourse to Mercury.’ ‘That is a bad medicine.’ ‘Experience has taught me the contrary.’ ‘Did Hippocrates use it?’ ‘I believe not ... Experience has convinced me that Mercury, provided it produces salivation, is infallible.’ ‘Then go with your Mercury.’ The general had worsened and seemed to be at death’s door, but he resolutely refused the mercury. Finally, ‘that voice which he dared not disobey’, scolded him: ‘How often have you faced Death on the field of battle without the least sensation of fear! Play the fool no longer.’ The general meekly took his medicine and recovered.

In these days, Napoleon was hated and feared by every English family. To children he was ‘Boney’, and feared as much as ‘the bogeyman’. He did, however, while on St Helena, strike up a friendly acquaintance with an English family of colonial farming stock. He plied the farmer with questions about the farm and about his family, who, finally, were persuaded to come out of hiding and meet the monster himself. A convivial session followed, in which he made himself agreeable to all. Several visits were paid, and, in the end, the children were clamouring to their mother: ‘When will Boney visit again?’ Another conquest, and his last.