myrmidons could not have withstood the revolt against it, and were such treatment to be meted out to a political prisoner of our day, the wrath of the nation might break forth in a way that would teach tyrants a salutary lesson.

But this great man was at the mercy of a lot of little men. They were too cowardly to shoot him, so they determined on a cunning dastardly process of slow assassination. The pious bard who sings the praises of Napoleon's executioners—Wellington and his coadjutors—and whose "History" was unworthy of the reputations of himself and his publishers, will have sunk into oblivion when the fiery soul of the "Sultan Kebir"[2] will seize on the imagination of generations yet unborn, and intoxicate them with the memory of the deeds that he had done.

Napoleon has said, "In the course of time, nothing will be thought so fine nor seize the attention so much as the doing of justice to me. I shall gain ground every day on the minds of the people. My name will become the star of their rights, it will be the expression of their regrets."[3] This statement is as prophetic as many others, more or less important, made by Napoleon to one or other of his suite. It is remarkable how accurately he foretold events and the impressions that would be formed of himself.

Had the warning given so frequently to Sir Hudson Lowe been conveyed to his Government, and had they acted upon it, there is little doubt that a change of climate would have prolonged the Emperor's life. But in going over those dreary nauseous documents which relate the tale, one becomes permeated with the belief that the intention was to torture, if not to kill. Dr. Antommarchi, who succeeded Dr. O'Meara as medical attendant to the Emperor, confirms all that O'Meara had conveyed so frequently to the Governor and to the Admiralty. The Council sent for him to give them information as to the climate of St. Helena. They express the opinion that at Longwood it is "good." Antommarchi replies, "Horrible," "Cold," "Hot," "Dry," "Damp," "Variation of atmosphere twenty times in a day." "But," said they, "this had no influence on General Bonaparte's health," and the blunt reply of Antommarchi is flung at them, "It sent him to his grave." "But," came the question, "what would have been the consequences of a change of residence?" "That he would still be living," said Antommarchi. The dialogue continues, the doctor scoring heavily all the way through. At length one of the Council becomes offended at his daring frankness, and blurts forth in "statesmanlike" anger: "What signifies, after all, the death of General Bonaparte? It rids us of an implacable enemy."

This noble expression of opinion was given three days after George IV. had deplored the death of Napoleon. It is not of much consequence, except to confirm the belief of the French that the death-warrant had been issued. The popular opinion at the time when the Emperor gave himself up to the British was that had he come in contact with George IV. the great tragedy would not have happened.

We are not, however, solely dependent on what the two doctors have said concerning the cause of his untimely demise. All those who knew anything about Longwood, from the common sailor or soldier upwards, were aware of the baneful nature of its climate. Counts Las Cases, Montholon, and Bertrand had each represented it to the righteous Sir Hudson Lowe as being deadly to the health of their Emperor. Discount their statements as you will, the conviction forces itself upon you that their contentions are in the main, if not wholly, reliable.

But the climate, trying and severe as it was, cannot be entirely blamed for killing him, though it did the best part of it. Admiral Sir George Cockburn, while he acted as Governor, seems to have caused occasional trouble to the French by the unnecessary restrictions put upon them, but by the accounts given he was not unkindly disposed. He showed real anxiety to make the position as agreeable to them as he could, and no doubt used his judgment instead of carrying out to the letter the cast-iron instructions given to him by Bathurst. The Emperor spoke of him as having the heart of a soldier, and regretted his removal to give place to Sir Hudson Lowe, who arrived in the Phaeton on April 14, 1816.

The new Governor's rude, senseless conduct on the occasion of his first visit to Longwood indicated forebodings of trouble. He does not appear to have had the slightest notion of how to behave, or that he was about to be introduced to a man who had completely governed the destinies of Europe for twenty years. Napoleon with his eagle eye and penetrating vision measured the man's character and capabilities at a glance. He said to his friends, "That man is malevolent; his eye is that of a hyena." Subsequent events only intensified this belief.

Perhaps the best that can be said of Lowe is that he possessed distorted human intelligence. He was amiable when he pleased, a good business man, so it is said, and the domestic part of his life has never been assailed; but it would be a libel on all decency to say that he was suited to the delicate and responsible post he was sent to fulfil. In fact, all his actions prove him to have been without an atom of tact, judgment, or administrative quality, and his nature had a big unsympathetic flaw in it. The fact is, there are indications that his nature was warped from the beginning, and that he was just the very kind of man who ought never to have been sent to a post of such varied responsibilities. His appointment shows how appallingly ignorant or wicked the Government, or Bathurst, were in their selection of him.

He was a monomaniac pure and simple. If they thought him best suited to pursue a policy of vindictiveness, then their choice was perfect, though it was a violation of all moral law. If, on the other hand, they were not aware of his unsuitableness, they showed either carelessness or incapacity which will rank them beneath mediocrity, and by their act they stamped the English name with ignominy. And yet there is a pathos at the end of it all when he was brought to see the cold, inanimate form of the dead monarch. He was seized with fear, smitten with the dread of retribution, and exclaimed to Montholon, "His death is my ruin."[4]

Forsyth has done his utmost to justify the actions of Hudson Lowe, but no one can read his work without feeling that the historian was conscious all through of an abortive task. He reproduces in vain the instructions and correspondence between Lowe and his Government, and the letters and conversations with Napoleon and members of his household, and deduces from these that the Governor could not have acted otherwise than in the manner he did. It is easy to twist words used either in conversations or letters into meanings which they were never intended to convey, but there are too many evidences of cold-blooded outbursts of tyrannical intent to be set aside, and these make it impossible to regard Sir Hudson Lowe in any other light than that of a petty little despot.

He had ability of a kind. Napoleon said he was eminently suited to "command bandits or deserters," and tells him in that memorable verbal conversation which arose through Lowe requesting that 200,000 francs per annum should be found as a contribution towards the expenses at Longwood: "I have never heard your name mentioned except as a brigand chief. You never suffer a day