He remained nearly in the same state for some days.  On the 1st of May he was delirious nearly all day, and suffered dreadful vomitings.  He took two small biscuits and a few drops of red wine.  On the 2d he was rather quieter, and the alarming symptoms diminished a little.  At 2 P.M., however, he had a paroxysm of fever, and became again delirious.  He talked to himself of France, of his dear son, of some of his old companions-in-arms.  At times he was evidently in imagination on the field of battle.  “Stengel!” he cried; “Desaix!  Massena!  Ah! victory is declaring itself! run—­rush forward—­press the charge!—­they are ours!”

“I was listening,” says Dr. Antommarchi, “and following the progress of that painful agony in the deepest distress, when Napoleon, suddenly collecting his strength, jumped on the floor, and would absolutely go down into the garden to take a walk.  I ran to receive him in my arms, but his legs bent under the weight of his body; he fell backwards, and I had the mortification of being unable to prevent his falling.  We raised him up and entreated him to get into bed again; but he did not recognise anybody, and began to storm and fall into a violent passion.  He was unconscious, and anxiously desired to walk in the garden.  In the course of the day, however, he became more collected, and again spoke of his disease, and the precise anatomical examination he wished to be made of his body after death.  He had a fancy that this might be useful to his son.”  “The physicians of Montpelier,” he said to Antommarchi, “announced that the scirrhosis in the pylorus would be hereditary in my family; their report is, I believe, in the hands of my brother Louis; ask for it and compare it with your own observations on my case, in order that my son may be saved from this cruel disease.  You will see him, Doctor, and you will point out to him what is best to do, and will save him from the cruel sufferings I now experience.  This is the last service I ask of you.”  Later in the day he said, “Doctor, I am very ill—­I feel that I am going to die.”

The last time Napoleon spoke, except to utter a few short unconnected words, was on the 3d of May.  It was in the afternoon, and he had requested his attendants, in case of his losing consciousness, not to allow any English physician to approach him except Dr. Arnott.  “I am going to die,” said he, “and you to return to Europe; I must give you some advice as to the line of conduct you are to pursue.  You have shared my exile, you will be faithful to my memory, and will not do anything that may injure it.  I have sanctioned all proper principles, and infused them into my laws and acts; I have not omitted a single one.  Unfortunately, however, the circumstances in which I was placed were arduous, and I was obliged to act with severity, and to postpone the execution of my plans.  Our reverses occurred; I could not unbend the bow; and France has been deprived of the liberal institutions I intended to give her.  She judges me with indulgence; she feels grateful for my intentions; she cherishes my name and my victories.  Imitate her example, be faithful to the opinions we have defended, and to the glory we have acquired:  any other course can only lead to shame and confusion.”