Napoleon's Rabbit Farmer, page 18
The valet cautiously climbed the narrow ladder that disappeared through a square hatch. He could hear groaning but was not prepared for the sight that awaited him. St Denis could make out the doctor’s naked white backside bouncing up on down on what looked like one of the scullery maids. The doctor’s pantaloons were round his knees and the girl’s frock and apron almost covered her young face. St Denis looked away. ‘Doctor, you are requested to attend the Emperor immediately,’ he shouted before hurriedly descending the ladder. Hancock was waiting at the bottom.
‘The doctor’s busy making hay,’ he laughed, his face a vivid shade of red from the drink. A few minutes later Antommarchi emerged. ‘Doctor, it would be a good idea to change very quickly,’ said St Denis.
The Emperor was in a terrible mood when Antommarchi finally arrived. ‘Remove these blisters from my arms,’ he told him. ‘They have produced no benefit and one of them has become sore and infected.’
The doctor tried to be as careful as possible but hair had become attached to the plaster. ‘You could easily have spared me the pain by shaving my arms before applying them,’ the Emperor complained.
‘You cannot even perform a simple procedure correctly.’
‘I am sorry Sire. Let me apply some ointment to the infection.’
Napoleon grimaced.
***
‘You must tell the Emperor that you wish to leave,’ the Countess Bertrand told her husband after breakfast. ‘You cannot spend the rest of your life standing for hours in a dark room waiting for the Emperor to address you. You must put your family first.’
‘I will try to raise the subject, my dear, but it is not a good time. The Emperor has been very ill.’
‘Montholon has been making plans to return to Europe,’ said the Countess, gazing from the window at the empty Deadwood racecourse. ‘He told me.’
Bertrand nodded. ‘Montholon has said that he will never leave until someone comes to take his place. I think he is giving up on that possibility and is asking his wife to return here. The Emperor is increasingly reliant on him, it seems, at my expense.’
‘Yes, I am sure that Albine de Montholon can resume her bedroom duties for the Emperor.’
‘You know that did not happen. Last night the Emperor was seized with faintness after spending an hour in a hot bath and had to be helped into bed. The doctor is against him taking the baths but the Emperor has relied on them as a remedy since the campaigns in Egypt. He then complained of feeling icy cold and had hot towels applied to his legs. The towels were so hot that they nearly scolded the hands of his valets but the Emperor hardly felt them.’
‘Is he in danger?’
‘It is hard to tell but I will have to pick my moment to raise the subject of leaving.’
The Grand Marshal would go to see Napoleon at 1pm each day and would either be admitted or sent away. He often found the Emperor arguing with Antommarchi about the medicines the physician pressed him to take.
‘Sire, those pills have some efficacy. They disengage the humours. They keep the bowels open,’ said the doctor as Bertrand appeared in the room.
‘I am sure they possess every virtue in the world,’ said Napoleon.
‘Do you take any yourself? Believe me, we had better leave off all these remedies. Medicine is a collection of uncertain prescriptions which kill the poor and succeed sometimes with the rich. The results are more fatal than useful for mankind. I am not a man for drugs.’
On seeing Bertrand, Napoleon sent the doctor away. ‘We shall go for a drive in the carriage this afternoon, it will help me,’ he told the Grand Marshal. ‘Riding tires me too much. Madame Bertrand and Montholon can join us. We’ll go through the woods.’
‘Madame is not in the best of moods, Sire. She keeps talking about returning to France.’
‘Give her another child,’ said Napoleon, struggling to lift himself from his sofa. ‘That will postpone her departure for a year and provide something to interest her.’
***
The Emperor had given up work on his memoirs and had a growing desire to sleep. ‘Bed has become a delicious place for me,’ he told the doctor, who had arranged a foot bath containing mustard seeds. ‘I am plunged in a lethargic stupor. I have to make an effort to lift my eyelids. I used to dictate sometimes on different subjects to four or five secretaries who wrote as fast as I spoke, but then I was Napoleon, now I am no longer anything. My strength and faculties leave me. Can anything be more deplorable than my present condition? This is not life it is mere existence ... my health will never be restored. Perhaps death will soon terminate my sufferings. You will conduct an autopsy on my corpse.’
‘We have not come to that, Sire. If Your Majesty will only condescend to follow the treatment that I have prescribed. You are not near the term of your career.’
‘I should wish to believe you but the blisters dry very quickly.’
‘They will soon resume energy if Your Majesty will take...’
‘Medicines again. You are a doctor and would promise life to a corpse if it could take pills. But I do not deceive myself, I feel that I am near my end.’
***
The Governor was becoming increasingly concerned that Captain Lutyens had not been able to see Napoleon and was giving the Longwood orderly officer a dressing down. ‘You must knock on his door and demand to see him,’ he told Lutyens, who had been summoned to Plantation House.
‘General Bonaparte has been very ill, sir,’ said the young officer. ‘Count Montholon informed me that he was so drowsy that he could barely speak to anyone and was not even interested in reading.’
‘The poor state of Bonaparte’s health has been exaggerated since he landed here. If he was gravely ill his doctor would not be whoring in Jamestown but at his side. Perform your duties at Longwood or I shall be forced to remove you from your post. Is that understood Lutyens?’
‘Yes, of course sir.’
The captain immediately went to find Count Montholon to ask if he could arrange for him to see Bonaparte. The Count, who had replaced Bertrand as the preferred go-between, had just left Napoleon after having breakfast with him. ‘His Majesty has gone back to bed,’ he said, walking into the garden. ‘It is possible that he will go for a drive in his carriage today but I suggest that you come to the window of his bedroom at 11am tomorrow and I shall arrange for the blind to be raised when the Emperor is with the doctor. You will be able to see His Majesty without upsetting him.’
Lutyens gave his thanks and bowed. Montholon sniggered as the officer went off towards the guard house, imagining the vision that awaited him the next day.
***
Napoleon knelt on a crimson velvet stool, raised his long white nightgown and exposed the plump white cheeks of his bottom to the air. Dr Antommarchi stood behind him, poised with a brass syringe that he had filled with a mixture of oil and warm water.
‘This will soon relieve your abdominal pains, Sire, and bring on a movement. Please relax.’
Montholon was looking on, having again joined Napoleon for breakfast. The two valets were holding towels and an imperial chamber pot.
‘I could do with a little more light so that I do not hurt Your Majesty,’ said Antommarchi.
‘Hurry up man,’ grumbled the Emperor. ‘I cannot kneel like this forever. Montholon open the blinds.’
Napoleon gripped the gilded legs of the stool as the Count did as he was told, bathing the chamber in light. He could see Captain Lutyens approaching along the side of the building and stood back from the sash window.
‘Relax Sire, relax,’ said the doctor inserting the syringe and emptying the contents into the Emperor’s back passage. Lutyens peered through the window at that moment and stumbled backwards with shock and disgust. Montholon struggled to contain his laughter, gave a choking sound and ran into the bathroom next door.
‘What is the matter with him?’ asked the Emperor. ‘Maybe he is squeamish, Sire,’ said the doctor putting his equipment away.
***
The Emperor took the news very badly. Bertrand had broken it gently after seeing a report in the latest newspapers to be sent up to Longwood. ‘My sister, Princess Elisa? How did she die?’
‘It is believed she became ill after visiting an archaeological dig, Sire.’
The Emperor was speechless, the silence lasting 10 minutes. He then sent the Grand Marshal away, leaving only St Denis in the room with him, preparing the night service. ‘There is the first member of my family to set out on the great journey,’ Napoleon said in barely a whisper. ‘In a few months I shall go to join her. I shall be the second, certainly, since I am not the first. The end of my suffering is only postponed.’
‘Sire, we must hope that Providence will re-establish Your Majesty’s health and that your friends will not have to weep for your loss so soon.’ St Denis swallowed hard, tears welling in his eyes. ‘Sire, what would become of us if we were to lose Your Majesty?’
‘You will have the happiness of seeing your family again, your friends, your country, beautiful France. Elisa always said that her energy and constant activity kept her going. I have had the same experience and you can see the consequences of the contrary regime.’
Chapter 20
The Emperor rose four feet into the air before dropping to the billiard room floor with a jolt that sent a shockwave up his spine. Calling on all the strength his legs could muster, he launched himself up again, the leather saddle of the see-saw rising as a counterbalance of lead weights descended opposite him. ‘This will keep up my strength,’ he shouted to Montholon, who was smiling. ‘It is good exercise,’ Napoleon panted, his pale stubbly face gaining colour. ‘You should give it a try, it is much better than walking.’ The Emperor was now producing a rhythmic banging on the parquet floor, the machine creaking and straining loudly under the two weights. After a few minutes he stopped and called his valets to help him from the see-saw which had been built to a Chinese design. He loosened his grip on the iron, T-shaped handle. ‘I am fatigued. I must rest now. Take me to the sofa.’
Determined to revive his strength, Napoleon also decided to take a ride in his carriage each afternoon. ‘I shall walk to the stables,’ he told Montholon. ‘They must not come for me.’ The Emperor did not get dressed but put on his green frock coat over his pantaloons and swapped his madras handkerchief for a round hat. ‘Give me your arm,’ he told the Count, shuffling in his slippers along the path towards the carriage through a drizzle that had descended on Longwood. ‘My legs are weak.’ Montholon helped lift Napoleon into his seat.
‘Drive at a gallop three times around the wood,’ he instructed the driver in front of him. The carriage’s large wheels bumped along the rough track, its black canopy offering little protection against the weather. After the second sharp turn Napoleon had had enough. ‘Slow down. Slow down. I am completely exhausted. Go at a walk to the front of the house.’
The Emperor again took Montholon’s arm to climb the steps into the parlour and the Count helped him with his coat.
‘I would be lost without you, Tristan. I am going to give you a very large sum in my will. It will be more than enough to clear your debts. You will never leave me, will you?’
‘No Sire, of course not. My dear wife has even written to say that she is considering returning to St Helena. Albine said that if it were not for the Longwood climate, life here would be much more to her liking than Paris.’
‘She is a good woman. A very good woman,’ said Napoleon, collapsing onto his sofa.
***
Napoleon wanted answers from Dr Antommarchi. ‘I do not know what the matter is with my stomach,’ he said, placing his hand at the opening to his dressing gown and dropping the book he was reading on to the floor. The Emperor was reclining on his camp bed after a sleepless night and was keen for the doctor to explain his condition. ‘The pain I feel there is like that which I would feel if someone were to enjoy delving a knife into it and turning it around.’ The doctor nodded and smiled.
‘Do you find my complaint amusing?’ asked Napoleon becoming angry.
‘No, Sire, not at all. I was just thinking that my medicines would benefit you greatly.’
‘The smell of your drugs makes my stomach contract. You can apply to my exterior all the treatments that you please but you shall not introduce to my body concoctions capable of destroying the most robust constitution - never. I do not wish to have two diseases - one due to nature and the other to medicine.’
Antommarchi felt for Napoleon’s pulse and monitored it for a few minutes.
‘What do you make of it?’
‘That it is normal. Your Majesty appears to be getting better.’
‘No doubt,’ barked the Emperor. ‘I cannot retain even the lightest food, and I am getting better. All is repugnant to me, I feel disgust at everything. Do not try to deceive me. I am dying.’
***
The Abbe Buonavita’s face was strangely contorted, his blue eyes staring at the ceiling of his small room. His shocked assistant, Vignali, had found him lying on his back on the floor and whispered a prayer for the dead. He knelt at his side, clasping his wooden crucifix and was about to close the elderly priest’s eyes when Buonavita made a rasping noise and twitched violently. ‘Thank the Lord, you are alive. I thought you had left us,’ said the younger priest, not disguising his relief. Buonavita could not reply but tried to nod.
‘I think you have had another attack of apoplexy,’ said Vignali, trying to make his fellow cleric comfortable. ‘I will fetch the doctor, Antommarchi.’
***
‘Tell the Governor that I need to travel to Europe to take the mineral waters at a spa,’ Napoleon told Montholon, who was drafting a letter for him in his study. ‘Tell him that I can never experience any alleviation from my suffering on this island.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘Write that Antommarchi is not able to help me with my illness and that I require one of the physicians who served me in Paris or in the Grand Army, that they must be more than 45 years of age. With regard to new companions, say that I will receive with pleasure anyone who was formerly attached to me, especially the Ducs de Vicence, de Rovigo, the Counts de Segur, de Montesquion, Daru, Drouot, de Turenned and the literary men Denon and Arnauld. I will trust the English and French governments to do whatever is required. The choice should not be left to Cardinal Fesch or any member of my family. They are not able to assist in this matter.’
Napoleon let out a deep sigh. ‘Madame Bertrand is determined to leave and has persuaded her husband to take her and the children back to Europe. I had always considered her a loyal friend.’
‘I think she is concerned that her children will not receive a proper education here,’ said Montholon. ‘The priests have been doing their best. Bertrand has promised that he will return as soon as they are settled.’
‘Where is their loyalty? They are deserting me.’ Napoleon raised his voice. ‘Fanny is a whore, a fallen woman who has slept with all of the English officers who passed her house. She is the most degraded of women.’
Montholon was embarrassed at the outburst. ‘The letter is finished, Sire. Shall I read it back to you?’
***
Antommarchi was furious. He paced around Madame Bertrand’s drawing room and punched her sofa, producing a cloud of dust. The Countess had just given him the news that Napoleon was seeking a new physician from France. ‘I have sacrificed everything to come here to serve him,’ he said, gesticulating wildly. ‘He refused to trust me from the start, would not take the medicines that I have recommended and has treated me like a lowly servant, giving me the most menial tasks. I shall tell the Count de Montholon that I intend to leave.’
‘You can travel back to Europe with us,’ said the Countess, her dark eyes becoming animated. ‘The Emperor treats all of his companions badly. I am amazed that we have lasted here for five years. The boredom and melancholy of the place have ruined my health and the Emperor’s behaviour and insults to Colonel Lyster have permanently damaged my husband’s reputation.’
***
The Governor greeted Montholon warmly, bowing and then shaking him by the hand. After dealing with the rude and obstinate Grand Marshal, the polite and diplomatic Count was a pleasure. ‘I have come up to Longwood to discuss a few pressing matters with you,’ said Lowe, clasping his cocked hat. Montholon bowed. ‘I am at your service, Your Excellency.’
The pair walked into the garden at the front of the house where two Chinese labourers were tending a rose bed.
‘As you are aware the new house is now ready and I wanted to know why General Bonaparte has not moved in,’ said the Governor.
‘For two days the Emperor has been confined to his bed with an attack of fever,’ replied Montholon. He was visiting the Bertrands’ house when he was seized by shivering and an excessive thirst. I have spent the day trying to persuade him to take some castor oil. You have no idea what a bad patient he is. He is worse than a two-year-old. One can do nothing for him.’
Lowe nodded and gazed at Montholon. ‘Why have you not called in other medical men and held a consultation on his case?’
The Count frowned. ‘I have often pressed him to seek further medical advice, Your Excellency, but he has obstinately refused. While he has no objection to see English medical men he said that as he could not keep anything in his stomach, he is unlikely to be able to retain medicine and their assistance would therefore be of no use. At the same time he appears to have lost all faith in Dr Antommarchi.’
‘The young man has been visiting Jamestown,’ said Lowe gazing at the tiled roof of the new single-storey mansion.
Montholon sighed. ‘His conduct is inexplicable. It would be impossible to be less careful or more frivolous. Nothing will alter him and women’s skirts have such an attraction for him that he neglects everything. I don’t think he has ever been found here.’
‘I see,’ said Lowe thoughtfully. ‘What did General Bonaparte think of the new house? Will he demand alterations?’
