Prince Andrey smiled now the same happy smile he had smiled then as he gazed into her eyes. ‘I did understand her,’ thought Prince Andrey. ‘It was more than understanding. That spiritual energy, that sincerity, that open-heartedness, the very soul of her that seemed to be bound up in her body, I loved the soul in her . . . My love was so deep and blissful . . .’ And then suddenly he remembered how their love had ended. ‘
Prince Andrey leapt to his feet like a scalded cat, and began walking up and down again outside the barn.
CHAPTER 26
On the 25th of August, the eve of the battle of Borodino, Napoleon’s quarters were at Valuyevo. M. de Bausset, prefect of the French Emperor’s palace, and Colonel Fabvier, arrived there, the former from Paris, the latter from Madrid.
M. de Bausset had changed into court uniform and ordered the package he had brought for the Emperor to be carried in before him; now he walked into the outer section of Napoleon’s tent, and chatted to an aide as he set about unpacking the box.
Fabvier stopped at the entrance and stayed outside, talking to some generals that he knew.
The Emperor Napoleon was still in his bedroom, finishing his toilet. With much snorting and harrumphing he twisted this way and that, offering first his fat back and then his flabby, hairy chest to the flesh-brush wielded by a valet who was rubbing him down. Another valet held one finger over the mouth of a little bottle as he sprinkled the Emperor’s pampered person with eau de cologne, and the look on his face suggested that he was unique in knowing where and how much to sprinkle. Napoleon’s short hair was wet and matted down over his forehead. But his face, for all its sallow puffiness, glowed with physical pleasure. ‘Go on, harder, keep at it . . .’ he kept saying amidst further shrugs and harrumphing as the valet brushed away. An adjutant who had come into the bedroom to report the number of prisoners taken in yesterday’s action stood by the door; he had delivered his message and was waiting for permission to leave. Napoleon glanced up at him with a scowl.
‘No prisoners?’ he exclaimed, repeating what the adjutant had said. ‘They’re forcing us to destroy them. Too bad for the Russian army . . . Go on, harder . . .’ he said, hunching up his podgy shoulders for the valet. ‘Good. Send de Bausset in, and Fabvier too,’ he said to the adjutant with a nod.
‘Yes, sir.’ And the adjutant was out of the door.
It took no time at all for the two valets to get his Majesty into his blue guards uniform, and soon he was striding through into the reception-room with a bold and rapid tread.
De Bausset meanwhile was busy fussing with the present he had brought from the Empress, which he wanted to arrange across a couple of chairs right in front of the Emperor’s doorway. But his Majesty had taken less time than expected to get dressed and come out, so the surprise wasn’t quite ready.
Napoleon spotted immediately what they were up to, and guessed they weren’t ready for him. Not wishing to deprive them of the pleasure of preparing a nice surprise for him, he pretended he hadn’t seen M. de Bausset, and called Fabvier over. Napoleon arranged his face into a severe frown as he listened in silence to Fabvier’s discourse on the courage and devotion of his men fighting at Salamanca, the other end of Europe, whose only thought was to be worthy of their Emperor, and whose only dread was to incur his displeasure. The battle had been a disaster. Napoleon made one or two sarcastic comments during Fabvier’s account, to the effect that no more could have been expected in view of his absence.
‘I must put things right in Moscow,’ said Napoleon. ‘Goodbye for now,’ he added, and summoned de Bausset, who had now had enough time to get his surprise ready; something had been placed across the chairs and covered with a cloth.
De Bausset gave a very low bow in true French courtly fashion, the special bow of the older Bourbon retainers, and came closer to hand over a letter.
Napoleon addressed him breezily, and tweaked his ear.
‘It hasn’t taken you long. I’m delighted to see you. Well, come on then, what’s the word from Paris?’ he said, his earlier dark glare switching instantly to a look of warm cordiality.
‘Sire, the whole of Paris regrets your absence,’ answered de Bausset, going through the motions. But even though Napoleon knew de Bausset was obliged to say this or something like it, even though in his brighter moments he knew it wasn’t true, he was still gratified to hear it. He was gracious enough to give the man’s ear another tweak.
‘I’m so sorry to have made you do so much travelling,’ he said.
