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."

From this moment it does not appear that Napoleon showed any signs of
understanding what was going forward around him. His weakness increased
every moment, and a harassing hiccough continued until death took place.
The day before that event a fearful tempest threatened to destroy
everything about Longwood. The plantations were torn up by the roots,
and it was particularly remarked that a willow, under which Napoleon
usually sat to enjoy the fresh air, had fallen. "It seemed," says
Antommarchi, "as if none of the things the Emperor valued were to survive
him." On the day of his death Madame Bertrand, who had not left his
bedside, sent for her children to take a last farewell of Napoleon. The
scene which ensued was affecting: the children ran to the bed, kissed the
hands of Napoleon, and covered them with tears. One of the children
fainted, and all had to be carried from the spot. "We all," says
Antommarchi, "mixed our lamentations with theirs: we all felt the same
an