For Napoleon Bonaparte, the world-shattering campaigns, the iron-fisted subjugation of Europe, the massive armies ready to march at the nod of his head, and the giddy ascent to the peak of world power, all this was over, and yet the most remarkable part of Bonaparte's story was just beginning.
It was Oct. 15, 1815. Napoleon stood gazing at the shimmering, glinting sea from a promontory on the tiny island of St. Helena -- a 6-by-10-mile rock that stood squarely in the middle of nowhere, 1,200 miles from the nearest mainland, the African coast. Sweeping mountainsides careening toward the sea, patches of greenery on hillsides and valleys, and desert expanses marked by cactus combined to form the isle's inhospitable landscape.
As he watched the ship that brought him to the island sail off toward the vanishing point of the cerulean horizon, an ocean-borne wind wafted over him, stirring the feather atop his hat. At last, the ship disappeared from view, and with it, any chance of Napoleon seeing Europe again.
A man of overwhelming ambition, brutal battlefield genius, and indefatigable energy, Napoleon set out to create an enlightened French empire that would spread the ideals of the Revolution. For a time, he succeeded.
He surrendered to the British, who sent him to the most forsaken and isolated place they could think of: Saint Helena in the South Atlantic Ocean. The decision was understandable, given that Napoleon had already escaped from exile once, when he was banished to the island of Elba after losing the Battle of Leipzig in 1813.
Still, the climate was temperate and healthful, and the island wasn't without beauty. Napoleon added to its beauty by designing and planting elaborate gardens. In addition to gardening, Napoleon dictated his memoirs, wrote a book on Julius Caesar, studied English, read classics, and played cards. He kept up imperial appearances by demanding that men appear for dinner in military dress, and women in evening gowns and jewelry.
Still, the restrictions, the solitude, and the inactivity of the island must have grated deeply on Napoleon, whose boundlessly active mind was ever whirring. He who had ruled over nations now ruled only over a tiny, ramshackle estate. He whose eyes had swept over vast, smoke-wreathed battlefields of Europe were limited now by craggy cliffs and barren hilltops. Beyond them there were only miles upon miles of ocean. Everywhere, he was hemmed in. He could have explored more of the island, but pridefully refused to do so because he would have been accompanied by a British officer at all times.
Now, on the barren outpost of St. Helena, with his life slipping away like the tide, Napoleon wrote in his will, "I die in the bosom of the Apostolic and Roman Church," and he requested that he be buried according to Catholic rites.
A little wooden altar was also set up in the room next to Napoleon's and Mass was offered there. Finally, on the evening of May 5, as a tropical storm clamored against the outcrops of the island and the walls of Longwood, Napoleon's followers offered the prayers for the dying in front of the little altar. As they did so, Napoleon silently passed away. His retinue covered the body with a cloak he had worn in battle. They placed his sword next to his body and a crucifix on his chest.