Shortly after this, O’Meara—­being detected in a suspicious correspondence with one Holmes, Napoleon’s pecuniary agent in London—­was sent home by Sir Hudson Lowe; and, Napoleon declining to receive any physician of the governor’s nomination instead, an Italian, by name Antommarchi, was sent out by his sister Pauline.  With this doctor there came also two Italian priests, whose presence Napoleon himself had solicited, and selected by his uncle, Cardinal Fesch.

His obstinate refusal to take bodily exercise might have sprung in some measure from internal and indescribable sensations.  To all Antommarchi’s medical prescriptions, he opposed the like determination.  “Doctor,” he said (14th October 1820), “no physicking; we are a machine made to live; we are organised for that purpose, and such is our nature; do not counteract the living principle—­let it alone—­leave it the liberty of self-defence—­it will do better than your drugs.  Our body is a watch, intended to go for a given time.  The watchmaker cannot open it, and must work at random.  For once that he relieves or assists it by his crooked instruments, he injured it ten times, and at last destroys it.”

With the health of Napoleon his mind sank also.  Some fishes in a pond in the garden at Longwood had attracted his notice; a deleterious substance happened to mix with the water—­they sickened and died.  “Everything I love,” said Napoleon, “everything that belongs to me—­is stricken.  Heaven and mankind unite to afflict me.”  Fits of long silence and profound melancholy were now frequent.  “In those days,” he once said aloud, in a reverie, “In those days I was Napoleon.  Now I am nothing—­my strength, my faculties forsake me—­I no longer live, I only exist.”

When Sir Hudson Lowe was made aware of the condition of the captive, he informed the government at home; and by his Majesty’s desire, authority was immediately given for removing to St. Helena from the Cape, any medical officer on whom Napoleon’s choice might fall.  This despatch did not, however, reach St. Helena, until Napoleon had breathed his last.

About the middle of April, 1821, the disease assumed such an appearance, that Dr. Antommarchi became very anxious to have the advice of some English physician, and the patient at length consented to admit the visits of Dr. Arnott, already referred to.  But this gentleman also was heard in vain urging the necessity of medical applications.  “Quod scriptum scriptum,” once more answered Napoleon; “our hour is marked, and no one can claim a moment of life beyond what fate has predestined.”