Balashev was waiting with a ready response to every one of Napoleon’s phrases. Many times he made as if to reply, but Napoleon always cut him short. For instance, on the subject of Swedish insanity Balashev wanted to say that, with Russia behind her, Sweden was effectively an island, but Napoleon drowned him out with an angry outburst. Napoleon was in such a state of high indignation that he needed to talk, talk, talk in order to prove to himself that he was in the right. Balashev was making heavy weather of it. As an envoy he was anxious not to lose face, and he felt duty-bound to raise objections, but as a man he cringed before the numbing onslaught of mindless fury which had Napoleon in its grip. He was now aware that anything said by Napoleon would be meaningless and an embarrassment to the speaker himself when he eventually pulled himself together. Balashev stood there looking down at Napoleon’s fat legs working away, and did all he could to avoid his eyes.
‘And what are your allies to me?’ said Napoleon. ‘I have allies of my own, the Poles, eighty thousand of them and they fight like lions. And soon there’ll be two hundred thousand.’
Probably even more annoyed with himself at stretching the truth in such an obvious way and at Balashev standing there before him meekly resigned to his fate and saying nothing, he turned on his heel, strode over to Balashev, gesticulating wildly with his white hands, and almost shouted straight in his face, ‘I tell you this – you turn Prussia against me . . . and . . . I tell you this – I’ll wipe her off the map of Europe!’ he said, his face contorted and white with fury, as he punched one little hand sharply with the other. ‘Oh yes, I’ll shove you back across the Dvina and the Dnieper, and I’ll put back the frontier that Europe was criminal and blind to let you come across. Yes, that’s what you’ve got coming to you. That’s what you’ve gained by alienating me,’ he said, and he paced the room in silence several times, his podgy shoulders heaving. He put the snuff-box back into his waistcoat pocket, took it out again, held it to his nose several times, and came to a halt facing Balashev. He paused, stared Balashev straight in the face with a look of mockery and said in a soft voice, ‘And to think what a fine reign your master
Balashev, feeling obliged to respond, told him that from Russia’s point of view things did not look so bleak. Napoleon made no comment; he was still sneering and obviously not listening. Balashev said that in Russia they were expecting the war to end well. Napoleon gave a patronizing nod of the head as if to say, ‘I know it’s your duty to say that, but you don’t believe it. My arguments have won you over.’
When Balashev had said his piece Napoleon took out his snuff-box once again, had a good sniff and gave a signal by stamping his foot twice on the floor. The door opened and a gentleman-in-waiting weaved his way in deferentially and handed the Emperor his hat and gloves, while another handed him a pocket-handkerchief. Napoleon ignored them and turned to Balashev.
‘Please assure the Emperor Alexander from me,’ he said, taking his hat, ‘that I am devoted to him as before. I know him thoroughly, and have the highest opinion of his noble qualities. I shall detain you no longer, General. You will receive my letter to the Emperor.’ And Napoleon walked rapidly over to the door. Everyone in the outer reception-room rushed forward and down the stairs.
CHAPTER 7
After everything Napoleon had said to him, after those furious outbursts, and after those acidic last words, ‘I shall detain you no longer, General. You will receive my letter,’ Balashev felt certain that from now on not only would Napoleon not want to see him again, he would go out of his way to avoid seeing him, an envoy who had been so badly treated, and, more to the point, someone who had witnessed such degrading and intemperate behaviour on his part. But, much to his surprise, Balashev received through Duroc an invitation to dinner that evening with the Emperor.
Bessières, Caulaincourt and Berthier were present at the dinner.
Napoleon welcomed Balashev with a display of good humour and friendliness. Far from showing any signs of embarrassment or self-reproach for his tantrum that morning, he did all he could to put Balashev at his ease. It was clear that Napoleon had convinced himself long before this that he was incapable of error and that everything he did was good, not because it conformed with any general concept of right or wrong, but simply because
The Emperor was in buoyant mood after his ride through Vilna, where he had been hailed and pursued by cheering crowds. Every window in every street he drove down was hung with rugs and banners displaying his monogram, and welcoming Polish ladies had waved their handkerchiefs at him.
