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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 FROM MY ARRIVAL AT OFFENBACH, UP TO
MY RETURN TO FRANCE.

A Space of more than Two Years.

RESIDENCE AT OFFENBACH.—DETAIL.—ARRIVAL OF MADAME MONTHOLON IN

EUROPE.—JOURNEY TO BRUSSELS.—RESIDENCE AT LIEGE, AT CHAUDE-
FONTAINE, AT SOHAN, NEAR SPA, AT ANTWERP, AT MALINES.—DEATH OF
NAPOLEON.—RETURN TO FRANCE.—CONCLUSION.

Offenbach is a handsome little town in the Grand-Duchy of

Darmstadt, situate upon the Maine, two leagues from Frankfort. I
settled myself there, according to my custom, in a sort of little
hermitage. It was upon the bank of the river, within a step of the
town.
My head-aches, under their different symptoms, had never quitted
me. At Manheim I suffered very acute pains. A short time after my
arrival at Offenbach, my illness suddenly assumed a character new,
insupportable, and alarming. It was then that a universal
indisposition, an increasing debility, commenced, which, preventing
the employment of the faculties, brought with them a complete
disgust of life; then also commenced that sudden trembling in my
limbs and in my whole frame: those sudden visits of dimness of
sight, which I might call the twinkling of existence. How often in this
state, and without taking any notice of it, have I gone to bed with
the thought, I had almost said the hope, of awaking no more.
Madame Las Cases, in the excess of her anxiety, wished that I
should give up every kind of occupation whatever, of which, in fact, I
was absolutely incapable; she suppressed my letters, and wrote to
the relatives of the Emperor, to apprize them of my real situation,
and to prevail upon them to appoint a successor to me in the cares
which I had created for myself. For a long time past, as a precaution,
I myself had entreated them to join with me a person whose
happiness it would have constituted, and the choice of whom would
have been agreeable to the Emperor.[44] He was then with one of
them; but, from one cause or another, this was not done, and
necessity compelled me to break off without any provision having
been made to supply the deficiency. I exhausted in vain all the aid of
medicine; and, if the domestic cares, the tender solicitude, which
surrounded me on every side, could have availed, my illness would
have been only a blessing, from the pleasure of seeing them
lavished upon me. One loves to dwell upon that which was sweet,
and I could not assuredly better describe the great interest felt for
me, and the nature of the recompense which the sentiments I had
shewn, the efforts I had made, had obtained for me, than when I
say my little hermitage has been honoured with the presence of
three Queens, and, I think, on the same day. Two of them, it is true,
had been deposed; but they did not the less command every where
at that moment, by the elevation of their minds, the simplicity of
their manners, the éclat of their other qualities, a universal respect,
at least, as much as at the era of their greatest splendour.
It was at Offenbach that the little colony, which Cardinal Fesch
sent to St. Helena, was addressed to me on its way to that place. It
consisted of a chaplain, a surgeon, a physician, and a valet de
chambre; all chosen by the Cardinal. On my arrival in Europe, I had
written to him, to be assured that to send a priest, capable also of
writing to dictation, and of assisting a little in business, would be
very agreeable to the Emperor; and I had employed his mediation to
interest, for that purpose, the conscience of the Holy Father, who, in
fact, demanded it of the English Ministers, who had hitherto opposed
the measure, or attached to it inadmissible conditions. It was also
from Offenbach, that I despatched to Longwood two charming
portraits: one, the young Napoleon, painted from the life in the
same year, and sent by King Jerome; the other that of the Empress
Josephine, by Sain, a present from the Queen Hortense. It was
mounted in a magnificent tea-caddy, of crystal. This choice of crystal
was a delicate precaution of the Queen’s, who also had the
mounting executed in such a manner as to render it impossible to
suspect any concealed writing. The former of these two portraits
reached its destination. The valet de chambre of the Emperor has
since told me, that Napoleon, on perceiving it, seized it with avidity
and kissed it. I, who know how reserved the Emperor was, can
judge from this circumstance the whole extent of his joy and
satisfaction. As to the portrait of the Empress Josephine, it never
arrived at Longwood, although, by a singular contrariety, it was
found, in consequence of some memorandum, to have paid the
custom-house duty on its importation into England.
Towards the end of the summer, Madame Las Cases, by order of
the physicians, carried me to the waters of Schwalbach, where I was
an object of pity to every one. I returned without having derived any
benefit from them; but a circumstance then revived my strength for
an instant, and caused me to quit Germany.
All of a sudden, I learnt from the public papers the return of
Madame Montholon to Europe; she had been, like myself, repulsed
from England, and landed at Ostend. I was not able to resist going
to seek authentic details, of which I had so long been deprived. I
hastened to rejoin her, whether she should be permitted to stay in
the country, or should be forced, after my example, to run up and
down the highways, for in that case I should be useful to her; I had
had experience.
Travelling with mystery, for I remembered too well all the ill
treatment I formerly received in the Netherlands, I joined the
Countess of Montholon at Brussels. Not only was she at liberty to
reside there, but she had been received with the most particular
respect; and a journal of the place having announced that she would
be obliged to continue her route, a semi-official article refuted this
news, upon this ground, especially, that the Netherlands was the
land of hospitality. I wanted no more; Belgium appeared to me
nearly as France; in the midst of the Belgians, I should think myself
among my countrymen. I wrote, therefore, to Madame Las Cases to
acquaint her with our good fortune, and desiring that she might
hasten to come and join me. Shunning Brussels, for the same
reasons which had made me leave Frankfort, I chose Liege;
remembering the kind reception which I had there experienced, at
the time of my unfortunate passage, eighteen months before; and I
settled there, not without apprehension of some new ill luck. But I
was wrong; for I must with truth and gratitude say that, during
nearly two years and a half that I have since traversed the country
in all directions, without any request, any solicitation, not even a
previous announcement, that country, formerly so baneful to me,
has ever since been the land of hospitality; never having afterwards
had occasion to perceive any authority whatever, otherwise than by
the tranquillity, the repose, which I enjoyed under its shade.
Influence and foreign malice had ceased; it was at this time that
my son requested leave, anew, and on his own account, to return to
Longwood. I have the answer of Lord Bathurst, who refused it.
Subsequently, the Princess Pauline, who succeeded in obtaining
leave to repair thither, wrote to me to know if my son wished to
accompany her: but then, alas! it was too late.
Neither the affection nor the care of my friends at Liege, where I
remained the whole winter; nor the rural situation of Chaude-
Fontaine, where I spent the spring; nor the generous hospitality of
the worthy and excellent proprietor of that charming spot
Justlanville, who forced me to accept for the summer, at a few steps
from him, the residence called Johan, at the gates of Spa and of
Verviers; nor the benevolence of all his family, so numerous, so kind,
so respected in the country; were able to ameliorate my condition,
or fix my stay. Yet it would be difficult for me to describe, as they
deserve, the extreme kindness, the touching dispositions, the
sympathetic spirit, of the whole population of these countries, so
prosperous, so rich, so flourishing, under the imperial reign, and
which continues so grateful.
I spent my second winter at Antwerp, with some sincere friends
whom I tenderly love, and whom my arrival on the expedition to
Flushing, ten years before, had procured for me; and in the spring I
reached Malines, without any particular motive; for I was not able to
remain a long time in the same place. I stood in need of change. I
was the patient who tosses and turns in his bed, seeking in vain the
sweets of sleep. Twice, during the two years in Belgium, Madame
Las Cases wished to take me to the south; and twice, at the very
moment of setting out, imperative circumstances happened to stop
us:—disappointments, however, which were to us so many real
favours of fortune. But for the first of them, we should have found
ourselves advanced a day’s journey within the frontier, at the very
moment of a fatal and sanguinary catastrophe; and, but for the
second, we should have arrived at Nice precisely at the moment of
the constitutional explosion in Piedmont; and no doubt that, in both
cases, and naturally enough, we should have been subjected to at
least temporary inconvenience.
Meanwhile the Congress of Laybach was held, and I could not
refrain from attempting new solicitations. I addressed a new letter to
each of the three high Sovereigns. The following is that to the
Emperor Alexander:—
“Sire,—A new and solemn occasion presents itself for preferring to
your Majesty my humble and respectful accents. I seize it anew with
eagerness.
“I am not afraid of rendering myself importunate: my excuse and
my pardon are in the generosity of your soul.
“Sire, to recal, at this moment, to your recollection, and to that of
your high Allies, the august captive, whom you, a long time, called
your brother and your friend; to seek to divert your thoughts and
theirs to that victim whose cruel suffering is always present to me;
this is, I know it, to make the knell of death heard amidst joy and
feasting. But therein, Sire, I trust that, even in the eyes of your
Majesty, I fulfil an honourable and pious duty, the performance of
which must remain always sweet to me, however perilous it may be!
“Sire,—reduced to a state of infirmity and weakness which leaves
me scarcely able to connect a few ideas, I follow the instinct of my
heart in default of the faculties of my head, in merely repeating
literally here to your Majesty the note which I presumed to address
to you at Aix-la-Chapelle; for, the circumstances having remained the
same, no change having since taken place in that respect, what
could I do better than to place under the eyes of your Majesty the
same picture, the same facts, the same reasoning, the same truths.
“Only if, in spite of that which I then thought was certain, the
illustrious victim, contrary to my expectation and that of the faculty,
still breathes; if he has not yet fallen, I shall dare to observe to your
Majesty that this unexpected prolongation of his life, which has been
to him only a continuation of torment, is perhaps, to your Majesty, a
blessing from heaven, which Providence reserves for your heart and
for your memory.... Ah! Sire, there is then time still!... But the
precious opportunity may every moment escape from all your
power!... And what would be then the tardy, impotent regrets which
could neither appease your heart, nor restore to your memory an act
magnanimous, generous—a glory of a nature the most soothing, the
most moral, the most commendable in the eyes of posterity, the best
understood, perhaps, with which you could have embellished your
glorious life? I mean oblivion of injuries, disdain of vengeance,
remembrance of old friendship; in fine, the respect due to royal
majesty—to one of the Lord’s anointed!!!
“Sire,—since my return to Europe, separated from the society of
men, a prey to hopeless sufferings originating in St. Helena itself,
belonging for the future and unalterably much more to another life
than to this, I ardently raise every day in my retreat my hands to the
Almighty, praying that he will deign to touch the heart of your
Majesty, and to enlighten it upon so essential a part of its interests
and its glory.
“I am, &c.
“COUNT DE LAS CASES.”[45]
How prophetic were many of these lines! Alas, they were scarcely
before the eyes of the monarchs when he was no more!—He had
ceased to live, to suffer!—On opening the Moniteur, I found there
the fatal announcement. Though it could not surprise me, having
been a long time certain to my understanding, I was not the less
struck, overcome as at an unexpected event that was never to
happen.
 The next day I received a melancholy letter from London with
circumstantial details, and conjectures for which these details might
furnish matter; and this letter concluded by saying, “It was on the
fifth of May, at six o’clock in the evening, at the very instant when
the gun was firing at sunset, that his great soul quitted the earth.”
How strange the coincidences that sometimes happen!—When
about the person of Napoleon, and under his influence, I had
contracted the habit of keeping a diary, and he frequently expressed
his regret that he had not done the same. “A line to assist the
memory,” said he, “merely two or three indicatory words.” I had
continued this practice ever since; and, as it may easily be imagined,
I hastened to turn to the fifth of May, to see where I was, what I
had been doing, and what had happened to me at that fatal
moment. And what should I find?—Sudden storm; shelter under a
shed; awful clap of thunder. Taking a ride, towards evening, in the
country beyond Malines, the weather being delightful, there came on
suddenly one of those summer storms, of such violence that I was
obliged to seek shelter on horseback beneath a shed; and while in
this situation there was a thunder-clap so tremendous that it seemed
to be close to me. Alas! and what was passing elsewhere, at such a
distance, at the same moment!—The circumstance may perhaps
appear more than strange, but no doubt there are at Malines, or in
its environs, naturalists or meteorologists who keep an account of
the weather: it is for them to confirm or to contradict my statement.
 THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

London: Published for Henry Colburn, March,

1836.

On the report of the death of Napoleon, it must, however, be said,

that there was but one single cry, one selfsame sentiment in the
streets, in the shops, in the public places; even the saloons shewed
some feeling: the cabinets alone shewed themselves insensible,
worse than insensible! But, after all, it was natural, they breathed, at
length, at their ease....
During his life, in the time of his power, he had been assailed with
pamphlets and libels; on his death, we were suddenly inundated
with productions in his praise—a contrast, nevertheless, that gives a
little relief from so much meanness of the human heart. There were
every where, and from all parts, compositions in prose and in verse,
paintings, portraits, pictures, lithographs, and a thousand little things
more or less ingenious, proving much better than all the pomp of
kings could do the sincerity, the extent, the vivacity of the
sentiments which he left behind him. A clergyman on the banks of
the Rhine, the place of whose residence had received some
particular favour from the Emperor, assembled his parishioners, and
made them pray for their old benefactor. In a large city of Belgium, a
great number of citizens subscribed for a solemn funeral service, and
if they abstained from the performance of it, it was much more from
etiquette than in consequence of any interdict. Then these words of
Napoleon, which I have often heard him repeat, were verified:—“In
the course of time, nothing will be thought so fine, or strike the
attention so much, as the doing of justice to me.... I shall gain
ground every day in the minds of the people. My name will become
the star of their rights; it will be the expression of their regrets.” And
all these circumstances are verified in every country and every
where. Without reckoning things of this kind, of which I am no doubt
unaware, a peer of Great Britain shortly after said in open
Parliament, “That the very persons who detested this great man
have acknowledged that for ten centuries there had not appeared
upon earth a more extraordinary character. All Europe,” added he,
“has worn mourning for the hero; and those who have contributed
to that great sacrifice are devoted to the execrations of the present
generation as well as to those of posterity.”[46]
Two German professors, who either had always known his real
character, or had been cured of their national prejudices, have
erected upon their grounds a monument to his memory, with some
inscriptions, indicating that, with him, fell a funereal veil over the
rights of the people, and the ascendant impulse of civilization.
Our writers have defended his memory, our poets have celebrated
it, and our orators, in the legislative tribunal, have proclaimed aloud
the attachment which they had felt for him, or that they are
honoured by the distinctions which they had received from him.
 Nothing now remained for me but to return to my country. In
crossing the frontier, at the end of the second emigration, I could
not avoid thinking of the circumstances of my return after the first,
and what a difference of sentiment distinguished them! Then I
seemed, at every step, to advance amidst a hostile population; now
I felt as if I was entering into my family. I soon beheld again all my
companions of Longwood, and, while embracing them, I could not
deny myself one melancholy reflection—we were all met again; but
he for whom we had sought the fatal rock, he alone remained there!
I recollected that he had told us it would be so, and many other
things besides. I learned from all these eye-witnesses the details and
the circumstances of the ill treatment which, since my departure,
had been daily increasing; and I saw that the times which I had
known had not even been the most unhappy moments.
 STATUE OF NAPOLEON
ON THE COLUMN OF THE
PLACE VENDÔME.

London: Published for Henry

Colburn, December, 1835.

I read his last will; I there found my name, three or four times, in
his own hand!—What were my emotions!—Assuredly I did not stand
in need of them for my reward. For a long time I have carried it
within my breast. But the remembrances, however, were dear and
precious—how much more precious than millions! And yet he joined
to them large sums from those of his family who were most nearly
connected with him, and were dearest to him. If they ever pay
them, so much the better; that will concern them hereafter more
than me. I should have liked to consider myself only as a kind of
depository. I even wished to anticipate them, but I found it
necessary to stop: my means did not allow me to make these
advances. My happiness would have been great in affording a
retirement to a few civil and military veterans. In our long evenings,
we should have often spoken of his battles or discoursed of his
heart.
At last I received (thanks to the zealous interposition of one of the
most distinguished characters of the English peerage!) the papers
which had been detained from me at St. Helena: and which, in spite
of all the power of the laws, I no longer reckoned upon. In the
situation in which I found myself, with the sentiments with which it
had inspired me, I felt myself under the indispensible obligation to
assist, since I had some means to do it, in making better known him
who had been so much misrepresented; and, in spite of my infirmity,
I set about this work. Heaven has blessed my efforts in permitting
me to reach the end, and to finish it, however ill; this I have the
happiness to do at this instant. If I have succeeded in reconciling
hearts, if I have destroyed prejudices, conquered prepossessions, I
have obtained my dearest, my sweetest object; my mission is
accomplished.
Passy, August 15, 1823.
 POSTSCRIPT.

I have to reproach myself for not having taken an opportunity to

relate the adventures of Santini. At the conclusion of every drama,
whatever may be its nature, one likes to meet again in the
dénouement with all those who have figured in the early part of it.
Santini’s story involves moreover traits of manners, tints of the
times, a reference to public affairs, which induce me to repair my
omission, since I have it in my power to do so.
We had long given up Santini for lost, confined, dead, when all at
once he again made his appearance among us soon after the death
of Napoleon: and the following narrative is from his own lips, and
nearly in his own words.
After making his escape from England, he had traversed Belgium
and some parts of Germany, with the intelligence and address of a
clever Italian. At length, on entering Münich, he imagined that he
had overcome the grand obstacles, and was safe in port. But
precisely in that city he was apprehended, and, in spite of all his
applications to the different authorities, and to several ambassadors,
in order to obtain permission to pass quietly, he was carried back by
gendarmes into Wirtemberg, which he traversed at liberty, but under
evident surveillance. On reaching Lombardy, at Como, he went to
declare himself to the police: they had been expecting him there; he
was arrested and conveyed to Milan, where he was told that he
could not remain in the country, at full liberty, without serious
inconvenience; and that, in consequence, he should be conducted to
Mantua, where he would be under less restraint. Now the less
restraint that was promised him proved to be nothing better or
worse than a prison, where he was not allowed to hold
communication with any person whatsoever. Such was the
importance attached to his complete seclusion that, Maria Louisa
having passed through that city, and stopped there for twenty-four
or thirty-six hours, poor Santini had for an extraordinary companion
in his room a police officer who did not suffer him to be for a
moment out of his sight, not even during meals or when he slept;
which serves to show the extreme care that was taken to prevent all
communication between Napoleon and Maria Louisa.
At length, in consequence of the disturbance and complaints
which he made in his dungeon, an order arrived to remove him to
Vienna; but the captain of the circle was required to travel in the
same carriage with him, and to conduct him by forced journeys to
his new destination.
Santini, contrary to his expectation, found himself again
imprisoned, and again made a great noise; incessantly insisting on
being tried, and either shot, as he said, if he deserved it, or set at
liberty if he had not done any thing wrong. He was at last told that
they had nothing to lay to his charge, but that his entire liberty was
attended with great difficulties; that he could not be suffered to go
into every country, and he should therefore have his choice between
England and Austria. Santini replied that he would never more set
foot on land governed by the executioners of his master. He was
then carried to Brünn, the capital of Moravia, where he was obliged
to take an oath to abstain from seeking any foreign correspondence.
On his arrival there, he found himself, it is true, under a special
surveillance; but there, said Santini, ended his persecutions and his
troubles; there began a better condition. His captivity indeed
became, he said, a blessing, and his heart was filled with gratitude.
He there found himself an object of attention and interest: all, from
the highest to the lowest, showed him the greatest kindness. The
inhabitants had twice seen Napoleon; as an enemy it is true, and yet
they felt profound veneration for him. In this manner Santini spent,
what he called, three happy years.
It had been recommended by superior authority that a strict watch
should be kept, at Brünn in particular, to prevent Santini from
sending off any paper for the Emperor Francis. When that monarch
was going to the Congress at Troppau, he stopped at Brünn, and
Santini said that two days before, a police officer had arrived from
Vienna to watch lest he should address any thing to the Emperor.
Thus the heart of Francis was under as vigilant surveillance as that
of Maria Louisa; the emotions of both were suspicious, and of course
they were much feared. All precautions, however, were vain. Santini
had interested the highest personages, and a petition from him, on
the treatment that he had experienced, reached the hands of the
Sovereign. He complained in it of his pecuniary situation, and of the
privation of liberty, and accompanied it with attestations which he
had brought from St. Helena, especially the order for the pension
which Napoleon had assigned to him. The Emperor Francis appeared
to be much struck with this order, which was signed by the Grand
Marshal, and headed “By express order of the Emperor.” It purported
that a pension of a certain amount was granted to Santini, and that
it should be paid him by the first relatives or the first friends of the
Emperor’s to whom he should present it. “Is it not terrible?” said the
Emperor Francis, looking at it—“he is prisoner at St. Helena, and yet
he continues to give orders as if nothing had happened!” His
beneficence, however, got the better of his surprise, and whether he
considered himself as a relative, or merely followed the impulse of
his kind heart, he ordered a sum of money to be remitted to Santini;
and it is a singular circumstance, which I could not observe without
a kind of emotion, that the first two sums set down on the order for
Santini’s pension, are placed precisely against names not related to
the Emperor by blood—the Princess Stephanie of Baden and the
Emperor of Austria, the one his adopted daughter, the other his
father-in-law.
 SUPPLEMENT.

[It has been judged desirable to subjoin a few extracts from the celebrated
Work by Dr. Antommarchi, Napoleon’s Physician, as furnishing, in their details of
the latter moments, death, and interment of the fallen Ruler, a natural sequel to
the account of what may be called his penultimate days, by the faithful Las Cases.]

NAPOLEON’S RELIGIOUS NOTIONS.

At half-past one he sent for Vignali.—“Abbé,” said he, “do you

know what a chambre-ardente[47] is?”—“Yes, Sire.”—“Have you ever
officiated in one?”—“Never, Sire.”—“Well, you shall officiate in
mine.”—He then entered into the most minute detail on that subject,
and gave the priest his instructions, at considerable length. His face
was animated and convulsive, and I was following with uneasiness
the contraction of his features, when he observed in mine I know
not what expression which displeased him.—“You are above those
weaknesses,” said he, “but what is to be done? I am neither a
philosopher nor a physician. I believe in God, and am of the religion
of my father. It is not every body who can be an Atheist.” Then
turning again to the priest—“I was born a Catholic, and will fulfil the
duties prescribed by the Catholic religion, and receive the assistance
it administers. You will say mass every day in the chapel, and will
expose the holy sacrament during forty hours. After my death, you
will place your altar at my head in the room in which I shall lie in
state; you will continue to say mass, and perform all the customary
ceremonies, and will not cease to do so until I am under ground.”
 The Abbé withdrew, and I remained alone with Napoleon, who
censured my supposed incredulity. “How can you carry it so far?”
said he. “Can you not believe in God, whose existence every thing
proclaims, and in whom the greatest minds have believed?”—“But,
Sire, I have never doubted it. I was following the pulsations of the
fever, and your Majesty thought you perceived in my features an
expression which they had not.”—“You are a physician,” replied he
laughing, and then added, in an under-tone, “Those people have
only to do with matter; they never will believe any thing.”

HIS WISHES AS TO HIS BURIAL PLACE.

Napoleon was free from vomiting, and drank a great deal of cold
water. “If fate had decreed that I should recover, I would erect a
monument on the spot where the water flows, and would crown the
fountain in testimony of the relief it has afforded me. If I die, and
my body, proscribed as my person has been, should be denied a
little earth, I desire that my remains may be deposited in the
cathedral of Ajaccio in Corsica; and if it should not be permitted to
me to rest where I was born, let me be buried near the limpid
stream of this pure water.”

HIS ADVICE TO THOSE AROUND HIM.

Napoleon still preserved his presence of mind, and recommended

to his executors, in case he should lose it, not to allow any other
English physicians to approach him than Doctor Arnott. “I am going
to die,” said he; “and you to return to Europe: I must give you some
advice as to the line of conduct you are to pursue. You have shared
my exile; you will be faithful to my memory, and will not do any
thing that may injure it. I have sanctioned all principles, and infused
them into my laws and acts; I have not omitted a single one.
Unfortunately, however, the circumstances in which I was placed
were arduous, and I was obliged to act with severity, and to
postpone the execution of my plans. Our reverses occurred: I could
not unbend the bow; and France has been deprived of the liberal
institutions I intended to give her. She judges me with indulgence:
she feels grateful for my intentions: she cherishes my name and my
victories. Imitate her example; be faithful to the opinions we have
defended, and to the glory we have acquired; any other course can
only lead to shame and confusion.”

HIS DEATH.

Icy coldness of the lower extremities, and in a short time, of the

whole body—eye fixed—lips closed and contracted—violent agitation
of the nostrils—most complete adynamia[48]—pulse extremely weak
and intermittant, varying from one hundred and two to one hundred
and eight, one hundred and ten, and one hundred and twelve
pulsations per minute—breathing slow, intermittant, and stertorous
—spasmodic contraction of the epigastric region and of the stomach
—deep sighs—piteous moans—convulsive movements, which ended
by a loud and dismal shriek. I placed a blister on the chest, and one
on each thigh; applied two large sinapisms on the soles of the feet,
and fomentations on the abdomen, with a bottle filled with hot
water: I also endeavoured to refresh the Emperor’s lips and mouth
by constantly moistening them with a mixture of common water,
orange-flower water, and sugar; but the passage was spasmodically
closed; nothing was swallowed; all was in vain. The intermittent
breathing and mournful sound still continued, accompanied by a
violent agitation, of the abdominal muscles: the eyelids remained
fixed, the eyes moved and fell back under the upper lids; the pulse
sunk and rallied again.—It was eleven minutes before six o’clock—
Napoleon was about to breathe his last!—a slight froth covered his
lips—he was no more!—Such is the end of all human glory!

ARRANGEMENTS RESPECTING THE CORPSE, &C.

It had not been possible, for want of the necessary materials, to

embalm the body, the whiteness of which was really extraordinary. It
was deposited upon one of the small tent-beds, furnished with white
curtains as funeral hangings!!! The cloak of blue cloth which
Napoleon had worn at the battle of Marengo served to cover him.
The feet and hands were exposed to view; at his right side was his
sword, and on his chest a crucifix. At some distance from the body
was the silver vase in which I had been obliged to deposit his heart
and stomach. Behind his head was an altar, at which the priest,
habited in his surplice and stole, recited prayers. All the persons of
his suite, officers and servants, dressed in mourning, were standing
on his left. Doctor Arnott watched over the corpse, which had been
placed under his personal responsibility.
The door of the chambre ardente, and the approach to it, had
been for some hours past thronged by an immense crowd. The door
was at last opened; and the crowd entered, and gazed upon the
lifeless remains, without confusion, without tumult, and in a religious
silence. The order of admittance was regulated by Captain Crokat,
the orderly officer of Longwood. The officers and subalterns of the
20th and 66th regiments were first admitted, and the remainder
afterwards. All felt that emotion which the spectacle of courage and
misfortune united never fails to excite in the hearts of all brave men.
The coffin which was to receive the Emperor having been brought,
I was obliged to place the heart and stomach in it. I had flattered
myself that I should be able to convey them to Europe; but all my
entreaties on that subject were fruitless: I experienced the grief and
mortification of a refusal. I left the first-mentioned of these two
organs in the vase in which it had at first been enclosed, and placed
the second in another vase of the same metal, and of a cylindrical
shape, which had been used to keep Napoleon’s sponge. I filled the
vase containing the heart with alcohol, closed it hermetically,
soldered it, and deposited it with the other at the angles of the
coffin, in which Napoleon was then laid. The body was first placed
upon a kind of mattress and pillow, in a tin-box lined with white
satin. The Emperor’s hat, which could not remain on his head for
want of room, was placed on his feet; eagles, some pieces of all the
coins bearing his effigy, his fork and spoon, his knife, a plate with his
arms, &c. were also put into that box, which was carefully soldered,
and placed in another of mahogany. A third, of lead, received these
two boxes; and the whole was finally enclosed in a fourth of
mahogany, which was closed, and secured with iron screws. The
coffin was then covered with the cloak Napoleon had worn at the
battle of Marengo, and exposed on the same spot where the body
had lain. Arnott continued to watch, and Vignali to pray; whilst the
crowd, which increased every hour, were allowed to circulate round
these mournful objects.

THE FUNERAL.

The Governor himself soon arrived at Longwood, and was shortly

afterwards followed by the Admiral and all the civil and military
authorities. The weather was beautiful, the roads were crowded with
people, and the hills covered with musicians: never had so mournful
and solemn a spectacle been before exhibited in the island. At half-
past twelve the grenadiers took the coffin, which they could not lift
without difficulty, and, after repeated and persevering efforts,
succeeded in carrying it to and placing it on the hearse, which was
waiting in the great walk in the garden; and it was then covered with
a violet coloured velvet cloth, and the cloak which Napoleon wore at
Marengo. The Emperor’s household was in mourning; and the
funeral procession was arranged, and proceeded in the following
order, which had been regulated by the Governor himself:—
Abbé Vignali, habited in the sacerdotal ornaments used
for the celebration of mass, with young Henry
Bertrand, carrying a vase of silver
containing Holy-water and
the
Aspersorium.
Doctor Arnott and myself.
The persons appointed to take care of the hearse, which
was drawn by four horses, led by grooms, and
escorted by twelve grenadiers on
each side, without arms.[49]
 Young Napoleon Bertrand and Marchand, both on foot
on each side of the hearse.
Counts Bertrand and Montholon on horseback immediately
behind the hearse.
Part of the Emperor’s suite.
Countess Bertrand, with her daughter Hortense, in a
calash drawn by two horses led by servants
who walked on the side of the
precipice.
The Emperor’s horse, led by his piqueur Archambaud.
The officers of the marines on foot and on
horseback.
The officers of the staff on horseback.
General Coffin and the Marquis Montchenu on horseback.
The Admiral and the Governor on horseback.
The inhabitants of the Island.
The procession left Longwood in this order, passed before the
guard-house, and the garrison of the island, about two thousand five
hundred strong, which lined the whole of the left side of the road as
far as Hut’s Gate. Bands of music, stationed at intervals, added by
their mournful sounds to the solemn sadness of the ceremony. After
the procession had passed before the troops, they followed, and
accompanied it towards the place of burial. The dragoons marched
first, the 20th regiment of infantry followed; then came the marines,
the 66th regiment, the volunteers of St. Helena; and, lastly, the
regiment of royal artillery, with fifteen pieces of cannon. Lady Lowe
and her daughter were waiting on the road at Hut’s Gate, in a calash
drawn by two horses, and afterwards followed the procession at a
distance, accompanied by some servants in mourning. The fifteen
pieces of cannon were stationed along the road, and the men were
near their pieces ready to fire.
At about a quarter of a mile beyond Hut’s Gate the hearse
stopped, and the troops halted and ranged themselves in order of
battle along the road. The grenadiers then took the coffin on their
shoulders, and carried it thus to the grave, by the new road which
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