Napoleon Never Made It To New Orleans
But They Got a House Ready for Him In Case. First Some Freelance Pirates Had to Rescue Him From Captivity Across the Atlantic. Yes. Pirates!
On the corner of Chartres and St. Louis Streets in the French Quarter of New Orleans is a 210 year old, three-story building named the Napoleon House. In 1821, according to legend, this building was selected to become the new headquarters of the exiled Napoleon Bonaparte after some pirates for hire had sprung him from British captivity on the Island of St. Helena.
Napoleon didn’t know anything about these plans so he went ahead and died before they got under way.
However, there was so much gossip and hoopla about this house becoming Napoleon’s Headquarters that everybody started calling it “the Napoleon House” and they still do to this day, 202 years later! It has become famous for its bar which repeatedly plays a recording of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3, “Eroica”, which the composer dedicated to Napoleon. If you’ve ever sat through two hours of this symphony while drinking successive Ramos gin fizzes in the Napoleon House, you’ll appreciate the benefits of advanced hearing loss.
In the 1800’s Napoleon had a widespread following here in the United States even to the point of people naming their children after him. My own great grandfather in Alabama was one of those so named. Even the U.S. Congress got in on the act when the members voted to give land grants in Alabama to Napoleon’s exiled followers. (more about this fascinating story in a subsequent issue.)
Nicolas Girod had recently retired as mayor of New Orleans and had put up money for the expedition to rehab Napoleon. He had engaged the Lafitte brothers, notorious local pirates unafraid of killing or being killed. They were to take a schooner across the Atlantic all the way to St. Helena, overcome any resistance and whisk Napoleon away to New Orleans. But before the plan could hatch, a schooner arrived out of the Gulf of Mexico at the waterfront docks with word that Napoleon had already departed for his eternal reward, thereby dashing Girod’s hopes for a Bonaparte comeback.
You have to realize that this whole story is a patchwork of fabrications, imaginings, myth and fancy and probably even has some basis in fact. But who knows how much? Over time, the telling and retelling has no doubt enlarged upon what really happened so that the real thing is probably not as appealing as the tall tale version.
In any case it’s extremely doubtful that Napoleon would have gone along with Girod’s scheme had it got to that point. He was, after all, an ex-emperor used to the lavish appointments of emperor-hood and definitely not the sort to run around with low-life pirates and squirrel himself away in the house of some guy he’d never met.
Even if he had been able to find out about the plan, (and there was no way he could have) there is little doubt that two pirates and a gang of rag-tag, wharfside brigands would have been able to evade and overcome professional British military guards and guns on that fortified island. There was no way to alert Napoleon beforehand. So even if they had succeeded in fighting their way in, they would then have to kidnap his totally surprised self with only the clothes on his back and claw their way down high cliffs to the sea, somehow carrying the emperor with them onto the boat.
Well, sorry, Girod, old buddy, but as the old saw goes, “that dog won’t hunt.”
It Would Have Been Bonaparte’s Second Return. Here’s the First:
There was probably considerable hand-wringing and teeth gnashing on the part of the Allied victors for allowing Napoleon to be exiled instead of simply removing his head. But he had done good for the middle class in France and had a huge following among the citizenry as well as discharged soldiers who had remained loyal. Many thought it best just to pack him off to Elba and forget the fact that he had terrorized the whole of Europe in a succession of bloody wars lasting over two decades. Maybe he would be satisfied to retire in there in comfort and quit terrorizing everybody. Ya think?
Before you lament the fate of the Little Emperor consider this: Napoleon was allowed to chose Elba. He did so because it had good weather and a nice harbor. Moreover, he was in complete charge of the entire 86-square mile island, lived in a beautiful villa with lavish furnishings and a great view of the ocean and even brought along his Polish mistress, Countess Marie Walewska. He kept busy entertaining guests and plotting his return to glory with a small navy, a 600-man imperial guard and a 2,000-man army comprised of worshipful followers.
However, adding motivation to his sense of urgency was the report that the British were planning to remove him to the remote island of St. Helena in the South Atlantic. The short description of that destination is “the middle of nowhere!”
After landing on the south coast of France, Napoleon and his reduced army marched north, across the alps being wildly cheered at little towns along the way and adding volunteers to his expanding forces. By the time he reached Paris the rest of Europe’s heads of state had massively increased their hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing.
On March 13, seven days before he got to Paris, the Congress of Vienna declared him an outlaw. Ten days later, Austria, Prussia, Russia and the United Kingdom obligated themselves to each put up 150,000 men to defeat Napoleon once and for all.
And that’s what they did.
On Sunday, June 18, 1815, Napoleon was defeated at the Battle of Waterloo in Belgium. One reason for that outcome may have been that the emperor had hemorrhoids and was not able to remain in the saddle long enough to survey the landscape of the battle. This ability to read the lay of the land during battles had been one of his strongest points throughout the Napoleonic Wars.
So, alas, the Napoleon House never got to be Napoleon’s house. They’ll still call it that in New Orleans anyway.
It simply wasn’t in the cards for Napoleon to get off St. Helena, much less to escape in humiliation disguised as a lowly deckhand in the company of riffraff pirates. He may have been defeated but he would not let himself be so degraded. He died there on the island on May 5, 1821. He was 51 years old
“For what infamous treatment are we reserved! This is the anguish of death. To injustice and violence they now add insult and protracted torment. If I were so hateful to them why did they not get rid of me? A few musket balls in my heart or my head would have done the business and there would at least have been some energy in the crime.”
Meanwhile, one can imagine old Lafitte and the gang passing the rum bottle around in the blacksmith shop and Mayor Girod lamenting the failure of his dream while hearing the clank of the ice wagon going down St. Louis Street in the early morning light.
Ramos Gin Fizz
You Can Do This:
Ingredients
1/2 oz Simple Syrup
1/2 oz Lemon Juice
1/2 oz Lime Juice
1.5 oz Dry Gin
1.5 oz Heavy Cream
3 dashes Orange Blossom Water (same as orange flower water)
2 dash Vanilla Extract (Optional)
1 Whole Egg Whites (no yolk)
Put all this into a cocktail shaker and shake with two ice cubes until the ice has melted. Shake some more. Shake a little bit more. Shake again. Then pour slowly into a tall glass. Lastly, add slowly…
2 oz Soda Water
This is the original recipe of NOLA restrauteur, Henry Ramos, who became famous for the drink back before Prohibition. He hired a team of boys to do nothing but shake the ingredients. This is also the same drink I had multiple copies of at the Napoleon House one long night years ago. I’ve since tried this at home but shaking it wore me out. Worth it, though. Once.
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