NAPOLEON, ACCORDING TO DUMAS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIV, Issue XV, 13 April 1895, Page 344

NAPOLEON, ACCORDING TO DUMAS.

In his life of Alexandre-Dumas, Percy Fitzgerald tells us that Harel, the manager of the Odeon, asked him to write a play on the career of Napoleon. This was in 1830, and in 1831 the play was still untouched. Then Harel, as a last resource, furnished an apartment in handsome fashion, and having induced Dumas to enter, told him that he could not leave till he had written it. Dumas was incarcerated for eight days, and was released on payment oi nine thousand lines of matter, involving twenty-five tableaux. It was a dead failure, and tnere is a pardonable excuse for it. A quarter of a century or so later, Dumas told the story of Napoleon in book form, and Mr John B. Larner, an American gentleman, now presents an English translation, with a strong American accent. It was placed in his hands, it seems, while he was learning the French language for critical study, which may mean more than one thing. For instance it is possible to suggest, with some show of fairness, that the present version is the result of translations taken in the form of exercises. Mr Larner remarks in a peculiarly worded preface that it has been his object ‘ to make the translation as nearly literal as possible,’ adding that ‘ much of the force and beauty of the French is lost by liberal translations.’ Possibly there is something in the idea, but you can be too literal, and the too liberal literalism of this translation almost spoils a splendid work From the time you open the book till the scene closes at St. Helena you are disappointed with the mechanical language with which Mr Larner tells the tale. It is a crude translation, and yet. even as it stands you cannot fail to appreciate the sterling qualities of Dumas’ story. In his hands the Corsican adventurer, hero, great-little man—have it as you like, for his true position is mainly dealt with nowadays in essays by schoolboys—becomes the Edmond Dantes of a great historical romance. As the story unfolds you wonder how much is true and how much is fiction—whether Dumas simply appears as a Harrison Ainsworth ora Stanley Weyman, or whether he is recounting pure facts. This very doubt suggests in itself the excellence of the work. Here is an interesting story of Bonaparte’s boyhood :— ‘ One of the most usual amusements of young Bonaparte was the cultivation of a little flower garden surrounded by fences, into which he habitually retired in the hours of recreation. One dav one of his comrades, who was curious to know what he could do thus alone in his garden, scaled the fence and saw him engaged in arranging in military order a great number of pebbles, the size of which designated their rank. At the noise which the indiscreet one made Bonaparte turned, and. finding himself surprised, ordered the scholar to descend. Instead of obeying he laughed at the young strategist, who, little disposed to the pleasantry, picked up the largest of his pebbles and with it struck the joker in the

middle of the forehead, who fell instantly quite dangerously wounded.’ So much has been said of the superstition of Bonaparte, that this little anecdote reads with interest. He had tried, one morning, to rouse his little brother, Louis, in order to give him lessons in mathematics, but the child was drowsy, and gave by way of explanation the excuse — ‘“Oh! brother,” answered the child, “ I was having a beautiful dream.” ‘ “ And what did you dream ?” ‘ “ I dreamt that I was king.” *“ And what was I then, Emperor ?” said the young under-lieutenant, shrugging his shoulders. “ Go ! to your duty.” • Aud the daily lesson was, as customary, taken by the future king and given by the future emperor. ’ It is to the story of Waterloo that we turn, and this is Dumas’ version of that appalling moment in the struggle when Napoleon mistook the approaching Prussians lor the army of Grouchy : — ’ Then from the heights from which he commanded the whole batt'e-field, Napoleon saw a deep mass emerge from the Wavre Road. * At last Grouchy, whom he had so long awaited, was arriving ; late, it is true, but still in time to complete the victory. At the sight of this reinforcement he sent aides-de-camp everywhere to announce that Grouchy had appeared, and would enter into line. In fact masses in succession deployed and put themselves in order of battle Our soldiers redoubled their ardour, for they believed that they had only to strike the last blow. Suddenly a formidable artillery thundered in front of these new comers, and the balls, instead of being directed against the Prussians tore away whole ranks of our artny. Every one around Napoleon looked at each other with stupefaction ; the Emperor struck himself on the forehead ; it was not Grouchy, it was Blucher.’ The close of the fight is told in simple language : — ‘Napoleon in vain attempted to arrest this disorder. He th.ew himself in the midst of the ruin, found a regiment of the Guards and two reserve batteries behind Plancheroit, and tried to rally the fugitives. LTnfortunately night prevented him from being seen, and in the tumult he could not be heard. Then he dismounted, threw himself into a square, sword in hand. Jerome followed him, saying : ‘ “ You are right, brother. Here should fall all who bear the name of Bonaparte.” ‘ But he was taken by his generals and staff officers and forced back by his Grenadiers, who were willing to die, bm who did not wish their Emperor to die with them.’ Dumas' reco'lections of Napoleon are bound to be interesting. He says : — ‘ He who writes these lines saw Napoleon but twice in

his life a week apart, and then only during the short space of a change of horses The first time when he was going to Ligny ; the second time when he was returning from Waterloo. The first tim- by sunlight ; the second time by the light of a lamp. The first time in the midst of the acclamat’ons of the multitude ; the second time in the silence of a populace. ‘ Each time Napoleon was seated in the same carriage, on the same seat, dressed in the same coat Each time it was the same vague and unoccupied look. Each time it was the same face, calm and impassible, only his head was a little more inclined upon his chest in returning than in going. * Was that weariness caused by the impossibility of getting any sleep, or by grief at having lost the world ?’ An incident in the death scene is thus described : — ‘ “ I am better to-dav, hut I feel none the less that my end is approaching. When I am dead every one of you will have the sweet consolation of returning to Europe. Some of y-ou will again see vour relatives, others your friends. As for myself, I shall find my brave companions in Heaven. Yes! Yes!” he added, animating anil raising his voice with an inspired accent, “ Yes ! Kleber. Desaix, Bessieres, Duroc, Ney, Murat, Massena, Berthier, will come to meet me. They will speak to me of that which we have done together, and I will relate to them the last events of my life. On seeing me again they will all become full of enthusiasm and glory. We will converse about our wars with the Scipios, the Caesars, and Hannibal, and there will be pleasure in that. Unless,” he continued smilingly, “ they- should be frightened in Heaven to see so many warriors together.” ‘ Some days later he sent for his chaplain, Vignali. ‘ “ I was born in the Catholic religion,” said he to him, “ I wish to fulfil the duties which it imposes upon me, and to receive the sacraments which it administers. You will say mass every day in the neighbouring chapel ; you will expose the blessed sacrament during forty hours. When 1 am dead you will place your altar at my head in the ‘ Ch'tnihre aruente.' Then you will continue to celebrate mass You will perform all the customary rites, and you will not cease until I have been interred.” ' One could fill pages with extracts, but these will briefly show the quality of Dumas' great historical work. It is more than passing strange that English translators have overlooked the book so long, for in the proper hands I am sure the translation would have ranked with the most popular of his works It is eminently a book to read now, when hardly a week passes that does not include the anniversary of one of Napoleon's great achievements. H.J.P.