On October 14, 1840, Napoleon's grave at St. Helena was opened. After nearly twenty years in the tomb, the Emperor, like an immortal vampire, was found to be incorrupt.
. . . an indescribable feeling of surprise and affection was expressed by the spectators, many of whom burst into tears. The Emperor was himself before their eyes! The features of the face, though changed, were perfectly recognized; the hands extremely beautiful; his well-known costume had suffered but little, and the colors were easily distinguished. The attitude itself was full of ease, and but for the fragments of the satin lining which covered, as with a fine gauze, several parts of the uniform, we might have believed we still saw Napoleon before us lying on his bed of state.
He kept his eyelids constantly closed, by which we had the opportunity of observing that the upper lids were garnished with eyelashes. Years and climate have effected upon the face of this great monarch only a trifling alteration; we may say, indeed, that Time has touched his Imperial and Royal Majesty with the lightest feather in his wing . . . The soldier of Marengo is among us again. His lips are thinner, perhaps, than they were before! how white his teeth are! you can just see three of them pressing his under lip; and pray remark the fulness of his cheeks and the round contour of his chin.
This is from The Second Funeral of Napoleon in Three Letters, to Miss Smith, of London. Published in 1841, it's an account of the disinterment at St. Helena, of the voyage from St. Helena to Paris, and of the elaborate procession and funeral ceremony in the Invalides. Written by one Mr. M.A. Titmarsh, it's a curious document, with reverence ironically represented, and reportage interspersed with sardonic commentary on vanity and human folly, on pomp, nations and glory.
. . . an indescribable feeling of surprise and affection was expressed by the spectators, many of whom burst into tears. The Emperor was himself before their eyes! The features of the face, though changed, were perfectly recognized; the hands extremely beautiful; his well-known costume had suffered but little, and the colors were easily distinguished. The attitude itself was full of ease, and but for the fragments of the satin lining which covered, as with a fine gauze, several parts of the uniform, we might have believed we still saw Napoleon before us lying on his bed of state.
He kept his eyelids constantly closed, by which we had the opportunity of observing that the upper lids were garnished with eyelashes. Years and climate have effected upon the face of this great monarch only a trifling alteration; we may say, indeed, that Time has touched his Imperial and Royal Majesty with the lightest feather in his wing . . . The soldier of Marengo is among us again. His lips are thinner, perhaps, than they were before! how white his teeth are! you can just see three of them pressing his under lip; and pray remark the fulness of his cheeks and the round contour of his chin.
This is from The Second Funeral of Napoleon in Three Letters, to Miss Smith, of London. Published in 1841, it's an account of the disinterment at St. Helena, of the voyage from St. Helena to Paris, and of the elaborate procession and funeral ceremony in the Invalides. Written by one Mr. M.A. Titmarsh, it's a curious document, with reverence ironically represented, and reportage interspersed with sardonic commentary on vanity and human folly, on pomp, nations and glory.
Six years later, Mr. Titmarsh, who was actually William Makepeace Thackeray, published Vanity Fair, and loosed the irresistable adventuress Becky Sharp upon the world.
She proclaims her alliance towards the Emperor early in the book.
"Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur! Vive Bonaparte!"
"O Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame!" cried Miss Sedley; for this was the greatest blasphemy Rebecca had yet uttered, and in those days, in England, to say "Long live Bonaparte!" was as much as to say, "Long live Lucifer!"
Later, Rebecca's emerald eyes blaze across the water towards France.
She proclaims her alliance towards the Emperor early in the book.
"Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur! Vive Bonaparte!"
"O Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame!" cried Miss Sedley; for this was the greatest blasphemy Rebecca had yet uttered, and in those days, in England, to say "Long live Bonaparte!" was as much as to say, "Long live Lucifer!"
Later, Rebecca's emerald eyes blaze across the water towards France.
"How calm the sea is, and how clear everything. I declare I can almost see the coast of France!" and her bright green eyes streamed out, and shot into the night as if they could see through it.
Then, rather astonishingly, she transforms into a sea serpent.
In describing this siren, singing and smiling, coaxing and cajoling, the author, with modest pride, asks his readers all round, has he once forgotten the laws of politeness, and showed the monster's hideous tail above water? No! Those who like may peep down under the waves that are pretty transparent, and see it writhing and twirling, diabolically hideous and slimy, flapping amongst bones, and curling round corpses; but above the water-line, I ask, has not everything been proper, agreeable, and decorous . . . When, however, the siren disappears and dives below, down among the dead men, the water of course grows turbid over her, and it is labour lost to look into it ever so curiously. They look pretty enough when they sit upon a rock, twanging their harps and combing their hair, and beckon to you to come and hold the looking glass; but when they sink into their native element, depend on it those mermaids are about no good, and we had best not examine the fiendish marine cannibals, revelling and feasting on their wretched pickled victims.
Then, rather astonishingly, she transforms into a sea serpent.
In describing this siren, singing and smiling, coaxing and cajoling, the author, with modest pride, asks his readers all round, has he once forgotten the laws of politeness, and showed the monster's hideous tail above water? No! Those who like may peep down under the waves that are pretty transparent, and see it writhing and twirling, diabolically hideous and slimy, flapping amongst bones, and curling round corpses; but above the water-line, I ask, has not everything been proper, agreeable, and decorous . . . When, however, the siren disappears and dives below, down among the dead men, the water of course grows turbid over her, and it is labour lost to look into it ever so curiously. They look pretty enough when they sit upon a rock, twanging their harps and combing their hair, and beckon to you to come and hold the looking glass; but when they sink into their native element, depend on it those mermaids are about no good, and we had best not examine the fiendish marine cannibals, revelling and feasting on their wretched pickled victims.
Perhaps after all this is not so surprising. The voluminous skirts of the period hid many mysteries beneath a demure facade.
All these images were drawn by Thackeray himself, to illustrate the first edition of the book.
