Napoleon's Rabbit Farmer, page 19
‘The Emperor visited with his valet Marchand and I think he was impressed with the size of the rooms. He said the orderly officer’s quarters were too close to the house and wished them to be moved further off.’
‘I will be happy to do anything in my power to render the dwelling as convenient as possible,’ said Lowe, preparing to depart.
Montholon walked with the Governor towards the gate. ‘The new house appears to me very comfortable and convenient,’ said the Count. ‘I confess that I am astonished that you have succeeded in erecting such a building in so short a time and so perfect a manner with the few materials to be found on the island. I am very keen that we move. The floors in the old house are so rotten that they break when one walks on them.’
***
The Emperor poured a spoon of sugar over a segment of orange and then sucked noisily on the flesh. He and Montholon were sharing breakfast in the Longwood dining room.
‘Sire, I have been informed by Colonel Reade that Antommarchi has requested permission to return to Europe,’ said the Count, taking a slice of freshly-baked bread.
Napoleon snorted. ‘What?’
‘Antommarchi wishes to leave your service, Sire. He complains that he has not been able to win your confidence.’
‘I shall dismiss the imbecile,’ shouted the Emperor, a little colour appearing in his face. ‘His medicines have poisoned me. He can go home with the sick priest, Buonavita. Antommarchi will be of more use to the dying old man than me. Fetch the priest and then we shall write a letter to the doctor telling him to leave as soon as possible.’
The breakfast dishes had been cleared and Montholon had helped Napoleon to the parlour when the maitre d’hotel announced Buonavita’s arrival. The elderly man appeared even more bent and could not pick up his feet when he walked. Buonavita bowed his grey head.
‘Abbe, I was sorry to hear you have suffered another attack of apoplexy,’ said Napoleon. The priest tried to reply but no words came out.
‘It would be prudent for you to return to Europe and not remain any longer on St Helena. The climate here has injured your health while that of Italy will prolong your days.’
The priest looked up, his face drooping on one side. ‘I am sorry ... that I am ... not... not ending my ...days with you. I had meant to devote my life.’
‘I am sending Dr Antommarchi to care for you on the voyage. I would like you to take some messages to my family in Rome.’
***
Antommarchi picked up the letter when he returned from Jamestown. The doctor was about to put on his Longwood uniform when he noticed Montholon’s seal. He pulled it open and the colour drained from his face. ‘During the 15 months you have spent in this place you have given His Majesty no confidence in your moral character,’ it said. ‘You can be of no use to him in his illness, and your residing here for some months longer would have no object and be of no use.’
***
‘The India ships are waiting for a signal from me before they can sail,’ said Sir Hudson Lowe. ‘It is important that General Bonaparte should be seen, so that the signal can be given for their departure from St Helena.’
The Governor had again come up to Longwood to visit Montholon and hoped that by imposing a deadline, he would force Napoleon to consult a British doctor. ‘There should be no further delay. If the orderly officer or a British medical officer is not allowed an opportunity to see General Bonaparte then I will take the necessary steps to obtain the information with regard to his presence.’
‘I am sure that will not be necessary,’ said Montholon softly.
‘I would regret exceedingly being compelled to resort to any measure of coercion but I must have proof of his presence here. It would give me infinite pleasure if this could be achieved without recourse to anything disagreeable. As you know, Doctor Arnott can be called at a moment’s notice from Deadwood.’
Montholon stared at the Governor’s blotchy face and Roman nose. ‘It will not be possible to arrange this in an hour. I will have to come up with a plan to persuade the Emperor to see Doctor Arnott. I cannot just go to the Emperor and deliver your message. Can you give me 24 hours?’
The Governor shook his head. ‘I have already delayed the ships one day. I will hold them in the bay until tomorrow morning, then they must sail. Surely the orderly officer can be given a view through General Bonaparte’s window or be taken to the door of his room?’
‘It would be no good as the Emperor’s bed is so low that it cannot be seen from the window,’ explained Montholon. ‘As for going to the door, the room is kept so dark that the Emperor cannot be seen without a light, and only allows a lantern encased in paper. Light is so painful to his eyes, he cannot bear it. But I am sure something can be arranged.’
After the Governor had gone, Montholon went to find Bertrand to seek his advice. The Grand Marshal was with his children in the garden, watching them sketch their dog, which would not sit still.
‘Can we talk?’ asked Montholon.
‘Of course,’ said the Grand Marshal. ‘Let’s go into the house.’
The count told Bertrand of the Governor’s deadline.
‘We must use every argument that we can think of to persuade the Emperor to see the English doctor,’ said Bertrand. ‘I also think that we should try to bring about a reconciliation with Dr Antommarchi. He is a bright young man and two heads would be wiser than one in the care of the Emperor.’
The next morning Montholon arranged for Captain Lutyens to be at the window when Napoleon was changing beds. The Count adjusted the blinds for a few moments to enable the orderly officer to get a glimpse. He was taken aback at the sight of a man who had not shaven for days and needed the support of two attendants to get across the room.
‘It will be an act of humanity to insist on calling in other medical advice,’ Lutyens told Montholon a little later. ‘It will be regarded as criminal neglect to delay calling in other medical assistance.’ The words had come from a letter the captain had received that day from the Governor’s office.
***
The Abbe Buonavita was ready to sail for Europe and was being interviewed by the Governor at the castle in Jamestown. ‘I, I did not consent,’ said the priest, struggling to form his words, ‘to behave in the manner desired of me at Longwood. I could not … could not be party to any intrigues.’
Lowe nodded. ‘I am sorry that I could not consent to Dr Antommarchi travelling with you, to assist during your journey. But he is needed here until a replacement medical officer can be found for General Bonaparte.’
The priest nodded. ‘It cannot ... last... long.’
Lowe gave Buonavita a puzzled look, raising his heavy eyebrows.
‘If you could see Bonaparte’s face,’ continued the cleric. ‘I, I, I assure you, as an independent and honourable man, that it cannot last. Remember what I am saying.’
Montholon was also convinced that the Emperor was dying. Alone at his bureau, he was writing to his wife. ‘The Emperor has given us all the complete conviction that, in one way or another, St Helena is near its end. It is impossible that he can live much longer. I have never seen anybody so much like a corpse as he now is.’
Chapter 21
‘The Countess is in grave danger,’ said Dr Archibald Arnott, breaking the news to the Grand Marshal at the door to his bedroom. ‘I am sorry to say that your wife has lost the baby that she was expecting and a lot of blood.’
Bertrand nodded, a severe expression on his face. ‘Will Fanny pull through? Will she live?’
‘Only time will tell, but she is in the best possible hands.’
Bertrand had called on the services of Dr Arnott and his colleague Dr Matthew Livingstone, surgeon to the East India Company, shortly after his wife fell ill the previous evening. The Countess had suffered violent, crippling stomach cramps and had sent for Dr Antommarchi, who had applied a blister to her abdomen. But her condition deteriorated rapidly when she started to bleed.
‘The Countess has a very high temperature and a worrying pulse,’ continued Arnott. ‘Fortunately, the pregnancy wasn’t very far advanced. We will stay with her tonight.’
Bertrand bowed his head, tears filling his eyes. ‘I am grateful for your assistance. Is Dr Antommarchi still here?’
‘No, I believe he has gone off to visit General Bonaparte. You can see your wife now. Don’t say too much to her as she must remain calm.’
The Grand Marshal squeezed past the tall Scottish doctor and went into the room, which was lit by two candles. He held his wife’s hand and whispered softly to her. ‘You will get better, my darling. Be strong.’ A faint smile appeared on her face and her husband kissed her pale cheek.
***
Napoleon’s valets changed his flannel waistcoat, shirt and cotton bandana every time they became damp with perspiration. He was in the grip of a fever and was ranting loudly in the darkness of his bedroom. It was the fifth time that day that his clothes had been changed. Bertrand had come to his bedside while Antommarchi lingered in the doorway.
‘You ought to have made your wife a prostitute,’ he told the Grand Marshal on seeing him. ‘I have been planning to sleep with her myself. But now she is leaving.’
Bertrand was astonished. ‘Sire, the Countess has been very ill and for a while in great danger,’ said the Grand Marshal. ‘She is a good wife and I am relieved to say she is making a strong recovery. Your Majesty’s illness must be confusing you.’
‘She has been with Antommarchi,’ said the Emperor. ‘They have been having an affair. I hold it against her for not having been my mistress’
The Grand Marshal stepped back towards the door and stood there in silence for several minutes before addressing the doctor. ‘What is your opinion of the Emperor’s condition?’ he whispered.
‘It seems to be a febrile disturbance brought on by the fever.’
The following day Napoleon complained that his stomach pains were getting worse.
‘What is happening to me, Antommarchi?’ he said from his camp bed in the study.
‘Sire, there are undeniable signs of gastritis. An emetic would be very useful. I believe that if Your Majesty takes tartar emetic in a drink it will purge your body of that which is making you so ill. Sire, you must not neglect yourself.’
Montholon agreed with the doctor. ‘Please do not leave it to nature, Sire. At least try the emetic medicine.’
Wearily Napoleon consented, despite his deep mistrust. Antommarchi added a quarter of a grain to the lemonade that had been brought by the valet Marchand. The Emperor was in bed and raised his head to take the medicine. He swallowed slowly until half the cloudy liquid was gone.
‘Sire, you must take all the medicine for it to have effect,’ said Antommarchi.
Napoleon swallowed again and belched loudly. He then rested his head back on the pillow. Marchand and St Denis were holding large porcelain bowls and did not have to wait long. Napoleon coughed, retched and then vomited. The valets caught most of it but the Emperor rolled from the bed and fell heavily onto the floor, being sick again and again. He writhed in agony and soon there was nothing left to expel, but still he tried to vomit. His face was a bright red and his eyes filled with tears. ‘I am in agony,’ he said, panting. ‘It is terrible medicine.’
***
Antommarchi had been persuaded by Montholon to seek the advice of Dr Arnott on the best course of treatment. ‘Without seeing the patient it is difficult to say,’ said the Scot. ‘But for the symptoms that you have described I would advise purgatives, a blister on the stomach and saline draughts.’
Napoleon took the tartar emetic for two more days before he told the doctor that he could endure no more. The Emperor brought up nothing but mucous. ‘I will not submit any longer to the ordeal,’ he said.
‘The effect is strong but it is a necessary remedy,’ argued Antommarchi.
‘Can you not see that the treatment, the constant vomiting, has left the Emperor very weak?’ said Montholon, who was doing his best to comfort Napoleon. ‘He will not have a stomach left.’
When the doctor had gone, Napoleon asked for a glass of lemonade to quench a growing thirst.
‘I must drink,’ he said. ‘My mouth is so dry.’
But Antommarchi was determined that Napoleon should have the full course of tartar emetic. He had the tiny jar in his waistcoat pocket and before the drink was served he secretly added another quarter of a grain. Marchand collected it from a silver tray and held it to the Emperor’s lips. ‘There is something wrong. It smells like the medicine.’ he said. ‘Here Montholon, you take it. Try it for me.’
The Count stepped forward and took the drink. ‘Are you certain, Sire?’
‘Yes, drink it.’
Montholon frowned then slowly swallowed the lemonade. In less than a minute he vomited and then collapsed to the floor. He was sick seven times, his clothes covered in a foul-smelling orange liquid. ‘Call the doctor back,’ Napoleon told his valet. Antommarchi appeared very quickly.
‘You are an assassin,’ Napoleon shouted at him. ‘A poisoner. I never want to see you again.’ Antommarchi turned and left the room.
The valets helped Montholon from the floor and offered him some hot towels. They then cleaned the study with bowls of steaming water. At 1pm the Grand Marshal appeared and Napoleon recounted what had happened.
‘Sire, I implore you to see Doctor Arnott. He is an excellent physician who has saved the life of the Countess and at present is the most senior medical man on the island. I beg Your Majesty to see him.’
‘Very well, very well. But Arnott has to treat me as he would any other patient and must not write medical bulletins for the Governor.’
***
Dr Arnott tried to locate General Bonaparte’s bed in the darkness, stooping his head and moving slowly to avoid knocking into the furniture. On reaching the patient he felt the outline of his body through the bed clothes, moving up from the legs to the shoulders. ‘I am Dr Archibald Arnott of the 20th Regiment,’ he said. ‘I have come to help you. Tell me what is troubling you.’
The patient let out a low moan but said nothing. Arnott put down his bag and felt his way from the patient’s shoulder until he got to the wrist. He then took a firm grip and found the pulse with his two forefingers. Next he checked the patient’s skin and forehead, moving the tips of his fingers down the side of the face, behind the ears and around the neck. Satisfied at the preliminary examination, Arnott felt for his bag, grasped the handles and made for the dim light of the doorway to the study, where a single candle was burning.
The doctor had been called by Antommarchi while he was dining with the Longwood orderly officer, Captain Lutyens. It was 10.30pm and the two gentlemen were sharing a bottle of claret and were playing cards. ‘I will come at once,’ said the Scot, putting on his blue frock coat. Sir Hudson Lowe had already given his approval and said that no official medical bulletins would be required. He had also sent up his cook to Longwood to make soups for Bonaparte as he had heard of his difficulty in digesting food. As soon as Arnott had gone, Captain Lutyens sent a message to the Governor informing him that the doctor had finally been called to attend the Emperor. The staff officer Colonel Reade was waiting for Arnott when he returned.
‘Well, what did you make of Bonaparte’s condition?’ asked Reade, watching the doctor approach across the Longwood courtyard. ‘Good evening sir,’ said Arnott, pausing. ‘The room was very dark. I could not see General Bonaparte but I felt him, or someone else. I examined his pulse and state of skin and perceived there was considerable debility but nothing that indicated immediate danger.’
Reade became concerned. ‘Could you not be certain that it was him?’
‘No sir, I could not. But I have been asked to return in the morning and hopefully I shall be able to carry out a proper examination.’
The next day Arnott was shocked to find the Emperor’s bed clothes covered in phlegm. There was enough light to enable him to make a careful note of the symptoms. ‘Pulse 72,’ he recorded. ‘Tongue loaded with fur, growing pain in stomach, nausea and vomiting. Bowels do not act without assistance – use made of enemas – pain relieved after free evacuation. Febrile attacks frequent.’
Again Reade was waiting to hear the doctor’s assessment. ‘I believe the disease is hypochondriasis,’ said Arnott, who was aware of the danger to his career of becoming involved in the French intrigues at Longwood. ‘If a 74-gun frigate arrived in the bay to set Bonaparte at liberty, he would be up on his legs directly.’ Reade conveyed this view to Sir Hudson Lowe, who went to see the doctor himself. ‘I could discover no organic affection,’ Arnott told him. ‘The illness is mental, it is hypochondriasis.’
Lowe was incredulous. ‘What about the pain, the constant vomiting?’ he said. ‘The feeling of heat over the liver? All these things are not compatible with such a diagnosis.’
‘Well sir, I can only tell you what I have seen with my own eyes. Dr Antommarchi has exaggerated General Bonaparte’s symptoms.’
In the weeks waiting to be called to attend the Emperor, Arnott had weighed up the risks to his own career and reputation. He had discussed them with his colleague Dr Livingstone in the mess of the 20th Regiment.
‘Both doctors O’Meara and Stokoe had to face courts martial for siding with the French,’ he told the younger doctor. ‘As you know O’Meara was dismissed from the Navy and Stokoe forced to retire. They became part of the French conspiracy. I mean to say that they diagnosed hepatitis brought on by the climate here. The French plan was to have Bonaparte removed from St Helena because the climate was damaging his health, his liver. Well, If I am called to attend him I am going to form my own opinion of the case. I did not go through bloody campaign after campaign to be ruined here.’
After his third visit to the Emperor, the Grand Marshal also asked Arnott what he thought of his condition. ‘I advised General Bonaparte to rise from his bed and get shaved,’ he told Bertrand, who met the doctor in the parlour. ‘His beard is very long. General Bonaparte said that he was too weak at present and that he would shave when he was a little stronger.’
