His whole purpose was now clearly centred on the need to exalt himself and insult Alexander, precisely what he had had the least intention of doing at the outset of the interview.
‘They tell me you have made peace with the Turks.’
Balashev bent his head in token of affirmation.
‘Yes, we have . . .’ he began. But Napoleon wouldn’t let him go on. He himself was clearly the only person who needed to speak, and on he went with all the volubility and uncontrolled testiness characteristic of spoilt people.
‘Yes, I know you’ve made peace with the Turks without gaining Moldavia or Wallachia. And I would have given your Emperor those provinces just as I gave him Finland. Oh yes,’ he went on, ‘I gave my promise, and I would have given the Emperor Alexander Moldavia and Wallachia, but now he’ll have to do without those fair provinces. He could have joined them on to his empire, and in one reign he would have extended the frontiers of Russia from the Gulf of Bothnia to the Danube delta. Catherine the Great couldn’t have done better,’ Napoleon declared, getting more and more worked up as he paced the room, and repeating for Balashev’s benefit more or less the same words he had used to Alexander himself at Tilsit. ‘All of that he would have owed to my friendship. Oh, what a splendid reign! What a splendid reign! . . .’ he kept on repeating. He stopped, pulled a gold snuff-box out of his pocket and took a greedy sniff from it. ‘What a splendid reign Emperor Alexander’s
He glanced with some pity at Balashev, and since Balashev showed signs of making some comment he hastened to interrupt him again.
‘What could he have wanted or looked for that he wouldn’t have got from my friendship? . . .’ said Napoleon, with a shrug of bemusement. ‘But no, he has preferred to surround himself with my enemies. And who precisely?’ he went on. ‘He has recruited the Steins, Armfeldts, Wintzengerodes and Bennigsens! Stein – a traitor, driven out of his own country; Armfeldt a lecher and conspirator; Wintzengerode a renegade French subject. Bennigsen may be a bit more of a soldier than the rest of them, but he’s still useless; he couldn’t do anything in 1807, and he must have given your Emperor nothing but terrible memories . . . Granted, if they had the slightest ability they might have been put to some use,’ Napoleon went on, his words barely keeping up with the ceaseless torrent of ideas proving his right or his might (the same thing, in his mind), ‘but even that’s too much to ask! They’re useless for war or peace! I hear that Barclay is more capable than the lot of them, but I wouldn’t be too sure about that, judging by his first efforts. And what are they doing, what are all these courtiers doing? Pfuel makes propositions, Armfeldt argues, Bennigsen ponders, and when Barclay is brought in to take some action, he can’t decide what to do – and time is slipping away. Bagration is the only real soldier. He’s a stupid man, but he does have experience, a good eye and some backbone . . . And what part does your young Emperor play in this unseemly mob? They compromise him and make him responsible for everything that happens. A monarch ought not to be with the army unless he’s a general,’ he said, obviously launching these words as a bare-faced challenge to the Tsar. Napoleon was well aware of Alexander’s longing to be a military commander.
‘It’s a week since hostilities began and you haven’t even managed to defend Vilna. You’ve been split in two and driven out of the Polish provinces. Your troops are complaining . . .’
‘No, sir, quite the opposite,’ said Balashev, who was having difficulty in assimilating all that was coming at him and keeping up with the verbal pyrotechnics, ‘the troops are full of enthusiasm . . .’
‘I know all there is to know,’ Napoleon cut him short. ‘There’s nothing I don’t know, and I know the number of your battalions as well as I know my own. You have less than two hundred thousand men, and I have three times as many. I give you my word of honour,’ said Napoleon, oblivious to the fact that his word of honour carried no weight, ‘I give you my word of honour that I have five hundred and thirty thousand men this side of the Vistula. The Turks will be of no use to you; they are good for nothing, which they have proved by making peace with you. The Swedes? They’re destined to be ruled by mad kings. They had one king who was mad, and they replaced him with another, Bernadotte,7 who soon went mad; being a Swede, you would have to be mad to form alliances with Russia.’
Napoleon gave a nasty laugh, and took another sniff from his snuff-box.
