Betsy and the Emperor

by Anne Whitehead

Meanwhile, Hortense was residing at Baden Baden with her sons by her estranged husband: Napoleon Louis was aged twelve and Louis Napoleon four years younger. The latter, in subsequent years, was to become a friend of Betsy Balcombe and would entreat her to tell stories about his illustrious uncle. Later still he would proclaim himself Emperor Napoleon III.

  Napoleon still considered that his best hope of release from St Helena, other than through the Regent himself, was by Princess Charlotte taking a personal interest in his case. He was delighted to learn that she had married Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha at the beginning of May. He said that the prince, who had once applied to be his aide-de-camp, was one of the most handsome and pleasant young men he had ever met.24 All the while, the tantalising rumour of William Balcombe’s blood connection with the royal family persisted.

  The purveyor visited the Bertrands at Hutt’s Gate on 28 June and was particularly indiscreet about his house guests. According to Bertrand’s 1816 journal, still with no published English translation, Balcombe reported that Lady Malcolm was very happy about her conversation with the emperor; that Napoleon had many supporters in England as well as many women admirers and that their numbers were increasing daily; and that Admiral Malcolm would be staying on the island for just one year, and for less time than that if the emperor himself departed, in which case he would accompany him.25

  It may have been to impress the Malcolms that Napoleon reopened the issue of the slave Toby’s freedom. O’Meara recorded: ‘When Napoleon discovered some time after the departure of Sir George Cockburn that the poor man had not been emancipated, he directed Mr Balcombe to purchase him from his master [a certain Captain Wrangham, who had left the island], set him at liberty and charge the amount to Count Bertrand’s private account.’ Both Balcombe and O’Meara had put this to the governor, who ‘however, thought proper to prohibit this’.26 Montholon’s memoirs provide further details, including the alleged reason for Lowe’s refusal: his fear of a great slave uprising such as that led by Toussaint L’Ouverture in the Caribbean.

  On 2 July, Lowe visited Longwood and spoke to Montholon, the official manager of the household, about a reduction in expenses, particularly for food and wine. Balcombe’s purveyorship was criticised too, not just for the excessive quantity of food provided, but for its inedible nature.

  The governor refused Montchenu permission to visit Madame Bertrand, which drove her to distraction, as the marquis had seen her ailing mother in France before setting off for St Helena. Napoleon still declined to meet the commissioners, which suited Lowe. Count Bertrand had conveyed the message that ‘if they wished to be introduced as private persons’ they should apply to him, but ‘The Emperor’ would not receive them officially. He did not recognise the right of the Allied powers to arbitrate upon his fate. He was the prisoner of England ‘in fact, but not in right’, but not the prisoner of Europe.27

  Lowe fretted about what the commissioners were doing, determined to prevent any undue association between them and the people at Longwood. They in turn, finding themselves watched and their freedom curtailed, complained about him to their home governments, so adding to Lowe’s growing unfavourable reputation. Count Balmain’s assessment went to the Czar: ‘The responsibility with which he has been charged makes him tremble, and he becomes alarmed at the slightest incident, puzzles his brain for hours over nothing, and does with vast trouble what any one else would do in a minute.’28 Balmain had no idea at the time that he was writing about his future father-in-law.

  On 10 July, O’Meara sent a letter from Longwood to Sir Thomas Reade, officially the governor’s deputy adjutant-general, effectively his espionage agent. In it the doctor sounded remarkably like a spy himself: ‘I understand from Madame that they have it in contemplation here to forward a letter of complaint against Sir Hudson to England (by what channel I did not understand), containing, no doubt, divers untruths, and praying he may be recalled. You had better give Sir Hudson a hint about it, but let it be between you and him only; as, though I have some reason to think that some plot is hatching, I am not quite sure of it, and any premature disclosure of it would not be the thing.’ 29

  He went on to protest again about the food supplies to Longwood, lodging the blame to Balcombe’s partners rather than to the man he claimed as a friend. He said that Montholon was building up a file, finding out the price of every item of food and drink brought to the house. However, the purveyor had defenders in Sir Pulteney and Lady Malcolm, who were still at The Briars. Lady Malcolm wrote to her aunt, the wife of Admiral Lord Keith, that she sympathised with Balcombe for having to feed the ingrates at Longwood: ‘They complained that the wine was bad, but how can it be otherwise, for if they get a week’s supply at a time, the servants drink it all in three days.’ Bonaparte had a great appetite and demanded a roast every day; after fourteen consecutive days of roast pork, he complained: ‘“Encore cochon de lait”. It was the fault of his own people, who took the turkeys and geese, and continued to send the pigs to his table!’30 But the cost of catering was enormous and Bonaparte himself had said that Balcombe ‘costs more than he is worth’.

  Meanwhile, the Colonial Office had sent out the components for a new prefabricated house to make the prisoner and his retinue more comfortable. Napoleon had refused to discuss it, saying he would not remain on the island long enough for it to be built. Lowe was trying to do his best and wanted to get workers started on the construction. He asked O’Meara where he thought General Bonaparte would like it erected. The doctor promptly answered: ‘He would like the Briars.’ The governor said that was out of the question—it was too close to town.31

  ‘I hate this Longwood,’ Napoleon fulminated. ‘The sight of it makes me melancholy. Let him put me in some place where there is shade, verdure and water. Here it either blows a furious wind, loaded with rain and fog, or the sun beats on my head through the want of shade, when I go out. Let him put me on the Plantation House side of the island if he really wishes to do anything for me. But what is the use of coming up here proposing things, and doing nothing?’32

  He was in a bad mood, having read an account in The Times which he recognised as being by Catherine Younghusband. In a private letter that her aunt had sent to the newspaper, she had boasted that after she and her daughter sang Bonaparte an Italian duet, ‘I understood he talked of us for three days’. There was a description of the dinner to which she had been invited: ‘The greatest state and etiquette is observed at the Court of Longwood; not a single word was uttered during dinner, excepting by Buonaparte himself. All the Marshals and Countesses sat mumchance; but I chattered away to his Majesty without any fear, which appeared to amaze them all. You cannot form an idea of the awe they all stand in of him, and he treats them, ladies and all, in the most cavalier manner.’ The former emperor had offered her a plate of sweetmeats and ‘I was told by his Secretary, Count Lascases [sic], that it was a favour Queens had never received from him’.33

  There would be no further invitations for Mrs Younghusband. Las Cases defended her and said that her words had been misconstrued. He wrote later that she had ‘declared openly that she had not written the ridiculous letter which had appeared under her name, and that either her friends in England had made alterations in that letter, or it had been read in company, imperfectly retained and incorrectly sent to the press’.34 Nonetheless, Catherine’s name never appeared again in the orderly’s log of visitors to Longwood.35

  The Times caused more trouble, reporting that Madame Bertrand was ‘sick of the adventure, quarrels with her husband for being such a fool as to stay at St Helena and wishes to return home. All Buonaparte’s French cooks and servants mutinied, and said they were prisoners of war as well as himself, and would not obey him.’36

  The omens were not auspicious when on 16 July Lowe arrived at Longwood for his fourth interview with his prisoner, which he reported in detail to Bathurst. He was ushered into the presence to find Napoleon with his hat under his arm. The prisoner launched into a litany o
f complaints about the restrictions imposed on him and his suite, especially the opening of their mail before it was delivered to them. Lowe replied that he acted only in compliance with his instructions.

  Napoleon observed that it was unnecessary to impose so many restraints—it was almost impossible to get away from the island: ‘It would be impossible, unless with the connivance of the governor or of the admiral.’ He was not interested in the building of a new house; it would take six years’ construction ‘and by then there will be a change in the Ministry in England, or a new government in France, and I shall no longer be here’. In the meantime he wished to move to a more pleasant location. Lowe answered, as he took his leave, that he was ‘always happy to show attention to every request’ which was not incompatible with the main object of his duty.37

  CHAPTER 13

  THIS ACCURSED PLACE

  An American vessel, ‘a very fast sailer’, appeared off the island in July 1816 but eluded the British frigates that tried to intercept her. It returned day after day, as if reconnoitring landing places. It may have been the True Blooded Yankee; Bathurst had sent Lowe intelligence in May that this privateer had sailed from Bahia, Brazil, with the aim of liberating Bonaparte. Lowe supported Admiral Malcolm’s request for another fast vessel to ward off such attempts: ‘I really consider a small corvette well to windward as essential to prevent the approach of any suspicious vessel. There is hardly any obstacle otherwise to their coming in close to the shore during the night-time, sending in a boat, and disappearing before the morning.’1

  Napoleon now found a use for the billiard table the governor had sent up to Longwood: to lay out his escape-plan maps. Montholon had received an offer from an English captain to help get Napoleon past the barrier of sentries, off the island and transport him to the United States, ‘for a million, to be paid on landing’. Gourgaud took part in the discussion around the baize table: ‘Napoleon said: “It could be assumed I was remaining in my room. The Governor is used to my remaining indoors for several days on end. We could send one of our ladies, or perhaps both of them, to call at Plantation House; O’Meara would go into town, and while Lady Lowe was making polite conversation about me in her drawing room, we should leave this accursed place.”’ But he then rejected such tempting visions, shaking his head: ‘It is a very seductive picture, but alas it would be madness. I must either die here or France must come and get me.’2

  Soon after, Betsy and Jane Balcombe called. They found Napoleon firing at a mark with pistols and Betsy noted ‘a gleam of the former playfulness’ he had shown at The Briars. ‘He put one into my hand, loaded, I believe, with powder, and, in great trepidation, I fired it off; he often called me afterwards “La petite tirailleuse” [tirailleur or skirmisher] and said he would form a corps of sharp-shooters, of which I should be the captain.’ He invited them to inspect his new billiard table. ‘I remember thinking it too childish for men, and very like marbles on a larger scale. The emperor condescended to teach me how to play, but I made very little progress.’3

  On 24 July, O’Meara sent a secret report to Sir Thomas Reade, noting that Bonaparte had spent over two hours in the Montholon apartment the previous evening. ‘This will make Madame Bertrand as jealous as the deuce, though I believe the real reason is that he has no other room to sit in until the chimney is finished or the library put to rights. Madame Montholon however exults much at the favour shown to her, and actually putteth on two extra gowns daily, in consequence thereof.’ This was not the first of O’Meara’s sly insinuations about Albine de Montholon, and it would not be the last.4

  The following day, Admiral Malcolm came to Longwood and stayed for four hours, bringing French newspapers which had arrived on the HMS Griffon.5 An insurrection at Grenoble cheered Napoleon immensely. The Bourbons, he said, were seated on a volcano. The admiral and Bonaparte had taken the measure of each other and respected what they saw. Throughout their protracted discussion, they walked around the drawing room with their hats under their arms, for Sir Pulteney knew not to be seated while his host remained standing. He understood Bonaparte’s need to salvage what vestiges he could of courtly dignity; he ‘saw that he was determined to keep up as long as he could, within his own house, the state of an emperor’.6

  On 6 August, William Balcombe made a visit not entered in the orderly’s logbook and went for a ride in the carriage with Napoleon. He continued to raise hopes in a manner that, if the governor had known of his comments, would have caused him to be ejected from the island. Bertrand gave an account in his private journal, explicitly naming the purveyor: ‘Mr Balcombe has gone to Longwood and promenaded for two hours in the carriage with the Emperor. He maintains that of all the officers who are here, there is not one who would not give something for Napoleon to return to his throne. All the officers of the 66th who crossed France declare that everyone, in the inns and cafes, mourns the Emperor, because, they say, he has been chosen, or because, say others, he gave to France much glory. In England the same, the party for Napoleon is growing; opinion is changing on his account.’7

  On the same day, a lieutenant, two midshipmen and a party of seamen from the Newcastle arrived at Longwood to repair the garden marquee torn in recent rains. Napoleon strolled over and chatted with one of the midshipmen.8 Betsy noted how impressed he was with the elegant youth: ‘Napoleon was fond of sailors, and liked entering into conversation with the young midshipmen who conducted the fatigue parties at Longwood. On one occasion a remarkably handsome and high-born young reefer attracted his notice, from the activity he displayed in setting his men to work in erecting a commodious marquee out of studding-sail. He inquired his name, and when he heard it was the Honourable G C, he remarked that he was one of the very few instances in which he had observed high birth combined with so much amiability and intelligence.’9

  Dame Mabel Brookes, in her St Helena Story, tells us that this midshipman was the Honourable George Carstairs, Betsy’s first love interest.10 It is clear that Betsy was intrigued by the youth, for the next time she saw Napoleon she said that she ‘had the pleasure of being acquainted with the young middy he so much admired, and that he was the most popular of any of his young companions in the wardroom’. Her first sight of ‘G C’ had been after Admiral Cockburn’s ball. He was drunkenly singing with other ‘middies’ (midshipmen) on top of a cart blocking the exit from the castle courtyard.11

  On 10 August, Napoleon was breakfasting in the new marquee when the governor arrived to personally invite him to the Prince Regent’s birthday celebrations. He hid from sight and Lowe went away disappointed.

  Later that day, Sir Pulteney Malcolm and his wife had no trouble finding Napoleon, who invited them for what he called ‘a drive round the Park’ in his carriage. As they clattered between the gumwood trees and around the ‘steep, black, dreary-looking hollow’ of the Devil’s Punchbowl, Lady Malcolm considered that ‘going so fast, it did not seem quite safe; but the two Paris postilions were excellent’.12

  Napoleon was interested to learn that the admiral had rowed around the island the previous day. It was useful information that a rowing boat could approach the cliffs.

  The Prince Regent’s birthday on 12 August was celebrated with a grand field day at Deadwood Camp. Salutes were fired from the batteries. Pacing about the Longwood garden, Napoleon watched the distant parade on the plain and the governor’s review of the redcoats.

  In the evening, a formal dinner for fifty was held at Plantation House, the women in their silks, satins and jewellery and the men’s uniforms blazing with decorations, reflected from the great crystal chandelier above the table. Dinner was followed by a ball at Deadwood in a marquee lit by lanterns. The women came up from town crammed into carts pulled by horses or oxen, carrying their evening dresses in boxes. ‘We got down from the carriage,’ recalled one lady, ‘into mud up to our knees in the damp darkness.’13 Lady Lowe chose to stay in town; she was seven months pregnant and had told Major Gorrequer that she would never have married again ‘if sh
e had thought she would have got pickaninnies from a second husband’.14 Furthermore, she complained, the local people showed no special attention to a governor’s wife.

  At the Deadwood ball, in the absence of his wife, Sir Hudson partnered Lady Malcolm for the first set. Betsy was invited up for the quadrille by the Honourable George Carstairs, ‘the greatest beau that ever came to St Helena’. It would seem that if she had fancied him at first, her interest had since waned. She learned that he was ‘such an exquisite’ that before dressing for dinner or a dance he would sit for an hour with his feet propped above his head so he could squeeze them into elegant tight shoes. He wore huge showy epaulettes, his sword belt embroidered with golden oak leaves, and more embroidery around his silk stockings. He told her he was appalled that the provincial ladies of St Helena ‘understood nothing but kitchen dances and reels’, and he offered instruction in the mysteries of the quadrille. Even Mrs Balcombe joined his class, until she ‘unceremoniously put her foot on his heel, because he stood bending before her’ and the swallowtails of his coat nearly poked out her eye.15 She retired, but the young people continued dancing until the dawn cannon fired.

  Napoleon was amused when he heard Betsy’s description, and urged her to obtain a pass for Carstairs to visit Longwood again. When one was procured, he told the young man, ‘putting on a most comical look’, that he ‘had heard from Miss Betsee that he was a great dandy—which was anything but pleasing intelligence to the young hero, who began to think he was indebted for the honour of his interview with the great man to the circumstance of his being considered a sort of tom-fool’.16 (Carstairs styled himself on Beau Brummell, unaware that the modish buck had recently left England because of gambling debts, having also angered the Prince Regent by describing him as a ‘fat friend’.17) After the visit, Napoleon told Betsy that it was unrealistic for her to consider Carstairs as a romantic prospect: ‘He is far too aristocratic for you, Betsee.’ It was kindly advice, considering the possibility of social disgrace familiar to Jane Austen’s readers (the fate of Lydia Bennet, for instance) which could befall a girl like Betsy: too pretty not to attempt to seduce, too poor or low in rank to marry. But according to Dame Mabel Brookes and Betsy’s diary account, she answered ‘You are jealous because he dances with me.’ Napoleon pulled her ear and turned away towards the pavilion without answering.18