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15 Epic Facts About Napoleon Bonaparte

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One of the most fascinating figures to ever live was born 246 years ago. For Napoleon Bonaparte’s birthday, here are 15 things you might not know about the general-turned-emperor-turned-icon.


Napoleon was born into a family of minor nobility on Corsica­—a large island off the coast of Italy—a year after it became a French territory. His parents were well off enough to send him to school in France, although he never lost his Corsican accent and claimed to have been teased for it throughout his life. As a teen, he attended the prestigious École Militaire in Paris, but when his father died in his first year there, the younger Bonaparte (whose name was actually “Napoleone di Buonaparte” before he changed it as a young adult to sound more French) was forced to graduate early to help his family financially. Cutting his studies short caused Napoleon’s grades to suffer and he ended up graduating 42nd in a class of 58 students. He did, however, earn the distinction of being the first Corsican to graduate from École Militaire. At 16 years old, Napoleon became an officer in the French army.


Although Napoleon was single-handedly responsible for and synonymous with the first French Empire, as a young man, he longed to see his homeland overthrow French rule. His parents had opposed French rule since before he was born, and during his youth Napoleon wrote a series of treatises on the history and government of Corsica in which he calls the French “monsters” “who are said to be the enemies of free men.” (His plans for a full book on the island country never came to fruition.) In the late 1780s and early 1790s, Napoleon returned to Corsica for long stretches, avoiding the early stages of the French Revolution. But during these visits home, he was struck by how provincial the island was and how much bigger the world at large seemed in comparison. His mannerisms and preoccupations were becoming more French. Meanwhile, Corsican governor and former idol to young Napoleon Pasquale Paoli became increasingly Anglicized. Ultimately, it was a clash between the Buonaparte family and Paoli that inspired Napoleon to leave Corsica once and for all.


Born into a plantation family in Martinique, Joséphine married into French aristocracy when she wed Alexandre de Beauharnais at the age of 16. Although her husband wanted nothing to do with her, she seduced and charmed other high society men, but that didn’t save her from imprisonment in Les Carmes as the Revolution swept through Paris. Her estranged husband was sent to the guillotine, but the day before her trial, the government was deposed and the executions halted. Having just barely escaped with her life, Joséphine quickly became a popular socialite, eventually meeting Napoleon at a party in 1795. She was 32, widowed, and established in French society; he was just 26, shy and inexperienced. At their wedding six months later, she reportedly knocked four years off her age on the marriage certificate and he added 18 months to his, which made them roughly the same age (at least on paper).


Of course, we can’t know everything the couple said to one another in private, but judging from letters between the two, Napoleon was desperately infatuated with his wife and expressed an insecure neediness that, if anything, put her off intimacy. The young general embarked on his Italian campaign just a few days into the couple’s marriage, writing to her almost constantly from the battlefield. For her part, Joséphine seems to have struck up affairs back in France in her husband’s absence and her silence drove him to send increasingly pleading missives.


The rumor about Napoleon’s height—or lack thereof—started during his lifetime. English propagandists depicted the general as comically diminutive in critical cartoons during the Napoleonic Wars. The belief became so deeply established that in the 20th century, a psychological complex specific to short men was named after him. But how tall was he really? Probably around five-foot-six—which was actually just about average for the era. That height comes from what was written at the time of his death. A physician’s note that accompanied Napoleon’s coffin says that he was five-foot-two “from the top of the head to the heels”—but an additional note specifies that this is French measurements and that it is equal to five-foot-six in English terms.


That’s right, Napoleon Bonaparte was a general, a revolutionary, an emperor and—on at least once occasion—a romance novelist. Written just before he met and married Joséphine in 1795, Clisson et Eugénie tells a fictionalized account of the young soldier’s relationship with Bernardine Eugénie Désirée Clary, whose sister married his brother Joseph. The novella was never published during his lifetime and following his death, the manuscript was divided into segments that sold as souvenirs at auction houses in the centuries after. Although the various segments were published at one time or another, a complete English translation wasn’t reconstructed until 2009. If you’re interested in reading the tale of passionate lovers separated by war and ultimately death, you can find Clisson et Eugénie on Amazon.


There are a lot of claims swirling about that Napoleon—and many other famous generals-turned-dictators—suffered from “ailurophobia,” or fear of cats. But Katharine MacDonogh, author of Reigning Cats And Dogs: A History Of Pets At Court Since The Renaissance, says that “No record exists of Napoleon either liking or hating cats."


Napoleon is best remembered for his political and military prowess, but during his early life, he also considered himself a scientist, and was elected membership to to the National Institute, the foremost scientific society in post-Revolutionary France, in 1797. For his expedition to seize Egypt and thus cut off Britain’s trade route, Napoleon brought along 150 savants—scientists, engineers, and scholars to survey the topography, environment, culture, and history of Egypt—in addition to his troops. The 23-volume Description de l'Égypte contained unprecedented knowledge of the country, but perhaps the greatest find was the Rosetta Stone. Captain Pierre François-Xavier Bouchard discovered the inscribed slab during the demolition of an ancient wall in the city of Rosetta. He immediately recognized the potential significance and had the stone shipped to Cairo. Written in hieroglyphic, demotic, and Greek, the Stone eventually proved to be the cipher that cracked ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.


Ludwig van Beethoven greatly admired the general, even into Napoleon’s early years as First Consul after overthrowing the existing government. When he began working on Symphony 3, Beethoven professed to be inspired by Napoleon’s heroic exploits and ostensibly democratic ideals. But then, in 1804, even after declaring himself First Consul for life, Napoleon had himself crowned Emperor of France and Beethoven lost all respect for him. According to Ferdinand Ries, a student and early biographer of the composer, Beethoven “flew into a rage and cried out: 'Is he too, then, nothing more than an ordinary human being? Now he, too, will trample on the rights of man, and indulge only his ambition!’ Beethoven went to the table, took hold of the title page by the top, tore it in two, and threw it on the floor.”

He seems to have remained conflicted about his former idol, however. In a later letter, he admitted that "the title of the symphony really is 'Bonaparte’,” and when it was published in 1806 the title page read, "Sinfonia Eroica ... composed to celebrate the memory of a great man."


As a child, Napoleon was baptized Catholic, but his own writings indicate that he began to question Catholicism—and, indeed, the existence of any god—early in his life. But while Napoleon lacked a strong personal faith, he admired the tactical power of organized religion. Following his initial ascent to power in France, he set about reestablishing the Catholic Church that had been all but dismantled during the Revolution. In doing so, however, he recognized Catholicism only as, “the religion of the vast majority of French citizens” and brought the Church under the authority of the state.

As emperor, Napoleon emancipated the Jews in areas of Europe under his control, insisting that they be free to own property and worship freely (a proclamation which earned him condemnation as the "Antichrist and the Enemy of God" by the Russian Orthodox Church). Of course he did so not out of pure benevolence but because he believed religious freedom would attract Jewish populations to the French-controlled territories. Following his Egyptian expedition, some scholars believe that Napoleon was particularly fascinated by Muhammad and the Muslim religion. Although this, too, appears to be largely situational, as he once wrote, "I am nothing. In Egypt I was a Mussulman; here I shall be a Catholic." Whether or not Napoleon ever truly believed in Islam, he wrote tolerantly about even some of the more controversial practices, saying that polygamy was a way for different races to remain blended and equal.


Following a disastrous campaign in Russia and pressures from the Sixth Coalition, Napoleon was forced to abdicate as part of the Treaty of Fontainebleau on April 11, 1814. Although he would at first be sentenced to live out a comfortable life as sovereign of the island of Elba, Napoleon’s first reaction to his exile was a suicide attempt while still at Fontainebleau. He had been carrying a poisonous pill with him ever since the failure in Russia and finally took it on April 12th. But the pill must have lost its potency with age; while it made Napoleon violently ill, it did not kill him. 


Following his escape from Elba and his brief return to power, Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo and forced to surrender to the British captain of the HMS Bellerophon. Initially, he drafted a letter to the Prince Regent and future King George IV requesting asylum and "a small estate" outside of London—a bold request considering his years of plotting to conquer Britain. The letter was never delivered, but it likely wouldn’t have mattered. Parliament was concerned that Napoleon—a foreign dictator—would be so popular with the British common people that they refused to even let him disembark. Instead, he remained on board the anchored Bellerophon while crowds flocked to catch a glimpse of him until he was banished to St. Helena.


The British took extreme caution in securing Napoleon’s final exile location. St. Helena is isolated, ringed with steep cliff faces, and was guarded by some 2800 men armed with 500 cannons. The seas around the tiny island were constantly patrolled by an entire Royal Navy squadron consisting of 11 ships and even a separate island—1200 miles further out in the Atlantic—was stocked with further garrisons to prevent a rescue attempt from South America. They were right to be concerned. During Napoleon’s last six years of life on St. Helena, escape plans included boats, balloons, and even a pair of primitive submarines. Notorious British smuggler Tom Johnson later claimed that in 1820 he was offered £40,000 to rescue the emperor. He hatched a scheme to do so that included a pair of ships with collapsible masts that could sneak up to the island fully submerged and a bosun’s chair to scale the cliffs. It’s unclear how far this plan ever got—or, indeed, if Johnson ever accepted such an assignment—but had it succeeded it would have made for one of the most fantastic prison breaks in all of history.


Nicholas Girod, the fifth mayor of New Orleans, was a Frenchmen and avid supporter of Napoleon. Following the abdication at Waterloo, Girod helped members of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard escape to the New World. But he also had plans for the emperor himself to move to NOLA. In 1821, Girod, who had retired from the mayoral office, began renovating a home on the corner of Chartres and St. Louis Streets, which he claimed would be Napoleon’s residence after an intended escape expedition by Dominique You (also called Dominique Youx). When Napoleon died later that same year, Girod moved his own family into the building, but even today it is still known as Napoleon House.


Napoleon died on May 5, 1821, at the age of 51, while still in exile on St. Helena. At the time, his personal physician reported on the death certificate that the emperor had died of stomach cancer, consistent with reports that he suffered from abdominal pain and nausea in the last weeks of his life. But his body remained remarkably well preserved, a common side effect of arsenic poisoning, inspiring centuries of suspicion about foul play. In 1961, elevated levels of arsenic were detected in surviving samples of Napoleon’s hair, fueling these rumors further. Even if he wasn’t assassinated in that way, some theories suggested, perhaps he was accidentally poisoned by the fumes created by the arsenic in his bedroom wallpaper and the damp humidity on St. Helena.

A 2008 study conducted by a team of scientists at Italy’s National Institute of Nuclear Physics in Milan-Bicocca and Pavia, however, disproved the poison suspicions. A detailed analysis of hairs taken from Napoleon’s head at four times in his life—as a boy in Corsica, during his exile on the island of Elba, the day he died on St. Helena, at age 51, and the day after his death—showed that while the levels of arsenic present were astronomical compared to modern standards (about 100 times what is present in the hair of people living today), there was no significant change throughout his life. What’s more, hairs from his son, Napoleon II, and his wife, Empress Joséphine, showed similar—albeit elevated—levels of arsenic. Chronic exposure, in paints and even as a medicine, throughout Napoleon’s life seem to be responsible for the inflammatory 1961 findings. Of course, all that arsenic—not to mention the myriad other toxic chemicals believed to be tonics at the time—likely hastened the emperor’s demise.

All images courtesy of Getty Images unless otherwise noted.
(c) Field Museum, CSZ5974c, photographer Carl Akeley, used with permission.
The Time Carl Akeley Killed a Leopard With His Bare Hands
(c) Field Museum, CSZ5974c, photographer Carl Akeley, used with permission.
(c) Field Museum, CSZ5974c, photographer Carl Akeley, used with permission.

Carl Akeley had plenty of close encounters with animals in his long career as a naturalist and taxidermist. There was the time a bull elephant had charged him on Mount Kenya, nearly crushing him; the time he was unarmed and charged by three rhinos who missed him, he said later, only because the animals had such poor vision; and the time the tumbling body of a silverback gorilla he'd just shot almost knocked him off a cliff. This dangerous tradition began on his very first trip to Africa, where, on an otherwise routine hunting trip, the naturalist became the prey.

It was 1896. Following stints at Ward’s Natural Science Establishment and the Milwaukee Public Museum, Akeley, 32, had just been appointed chief taxidermist for Chicago’s Field Museum of Natural History, and he was tasked with gathering new specimens to bolster the 3-year-old museum's fledgling collections. After more than four months of travel and numerous delays, the expedition had reached the plains of Ogaden, a region of Ethiopia, where Akeley hunted for specimens for days without success.

Then, one morning, Akeley managed to shoot a hyena shortly after he left camp. Unfortunately, “one look at his dead carcass was enough to satisfy me that he was not as desirable as I had thought, for his skin was badly diseased,” he later wrote in his autobiography, In Brightest Africa. He shot a warthog, a fine specimen, but what he really wanted was an ostrich—so he left the carcass behind, climbed a termite hill to look for the birds, then took off after a pair he saw in the tall grass.

But the ostriches eluded him at every turn, so he returned to camp and grabbed the necessary tools to cut off the head of his warthog. However, when he and a “pony boy” got to the spot where he’d left the carcass, all that remained was a bloodstain. “A crash in the bushes at one side led me in a hurry in that direction and a little later I saw my pig's head in the mouth of a hyena travelling up the slope of a ridge out of range,” Akeley wrote. “That meant that my warthog specimen was lost, and, having got no ostriches, I felt it was a pretty poor day.”

As the sun began to set, Akeley and the boy turned back to camp. “As we came near to the place where I had shot the diseased hyena in the morning, it occurred to me that perhaps there might be another hyena about the carcass, and feeling a bit ‘sore’ at the tribe for stealing my warthog, I thought I might pay off the score by getting a good specimen of a hyena for the collections,” he wrote. But that carcass was gone, too, with a drag trail in the sand leading into the bush.

Akeley heard a sound, and, irritated, “did a very foolish thing,” firing into the bush without seeing what he was shooting at. He knew, almost immediately, that he'd made a mistake: The answering snarl told him that what he’d fired at was not a hyena at all, but a leopard.

The taxidermist began thinking of all the things he knew about the big cats. A leopard, he wrote,

“... has all the qualities that gave rise to the ‘nine lives’ legend: To kill him you have got to kill him clear to the tip of his tail. Added to that, a leopard, unlike a lion, is vindictive. A wounded leopard will fight to a finish practically every time, no matter how many chances it has to escape. Once aroused, its determination is fixed on fight, and if a leopard ever gets hold, it claws and bites until its victim is in shreds. All this was in my mind, and I began looking about for the best way out of it, for I had no desire to try conclusions with a possibly wounded leopard when it was so late in the day that I could not see the sights of my rifle.”

Akeley beat a hasty retreat. He’d return the next morning, he figured, when he could see better; if he’d wounded the leopard, he could find it again then. But the leopard had other ideas. It pursued him, and Akeley fired again, even though he couldn’t see enough to aim. “I could see where the bullets struck as the sand spurted up beyond the leopard. The first two shots went above her, but the third scored. The leopard stopped and I thought she was killed.”

The leopard had not been killed. Instead, she charged—and Akeley’s magazine was empty. He reloaded the rifle, but as he spun to face the leopard, she leapt on him, knocking it out of his hands. The 80-pound cat landed on him. “Her intention was to sink her teeth into my throat and with this grip and her forepaws hang to me while with her hind claws she dug out my stomach, for this pleasant practice is the way of leopards,” Akeley wrote. “However, happily for me, she missed her aim.” The wounded cat had landed to one side; instead of Akeley’s throat in her mouth, she had his upper right arm, which had the fortuitous effect of keeping her hind legs off his stomach.

It was good luck, but the fight of Akeley’s life had just begun.

Using his left hand, he attempted to loosen the leopard’s hold. “I couldn't do it except little by little,” he wrote. “When I got grip enough on her throat to loosen her hold just a little she would catch my arm again an inch or two lower down. In this way I drew the full length of the arm through her mouth inch by inch.”

He felt no pain, he wrote, “only of the sound of the crushing of tense muscles and the choking, snarling grunts of the beast.” When his arm was nearly free, Akeley fell on the leopard. His right hand was still in her mouth, but his left hand was still on her throat. His knees were on her chest and his elbows in her armpits, “spreading her front legs apart so that the frantic clawing did nothing more than tear my shirt.”

It was a scramble. The leopard tried to twist around and gain the advantage, but couldn’t get purchase on the sand. “For the first time,” Akeley wrote, “I began to think and hope I had a chance to win this curious fight.”

He called for the boy, hoping he’d bring a knife, but received no response. So he held on to the animal and “continued to shove the hand down her throat so hard she could not close her mouth and with the other I gripped her throat in a stranglehold.” He bore down with his full weight on her chest, and felt a rib crack. He did it again—another crack. “I felt her relax, a sort of letting go, although she was still struggling. At the same time I felt myself weakening similarly, and then it became a question as to which would give up first.”

Slowly, her struggle ceased. Akeley had won. He lay there for a long time, keeping the leopard in his death grip. “After what seemed an interminable passage of time I let go and tried to stand, calling to the pony boy that it was finished.” The leopard, he later told Popular Science Monthly, had then shown signs of life; Akeley used the boy’s knife to make sure it was really, truly dead.

Akeley’s arm was shredded, and he was weak—so weak that he couldn’t carry the leopard back to camp. “And then a thought struck me that made me waste no time,” he told Popular Science. “That leopard has been eating the horrible diseased hyena I had killed. Any leopard bite is liable to give one blood poison, but this particular leopard’s mouth must have been exceptionally foul.”

He and the boy must have been quite the sight when they finally made it back to camp. His companions had heard the shots, and figured Akeley had either faced off with a lion or the natives; whatever the scenario, they figured Akeley would prevail or be defeated before they could get to him, so they kept on eating dinner. But when Akeley appeared, with “my clothes ... all ripped, my arm ... chewed into an unpleasant sight, [with] blood and dirt all over me,” he wrote in In Brightest Africa, “my appearance was quite sufficient to arrest attention.”

He demanded all the antiseptics the camp had to offer. After he'd been washed with cold water, “the antiseptic was pumped into every one of the innumerable tooth wounds until my arm was so full of the liquid that an injection in one drove it out of another,” he wrote. “During the process I nearly regretted that the leopard had not won.”

When that was done, Akeley was taken to his tent, and the dead leopard was brought in and laid out next to his cot. Her right hind leg was wounded—which, he surmised, had come from his first shot into the brush, and was what had thrown off her pounce—and she had a flesh wound in the back of her neck where his last shot had hit her, “from the shock of which she had instantly recovered.”

Not long after his close encounter with the leopard, the African expedition was cut short when its leader contracted malaria, and Akeley returned to Chicago. The whole experience, he wrote to a friend later, transported him back to a particular moment at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition, which he’d visited after creating taxidermy mounts for the event. “As I struggled to wrest my arm from the mouth of the leopard I recalled vividly a bronze at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, depicting the struggle between a man and bear, the man’s arm in the mouth of the bear,” he wrote. “I had stood in front of this bronze one afternoon with a doctor friend and we discussed the probable sensations of a man in this predicament, wondering whether or not the man would be sensible to the pain of the chewing and the rending of his flesh by the bear. I was thinking as the leopard tore at me that now I knew exactly what the sensations were, but that unfortunately I would not live to tell my doctor friend.”

In the moment, though, there had been no pain, “just the joy of a good fight,” Akeley wrote, “and I did live to tell my [doctor] friend all about it.”

Additional source: Kingdom Under Glass: A Tale of Obsession, Adventure, and One Man's Quest to Preserve the World's Great Animals

Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons // Nigel Parry, USA Network
Meghan Markle Is Related to H.H. Holmes, America’s First Serial Killer, According to New Documentary
Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons // Nigel Parry, USA Network
Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons // Nigel Parry, USA Network

Between staging paparazzi photos and writing open letters to Prince Harry advising him to call off his wedding, Meghan Markle’s family has been keeping the media pretty busy lately. But it turns out that her bloodline's talent for grabbing headlines dates back much further than the announcement that Markle and Prince Harry were getting hitched—and for much more sinister reasons. According to Meet the Markles, a new television documentary produced for England’s Channel Four, the former Suits star has a distant relation to H.H. Holmes, America’s first serial killer.

The claim comes from Holmes’s great-great-grandson, American lawyer Jeff Mudgett, who recently discovered that he and Markle are eighth cousins. If that connection is correct, then it would mean that Markle, too, is related to Holmes.

While finding out that you’re related—however distantly—to a man believed to have murdered 27 people isn’t something you’d probably want to share with Queen Elizabeth II when asking her to pass the Yorkshire pudding over Christmas dinner, what makes the story even more interesting is that Mudgett believes that his great-great-grandpa was also Jack the Ripper!

Mudgett came to this conclusion based on Holmes’s personal diaries, which he inherited. In 2017, American Ripper—an eight-part History Channel series—investigated Mudgett’s belief that Holmes and Jack were indeed one in the same.

When asked about his connection to Markle, and their shared connection to Holmes—and, possibly, Jack the Ripper—Mudgett replied:

“We did a study with the FBI and CIA and Scotland Yard regarding handwriting analysis. It turns out [H. H. Holmes] was Jack the Ripper. This means Meghan is related to Jack the Ripper. I don’t think the Queen knows. I am not proud he is my ancestor. Meghan won’t be either.”

Shortly thereafter he clarified his comments via his personal Facebook page:

In the 130 years since Jack the Ripper terrorized London’s Whitechapel neighborhood, hundreds of names have been put forth as possible suspects, but authorities have never been able to definitively conclude who committed the infamous murders. So if Alice's Adventures in Wonderland author Lewis Carroll could have done it, why not the distant relative of the royal family's newest member?

[h/t: ID CrimeFeed]


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