Chapter XII: 1815-1821-1895

Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica

by John Kendrick Bangs

It is with St. Helena that all biographies of Napoleon Bonaparte
hitherto published have ended, and perhaps it is just as well that
these entertaining works, prepared by purely finite minds, should end
there. It is well for an historian not to tell more than he knows, a
principle which has guided our pen from the inception of this work to
this point, and which must continue to the bitter end. We shall be
relentless and truthful to the last, even though in so doing we are
compelled to overthrow all historical precedent.

Bonaparte arrived at St. Helena in October, 1815. He had
embarked, every one supposed, with the impression that he was going
to America, and those about him, fearing a passionate outbreak when
he learned the truth, tried for a time to convince him that he had
taken the wrong steamer; then when they found that he could not be
deceived in this way, they made allusions to the steering-gear having
got out of order, but the ex-Emperor merely smiled.

"You cannot fool me," he said. "I know whither I am drifting.
I went to a clairvoyant before leaving Paris, who cast a few dozen
horoscopes for me and they all ended at St. Helena. It is
inevitable. I must go there, and all these fairy tales about wrong
steamers and broken rudders and so on are useless. I submit. I
could return if I wished, but I do not wish to return. By a mere
speech to these sailors I could place myself in command of this ship
to-day, turn her about and proclaim myself Emperor of the Seas; but I
don't want to. I prefer dry land and peace to a coup de tar and the
throne of Neptune."

All of which shows that the great warrior was weary.

Then followed a dreary exile of uneventful years, in which the
ex- Emperor conducted paper campaigns of great fierceness against the
English government, which with unprecedented parsimony allowed him no
more than $60,000 a year and house rent.

"The idea of limiting me to five thousand dollars a month," he
remarked, savagely, to Sir Hudson Lowe. "It's positively low."

"It strikes me as positively high," retorted the governor. "You
know well enough that you couldn't spend ten dollars a week in this
place if you put your whole mind on it, if you hadn't insisted on
having French waiters in your dining-room, whom you have to tip every
time they bring you anything."

"Humph!" said Bonaparte. "That isn't any argument. I'm a man
used to handling large sums. It isn't that I want to spend money;
it's that I want to have it about me in case of emergency. However,
I know well enough why they keep my allowance down to $60,000."

"Why is it?" asked Sir Hudson.

"They know that you can't be bought for $60,000, but they
wouldn't dare make it $60,000 and one cent," retorted the captive.
"Put that in your cigarette and smoke it, Sir Harlem, and hereafter
call me Emperor. That's my name, Emperor N. Bonaparte."

"And I beg that you will not call me Sir Harlem," returned the
governor, irritated by the Emperor's manner. "My name is Hudson, not
Harlem."

"Pray excuse the slip," said the Emperor, scornfully. "I knew
you were named after some American river, I didn't know which.
However, I imagined that the Harlem was nearer your size than the
Hudson, since the latter has some pretensions to grandeur. Now
please flow down to the sea and lose yourself, I'm getting sleepy
again."

So, in constant conflict with Sir Hudson, who refused to call
him by his title, and whom in consequence he refused to call by his
proper name, answering such epithets as "Corporal" and "Major" with a
savagely-spoken "Delaware" or an ironically respectful "Mohawk,"
Bonaparte dwelt at St. Helena until the 5th of May, 1821, when,
historians tell us, he died. This is an error, for upon that date
Bonaparte escaped. He had fought death too many times to succumb to
him now, and, while the writers of history have in a sense stated the
truth when they say that he passed away in the night, their readers
have gained a false impression. It is the fact that Napoleon
Bonaparte, like Dante and Virgil, passed over the dark river Styx as
the honored leader of the rebellious forces of Hades. He did pass
away in the night, but he went as he went from Elba, and, as we shall
see, with more successful results.

For years the Government of Erebus had been unsatisfactory to
many of its subjects, mainly on account of the arbitrary methods of
the Weather Department.

"We are in a perpetual broil here," Caesar had said, "and I for
one am getting tired of it. The country demands a change. This
administration doesn't give us anything but dog-days."

For this the Roman warrior had been arrested and kept in an oven
at the rear of the Erebian Tuileries, as Apollyon's Palace was
called, for two centuries.

"The next rebel gets a gridiron, and the third will be served to
Cerberus en brochette," cried Apollyon.

Thus matters had gone on for five or six hundred years, and no
one had ventured to complain further, particularly in view of
Caesar's comments upon the horrid details of his incarceration
published several years after his release, under the title of "Two
Centuries in an Oven; or, Four Thousand and Six in the Shade."

At the end of the eighteenth century, however, the aspect of
affairs had changed. Apollyon had spent a great deal of his time
abroad, and had failed to note how the revolution in America, the
Reign of Terror in France, and the subsequent wars in Europe had
materially increased the forces of the Republican Party in Hades.
The French arrivals alone should have been sufficient to convince
Apollyon that his attention to domestic affairs was needed, and that
the Americanization of his domain was gaining a most considerable
headway. All the movement really needed was a leader, but there was
none to lead.

"Caesar's book has made us timid. I don't want any of it," said
Alcibiades.

"I've had enough of public life," said Charlemagne.

"It's hot enough for us as it is," said all four of the "Three
Musketeers."

"We'll have to get somebody who is not aware of the
possibilities of our climate," observed Frederick the Great.

"Try Napoleon Bonaparte," suggested Louis XIV., with a chuckle,
feeling that here was an opportunity to do one of two things, to get
even with Apollyon, or, in case of the failure of the rebellion, to
be revenged upon Bonaparte for his treatment of the Bourbons by
securing for him the warmest reception the Kingdom of Hades could
afford.

The suggestion, according to documents at hand which seem to be
veracious, was adopted with enthusiasm. The exile was communicated
with, and joy settled upon the people of Hades when word was received
that Bonaparte was on his way. As we have seen, on the night of the
5th of May he left St. Helena, and on the 10th he landed on the right
bank of the Styx. A magnificent army awaited him. To the Old Guard,
many of whom had preceded him, was accorded the position of honor,
and as Bonaparte stepped ashore the roof of Erebus was rent with
vivas. Such a scene has never been witnessed before, and may never
be witnessed again. The populace flocked about him, and strove to
kiss his hand; some went so far as to clip off samples of his uniform
to treasure in their homes. It was evident that the government must
look to itself.

"What is this noise?" asked Apollyon, who had returned to his
domain only the night before.

"Bonaparte has arrived," returned the head Imp, "and the people
are in revolt."

Apollyon paled and summoned his ministers.

Meanwhile Bonaparte had held a council of war, appointing
Caesar, Pompey, Alcibiades, and Charlemagne marshals of Hades.

"The first thing to be done is to capture the coal-yards," he
said, taking in the situation at a glance. "Caesar, let the
coal-yards be your care. Alcibiades will take the Three Musketeers,
and by night will make a detour to the other side of the palace and
open the sluices of the vitriol reservoir, which I understand run
into the Styx. Pompey will surprise the stokers in the national
engine-room with a force of ten thousand, put out the fires, and
await further orders. Charlemagne will accompany me with the army to
the palace, where I shall demand an audience with the king."

It will be seen at once that, granting the success of all these
manoeuvres, Apollyon could not possibly hold out. As the Hollanders
had only water with which to flood their country and rout their
enemies, so Apollyon had only fire with which to wither an invader or
a rebellious force. The quick mind of Bonaparte took this in on the
instant. He was no longer listless and sleepy, for here was the
grandest opportunity of his life, and he knew it.

Fortune favored him. In Hades fortune was a material
personality, and not an abstract idea as she is with us, and when she
met Bonaparte on his triumphal march along the Styx, she yielded to
that fascination which even phlegmatic Englishmen could not deny that
he possessed; and when at this meeting the man of the hour took her
by the hand and breathed softly into her ear that she was in very
truth the only woman he had ever loved, she instinctively felt that
he had at last spoken from his heart of hearts.

"I believe you, Bonaparte," she murmured softly, "and I think I
have shown you in the past that I am not indifferent to you. I am
with you--Apollyon is doomed."

Thus encouraged, Bonaparte, followed by his constantly growing
army, proceeded to the palace.

Apollyon received him with dignity.

"I am glad to receive so distinguished a person," he said.

"Thank you," said Bonaparte, "but this is not a society
function, Your Highness--I have come here on business, so spare me
your flatteries."

Apollyon turned purple with rage.

"Insolent!" he cried. "Consider yourself under arrest."

"Certainly," said Bonaparte, calmly. "Will you kindly hand me
your crown?"

Apollyon rose in his wrath, and ordered his aides to arrest
Bonaparte, and to cast him into the furnace. "Make it a million
degrees Farenheit," he roared.

"I regret to inform your majesty," said the chief aide, "that
word has just been received that the fires are out, the coal-yard has
been captured by the rebels, and five adventurous spirits have let
all the vitriol out of the reservoir into the Styx."

"Summon my guards, and have this man boned, then!" raged
Apollyon.

"It is also with regret that I have to tell you," returned the
aide, "that the Royal Guard has gone over to the enemy, having been
promised higher wages."

"We have Cerberus left," cried Apollyon, "let him take this base
intruder and tear him limb from limb."

Napoleon burst out into a laugh. "You will excuse me, Your
Majesty," he said. "But Cerberus is already fixed. We poisoned two
of his heads, and he is even now whining for his life with the
third."

"Then am I undone," moaned Apollyon, covering his face with his
hands.

"You are," said Bonaparte, "but we'll tie you up again in short
order. We'll put you on one of your own gridirons and do you to a
turn."

Of course this was the end.

In three days Napoleon had made himself master of the kingdom,
had proclaimed the Empire with himself at its head. Apollyon was
treated with consideration. His life was spared, but he was shorn of
his power. Bonaparte sent him into exile at Paris, where, according
to report, he still lives.

"Now for a new coronation," said the victor. "Send for the
pope."

"Not this tune!" cried Caesar with a laugh. "The popes have
always studiously avoided this place."

"Then," said Napoleon with a smile, "let Fortune crown me.
After all, it has always been she who did it--why not now?"

Hence it was that at the dawning of New Year's day of 1822,
Napoleon Bonaparte opened a new and most highly successful career.
His power has increased day by day until now, when there is evidence
that he has the greater part of the world in his firm grasp.

Some years later his beloved Bourrienne arrived.

"Remember, Bourrienne," he said, as he installed his old and
faithful secretary in his new office, "you have always written my
autographs for me, and shall still continue to do so, only please
note the change. It is no longer Bonaparte, or Napoleon, Emperor of
the French, it has become Napollyon, Emperor of Hades."

And to Fouche, when that worthy arrived, he said:

"Fouche, this is different from the old show. That original
Empire of mine was ruined by just one thing. I was eternally anxious
to provide for the succession, and out of that grew all my troubles;
but here, as the little girl said about the apple-core, there ain't
a- goin' to be no succession. I am here to stay. Meanwhile, Fouche,
I have an impression that you and Augureau took more pleasure out of
my misfortunes than I did; wherefore I authorize you to send for
Augereau and take him swimming in the vitriol tank. It will do you
both good."

As for Joseph, when he heard of his brother's new acquisition he
reformed at once, led an irreproachable life in America, whither he
had fled, and when he died went to the other place.