In the evening the Emperor went to visit our neighbours. Mr. Balcombe, who was suffering under a fit of the gout, lay stretched on a sofa; his wife and the two young ladies, whom he had met in the morning, were beside him. The _masked ball_ was resumed again with great spirit. Our guests liberally dealt out all their store of knowledge. The conversation turned on novels. One of the young ladies had read Madame Cottin’s _Mathilde_, and was delighted to find that the Emperor was acquainted with the work. An Englishman, with a great round face, to all appearance a true _vacuum plenum_, who had been listening earnestly, in order to turn his little knowledge of French to the best account, modestly ventured to ask the Emperor whether the Princess, the friend of Matilda, whose character he particularly admired, was still living? The Emperor with a very solemn air replied, “No, sir; she is dead and buried:” and he was almost tempted to believe he was himself hoaxed, until he found that the melancholy tidings almost drew tears from the great staring eyes of the Englishman.
The young ladies evinced no less simplicity, though in them it was more pardonable: however, I was led to conclude that they had not studied chronology very deeply. One of them turning over Florian’s _Estelle_, to shew us that she could read French, happened to light on the name of Gaston de Foix, and finding him distinguished by the title of General, she asked the Emperor whether he had been satisfied with his conduct in the army, whether he had escaped the dangers of war, and whether he was still living.
21st.—In the morning the Admiral came to visit the Emperor. He knocked at the door; and had I not been present, the Emperor must have been reduced to the alternative of opening it himself, or suffering the Admiral to wait on the outside.
All the scattered members of our little colony, likewise, came from the town, and we were for a short time collected together. Each described the wretchedness of his situation, and received the sympathy of the Emperor.
HORROR AND MISERY OF OUR SITUATION.—THE EMPEROR’S INDIGNATION.—NOTE TO THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT.
23rd–24th. The English Ministers, in violating the rights of hospitality, to which we had trusted with such implicit confidence, seem to have omitted nothing adapted to make us feel this violation the more bitterly. By banishing us to the farthest extremity of the world, and reducing us to every kind of privation and ill-treatment, they wish to make us drain the cup of misery to the very dregs. St. Helena is a true Siberia: the only difference is its limited extent, and the climate being warm instead of cold.