Napoleon appears to have taken peculiar interest in observing the instincts of animals, and comparing their practices and propensities with those of men.  A rainy day, during which the digging of the tank could not be proceeded with, gave occasion for some observations on the actions of a number of ants, which had made a way into his bedroom, climbed upon a table on which some sugar usually stood, and taken possession of the sugar-basin.  He would not allow the industrious little insects to be disturbed in their plans; but he now and then moved the sugar, followed their manoeuvres, and admired the activity and industry they displayed until they found it again; this they had been sometimes even two or three days in effecting, though they always succeeded at last.  He then surrounded the basin with water, but the ants still reached it; he finally employed vinegar, and the insects were unable to get through the new obstacle.

But the slight activity of mind that now remained to him was soon to be exchanged for the languor and gloom of sickness, with but few intervals between positive suffering and the most distressing lowness of spirits.  Towards the end of the year 1820 he walked with difficulty, and required assistance even to reach a chair in his garden.  He became nearly incapable of the slightest action; his legs swelled; the pains in his side and back were increased; he was troubled with nausea, profuse sweats, loss of appetite, and was subject to frequent faintings.  “Here I am, Doctor,” said he one day, “at my last cast.  No more energy and strength left:  I bend under the load . . .  I am going.  I feel that my hour is come.”

Some days after, as he lay on his couch, he feelingly expressed to Antommarchi the vast change which had taken place within him.  He recalled for a few moments the vivid recollection of past times, and compared his former energy with the weakness which he was then sinking under.

The news of the death of his sister Elisa also affected him deeply.  After a struggle with his feelings, which had nearly overpowered him, he rose, supported himself on Antommarchi’s arm; and regarding him steadfastly, said, “Well, Doctor! you see Elisa has just shown me the way.  Death, which seemed to have forgotten my family, has begun to strike it; my turn cannot be far off.  What think you?”—­“Your Majesty is in no danger:  you are still reserved for some glorious enterprise.”—­ “Ah, Doctor!  I have neither strength nor activity nor energy; I am no longer Napoleon.  You strive in vain to give me hopes, to recall life ready to expire.  Your care can do nothing in spite of fate:  it is immovable:  there is no appeal from its decisions.  The next person of our family who will follow Elisa to the tomb is that great Napoleon who hardly exists, who bends under the yoke, and who still, nevertheless keeps Europe in alarm.  Behold, my good friend, how I look on my situation!  As for me, all is over:  I repeat it to you, my days will soon close