Antommarchi, having gained his confidence, now became companion as well as physician to the Emperor, and sometimes read with him.  He eagerly turned over the newspapers when they arrived, and commented freely on their contents.  “It is amusing,” he would say, “to see the sage measures resorted to by the Allies to make people forget my tyranny!” On one occasion he felt more languid than ordinary, and lighting on the ‘Andromache’ of Racine; he took up the book, began to read, but soon let it drop from his hands.  He had come to the famous passage where the mother describes her being allowed to see her son once a day.

He was moved, covered his face with his hands, and, saying that he was too much affected, desired to be left alone.  He grew calmer, fell asleep, and when he awoke, desired Antommarchi to be called again.  He was getting ready to shave, and the doctor was curious to witness the operation.  He was in his shirt, his head uncovered, with two valets at his side, one holding the glass and a towel, the other the rest of the apparatus.  The Emperor spread the soap over one side of his face, put down the brush, wiped his hands and mouth, took a razor dipped in hot water and shaved the right side with singular dexterity.  “Is it done, Noverraz?”—­“Yes, Sire.”—­“Well, then, face about.  Come, villain, quick, stand still.”  The light fell on the left side, which, after applying the lather, he shaved in the same manner and with the same dexterity.  He drew his hand over his chin.  “Raise the glass.  Am I quite right?”—­ “Quite so.”—­“Not a hair has escaped me:  what say you?”—­“No, Sire,” replied the valet de chambre.  “No!  I think I perceive one.  Lift up the glass, place it in a better light.  How, rascal!  Flattery?  You deceive me at St. Helena?  On this rock?  You, too, are an accomplice.”  With this he gave them both a box on the ear, laughed, and joked in the most pleasant manner possible.

An almost incredible instance of the determination of the exiles to make as many enemies as they possibly could was exhibited to Antommarchi on his arrival at Longwood.  He states that hefore he was permitted to enter on his functions as surgeon he was required to take an oath that he would not communicate with the English, and that he would more especially avoid giving them the least information respecting the progress of Napoleon’s disorder.  He was not allowed to see his illustrious patient until the oath was taken.  After exacting such an oath from his physician the attendants of Bonaparte had little right to complain, as they did, that the real state of his disorder was purposely concealed from the world by the English Government.  It is more than probable that the constant attempts observed to throw mystery and secrecy around them must have tended to create the suspicion of escape, and to increase the consequent rigour of the regulations maintained by the Governor.