In short, Prince Joinville was despatched from Toulon in feverish haste with the frigate Bellespoule and the corvette Favorite.  These vessels were piously fitted out to suit the august occasion.  Whatever the motives or influences, seen or unseen, that prompted the two Governments to carry out this unquestionable act of justice to the nation, to Napoleon’s family, his comrades in arms who were still living, yea, and to all the peoples of the earth who were possessed of humane instincts, yet it is pretty certain that fear of a popular rising suggested the idea, and the genius who thought of the restoration of the Emperor’s ashes as a means of subduing the gathering storm may be regarded as a public benefactor.

But be all this as it may, it is doubtful if anything so ludicrously farcical is known to history as the mortal terror of this man’s influence, living or dead.  The very name of him, animate or inanimate, made thrones rock and Ministers shiver.  Such was their terror, that the Allies, as they were called (inspired, as Napoleon believed, by the British Government—­and nothing has transpired to disprove his theory) banished him to a rock in mid-ocean, caged him up in a house overrun with rats, put him on strict allowance of rations, and guarded him with warships, a regiment of soldiers with fixed bayonets, and the uneasy spirit of Sir Hudson Lowe.

After six years of unspeakable treatment he is said to have died of cancer in the stomach.  Doubtless he did, but it is quite reasonable to suppose that the conditions under which he was placed in an unhealthy climate, together with perpetual petty irritations, brought about premature death, and it is highly probable that the malady might have been prevented altogether under different circumstances.  At any rate, he was without disease when Captain Cockburn handed him over, and for some time after.  But he knew his own mental and physical make-up; he knew that in many ways he was differently constituted from other men.  His habits of life were different, and therefore his gaolers should have been especially careful not to subject this singularly organised man to a poisonous climate and to an unheard-of system of cruelty.  Yes, and they would have been well advised had they guarded with greater humanity the fair fame of a great people, and not wantonly committed acts that have left a stigma on the British name.

Sir Walter Scott, who cannot be regarded as an impartial historian of the Napoleonic regime, does not, in his unfortunate “Life of Napoleon,” produce one single fact or argument that will exculpate the British Government of that time from having violated every humane law.  The State papers so generously put at his disposal by the English Ministry do not aid him in proving that they could not have found a more suitable place or climate for their distinguished prisoner, or that he would have died of cancer anyhow.  The object of the good Sir Walter is obvious, and the distressing thing is that this excellent man should have been used for the purpose of whitewashing the British Administration.