The Life, Exile and Conversations with Napoleon. Emmanuel-Auguste-Dieudonné Las Cases

caught an enormous shark. The Emperor enquired the cause of the great noise and confusion which he suddenly heard overhead; being informed of what had occurred, he expressed a wish to have a sight of the sea-monster. He accordingly went up to the poop, and incautiously approached too near the animal, which by a sudden movement knocked down four or five of the sailors, and had well nigh broken the Emperor’s legs. He went below with his left stocking covered with blood: we thought he was severely hurt, but it proved to be only the blood of the shark.

      My labours advanced with the greatest regularity. The Anti-Gallican, which was the first work I undertook to read, was a volume of five hundred pages, comprising all that had been written in England at the time when that country was menaced with the French invasion. It was the object of the English government to nationalize opposition to that attempt, and to rouse the whole nation against her dangerous enemy. The book contained a collection of public speeches, exhortations, patriotic appeals of zealous citizens, satirical songs, sarcastic productions, and highly-coloured newspaper articles, all pouring a torrent of odium and ridicule upon the French and their First Consul, whose courage, genius, and power excited the greatest alarm. This was all perfectly natural and allowable. Productions of this sort are like a shower of arrows thrown by combatants before they come to a close action: some hit, and some are carried away by the wind. Such writings will never afford satisfactory evidence to a man of judgment, and they scarcely merit contradiction.

      Pamphleteers are little regarded, because their character is the antidote of their poison: it is not so with the historian. The latter, however, degrades himself to a level with the pamphlet-writer when he departs from the calm dignity and impartiality required for his office, to indulge in declamation and to steep his pen in gall.

      With these feelings I arose from the perusal of the different productions of Sir Robert Wilson, which I read after the Anti-Gallican. This writer did us the greater injury, because his talents, his courage, and his numerous and brilliant services, gave him importance in the eyes of his countrymen. A circumstance which I am about to state caused the writings of Sir R. Wilson to be particularly known and spoken of on board the ship.

      Sir Robert had a son among the young midshipmen on board the Northumberland, and my son, whose similarity of age occasioned him to be much in the society of these youths, could easily observe the change which took place in their opinions with respect to us. They were at first very much prejudiced against us. When the Emperor came on board, they regarded him as an ogre ready to devour them. But on a better acquaintance with us, truth soon exercised over them the same influence which it produced on the rest of the crew. This was, however, at the expense of young Wilson, who was scouted by his companions, by way of expiation, as they said, for the stories which his father had circulated.

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       At this part of the manuscript a great number of pages are struck out; the reason was explained, on the margin, as follows:

      “I had collected numerous offensive statements from the writings of Sir Robert Wilson, to which I had perhaps replied with too much bitterness: a recent circumstance has induced me to suppress this portion of my journal.

      “Sir Robert Wilson has lately acted a conspicuous part in a cause which does honour to the hearts of all who were concerned in it: I allude to the saving of Lavalette. Being asked, before a French tribunal, whether he had not formerly published works respecting our affairs? he replied in the affirmative, and added that he had stated in them what he then believed to be true. These words are more to the purpose than any thing I could say; and I therefore hasten to cancel what I have already written; happy in thus having an opportunity to render justice to Sir Robert Wilson, on whose sincerity and good intentions I had, in my indignation, cast reflections.”19

      I therefore set aside the works of Sir Robert Wilson, and the various accusations contained in them; I also suppress the numerous refutations I had collected. I shall merely stop to consider one circumstance which has been repeated in a hundred different works; the report of which has been circulated through Europe, and has obtained credit even in France. I allude to the poisoning of the men infected with the plague at Jaffa.

      Certainly nothing can more clearly prove how easily calumny may effect its object. If the voice of slander be bold and powerful, and can command numerous echoes, no matter how far probability, reason, common sense, and truth be violated—the wished-for end is sure to be attained.

      A general, a hero, a great man, hitherto respected by fortune, as well as by mankind, at that moment riveting the attention of three quarters of the globe, commanding admiration even from his enemies, was suddenly accused of a crime declared to be unheard-of and unparalleled; of an act pronounced to be inhuman, atrocious, and cruel; and, what is above all extraordinary, he could have no possible object in committing that crime. The most absurd details, the most improbable circumstances, the most ridiculous episodes were invented, to give a colouring to this first falsehood. The story was circulated through Europe; malevolence seized it, and exaggerated its enormity; it was published in every newspaper; recorded in every book; and thenceforward was looked upon as an established fact:—indignation was at its height, and clamour universal. It would have been vain to reason, or to attempt to stem the torrent, or to shew that no proofs of the fact had been adduced, and that the story contradicted itself. It would have been vain to bring forward opposite and incontrovertible evidence—the evidence of those very medical men who were said to have administered, or to have refused to administer, the poison. It would have been vain to expose the unreasonableness of accusing of inhumanity the man who, but a short time before, had immortalized the hospitals of Jaffa by an act of the sublimest heroism; risking his own safety by solemnly touching the troops infected with the plague, to deceive and soothe the imaginations of the sick men. In vain might it have been urged that the idea of such a crime could not be affixed on him who, when consulted by the medical officers as to the expediency of burning or merely washing the clothes worn by the invalids, and being reminded of the enormous loss attendant on the former measure, replied;—“Gentlemen, I came here to fix the attention and to recal the interests of Europe to the centre of the ancient world, and not with the view of amassing wealth.” In vain would it have been shewn that there could be no object, no motive whatever, for this supposed crime. Had the French General any reason to suspect a design for corrupting his invalids and converting them into reinforcements against himself? Did he hope that this barbarous act would completely rid him of the infection? He might have effected that object equally well by leaving his invalids to be overtaken by the enemy’s troops, which would moreover have been the means of spreading the contagion among the latter. It would have been vain to shew that an unfeeling and selfish chief might have freed himself from all embarrassment by merely leaving the unfortunate men behind him: they would have been massacred, it is true; but no one would ever have thought of addressing a reproach to him.

      These and all other arguments would have been vain and useless, so powerful and infallible are the effects of falsehood and declamation when the passions of mankind are interested in their propagation. The imaginary crime was repeated by every mouth, was engraven on every heart, and to the common mass of mankind it will perhaps for ever continue a positive and incontrovertible fact.

      A circumstance which will not a little surprise those who have yet to learn how little credit is due to public report, and which will also serve to shew the errors that may creep into history, is that Marshal Bertrand, who was himself with the army in Egypt, (though certainly in a rank which did not enable him to come into immediate contact with the General-in-chief) firmly believed, up to the period of his residence at St. Helena, the story of poison having been administered to sixty invalids. The report was circulated and believed even in our army; therefore, what answer could be given to those who triumphantly asserted “It is a fact, I assure you, I have it from officers who served in the French army at the time?” Nevertheless, the whole story is false. I have collected the following facts from the highest source, from the mouth of Napoleon himself.

      1st. That the invalids in question, who were infected with the plague, amounted, according to the report made to the General-in-chief, only to seven in number.

      2nd. That it was not the General-in-chief, but a professional man, who, at the moment of the crisis,