Shannon Selin

John Quincy Adams by Charles Robert Leslie

America’s sixth president, John Quincy Adams, was inaugurated on March 4, 1825. Adams was Secretary of State in the outgoing administration of President James Monroe. He had finished behind Andrew Jackson in the number of popular votes and electoral votes received in the 1824 presidential election. However, since no candidate reached the 131 electoral vote majority necessary to win, the election was decided by the House of Representatives, which voted in favor of John Quincy Adams.

Adams spent two sleepless nights before his inauguration, and his wife Louisa Adams – the first foreign-born First Lady of the United States – was sick. The evening of March 3, she “was seized with a violent fever,” for which she was bled in an attempt to provide relief.

Friday, March 4th dawned cloudy in Washington. A tired John Quincy Adams “entered upon this day with a supplication to Heaven, first, for my country; secondly, for myself and for those connected with my good name and fortunes, that the last results of its events may be auspicious and blessed.”

Once seated in the Speaker’s chair, JQA read his inaugural address, which took about half an hour and was rather dull, but received a long applause. In it, he tried to heal electoral divisions.

Of the two great political parties which have divided the opinions and feeling of our country, the candid and the just will now admit that both have contributed splendid talents, spotless integrity, ardent patriotism and disinterested sacrifices to the formation and administration of this government; and that both have required a liberal indulgence for a portion of human infirmity and error.… There still remains one effort of magnanimity, one sacrifice of prejudice and passion, to be made by the individuals throughout the nation, who have heretofore followed the standards of political party. It is that of discarding every remnant of rancor against each other; of embracing, as countrymen and friends; and of yielding to talents and virtue alone, that confidence which, in times of contention for principle, was bestowed only upon those who bore the badge of party communion.…

Then, placing his hand on a volume of the laws of the United States, held up to him by Chief Justice John Marshall, JQA read the oath of office of President of the United States.

Throughout the day Louisa Adams continued to feel extremely ill. She received visitors in her drawing room before dinner, but was not well enough to go out in the rain to the inaugural ball. Adams went to the ball, but did not stay for the whole thing.

Immediately after supper I withdrew, and came home. I closed the day as it had begun, with thanksgiving to God for all His mercies and favors past, and with prayers for the continuance of them to my country, and to myself and mine.

John Quincy Adams by George Peter Alexander Healy

"I look with trembling hope at the mingled light and shade of futurity, and pass to a new year with the fervent prayer for firmness to perform as well as prudence to discern my duty, and for temper and fortitude to meet every possible variety of events." - John Quincy Adams, 1810

Napoleon on St. Helena, by Charles de Steuben, 1828

New Year’s Day was a more important festival than Christmas in 19th century France. Families gathered, friends visited and gifts were exchanged (see New Year’s Day in Paris in the 1800s). It was thanks to Napoleon that January 1st was celebrated in France. The New Year’s celebrations had been abandoned in 1793, when the French Republican calendar was adopted. Each Republican year started on the autumnal equinox in September, without fanfare. Napoleon’s official celebration of New Year’s Day in 1800 assured the French people that the Revolution was over.

Napoleon’s first New Year’s Day in exile on St. Helena in 1816 was much less lively. According to Count de Las Cases:

On New Year’s Day we all assembled about ten o’clock in the morning, to present the compliments of the season to the Emperor. He received us in a few moments. We had more need to offer him wishes than congratulations. The Emperor wished that we should breakfast and spend the whole day together. He observed that we were but a handful in one corner of the world, and that all our consolation must be our regard for each other. We all accompanied the Emperor into the garden, where we walked about until breakfast was ready. At this moment, his fowling-pieces, which had hitherto been detained by the Admiral [Cockburn], were sent back to him. This measure, on the part of the Admiral, was only another proof of the new disposition which he had assumed towards us. The guns could be of no use to the Emperor; for the nature of the ground, and the total want of game, rendered it impossible that he could enjoy even a shadow of diversion in shooting. There were no birds except a few pigeons among the gum-trees, and these had already been killed, or forced to migrate, by the few shots that Gen. Gourgaud and my son had amused themselves in firing.

Napoleon sent the Balcombe family, with whom he had stayed prior to moving to Longwood House, some presents. Their daughter Betsy recollected:

The emperor possessed among his suite the most accomplished confiseur in the world. Mr. Piron daily supplied his table with the most elaborate, and really sometimes the most elegant designs in patisserie – spun sugar, and triumphal arches, and amber palaces glittering with prismatic tints that looked as if they had been built for the queen of the fairies, after her majesty’s own designs. Napoleon often sent us in some of the prettiest of these architectural delicacies, and I shall always continue to think the bon-bons from the atelier of Monsieur Piron more exquisite than anything I ever tasted…. On New Year’s Day a deputation, consisting of the son of General Bertrand, Henri, and Tristram [Tristan], Madame Montholon’s little boy, arrived with a selection of bon-bons for us, and Napoleon observed that he had sent his Cupidons to the Graces. The bon-bons were placed in crystal baskets, covered with white satin napkins, on Sevres plates. (2)

Betsy later added:

We always made a point of riding to Longwood every New Year’s day, to wish the emperor a happy new year, and we dined with him or Madame Bertrand, though more frequently with the former. I recollect one New Year’s day I had been anticipating a present from the emperor all morning, and as the day wore on, my hopes began to wax faint, and I was beginning to make up my mind to have nothing new and pretty to feast my eyes upon, when Napoleon himself waddled into Madame Bertrand’s room, where my sister and I were seated, and perhaps rather enviously viewing some elegant souvenirs of which the emperor had made the countess a present that morning. In his hand were two beautiful Sèvres cups, exquisitely painted, one representing himself in Egypt, in the dress of a Mussulman; upon the other was delineated an Egyptian woman drawing water. ‘Here, Mesdemoiselles Betsee and Jane, are two cups for you; accept them as a mark of the friendship I entertain for you both, and for your kindness to Madame Bertrand.’

The Bonaparte connection to a Christmas carol:

Napoleon's niece Christine-Egypta Bonaparte (daughter of Lucien), also known as Lady Dudley Stuart, was godmother and namesake of the poet Christina Rossetti, who wrote “In the Bleak Midwinter.”

Christine-Egypta was born in Paris on October 19, 1798. The “Egypta” was added to her name because Napoleon was leading a campaign in Egypt at the time. She married a Swedish count, whom she left (scandalously) for a British lord, and became an unconventional figure in the London social scene.

A Foot-Race. Caricature of the Presidential election of 1824 by David Claypoole Johnston. Cheering citizens watch as John Quincy Adams, William Crawford and Andrew Jackson stride toward the finish. Henry Clay stands on the far right, hand on head, saying, “D–n it I cant save my distance – so I may as well ‘draw up.’”

The United States presidential election of 1824 was decided by the House of Representatives after none of the candidates won a majority of the electoral vote.

The election would determine the successor to President James Monroe, who was finishing his second term. There were five candidates. Three of them – Secretary of State John Quincy Adams, Secretary of War John C. Calhoun and Henry Clay, the Speaker of the House of Representatives – appear in Napoleon in America. The other two candidates were General Andrew Jackson and Secretary of the Treasury William H. Crawford.

Since the Federalist Party had ceased to exist, all candidates were members of the Republican Party. There were differences among them on issues such as the tariff, internal improvements and slavery, but the election was also a personality contest.

Unable to gain enough support, Calhoun withdrew from the presidential race before the election. He stood for vice president instead. In general, Adams was supported by the Northeast section of the country; Jackson by the South, West and mid-Atlantic; Clay by parts of the West; and Crawford by parts of the East.

Voter turnout was low. None of the candidates won a majority of the electoral vote, so the names of the top three candidates were submitted to the House of Representatives, in accordance with the 12th Amendment to the Constitution. Clay threw his support behind Adams. On February 9, 1825, the House elected John Quincy Adams as president with the support of 13 states. Seven states supported Jackson and 4 supported Crawford.

Adams appointed Clay as Secretary of State in the new administration. Clay was accused of making a “corrupt bargain” with Adams. Both men denied the charge. Adams was inaugurated on March 4, 1825 (see my post on the inauguration).

This was one of only two times the House has chosen the winner of the presidential race. The other was in 1800, when Thomas Jefferson won.

Lafayette greeting the National Guard (2d Battalion, 11th New York Artillery) on July 14, 1825, by Ken Riley

On August 15, 1824, the Marquis de Lafayette arrived in New York to begin a grand tour of America. He toured all 24 states of the Union and received an enthusiastic welcome everywhere he went. One newspaper editor commented on the over-the-top hero worship as follows:

The people are wild with joy, and the gratitude and love of all persons, of every age, sex and condition, seems hardly to be restrained within the bounds of propriety.... At one place they failed so far in self-respect as to contend with horses for the privilege of drawing the revolutionary chief in his carriage! It is to be hoped that the general will not be thus insulted again – for insulted he must be when he sees the sovereigns of this great and glorious country, aiming at the most magnificent destinies, converted into asses or other beasts of burthen. It is his desire to be treated like a man, not as a titled knave or brainless dandy. 

Napoleon by Paul Delaroche

Napoleon Bonaparte was born on Tuesday, August 15, 1769, in Ajaccio, Corsica. France had acquired Corsica from the Italian city-state of Genoa the year before. Napoleon’s parents were Carlo and Letizia (Ramolino) Buonaparte. Their first surviving child, Giuseppe (Joseph), was 19 months old when Napoleon was born. Two older children, born in 1765 and 1767, had died in infancy.

Nobody recorded anything about Napoleon’s birth at the time, and Letizia did not leave detailed memoirs. It wasn’t until Napoleon became a famous general that people became interested in his origins. Many myths sprang up surrounding his birth, including that he was born or laid on a carpet, something that Letizia herself later denied.

Queen Kamamalu of the Sandwich Islands, portrait based on an 1824 lithograph by John Hayter

One of the things I try to bring out in Napoleon in America is how Europeans in the early 19th century tended to regard Native Americans and other indigenous people as exotic savages. Such views are illustrated by the tragic visit of the King and Queen of the Sandwich Islands (Hawaii) to England in 1824. 

King Kamehameha II and Queen Kamamalu travelled to London hoping to meet King George IV. However, there was disagreement over the propriety of receiving the King of the Sandwich Islands at Court. The newspaper John Bull expressed the negative side of the argument.

The COURIER last week published a paragraph explaining that the King of the Sandwich Islands has got five brigs in his navy, instead of five canoes; and told us, moreover, that his territories exceed in size all our West Indian Colonies; that they are civilized, accomplished, &c. &c. &c. What the object of all this puffing may be, we really are at a loss to understand; but the effect produced by the quackery of treating these people as European monarchs are treated may be perceived by an extract from some evening paper, which is copied into Saturday’s CHRONICLE. With respect to the man being a King at all, we deny the fact – there is no King of the Sandwich Islands – it is a matter of history and matter of fact that ‘the islands are not united under one sovereign’ – this person is therefore a chief, to whom we should afford the rights of hospitality, but to whom we should not show a respect and deference which are not due to him, and which applied to such a person become absurd and ridiculous. Her Majesty, it is said, committed an extraordinary solecism at a party some few evenings since – and ‘it was well it was no worse’ was the general observation upon it – but at present their Majesties have gotten the measles, which will detain them within doors.

Measles did more than detain their Majesties; the disease – which was then non-existent in the Sandwich Islands – killed them. 

The Queen died first, on July 8, 1824, at the age of 22. She was, to the last,

quite sensible and composed. The King took his last farewell about 10 o’clock in the morning, previously to which she informed him that she was sensible she was dying, and was quite resigned. Their separation was truly affecting.  (The Times, July 10, 1824)

John Bull opined as follows:

We certainly did not anticipate so tragical a termination to the absurd farce which has been acted, in which these poor creatures have been the principal performers – and yet the smallest consideration would have prepared us for the event. A group of savages are suddenly transported from their huts in their native climate, to a pent-up hotel in the dense smoke of London – their limbs, for decency’s sake, straitened and confined in European clothing, their hours of rising and sleeping wholly changed, their food suddenly altered from yams and plantains to rich soups and fricandeaux, and all the melancholy attempts at cookery of which the kitchen of the hotel in which they have been confined is susceptible – the pure limpid stream, their wonted beverage, supplanted by the mixture of Buxton, or Whithbead, or Calvert, or some other such Whig-washery, in which, together with wines and spirits, the poor creatures have been of course allowed to revel with unlimited and savage profusion – the consequence is, the poor female dies first, and in all probability will shortly be followed by the male.

The paper was right. King Kamehameha II died on July 14, 1824, at the age of 27. 

What did Napoleon want to achieve? This question is less about Napoleon’s goal in particular military campaigns than it is about his broader ambition. Did Napoleon have a lifelong aspiration or overarching aim? Was he pursuing a series of specific objectives? Or was he simply responding to circumstances, with no particular goal in mind?

It can be hard to know what our own motivations are, let alone those of someone who died over 200 years ago. It's particularly hard in Napoleon's case, as he was a master of propaganda who played a prominent role in writing and editing his own story. This means that we cannot necessarily take his word for what he was trying to achieve, especially when that word came after the fact. We can, however, look at things that Napoleon said earlier in his life about his goals and ambition. We can also look at what some of the historians who have tried to answer this question have said.

Detail of “The Death of Napoleon” by Charles de Steuben. Arthur Bertrand is peeking over Napoleon’s left arm.

Napoleon was fond of all the children in his entourage on St. Helena, but Arthur Bertrand (born on January 17, 1817) became his favourite. Glimpses of the two of them provide an amusing contrast to the often formidable portrait of Napoleon as Emperor.

One day, the Emperor wanted to have the noisy company of Countess Bertrand’s children at lunch. Saint-Denis told me the luncheon had gone very well, but that towards the end they started throwing bread balls at each other. The Emperor had taken the youngest on his knees, and was kissing and teasing him as he was pulling at his ears.

When Napoleon insisted that Arthur's sister Hortense have her ears pierced in an outdoor operation, Arthur was greatly alarmed.

He clinched [sic] his fists, and stamped with indignation, declaring that he would not allow his sister to be hurt. ‘You little rogue,’ said Napoleon, ‘if you are not quiet, I will have your ears bored also. Come, be obedient.’

In January 1821 Napoleon had a seesaw installed in the Longwood billiard room. Napoleon at first claimed it was a swing to amuse the children. He then admitted it was for his own use, to get more exercise. General Henri Bertrand recounts:

Arthur Bertrand went to see the Emperor, who showed him the seesaw and told him that it was a gun. Afterwards he and the Grand Maréchal got up on it to amuse the child. Napoleon had been on it for a quarter of an hour in the morning and didn’t feel any the better for it.

In the best-known vignette, Napoleon gives Arthur a pony. This was recounted by Napoleon’s first valet, Louis-Joseph Marchand.

A city resident had come to Longwood riding a small pony, and Arthur…asked the Emperor to buy it for him. As he spoke only English, the Emperor told him in that tongue: ‘Come at noon.’ But as was his habit, he went back inside, leaving the children to continue their games, got undressed and soon fell asleep. I was leaving the Emperor’s bedroom quietly when the fort cannon announced the hour of noon, and in the bathroom I found young Arthur fighting with Noverraz to enter the Emperor’s bedroom. I feared my refusal would make him cry and awaken His Majesty: I therefore made him understand that the Emperor was sleeping, and if he agreed to be good, I would let him enter and wait for His Majesty to awaken. ‘Yes,’ he answered; I took him by the hand, he went near the bed where the Emperor was resting, saw he was sleeping, then sat on the rug and stayed with me almost an hour, playing alone and noiselessly. When the Emperor awoke, he was quite surprised to find him there: ‘There you are, Arthur, what do you want, my boy?’ ‘You tell me gun fire.’ I was not aware of the promise made to him. ‘What does he say?’ the Emperor asked. ‘He is telling Your Majesty that he told him to come back when the gun went off.’ ‘Take him to Montholon, to find out what he wants.’ At that very moment, Count de Montholon was announced at the Emperor’s bedroom; he learned that during lunch he had told the child to come at noon, and he would buy him the little pony. ‘Gun fire’ was the cannon announcing that hour, and he came to claim the promise made to him. ‘Indeed! What a memory,’ said the Emperor, ‘is the horse still there?’ Count de Montholon, who had discussed the price with the owner, assured him it was. ‘But,’ said the Emperor, caressing the child and embracing him, ‘do you have any money?’ ‘Yes, I have two dollars.’ ‘That is not enough.’ ‘Papa give everything!’ ‘But Papa Bertrand has no money.’ ‘I have plenty gold.’ ‘Will you be good?’ ‘Yes.’ “How much does he want for this horse?’ the Emperor asked General Montholon. ‘Fifty louis [1000 francs], Sire.’ ‘Give this boy 1,200 francs,’ the Emperor said to me. I went upstairs to get the money that was locked up in a bag. The child was four years old, and on seeing me arrive, he held out his pinafore to catch the money. ‘You won’t be able to carry it.’ ‘Yes, yes.’ I put the money gently in his pinafore to test his strength. He turned rapidly and, accompanied by Count de Montholon, he went to purchase the horse he wished to buy. Riding his horse, and held up by Count de Montholon, he came back almost immediately to the Emperor’s door, to thank His Majesty. Later on, having fallen from the horse, he no longer wanted it and switched back to his burro, a much quieter mount and more responsive to his wishes. The horse was given to Napoleon Bertrand, the eldest of the children, who sometimes accompanied the Emperor when his mother rode in the carriage with him.

Elisa Bonaparte Baciocchi by Joseph Franque, 1812

Elisa Bonaparte was born on January 3, 1777. She was not as well-known as her sisters, beautiful Pauline and treasonous Caroline, but she was more capable than either of them. In fact, she was the Bonaparte sibling most like Napoleon, although she had the least influence over him. Napoleon himself said, “Elisa has the courage of an Amazon; and like me, she cannot bear to be ruled.” In 1805, he made her the Princess of Piombino and Lucca, where she formed an elaborate court, in imitation of the one in Paris. She took her duties seriously, ruling as a benevolent despot. 

Elisa did such a good job that, in 1809, Napoleon made her Grand Duchess of Tuscany, a place she had long had her eye on. She moved her court to the Pitti Palace in Florence, which she refurbished in competition with Caroline’s court in Naples. Elisa's husband, Félix Baciocchi, commanded the local military division under his wife’s supervision. The two lived apart and took lovers.

When Napoleon’s empire began to crumble in 1814, Elisa broke away from her brother, hoping to save her own position. It was no use, as the Tuscans showed no sign of attachment to her and Elisa and Baciocchi had to flee. They tried, unsuccessfully, to make off with the silver and furniture from several of the palaces. 

When Napoleon escaped from Elba and returned to France in March of 1815, the Austrians arrested Elisa and imprisoned her. She was released once Napoleon was safely on his way to exile on St. Helena. Elisa was given permission to live in Trieste, where she assumed the title of Countess of Compignano. She died of infection on August 7, 1820, at the age of 43.

When news of Elisa’s death reached Napoleon, he shut himself up alone for several hours. When he emerged, he said, “There is the first member of my family who has set out on the great journey; in a few months I shall go to join her.” He died nine months later, on May 5, 1821.

Christmas Morning by Paul Seignac

Was Napoleon's last word really Josephine, as portrayed in the new Napoleon movie? Not likely.

Given the number of people surrounding Napoleon during his final days, there should be a clear record of his last words. But, as with most things involving Napoleon, there are several accounts of his dying hours and differences regarding what he actually said. If you want details, please see my article entitled "What were Napoleon's last words?" Here's the upshot:

Napoleon slipped into an incoherent state early in the morning of May 5, 1821. It was hard for his attendants to make out his last words.

Napoleon’s quoted last words were probably not a single connected phrase, but rather words that could be deciphered from generally inarticulate utterances.

Napoleon said (in French; he did not speak English) something about the army. On this, all four witnesses agree. Three agree that he said “head” and “army”; two that he said “head of the army” (tête d’armée).

According to two witnesses, Napoleon said something about France.

Napoleon may have said (in French) “who retreats,” “my son,” and/or “Josephine.”

My foray into the podcast world. From the description:

"Napoleon Bonaparte. From military leader to revolutionary to Emperor of the French, his conquests and reforms have had a lasting impact across the world. But what impact did he have on the United States? And what if he had completed the journey across the Atlantic?