During the last year or so he took great interest in gardening, and spent hours in planting trees, digging the soil, and generally behaving somewhat after the manner of a suburban householder. He was intensely bored by his forced inaction, and used to take refuge in chess. His staff at first welcomed this, but unhappily they could find nobody bad enough for the mighty strategist to beat; yet nobody dared to give him checkmate, and it was necessary to lose the game foolishly rather than to defeat Napoleon. It is clear that the qualities requisite in a good chess-player are by no means the same as those necessary to outmanœuvre an army. Throughout his life his pulse-rate seldom exceeded fifty per minute; as he grew older he was subject to increasing lassitude; his extremities felt constantly chilly, and he used to lie for hours daily in hot-water baths. Possibly these may have been symptoms of hypo-pituitarism; Lord Rosebery follows popular opinion in attributing his laziness to the weakening effects of hot baths. Occasionally Napoleon suffered from attacks of vomiting, followed by fits of extreme lethargy. It is quite possible that these vomiting attacks may have been due to the gastric ulcer, which must have been growing for years until, about September, 1820, it became acutely malignant. The legend that Napoleon suffered from epilepsy appears, according to Dr. Ireland, to rest upon a statement in Talleyrand’s memoirs. In September, 1805, in Talleyrand’s presence, Napoleon was seized after dinner with a sort of fit, and fell to the ground struggling convulsively. Talleyrand loosened his cravat, obeying the popular rule in such circumstances to “give him air.” Remusat, the chief chamberlain, gave him water, which he drank. Talleyrand returned to the charge, and “inundated” him with eau-de-Cologne. The Emperor awakened, and said something--one would like to know what he said when he felt the inundation streaming down his clothes--probably something truly of the camp. Half an hour later he was on the road that was to lead him--to Austerlitz, of all places! Clearly this fit, whatever it may have been, was not epilepsy in the ordinary sense of the term. There was no “cry,” no biting of the tongue, no foaming at the mouth, and apparently no unconsciousness. Moreover, epilepsy is accompanied by degeneration of the intellect, and nobody dares to say that Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram--to say nothing of Aspern and Eckmuhl--were won by a degenerate. Eylau and Friedland were also to come after 1805, and these seven names still ring like a trumpet for sheer glory, daring, and supreme genius. I suppose there is not one of them--except perhaps Aspern--which would not have made an imperishable name for any lesser general. It is impossible to believe that they were fought by an epileptic. If Napoleon really had epilepsy it was assuredly not the “_grand mal_” which helps to fill our asylums. It is just possible that “_petit mal_” may have been in the picture.