Walter Runciman: Nelson and Napoleon
‘Napoleon,
when at the height of his fame, was looked upon by the European Powers as a man
whose lust for conquest was a terrible menace to all constituted authority. The
oligarchies thought themselves bound to combine against him in order to reseat
the Bourbons on the throne of France and restore law and order to that
distracted country. What a travesty of the actual facts!’1
This
was the Big Lie told to generations of British children and to which most
English historians have subscribed. Baptized in this polluted historical font
they have drenched their pages with liberal drops of venom and bile -
proclaiming Napoleon to be a veritable Anti-Christ. Thus initiated, they have
continued to casually toss mistruths and misrepresentations between themselves
until they have constructed a catechism of calumny they all endorse. It is an original
sin that few contemporary historians can escape from. At its most basic it is
Orwellian: England Good - Napoleon Bad.
The truth was very different: ‘The
people of France had risen against the tyranny and oppression of the French
Kings and nobles, and out of the welter of the Revolution Napoleon rose to
power and, by his magnetic personality, welded the chaotic elements into unity,
framed laws which are still in operation, and led his country to wonderful
heights of glory.’2
Walter Runciman was born on July
6th 1847 in Dunbar, Scotland, little more than a quarter of a century after the
death of Napoleon on the island of Saint Helena. It could be said that that the
young Scotsman had salt water in his veins. In 1855 the family was visited by
three sailors over six feet three inches tall, a grandfather and two
great-uncles. These seadogs had fought at Aboukir Bay, Copenhagen and Trafalgar
and each of them had boarded Spanish and French vessels brandishing cutlasses.
How the small boy must have revelled in their tales of the death of Nelson,
storms, seamanship and derring-do. Not surprisingly young Walter soon saw
himself as a ‘powder monkey’ in the making. However, three of his mother’s
brothers had drowned at sea and her own father had been ruined by the infamous
pressgang, so she was far from happy when he left home at twelve to become an
apprentice seaman.3
In his book Drake, Nelson and Napoleon written while the First World War was
still raging in 1917,4 Runciman’s love of the sea is obvious. Of
Drake, he remarks that: ‘Having smashed his antagonist, he regarded it as plain
duty in the name of God to live on his beaten foe and seize their treasure of
gold, silver, diamonds, works of art, etc., wherever these could be laid hold
of,’5 and he says of Queen Elizabeth Ist: ‘She was never mentally
disturbed by the moral side of the great deeds that brought her vast stores of
plunder.’6 This should be borne in mind by British
writers who castigate Napoleon for seizing art treasures in Italy in 1796 on
the orders of The Directory.
Brought up to see Nelson as a
hero and Napoleon as the enemy, Runciman was surprised to find that many
British sailors had a lot of sympathy for the fallen Emperor - there were many
songs and sea shanties written about him. Nevertheless, when he purchased a
copy of Walter Scott’s Napoleon7
to while away a
long voyage, he expected his then anti-Napoleon views to be substantiated.
However, he was so struck by the one-sided nature of the biography that he came
to the conclusion that it was little more than an Establishment stitch-up. Its
dual aims were to absolve the British Government of any wrongdoing during the
so-called Napoleonic Wars and to damn Napoleon in the eyes of contemporaries
and posterity.
In regard to Nelson and Napoleon,
Runciman states in the preface of his book that: ‘It would be futile to draw a
comparison between the two men. The one was a colossal human genius, and the
other, extraordinary in the art of his profession, was entirely without the
faculty of understanding or appreciating the distinguished man he flippantly
raged at from his quarterdeck.’8
Although he admires Nelson and
sees him as a great national figure, Runciman is one of the few British
historians to point out that he was a hero with feet of clay and a very flawed
human being. In particular he describes the catastrophic effect that two women
had upon him - Queen Caroline of Naples and his real femme fatale, Emma
Hamilton. Nelson had an almost childlike need for adoration and approbation,
especially from women. When his ego was flattered he became as putty in their
hands. Their baleful influence led him to make terrible mistakes both as an
individual and as a representative of his country. He was also incredibly
self-obsessed. He might accept that the earth revolved around the sun, but he
was convinced that the universe was centred upon him personally: ‘Nelson was
always an attractive personality and by no means the type of man to allow
himself to be forgotten. He believed he was a personage with a mission on
earth, and never an opportunity was given him that did not confirm this belief
in himself.’9
To his mighty arrogance and
undoubted bravery was allied a real penchant for self-dramatizing, particularly
when it came to his own physical health. To avoid a situation he did not like
he would often plead illness, even when it was obvious to those around him that
he was not really ill at all. At times this aspect of his behaviour made him
appear a virtual hypochondriac. At the Battle of the Nile he received a head
wound that caused a piece of skin to fall over his good eye. In panic he called
out to Captain Berry: ‘I am killed, remember me to my wife.’10 Despite being reassured by
the ship’s surgeon, he was convinced that it was a mortal blow. Ever since a
gypsy had told him years before that he would die early, his mind was forever
plagued by the idea. Perhaps that is why he always seemed to be in such a rush
to meet his destiny.11
Although he momentarily lost his
head at Aboukir Bay, his victory over the French was to cost him his heart and
some might say, his very soul. For it was after this battle that Emma Hamilton
wrote a letter to him gushing with praise and hero worship. As if being made a
baron and a pension of £2,000 a year was not enough reward, he received the
undying affection of the wife of the British Ambassador to Naples.
He had met the couple in
September 1793 during a brief visit to the Kingdom. Runciman describes the
missive that came out of the blue five years later: ‘Every line of the letter
sends forth crackling sparks of fiery passion. She begins, “My dear, dear sir,”
tells him she is delirious, that she fainted and fell on her side “and am
hurt,’ when she heard the joyful news. She “would feel it a glory to die in
such a cause,” but she cannot die until she has embraced “the Victor of the
Nile.” Then she proceeds to describe the transports of Maria Caroline. “She
fainted too, cried, kissed her husband, her children, walked, frantic with
pleasure, about the room, cried, kissed and embraced everybody near her.” Then
she continues, “Oh! brave Nelson! Oh! God bless and protect our brave
deliverer! Oh! Nelson, Nelson! Oh! Victor! Oh! But my swollen heart could now
tell him personally what we owe to him.” ’12
Nelson lapped all this up like a
kitten does cream.
When his vessel the Vanguard arrived at Naples the
Ambassador’s wife virtually threw herself at him and he was a lost man. He:
‘allowed himself to be flattered with refined delicacy into a liaison which
became a fierce passion, and tested the loyalty of his closest friends to
breaking-point. How infinitely pathetic is the story from beginning to end!’13 Nelson became Emma’s toy and
she played with his emotions from then on. He could not resist her tsunami of
affection and praise and amidst it all he found himself beached on the
notoriously corrupt shores of the Kingdom of Naples and under the sway of a
Queen who would also use him at every opportunity.
So smitten was Nelson that he
even told his wife that Emma was the very best woman in the world and what an
honour it was to have her as his friend. The poor chap was in love and he had
to tell everybody about the object of his affections. In a letter to Lord St.
Vincent he spoke of his ‘angel’ and how she was his personal go-between to the
Queen. He oozes: ‘Our dear Lady Hamilton, whom to see is to admire, but to know
are to be added honour and respect; her head and heart surpass her beauty,
which cannot be equalled by anything I have seen.’14
And so the disasters began…
Emma was his intermediary with
the Court of Naples and: ‘it was on the advice of the Queen and Emma that
Naples entered into a war, the result of which was the complete defeat of the
Neapolitans.’15 As a result the King and Queen and the
whole Court had to flee to Palermo in Sicily. There, Nelson lived with Hamilton
and his wife in a ménage à trios. The love struck Nelson provided a sea-taxi
service via the Vanguard to save the
royals and their £500,000 fortune.
Nelson had a mission, one that was very personal: ‘Nelson was
a true descendant of a race of men who had never faltered in the traditional
belief that the world should be governed and dominated by the British. His
King, his country, and particularly the profession to which he belonged, were
to him the supreme authorities whose destiny it was to direct the affairs of
the universe.’16 Nelson put it succinctly in his own
words: ‘I hate your pen-and-ink men. A fleet of British warships are the best
negotiators in Europe.’17
His fellow countrymen - at least
those in power - had a similarly blinkered view of reality: ‘The British were
not only jealous and afraid of Napoleon’s genius and amazing rise to eminence…
but they determined that his power should not only be acknowledged, but
destroyed, and their policy after twenty years of bitter war was completely
accomplished.’18
There were clear similarities
between the two great contemporary British commanders by land and sea: ‘The
Duke of Wellington, of whom it is said no dose of flattery was too strong for
him to swallow,’19 only met Nelson once. While he was
waiting to see the Secretary of State at the Colonial Office in Downing Street
he was shown into a small room where he recognized the one-armed Nelson from
portraits he had seen of him. He was initially far from impressed: ‘He could
not know who I was, but he entered at once into conversation with me, if I can
call it a conversation, for it was almost all on his side and all about
himself, and in, really, a style so vain and so silly as to surprise and almost
disgust me.’ When Nelson realized he was talking to someone of equal merit he
changed his tone completely: ‘in fact, he talked like an officer and a
statesman. The Secretary of State kept us long waiting, and certainly, for the
last half or three-quarters of an hour, I don’t know that I ever had a
conversation that interested me more.’20
Wellington was not used to being
on the sidelines and he had a mighty opinion of himself. He: ‘showed it in a
cold, haughty, unimaginative, repelling self-importance; fearful of unbending
to his inferiors lest his dignity should be offended.’21 Although they both considered
themselves the bee’s knees there was also a clear difference between the two
men. Nelson believed in explaining his orders and tactics to his fellow
officers and his personal generosity and enthusiasm motivated them and filled
them with confidence.
Although he was a strict and
harsh disciplinarian where others were concerned, Nelson thought that rules and
regulations should apply to everyone but himself. At the Battle of Copenhagen
in 1801 he turned his famous ‘blind eye’ to a signal from his commanding
officer: ‘He deliberately disobeyed orders, and saved England’s honour and
fleet by doing so.’22 Furthermore, far from being hanged for
ignoring a direct order in the presence of the enemy at a time of war, he was
made a Viscount. To someone with an ego the size of Mars, this must have
convinced him that he was a man apart - someone who could pick and choose which
orders he should obey and dismiss those with which he disagreed. Similarly,
with his infatuation with Emma Hamilton, he totally ignored the social
conventions of his day. The couple flaunted their affair and Nelson even took
personal affront if there was any criticism of his behaviour.
When he was back in England Emma
Hamilton turned the house they shared with her husband into a shrine for
Nelson. On March 22nd 1802, Lord Minto described a visit he made there in a
letter to his wife:
‘I went to Lord
Nelson’s (Merton) on Saturday. The whole establishment
and way
of life makes me angry as well as melancholy… She goes on
cramming
Nelson with trowels of flattery, which he takes as quietly as a
child
does pap. The love she makes to him is ridiculous and disgusting.
The whole
house, staircase and all, are covered with pictures of her and him
of all
sorts and sizes. He is represented in naval actions, coats of arms, pieces
of plate
in his honour, the flagstaff of the L’Orient. If it was Lady Hamilton’s
house,
there might be pretence for it; but to make his own a mere looking-glass
to view
himself all day is bad taste.’23
It should come as no surprise
that George III turned his back on Nelson publicly on account of his dubious
morals. This insult from his own King affected Nelson deeply. In like manner,
when he and Emma visited the Duke of Marlborough’s estate to see the delights
of Blenheim, they were virtually ignored as if they had been mere common
interlopers, although the Duke condescendingly ordered some refreshments for
them. Nelson was left boiling with rage, affronted personally and also maddened
by the refusal of others to bend the knee to Emma - the goddess he himself
worshipped. The self-aggrandizing temple to Nelson at Merton was their
response. And these were the very privileged nobles and ‘betters’ that he would
literally die for at Trafalgar, playing his part in upholding the vicious,
corrupt and heartless hierarchy of his day.
As Runciman says: ‘There is
always some fatal weakness about a great man that lures him into littleness,
and this was an overwhelming tragedy in Nelson’s career. The approbation of men
was gratefully received and even asked for, but the adoration of women reduced
him to helplessness.’24
There was, of course, another
woman in Nelson’s life - Caroline of Naples: ‘I declare to God, my whole study
is how to best meet the approbation of the Queen.’25
He was under
Emma’s spell and Caroline’s thumb: ‘He frankly avowed that he would prefer to
resign if any distinction were to be drawn between loyalty to his rightful
sovereign and that of his Sicilian Majesty [Ferdinand], who was the faithful
ally of his King. The solemn audacity of this statement reveals a mind so far
fallen to pieces by infatuation that it has lost the power of discrimination.’26
At Palermo, Nelson became totally
wrapped up with the proceedings at Court. The capital was a gambling den and he
was warned of the consequences of his lack of discernment by his friend and
fellow British naval officer Troubridge: ‘I dread, My Lord, all the feasting
etc., at Palermo. I am sure your health will be hurt. If so, all their saints
will be damned by the navy.’27 Troubridge was based at
Naples and saw things that Nelson either did not see or chose not to notice:
‘The King would be better employed digesting a good Government; everything
gives way to their pleasures. The money spent at Palermo gives discontent here;
fifty thousand people are unemployed, trade discouraged, manufactures at a
stand. It is in the interest of many here to keep the King away; they all dread
reform.’28
Troubridge was not only concerned
about Nelson - he was a witness to the famine that was then raging in Naples.
His appeals for succour from Palermo fell on deaf ears. His direct appeal to
Nelson led to nothing. He wrote to Nelson begging him to intercede on behalf of
the unfortunate population:
‘My Lord, we
are dying off fast for want. I learn that Sir William Hamilton
says Prince Luzzi refused corn, some time ago,
and Sir William does not
think it
worth while making another application. If that be the case, I wish
he
commanded this distressing scene, instead of me. Puglia had an immense
harvest:
near thirty sail left Messina, before I did, to load corn. Will they let
us have
any? If not, a short time will decide the business. The German
interest
prevails. I wish I was at your Lordship’s elbow for an hour. All, all,
will be
thrown on you: I will parry the blow as much as in my power, I foresee
much
mischief brewing. God bless your Lordship! I am miserable, I cannot
assist
your operations more… I am not very tender-hearted, but really the
distress
here would even move a Neapolitan.’29
Troubridge wrote again soon
after:
‘I have
this day saved thirty thousand people from starvation, but with
this day my ability ceases. As the Government are bent on starving us,
I see no alternative but to leave these
poor people to perish, without our
being witnesses of the disaster. I curse
the day I ever served the Neapolitan
Govt. We have characters, My Lord, to lose; these people have none…
Girgenti
is full of corn; the money is ready to pay for it; we do not ask it
as
a gift. Oh! Could you see the horrid distress I daily experience, something
would be done.’30
But Nelson did absolutely nothing.
Troubridge goes on: ‘All I write
is known at the Queen’s. For my own part, I
look upon the Neapolitans as the worst of intriguing enemies; every hour
shows me their infamy and duplicity. I pray Your Lordship be cautious;
your honest open manner of acting will be made a handle of. When I see
you
and tell you of their infamous tricks, you will be as much surprised as
I
am. The whole will fall on you.’31
When Nelson was told that the
Court had withdrawn all restrictions on the export of corn he believed the lie
completely. Instead, he moaned to the Duke of Clarence that his ‘constant
thought was down, down with the damned French villains,’ and that his ‘blood
boiled at the name of a Frenchman.’32 Meanwhile, the Queen he
fawned upon did not care if her own people starved to death. At least her
deceased relation Marie Antoinette had spoken of cake…
Nelson’s greatest act of moral
turpitude concerned his treatment of Admiral Caracciolo. In 1798, Naples was in
coalition with England, Russia, Austria, Turkey and Portugal against the
French. The King of Naples, Ferdinand IV, urged on by his wife Queen Caroline
and Emma Hamilton, struck before his allies were ready, attacking the Roman
Republic held by the French in November. It was an utter debacle and in less
than a month Nelson had to take the fleeing monarch and his court to Palermo in
Sicily on his flagship as we have seen. The former Kingdom of Naples became the
Parthenopean Republic in January 1799. By May, the tide had turned again and
Cardinal Ruffo with his Sanfedisti peasant army along with Russian and Austrian
soldiers, recaptured Naples for Ferdinand. Only three virtually impregnable
forts remained in the hands of the French and their Neapolitan patriot allies,
and the men behind the impressive walls hoped for rescue by French and Spanish
ships.
Ruffo’s own troops were creating
havoc in the city along with the lazzaroni, peasants who took advantage of the
lawless situation to rob, murder and pillage, but an attack on the forts would
lead to an even greater loss of life. As Ferdinand’s personal representative,
Ruffo thought it wise to sign an armistice with his opponents before they could
be rescued. As Tom Holmberg remarks: ‘The treaty gave the French and the
patriots the full honors of war, with their persons and property guaranteed,
and included that the garrisons of the forts could embark freely for France.’33
The Russian and
Turkish representatives in Naples also signed, along with Captain Troubridge.
Nelson, back in Palermo was in a
belligerent mood. He despised Ruffo and wrote to Troubridge: ‘Send me word some
proper heads are taken off, this alone will comfort me.’34 He also wanted Ferdinand’s
failed generals to be tried for cowardice, and ‘if found guilty… they shall be
shot or hanged; should this be effected, I shall have some hopes that I have
done good. I ever preach that rewards and punishments are the foundation of all
good government.’35 In effect, Nelson saw himself as a one-man
judge and jury.
As dozens of small vessels called
polaccas were being readied as per the treaty to take away the republicans and
former rebels, Nelson arrived at Naples with his squadron accompanied by Emma
Hamilton and her husband, the English ambassador. Ruffo stood by his treaty and
was backed by the Russians and the Turks, stating that if Nelson didn’t agree
he could try and take the forts himself. Nelson was forced to back down and via
Hamilton stated that he was resolved to do nothing that would break the
armistice, nor would he prevent the embarkation of the rebels.
Then news came that Ferdinand and
Caroline had discussed the treaty. The Queen wrote to Emma Hamilton urging
‘Lord Nelson to treat Naples as if it were a rebellious city in Ireland.’36 Thus: ‘Men, women and
children were kept hungry, hot and disease-ravaged in the holds while their
leaders were taken off and imprisoned on the English men-of-war.’37
At this terrible
betrayal, Ruffo resigned, while Nelson wrote to his wife claiming ‘victory’
over the French: ‘Nelson came, the invincible Nelson, and they were all
preserved and again made happy.’38
Over 8,000 people were tried for
treason and dozens were executed. Lord Acton said 100 were executed, 222
condemned for life, 322 to shorter terms, 288 to deportation and 67 to exile.
As Ferdinand destroyed the official records no one knows the real figures.39
The most famous victim was Admiral Francesco Caracciolo who
had in the past fought alongside the British during the American War of
Independence, helped control the Barbary pirates, and later distinguished
himself alongside Admiral Hotham against the French at Genoa as recently as
March 14th 1795. He had gone with the Royal Family to Palermo but as a personal
friend of King Ferdinand he was allowed to return to Naples in January 1799 with
the aim of protecting his own large estates. The French had seized his land
because they saw him as a royalist. Caracciolo had to agree to command the
Neapolitan fleet in order to have his property restored. He thus subsequently had
to fight against the Royalist fleet under Admiral Thurn, a personal enemy. Hence
when the French agreed to evacuate their forces from Naples he was left in a
very invidious position. He tried to hide but was discovered and taken to HMS Foudroyant Nelson’s flagship with his
hands tied. Runciman pulls no punches when he describes what happened next:
‘Nelson committed him for trial, which commenced at ten o’clock, and at twelve
he was declared guilty. At five o’clock he was hanged at the yardarm of the
Neapolitan frigate Minerva. This poor
old man was tried solely by his enemies without being allowed to have counsel
or call witnesses.’40 Thurn presided over the proceedings but
it was Nelson who was in charge. So much for British justice.
Caracciolo had asked for a
retrial but this was denied. Nelson also refused his request to be shot rather
than hanged like a common criminal. He had also hoped that the wife of the
British Ambassador, who he knew, might intercede for him, but she was nowhere
to be seen. He had no idea that she was a party to the whole disgraceful
episode. As his lifeless body dangled from the yardarm Emma said to Nelson:
‘Come, Bronte, come, let us take the barge and have another look at
Caracciolo.’41 Nelson even refused to let the family
have his body. Instead, he was given a common sailor’s send-of - weights were
attached to his feet so that he would sink in an upright position. As Runciman
says: ‘who can read the gruesome story of the trial and hanging of the aged
Prince Caracciolo without feeling ashamed that a fellow-countryman in Nelson’s
position should have stamped his career with so dark a crime?’42 He is equally scathing about
his lover: ‘Neither did Emma Hamilton escape her just deserts for the vile part
she played in one of the most abominable crimes ever committed.’43
As if in a story by Edgar Allan
Poe, the Admiral took a post-mortem revenge. Not enough weight had been
attached to his corpse so it resurfaced and was seen by the King and the pair
of executioners from a boat, bobbing accusingly in the water. Ferdinand was
horrified and he finally gave the body a Christian burial. Emma was likewise
haunted by the event: ‘he had risen again to reproach her with the inhuman
pleasure she had taken in watching the dreadful act. Nor did her shrieking
avowal of repentance give the wretched Jezebel of a woman the assurance of
forgiveness. She sought for distractions, and found most of them in wickedness,
and passed into the presence of the Great Mystery with all her deeds of
faithlessness, deceit, and uncontrollable revenge before her eyes.’44 And this was the woman Nelson
adored and who, according to him, could do no wrong.
If Nelson assumed that by setting
such a draconian example, peace would soon return to the benighted Kingdom of
Naples, he was soon disabused of that notion: ‘No doubt Nelson thought, when he
had the poor old Prince Caracciolo hung, that he would create a new earth by
striking terror into the hearts of the Neapolitan race, but natural laws are
not worked out by methods of this kind, and Nelson had the mortification of
seeing his plan of regulating human affairs create a new and more ferocious little
hell on earth. His judgment at this time was very much warped through the evil
influence of the Court of Naples and more especially by his infatuation for
Lady Hamilton.’45
Runciman makes a telling contrast
in a footnote at the end of his book: ‘The terms of capitulation were agreed to
and signed by Ruffo, the Russian and Turkish commanders, and by Captain Foote,
representing the British Government. Thirty-six hours afterwards Nelson arrived
in the Bay of Naples, and cancelled the treaty. Captain Foote was sent away and
the shocking indefensible campaign of Nelson’s carried out. Nothing during the whole of Napoleon’s
career can match this terrible act of Nelson’s ’46
Napoleon is a colossus compared
to the diminutive British Admiral: ‘In every way he excels the Louis of France,
the Georges of Great Britain and Hanover, the Fredericks of Prussia, and the Alexanders
of Russia. The latter two he puts far in the shade, both as a statesman, a
warrior, and a wise, humane ruler who saw far into futurity, and fought against
the reactionary forces of Europe, which combined to put an end to what was
called his ambition to dominate the whole of creation.’47
When the Government in London
paid massive subsidies to their Allies to attack Napoleon - he fought back.
Wasn’t that a wicked thing to do? It was even more ‘bad form’ when he usually
licked his adversaries completely as at Austerlitz and Jena. What a bounder the
chap was!
Another point made by Runciman
was that England wasted an inordinate amount of time, effort, blood and gold in
reseating useless selfish monarchs on their thrones - Ferdinand of Naples being
a prime example: ‘No whitewasher, however brilliant and ingenious, can ever
wipe out the fatal action of the British Government in embarking on so
ill-conceived a policy as that of supporting the existence of a bloodsucking
government, composed of a miscreant ruling class headed by an ignoble king, all
living on the misery and blood of a semi-civilized population. It is a nauseous
piece of history, with which, under sagacious administration, we should never
have been connected.’48
Nelson helped perpetuate the rule
of Ferdinand and Caroline who literally let their people starve. Naples did far
better when Napoleon placed his older brother Joseph on its throne in February
1806: ‘Joseph ruled with marked moderation and distinction, sweeping away much
of the foul canker of corruption and introducing many beneficent reforms during
his two years of kingship.’49 This should be remembered
when so many partial British historians claim again and again that Napoleon and
his family were little better than the mafia or were all simply well-dressed
Corsican bandits with a love of the vendetta and bent on feuding and revenge.
Even when a very reluctant Murat
was put in charge of Naples he proved himself to be a better leader than the
useless Bourbons: ‘His reign lasted from 1808 until 1815, and was no less
distinguished than that of Joseph’s. The fall of the Napoleonic regime was
followed by the fall of Murat, and the despicable and treacherous Ferdinand
became again the king, and brought back with him the same tyrannical habits
that had made his precious rule so disastrous to the kingdom and himself.’50
During all the sad and sorry saga
of Nelson and Emma, our foremost sailor had made himself a laughing stock. The
tolerance of his superior Admiral Keith was stretched to breaking point. Nelson
had repeatedly disobeyed orders so that he could remain at the Court with the
Queen and Emma. In a letter to her sister from Florence, Lady Minto wrote that
Lord Keith had told Caroline that: ‘Lady Hamilton had had command of the fleet
long enough,’ remarking of Nelson: ‘His zeal for the public service seems
entirely lost in his love and vanity, and they all sit and flatter each other
all day long.’51
However, the real blame lies with
the politicians in London who supported such corrupt and reactionary rulers:
‘The benighted policy of keeping in power a mawkish Sicilian Court, saturated
with the incurable vices of cowardice, falsehood, dishonesty, and treachery,
failed; and the Government of the day was saddled with the crime of squandering
human life, wealth, and energy without receiving any commensurate return.’52
The whole attitude of the British
ruling class and government towards Napoleon and the French was rank with
self-justification and hypocrisy: ‘We had no real grounds of quarrel with
France nor with her rulers. The Revolution was their affair, and was no concern
of ours, except in so far as it might harmfully reflect on us, and of this
there was no likelihood if we left them alone. The plea of taking the balance
of power under our benevolent care was a sickly exhibition of statesmanship,
and the assumption of electing ourselves guardians of the rights of small
nations mere cant. It was, in fact, the canker of jealousy and hatred on the
part of the reactionary forces against a man, a principle, and a people.’53 Runciman adds: ‘Had we
approached Napoleon in a friendly spirit and on equal terms, without haughty
condescension, he would have reciprocated our cordiality and put proper value
on our friendship.’54
He is absolutely frank when he
turns to the leadership of Britain and the antics of politicians like Pitt,
Castlereagh, Canning and their ilk: ‘we helped to impose on Europe twenty years
of slaughter and devastation. Our dismal, plutocratic rulers, with solemn
enthusiasm, plunged England with all her power and influence on the side of
Prussia and her continental allies, and, in conjunction with the Holy Alliance,
pledged themselves never to lay down arms until France was mutilated and the
master-mind which ruled her beaten and dethroned.’55 He also thought their baleful
influence was responsible for the First World War: ‘Their task was long,
costly, and gruesome. What a ghastly legacy those aggressively righteous
champions of international rights have bequeathed to the world! But for their
folly and frenzy we should not be engaged in a European was to-day.’(1917)56
With another castigating
reference to Naples and the consequences of our involvement, he says: ‘History
is not altogether faithful to the truth in its honeyed records of the
ministerial pashas who tranquilly increased the national debt, inflicted
unspeakable horrors on the population, and smirched our dignity by entering
into a costly bond of brotherhood with an inveterate swarm of hired bloodsucking
weasels.’57
I think it fair to say that
Runciman was not impressed.
When Nelson received his mortal
wound on the Victory on October 21st
1805 at Trafalgar he asked Hardy for the famous kiss and told him to give ‘dear
Lady Hamilton his hair and other belongings,’ and asked that his ‘body should
not be thrown overboard.’ Just before he died he told Doctor Scott that ‘he had
not been a great sinner.’58 All this contrasts very badly
with his cruel treatment of Caracciolo whose family was denied the very corpse that
Nelson dumped into the sea without a qualm. It was murder most foul. But then,
the self-appointed elite in British society and the officers in the British
Navy were utterly convinced that God was on their side.
Collingwood’s General Order of October 22nd written on the Eurylus off Cape Trafalgar stated that:
‘The Almighty
God, whose arm is strength, having of his great
mercy been pleased to crown the exertions of his Majesty’s fleet
with success, in giving them a complete victory over their enemies,
on
the 21st of this month; and that all praise and thanksgiving may
be
offered up to the throne of grace, for the great benefit to our
country and to mankind, I have thought it proper that a day should
be
appointed of general humiliation before God, and thanksgiving for
his
merciful goodness, imploring forgiveness of sins, a continuation
of
his divine mercy, and his constant aid to us, in defence of our
country’s liberties and laws, and without which the utmost efforts
of
man are nought; and therefore that [blank] be appointed for this
holy purpose.’59
The British state was extremely
generous to the memory of its dead hero. Nelson’s widow was given £2,000 a year
for life; his brother was made an earl and given £6,000 a year; £15,000 was
given to each of his sisters and £100,000 provided to enable an estate to go
with the title.60 These colossal sums contrast with the
terrible conditions that the ordinary people had to cope with as a result of
the British Government’s wars against Napoleon. The ‘liberties and laws’ that
Collingwood spoke of were of precious little use to them.
Of Collingwood, Runciman says: ‘I
have already drawn attention to Nelson’s blind prejudice to and hatred of the
French. Collingwood was tainted with the same one-sided views, but tempered
them with more conventional language.’61 Pleased by a letter from his
daughter written in French, Collingwood ‘exhorts the mother to see that she
converses when she can in that language, and to remember that she is never to
admire anything French but the language… “that it is the only thing French that
she needs to acquire, because there is little else in connection with that
country which he would wish her to love or imitate.” ’62
Surprisingly, Collingwood did
have a few words of backhanded praise for his enemy Admiral Villeneuve: ‘he was
a well-bred man, and a good officer, who had nothing of the offensive
vapourings and boastings in his manner which were, perhaps too commonly
attributed to the Frenchmen.’63
Of Nelson and Collingwood,
Runciman adds: ‘Neither of them knew the character or purpose of the exalted
man on whom their Government was making war. Like simple-minded, brave sailors
as they were, knowing nothing of the mysteries of political jealousies and
intrigue, and believing that the men constituting the Government must be of
high mental and administrative ability, they assumed that they were carrying
out a flawless patriotic duty, never doubting the wisdom of it…’64
Although Collingwood’s ‘naval
qualities were quite equal to Nelson’s,’65 and he played a vital part at
Trafalgar, he did not get the same reward. He wanted his title to go to his
daughters because he did not have any sons. In a letter to Mr. Blackett he
says: ‘I was exceedingly displeased at some of the language held in the House
of Commons on the settlement of the pension upon my daughters; it was not of my
asking, and if I had a favour to ask, money would be the last thing I would beg
from an impoverished country. I am
not a Jew, whose god is gold; nor a Swiss, whose services are to be counted
against so much money. I have motives for my conduct which I would not give in
exchange for a hundred pensions.’66 The prejudices and
stereotypes of his day are obvious. Napoleon’s greatness is exemplified by the
fact that he could see such attitudes in his own contemporaries yet he still
gave Jews equal rights throughout his Empire.
Turning to the fate of Villeneuve
himself there has long been controversy. In his book The Savage Storm the author David Andress makes a claim that Napoleon
had him murdered. He gives no footnote and no source whatsoever for this
assertion: ‘Captured in battle, Pierre-Charles Villeneuve was exchanged back to
France in early 1806, and discovered, dead, in a Rennes hotel room that April.
A total of seven stab wounds to his chest made the official announcement of
suicide a subject of much grim humour in the British Press.’67 The Savage Storm is one of the most one-side books ever written and
the prolonged diatribe proves that the author had made up his mind long before
he put pen to paper. He admits in the preface that: ‘I do not like the Emperor
Napoleon,’68 - only Esdaile’s The Wars of Napoleon exceeds it in terms of sheer partiality.69
Let us turn to what Walter Runciman
has to say on the matter, he who spent many long hours in the British Archives
and gives detailed references for every statement that he makes: ‘There is not
the remotest foundation for the unworthy report that was spread that he was put
to death by Napoleon’s orders. The Emperor was too big a man, occupied with
human projects too vast, to waste a moment’s thought or to stain his name over
an unfortunate admiral who had brought his fleet to grief by acting against his
instructions. It is only little men who write, not that which is founded on
fact but that which they imagine will appeal to the popular taste of the
moment; and so it was with the French Emperor; a lot of scandal-mongers were
always at work hawking hither and thither their poisonous fabrications.’70
The Savage Storm vanishes in a puff of
wind - it amounts to little more.
Napoleon never once responded in
kind to the many attempts of Pitt and select members of the British Cabinet to
assassinate him. He forgave, dismissed or ignored the dozens of traitorous acts
of political sharks like Talleyrand and Fouché. To think that he would stoop to
crush a minnow like Villeneuve is ridiculous. This is what Napoleon said to Dr.
O’Meara on Saint Helena:
‘Villeneuve when taken prisoner
and brought to England, was so much grieved at his defeat, that he studied
anatomy on purpose to destroy himself. For this purpose he bought some
anatomical plates of the heart, and compared them with his own body, in order
to ascertain the exact situation of that organ. On his arrival in France I ordered
that he should remain at Rennes, and not proceed to Paris. Villeneuve, afraid
of being tried by a court-martial for disobedience of orders, and consequently
losing the fleet, for I had ordered him
not to sail or to engage the English, determined to destroy himself, and
accordingly took his plates of the heart, and compared them with his breast.
Exactly in the centre of the plate he made a mark with a large pin, then fixed
the pin as near as he could judge in the same spot in his own breast, shoved it
in to the head, penetrated his heart and expired. When the room was opened he
was found dead; the pin in his breast and a mark in the plate corresponding
with the own in his breast. He need not have done it, as he was a brave man,
though possessed of no talent.’71
Runciman is forthright in his
defence of Napoleon: ‘I have given this communication in full as it appears in
O’Meara’s book, because the scribes would have it that Villeneuve was destroyed
by the Emperor’s orders. There was not at the time, nor has there ever appeared
since, anything to justify such a calumny on a man who challenged the world to
make the charge and prove that he had ever committed a crime during the whole
of his public career.’72 He makes another telling
point about Napoleon and his acts of magnanimity: ‘It is more likely that
Napoleon wished to save him from the consequences of a court-martial, so
ordered him to remain at Rennes. He rarely punished offenders according to
their offences. After the first flush of anger was over, they were generally
let down easily, and for the most part became traitors afterwards.’73
If he could
forgive Talleyrand and Fouché - he could forgive anybody!
British writers who condemn
Napoleon for his supposed treatment of Villeneuve forget that Admiral Sir John
Byng was court-martialled and shot after an engagement with the French off
Minorca on May 20th 1756 for a mere error of judgment, while Admiral Sir Robert
Calder who was victorious at Finisterre against the French, was
court-martialled and ruined because the victory was deemed not great enough!
For his repeated disregard of orders and abandoning his post during a time of
war, Nelson might have suffered the same fate had he not been so victorious at
Aboukir Bay and Trafalgar and perhaps, even more, been such a favourite with
the British public. So Collingwood’s remark about ‘our countries liberties and
laws’ can be taken with a large pinch of sea salt. If this was how the British
Establishment treated its admirals - God help ordinary members of the public.74
Another ‘crime’ often thrown in
Napoleon’s face is the execution of the Duc d’Enghien: ‘it was murder for
Napoleon or some of his ministers to have the Duc d’Enghien shot for having
conspired with others for the overthrow of the established French Government,
but it is the saintly enforcement of discipline to have a British admiral shot
and another ruined for no other reason than an error of judgment on the one
hand and an insufficient victory on the other. Sir Robert Calder’s heart was
broken by cruelty.’75
In his The Duke of Enghien Affair: A Plot Against Napoleon,76 General Michel Franceschi
says:
‘Nearly all the historical
literature characterizes this unfortunate affair as a bloody stain on
Napoleon’s memory. A historically correct, single way of thinking became the
norm.
But anyone who looks into
the event with a minimum of objectivity quickly realizes that Napoleon is the
victim of serious defamation and History of a crude manipulation.’77
Indeed, d’Enghien ‘was found guilty of:
1) Bearing arms against the French
Republic.
2) Offering his services to the
government of England, the enemy of France.
3) Receiving and accrediting
agents of the English government, procuring the means for them to gather
intelligence in France and conspiring with them against the interior and
exterior security of the State.
4) Leading a group of émigrés and
others, in the pay of England, on the border with France in Freiburg and
Bad-Wuttemberg.
5) Gathering intelligence in
Strasbourg and attempting to foment an uprising in the surrounding departments
to create a diversion favorable to England.
6) Being one of the ringleaders
and accomplices of the conspiracy hatched by the English against the life of
the First Consul and, in the event of the conspiracy’s success, bringing about
the invasion of France.’78
He was an accomplice in the
infamous Cadoudal plot and was ordered shot by Savary before Napoleon had the
chance to offer the criminal a pardon: ‘Napoleon was dumbfounded when he heard
about the execution. Suddenly aware of the extreme seriousness of this hasty
conclusion, the First Consul felt the earth move beneath his feet. He was
staggered. Due to a horrible combination of circumstances, a dreadful political
mistake had just been made against his will. The precious possibility of a
pardon had just evaporated.’79
Throughout his time
as ruler of France Napoleon faced the bitter opposition of all the so-called legitimate rulers. They would never
forgive him for being the usurper:
‘He was an interloper who had nothing in common with the galaxy of monarchs who
ruled Europe at that time.’80 Furthermore: ‘It
was a period of wild, uncontrollable passion, and the survivors of the old
aristocracy hated the man of genius who had risen to power from the ranks of
the people to take the place of the Bourbons. This was the canker that
stimulated their enmity.’81 The vilest
things were said and written about him because he was ‘not one of us’. Hence
the death of d’Enghien was portrayed as the most wicked crime since the
crucifixion. The privileged elites of Europe: ‘sedulously nursed the Press,
published books and pamphlets in every language, and employed the most poisoned
pen that could be bought to portray the future ruler of kings in terms of obloquy.’82
Runciman points to
the reams written about the death of d’Enghien in contrast to how little has
been said about Nelson’s actions in Naples. However: ‘Fox made a speech on it
in the House of Commons which was, and will ever continue to be, an awful
indictment. There is nothing in the French Revolution, or in the whole of
Napoleon’s career, than can be compared with it for ferocity… There cannot be
found a more astonishing revelation of perfidy or inhuman violence in the
archives of Europe than that related by Mr. Fox.’83
Fox says:
‘When the right honourable gentleman speaks of the last campaign,
he does not mention the
horrors by which some of these successes
were accompanied;
Naples, for instance, has been, among others
(what is called)
delivered; and yet, if I am rightly informed, it has
been stained and
polluted by murders so ferocious, and cruelties so
abhorrent, that the
heart shudders at the recital… They made terms
… under the sanction of
the British name. It was agreed that their
persons and property should be safe, and that they should be conveyed
to Toulon. They were accordingly put on board a vessel, but before
they sailed, their property was confiscated, numbers of them taken
out, thrown into dungeons, and some of them, I understand, notwith-
standing the British guarantee, absolutely executed.’84
Here was an English
politician condemning the actions of his own countryman yet it is never
mentioned now in English history books of the period. By castigating Napoleon
and accusing him of every crime under the sun, the British Establishment tried
to hide their own violations of international law and common decency: ‘So much
for the vaunted fairness and impartiality of our treatment of Napoleon!’85
Runciman also
portrays a Napoleon we seldom see described in the biased and partial works of
nationalistic historians today: ‘It is only when we come to study the life of
this man that we realize how he towered above all his contemporaries in
thought, word, and deed. Napoleon’s authentic doings and sayings are wonderful
in their vast comprehensiveness and sparkling vision, combined with flawless
wisdom. When we speak or think of him, it is generally of his military genius
and achievements and of what we term his “gigantic ambition”; and in this latter
conclusion the platitudinarians, with an air of originality, languidly affirm
that this was the cause of his ruin, the grandeur of which we do not
understand. But never a word is said or thought of our own terrible tragedies,
nor of the victories we were compelled to buy in order to secure his downfall.
His great gifts as lawgiver and statesman are little known or spoken of.’86
Runciman then gives
the opinions of two men who actually met Napoleon, the Swiss historian Mueller
and the writer Wieland. Mueller said: ‘Quite impartially and truly, as before
God, I must say that the variety of his knowledge, the acuteness of his
observations, the solidity of his understanding (not dazzling wit), his grand
and comprehensive views, filled me with astonishment, and his manner of
speaking to me with love for him. By his genius and disinterested goodness, he
has also conquered me.’87 The German
Wieland actually spoke to Napoleon on the battlefield of Jena so he was hardly
likely to be impressed yet he said: ‘I have never beheld any one more calm,
more simple, more mild or less ostentatious in appearance; nothing about him
indicated the feeling of power in a great monarch.’ Napoleon spoke to him for
an hour and a half, ‘to the great surprise of the whole assembly.’88
Yet what does Pitt say in
a scrap of manuscript found amongst his papers: ‘I see various and opposite
qualities - all the great and all the little passions unfavourable to public
tranquillity united in the breast of one man, and of that man, unhappily, whose
personal caprice can scarce fluctuate for an hour without affecting the destiny
of Europe. I see the inward workings of fear struggling with pride in an
ardent, enterprising, and tumultuous mind. I see all the captious jealousy of
conscious usurpation, dreaded, detested, and obeyed, the giddiness and
intoxication of splendid but unmerited success, the arrogance, the presumption,
the selfwill of unlimited and idolized power, ad more dreadful than all in the
plenitude of authority, the restless and incessant activity of guilt, but
unsated ambition.’89
Pitt never met Napoleon and as a consequence he talks utter
rot, gushing forth with childish inchoate ramblings that just demonstrate the
feebleness of his own bigoted tiny mind. One wonders how many bottles of port
he got through before he consigned his insane scribble to paper. As Runciman
says: ‘This scrap of mere phrases indicates a mind that was far beneath the
calibre of a real statesman. It was a terrible fate for Great Britain to have
at the head of the Government a man whose public life was a perpetual danger to
the state. Had Pitt been the genius his eloquence led his contemporaries to
believe he was, he would have availed himself of the opportunities the Great
Figure, who was making the world rock with his genius, afforded the British
Government from time to time of making peace on equitable terms.’90
Pitt had no vision
just a blinkered enmity for everything that Napoleon stood for: ‘The “usurper”
must be subdued by force of arms, the squandering of British wealth, and the
sanguinary sacrifice of human lives… Had Pitt been talented in matters of
international diplomacy, as he was in other affairs of Government, he would
have seized the opportunity of making the Peace of Amiens universal and durable.
It is futile to contend that Napoleon was irreconcilable. His great ambition
was to form a concrete friendship with our Government, which he foresaw could
be fashioned into a continental arrangement…’91 After all without British gold there could have been no battles and no
war.
The events of 1789,
The Terror, and especially the execution of Louis XVI, haunted the British
Establishment and their fear of similar upheavals at home never left them: ‘The
ruling classes were seized with alarm lest the spirit of the French Revolution
would become popular in this country, and that not only their possessions might
be confiscated, but that their lives would be in peril if the doctrines he
stood for were to take hold of the public imagination. They were afraid, as
they are now (1917), of the despotism of democracy, and so they kept the
conflict raging for over twenty years.’92
Their stubborn
rejection of change and reform blighted the lives of their own people and
millions of others living on the continent. Even when Napoleon returned to
Paris to popular acclaim in 1814 and without a drop of blood being spilt, Britain
and her allies did not flinch from resuming their own blatant war-mongering
policies. Even worse they decided to make war on Napoleon personally - something utterly unprecedented. They claimed that
only he was the disturber of the peace. In fact, the opposite was the truth:
‘It was they who were the disturbers of the peace, and especially Great
Britain, who headed the Coalition which was to drench the continent with human
blood. Napoleon offered to negotiate, and never was there a more humane
opportunity given to the nations to settle their affairs in a way that would
have assured a lasting peace, but here again the ruling classes, with their
usual impudent assumption of power to use the populations for the purpose of
killing each other and creating unspeakable suffering in all the hideous phases
of warfare, refused to negotiate…’93
Very few English
history books mention the fact that in 1805 Napoleon wrote a very measured and
friendly letter to George III when he assumed Imperial power asking for peace.
He did his very best to avert the cataclysm that he foresaw if no one did
anything to avoid future conflict:
‘Sir and Brother,
Called to the throne of France by
Providence, and the suffrages of the
Senate, the people, and the Army, my
first sentiment is a wish for peace.
France and England abuse their prosperity. They may contend for ages,
but do their Governments well fulfil the most sacred of their duties,
and
will not so much blood shed uselessly, and without a view to any end,
condemn them in their own consciences? I consider it no disgrace to
adopt the first step. I have, I hope, sufficiently proved to the world
that
I fear none of the chances of war, which presents nothing I have need to
fear; peace is the wish of my
heart, but war has never been inconsistent
with my glory. I conjure your Majesty not to deny yourself the happiness
of giving peace to the world, or leave the sweet satisfaction to your
children; for certainly there never was a more fortunate opportunity nor
a moment more favourable than the present, to silence all the passions
and listen only to the sentiments of humanity and reason. This moment
once lost, what bounds can be ascribed to a war which all my efforts
will
not be able to terminate. Your
Majesty has gained more in ten years, both
in
territory and riches, than the whole extent of Europe. Your nation is
at
the highest point of prosperity, what can it hope from war? To form a
coalition with some Powers on the Continent? The Continent will remain
tranquil; a coalition can only increase the preponderance and
continental
greatness of France. To renew intestine troubles? The times are no
longer
the same. To destroy our finances? Finances founded on a flourishing
agriculture can never be destroyed. To wrest from France her colonies?
The colonies are to France only a secondary object; and does not your
Majesty already possess more than you know how to preserve? If your
Majesty would but reflect, you must perceive that the war is without an
Object; or any presumable result to yourself. Alas! What a melancholy
Prospect; to fight merely for the sake of fighting. The world is
sufficiently
wide for our two nations to live in, and reason sufficiently powerful to
discover the means of reconciling everything, when a wish for
reconciliation
exists on both sides. I have however, fulfilled a sacred duty, and one
that
is precious to my heart.
I trust your Majesty will believe the sincerity of my sentiments, and my
wish to give you every proof of the same, etc, Napoleon.’94
No wonder that
Runciman adds: ‘This letter indicates the mind and heart of a great statesman…
We do not find a single instance of Pitt or Castlereagh expressing an idea
worthy of statesmanship. What did either of these men ever do to uplift the
higher phases of humanity by grappling with the problem that had been brought
into being by the French Revolution.’95
Runciman believes
that had Fox been in charge, the whole political situation would have changed
for the better especially for the poor who had to deal on a daily basis with
hunger, unemployment and hardship. As it was, the ruling families did not give
a damn about their social and political inferiors and just wanted to keep them
in their place: ‘Our people as a whole (but especially the poorer classes) were
treated in a manner akin to barbarism, while their rulers invoked them to bear
like patriots the suffering they had bestowed upon them.’96 And for what: ‘We made war on the French without any
real justification, and stained our high sense of justice by driving them to a
frenzy, we bought soldiers and sailors to fight them from impecunious German
and Hanoverian princes. We subsidized Russia, Prussia, Austria, Portugal,
Spain, and that cesspool Naples, at the expense of the starvation of the
poorest classes in our own country.’97 Why isn’t all
this in English history text books?
It was also a collective
disaster for the ‘allies’. Urged on by the British Government to declare war on
Napoleon, or, indeed to attack him without declaring war - as they had a habit
of doing themselves - they lost thousands of men in unnecessary battles like
Austerlitz and Jena that simply confirmed Napoleon’s military genius: ‘It is
all moonshine to say that he broke the friendship. The power of Russia,
Prussia, and Austria were hopelessly wrecked more than once, and on each
occasion they intrigued him into war again, and then they threw themselves at
his feet, grovelling supplicants for mercy, which he never withheld.’98 What a despicable bunch they all were, Pitt Canning,
Castlereagh, and George III on our side and the pathetic rulers of backward
European countries like Alexander, Frederick-William, Francis and their creatures
like Metternich. And then there were the twin traitors Talleyrand and Fouché - both
evil incarnate - who stabbed Napoleon in the back. Yet he still forgave them
time after time as he did the cringing kings. No wonder that in 1814 he said to
Caulaincourt his ambassador: ‘These people will not treat; the position is
reversed; they have forgotten my conduct to them at Tilsit. Then I could have
crushed them; my clemency was simple folly.’99 And he was
right.
The truth of what happened
during those momentous years is the exact opposite of the lies and mistruths
repeated by lazy and bigoted ‘historians’. Napoleon: ‘In spite of what biassed
writers have thought it their duty to say of him, was an unparalleled
warrior-statesman, and his motives and actions were all on the side of God’s
humanity and good government. From the time he was found and made the head of
the French nation, he was always obliged to be on the defensive, and, as he stated,
never once declared war. The continental Great Powers always made war on him…
You may search English state papers in any musty hole you like, and you will
find no authoritative record that comes within miles of justifying the opinions
or the charges that have been stated or written against him.’100
Time after time,
when people, even his enemies, met him in the flesh, they were forced to change
their opinion of him: ‘The mind of this remarkable man was a palatial
storehouse of wise, impressive inspirations. Here is one of countless instances
where a prejudiced adversary bears testimony to his power and wisdom. A few
republican officers sought and were granted an audience, and the following is a
frank admission of their own impotence and Napoleon’s greatness: “I do not
know,” their spokesman says, “from whence or from whom he derives it, but there
is a charm about that man indescribable and irresistible. I am no admirer of
his.” ’101 Runciman also says:
‘I might give thousands of testimonies, showing the great power this superman
had over other minds, from the highest monarchical potentate to the humblest of
his subjects.’102
And what did we
have? George III… Fox said of him: ‘It is intolerable to think that it should
be in the power of one blockhead to do so much mischief.’103 Fox was treated with nothing less than adoration when
he went to Paris in 1802. It is highly probably that had Fox had his way there
would have been peace between England and France: ‘Had Fox been supported by
sufficient strong men to counteract the baneful influence of the weeds who were
a constant peril to the country over whose destinies George III and they ruled,
we should have been saved the ghastly errors that were committed in the name of
the British people.’104
The terrible and
totally unjustified attack on Copenhagen in 1807 was one of the dire results of
government by utterly inept politicians. It was Canning’s idea to divest the
country of its fleet. Again - no declaration of war - made worse by the fact
that Denmark was a neutral country. British bullyboy tactics were very much in
evidence, and not for the first or last time. It certainly did not impress the
Tsar of Russia: ‘The outrage of attacking a small State which was at peace and
with which she had no quarrel was powerfully denounced by Alexander. He accused
the British Government “of a monstrous violation of straight dealing, by
ruining Denmark in the Baltic, which it knew was closed to foreign hostilities
under a Russian guarantee.” ’105
Oh dear - another fine
mess we had got ourselves into…
The Tsar was further
angered by the fact that the British had repeatedly said they did not have the
soldiers to attack Napoleon on the mainland: ‘This bad statesmanship was
deplorable. It set the spirit of butchery raging. It made a new enemy for
ourselves, and in an economic sense added hundreds of thousands to our national
debt, without deriving a vestige of benefit from either a military or political
point of view. It undoubtedly prolonged the war, as all those squint-eyed
enterprises are certain to do. It made us unpopular and mistrusted, and had no
effect in damaging Napoleon’s activities, not of taking a single ally from
him.”106 And not surprisingly at Tilsit,
having had more than enough of perfidious Albion, Alexander made peace with
Napoleon.
Canning found
himself in the proverbial hot water: ‘Canning, like all tricksters, read
extracts from documents, authentic and otherwise, to prove that Denmark was
hostile to Britain, but when a demand was made for their inspection, he
impudently refused to allow the very documents he had based his case of
justification on to be scrutinized, and in consequence no other conclusion could
be arrived at than that he was unscrupulously misleading the country.’107 Ah yes, another example of British justice and fair
play. His fellow politicians looked down on Canning because his mother was an
actress and
he was not of noble birth. With his attack on Copenhagen he showed just how low
he could go.
Similarly the British
blue bloods looked down their noses at Napoleon the ‘usurper’. As Fox asked,
why were they: ‘making such a fuss about acknowledging the new Emperor. May not
the people give their own Magistrate the name they choose?’ And he added: ‘On
what logical grounds did we claim the right to revoke by force of arms the
selection by the French people of a ruler on whom they wished to bestow the
title of Emperor?’108 Yet mad King
George would have none of it: ‘George III raged at Pitt for including Fox in
his ministry when he was asked to form a Government. “Does Mr. Pitt not know
that Mr. Fox was of all persons most offensive to him? Had not Fox always
cheered the popular Government of France, and had he not always advocated peace
with bloodstained rebels? And be it remembered the indecorous language he had
frequently used against his sovereign, and consider his influence over the
Prince of Wales. Bring who you like, Mr. Pitt, but Fox never.’109
The aristocrats of
Europe blamed Napoleon personally for the French Revolution and its
consequences as if it was all his doing. Such perverted intellectual gymnastics
still goes on today - more the product of abject ignorance than anything else.
In my own hometown of Grimsby, Lincolnshire, England an exhibition about French
prisoners of war at the local Heritage Centre began by stating that Napoleon
had executed Louis XVI!110 Such crass and
infantile errors can be avoided by a ten second search on Google, but such are
the fixed mental errors and prejudices that many people cannot be bothered to
check their ‘facts’ or maybe they are simply bent on perpetuating lies and
information they themselves have been spoon fed from birth. George III
inferring that Napoleon was a ‘bloodstained rebel’ is also fatuous - it is so
obviously not true: ‘To class Napoleon as a bloodstained rebel and to put him
on a level with the Robespierres and Dantons is an historic outrage of the
truth. He had nothing whatsoever to do with bringing about the Revolution,
though his services saved it, and out of the terrible tumult and wreck
superhumanly re-created France and made her the envy of the modern world… In
1805 he was raised to the Imperial dignity, and one of his first acts was to
write with his own hand that famous letter… pleading, with majestic dignity,
for the King of England, in the name of humanity, to co-operate with him in a
way that will bring about friendly relations between the two Governments and
the spilling of blood to an end. The King “by the grace of God” and his horde
of bloodsucking, incompetent ministers insulted the French nation and the great
captain who ruled over its destinies by sending through Lord Mulgrave an
insolent, hypocritical reply to the French ministers.’111
Time and again
England forced war upon Napoleon and professed the exact opposite intentions -
blaming him for everything. What a bunch of liars and cheats the British
Cabinet contained. Pitt was indeed ‘the pits’ as the late Ben Weider once said
to me: ‘The rage of war continued for another decade. If George III yearned for
peace as he and his ministers pretended, why did the King not write a courteous
autography letter back to Napoleon, even though he regarded him as an inferior
and a mere military adventurer? The nation had to pay a heavy toll in blood and
money in order that the assumptions and dignity of this insensate monarch might
be maintained, whose abhorrence of “bloodstained rebels” did not prevent him
and his equally insensate advisers from plunging the American colonists into a
bloody rebellion, which ended so gloriously for them and so disastrously for
the motherland.’112
Whatever was
touched by the gracious and royal hand of mad King George crumbled to dust and
ashes. As Runciman says quite tellingly: ‘even in his saner periods his acts
were frequently those of an idiot.’113 And this gibbering
creature is the national figurehead and a hero of biased British historians who
try to claim that Britannia’s cause was just and righteous when in actually she
was a whore to justice and the truth. And her trident was imbued with the blood
of countless thousands who died in her name.
© John Tarttelin
2017 (M.A. History)
A Souladream
Production
Notes
1. Runciman
Walter Drake, Nelson and Napoleon (London:
T. Fisher Unwin, 1919) 121 ( Project
Gutenberg ebook when printed off on A4.)
2. Ibid. 121
4. The book was published in 1919 just
after World War One ended.
5. Runciman Ibid. 7
6. Ibid. 12
7. Scott Walter Napoleon (1827)
8. Runciman Ibid. 3
9. Ibid. 24
10. Ibid. 25
11. Ibid. 46 As a young man he had a reading done and the gypsy
said: ‘I can see no further than
1805.’
12. Ibid. 29-30
13. Ibid. 30
14. Ibid. 30
15. Ibid. 30-31
16. Ibid. 26
17. Ibid. 35
18. Ibid. 27
19. Ibid. 46
20. Ibid. 46
21. Ibid. 47
22. Ibid. 36.
23. Ibid. 41
24. Ibid. 58
25. Ibid. 60
26. Ibid. 60
27. Ibid. 61
28. Ibid. 61
29. Ibid. 62
30. Ibid. 62
31. Ibid. 62
32. Ibid. 62
33. Holmberg Tom Nelson’s
Honor article (1998)
34. Ibid. 1
35. Ibid. 1
36. Ibid 2
37. Ibid. 2
38. Ibid. 2
39. Ibid. 2
40. Runciman Ibid. 48 Runciman spelt the name Carraciolli. I have
used Caracciolo throughout.
41. Ibid. 48
42. Ibid. 47-48
43. Ibid. 48
44. Ibid. 48
45. Ibid. 49
46. Ibid. 146 My italics
47. Ibid. 53-54
48. Ibid. 59
49. Ibid. 58
50. Ibid. 59
51. Ibid. 66
52. Ibid. 66-67
53. Ibid. 67
54. Ibid. 67
55. Ibid. 67
56. Ibid. 67
57. Ibid. 58
58. Ibid. 101
59. Ibid. 105-106
60. Ibid. 109.
61. Ibid. 110
62. Ibid. 110
63. Ibid. 111
64. Ibid. 111-112
65. Ibid. 112
66. Ibid. 112 My italics
67. Andress David The
Savage Storm (London: Little Brown, 2012)
68. Ibid. Preface xiv
69. Esdaile Charles Napoleon’s
Wars (New York: Penguin Books, 2007)
70. Runciman Ibid. 113
71. Ibid. 113 My italics
72. Ibid. 113
73. Ibid. 114
74. Ibid. 114
75. Ibid. 114
76. Franceschi General Michel The
Duke of Enghien Affair: A Plot Against Napoleon (Translated by
Glenn
Naumovitz, International Napoleonic Society, 2005)
77. Ibid. 5
78. Ibid. 21-22
79. Ibid. 25
80. Runciman Ibid. 122
81. Ibid. 122
82. Ibid. 122
83. Ibid. 123-124
84. Ibid. 124
85. Ibid. 125
86. Ibid. 126
87. Ibid. 126
88. Ibid. 126
89. Ibid. 127
90. Ibid. 127
91. Ibid. 127
92. Ibid. 129
93. Ibid. 129
94. Ibid. 130 My italics throughout
95. Ibid. 131
96. Ibid. 134
97. Ibid. 134
98. Ibid. 136
99. Ibid. 136
100. Ibid. 138
101. Ibid. 139
102. Ibid. 139
103. Ibid. 140
104. Ibid. 140
105. Ibid. 142
106. Ibid. 142
107. Ibid. 143
108. Ibid. 144
109. Ibid. 144
110. Grimsby Heritage Centre, Lincolnshire, England,
UK. The main French prisoners exhibition was
very good.
111. Runciman Ibid. 144
112. Ibid. 144
113. Ibid. 145
Bibliography
Andress David The Savage Storm (London: Little Brown,
2012)
Esdaile Charles Napoleon’s Wars (New York: Penguin Books
2007)
Franceschi General
Michel The Duke Of Enghien Affair: A Plot
Against Napoleon International
Napoleonic Society
publication 2005
Holmberg Tom Nelson’s Honor 1998
Runciman Walter Drake, Nelson and Napoleon (London: T.
Fisher Unwin, 1919)
