as dangerous to himself as it was frightening to others, if it then caused advisors to be restrained, and provoked enemies to revenge.
Napoleon glanced outside. Dusk was falling over the city and soon it would be dark enough for the fireworks. They were scheduled to begin after the dinner was over, but Napoleon’s suppression of his anger had left him feeling brittle and impatient. Abruptly, he waved to the chamberlain in charge of the entertainments and the man came hurrying over.
‘The dinner is over,’ Napoleon announced.
‘Over?’ The chamberlain raised his eyebrows. ‘What of the other courses, sire?’
‘They will not be needed. Pass the word to the officer in charge of the fireworks. I want the display to begin in thirty minutes.’
‘Yes, sire, but—’
‘But?’ Napoleon frowned at him and the chamberlain lowered his gaze nervously.
‘Yes, sire. As you command.’
The man bowed and backed away the regulation number of steps before turning to issue the orders to the staff waiting the tables. As soon as the Emperor’s guests had finished their soup the bowls were whisked away, and when the last of the waiters had filed out of the room the footmen stepped up behind the chairs. The chamberlain rapped his rod on the tiled floor and the conversation quickly died away.
‘At his majesty’s command, the banquet is over and his majesty is pleased to request that his guests now repair to the river terrace in preparation for the fireworks.’
The guests glanced at each other, surprised that the banquet to celebrate the coronation of the Emperor amounted to no more than a bowl of soup. At the head of the table, Napoleon abruptly rose to his feet, sweeping the napkin from his lap. The footman behind him just caught hold of the chair in time to prevent it from falling back, or scraping in an undignified manner. The Empress rose quickly and then the rest of the guests got to their feet. Napoleon turned to the footman.
‘Bring me my coat and hat.’
‘Yes, sire.’
As soon as he was well wrapped against the cold of the evening Napoleon led the way through the palace to the long wide terrace overlooking the Seine. Guardsmen were spaced at regular intervals overseeing the braziers that provided a little light and warmth for the small crowd filing out on to the terrace. As the crowds packed along the river bank saw the figures emerging from the Tuileries they let out a great cheer and the sound continued along the river, far beyond the range of those who could see the imperial party.
The Emperor and Empress took their seats, and once the other guests were in place he pulled out his pocket watch. Angling the face towards the nearest brazier he read the time, and then he replaced the watch in its fob. There were still ten minutes to go before the half-hour was up.
Napoleon coughed at the sharpness of the night air. ‘Tell them to start.’
The chamberlain opened his mouth slightly, then quickly nodded and hurried away. There was a band just below the terrace and a sudden beating of drums silenced the guests and the crowds. The pounding rhythm echoed off the surrounding buildings as tens of thousands of people waited excitedly for the spectacle to begin. Then the drums stopped, and a moment later the band struck up the
Napoleon watched the display with little pleasure. His mind was still concentrated on the accusations that the Russian ambassador had made against him. Every now and then, he glanced to his left and saw the profile of Kurakin, lit up by the lurid glare from the display. The Russian had overstepped the mark. In doing so, he was clearly repeating the views of his master back in St Petersburg. If that was the case, then Alexander was spoiling for war, despite any protestations to the contrary. In that light, every slight and snub that Napoleon had received at the hands of the Russians, every breach of the terms of their alliance, every expansion of Russian power over new tracts of land, was all calculated to provoke France into open conflict.
He felt a moment’s sadness at the memory of the friendship he had shared with the Tsar at Tilsit. For a time there he had felt a fondness for the Russian ruler, as an elder brother might feel for a sibling in need of guidance and a good example. Now he had been rejected, and, worse, the Tsar seemed bent on becoming the dominant voice in Europe, brooking no rival.
Across the water on the centre barge, a giant N flared into life and the Emperor’s guests applauded appreciatively. On the opposite side of the river, the letter was reflected in the water of the Seine and the crowd lifted their voices in a vast, deafening cheer.
Napoleon shifted in his chair and turned towards the Russian ambassador. ‘Kurakin!’
The man looked towards him, and Napoleon raised his voice so that as many as possible of his guests would hear. He stabbed his finger towards the ambassador. ‘You have enjoyed the spectacle?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Good. I want you to tell your master, the Tsar, that it is clear to me that he wants war with France. That is the only explanation behind all that he has done to undermine our alliance. He has proved himself a false friend. You tell him that if he wants war with France then he will have his war. I swear by all that is holy that I will wage it on a scale beyond anything that Europe has ever seen.’
THE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN 1812
Chapter 23
Talleyrand looked up from the document and gently stroked his chin with the tips of his fingers while he digested the information.
‘Well?’ Napoleon’s voice broke into his thoughts. The Emperor was seated on the other side of the large table in the planning room of the Tuileries palace. A built-up fire blazed in the grate, casting a warm glow about the room, but not enough warmth for Talleyrand, sitting on the far side of the table. Behind him the tall windows overlooked the courtyard. Snow had fallen and blanketed the cobbles with an even layer, broken up now by the ruts of a handful of carriages and the footsteps of sentries. An icy wind was blowing across the city, occasionally rattling the windows and moaning across the chimney, causing the fire to flare and flicker.
‘What do you think?’ Napoleon pressed.
‘This list.’ Talleyrand tapped the document lightly. ‘This list of grievences, sire. What do you hope to achieve by presenting this to the Tsar?’
‘It will serve to remind him of all the agreements he has broken. It will provide the basis for a new agenda when we meet to renew our alliance.’
Talleyrand looked up. ‘A meeting has been arranged, then?’
‘No. Not yet. It is my hope that when the Tsar reads through the list of grievences and realises that the likelihood of war is very real, he will come to his senses and agree to negotiate.’
‘On these terms?’Talleyrand nodded at the document. ‘You say here that you demand that Russia enforces the Continental Blockade to the fullest extent. Our ambassador in St Petersburg says that there is a great deal of anger over the issue. Moreover, there are many in the Tsar’s court, and also officers in his army, who are openly demanding war with France. I suspect that Alexander is living in daily fear that some coterie of malcontents is already plotting his murder and preparing the way for a more belligerent ruler. Either way, war is a distinct possibility.’
‘It is more than possible, Talleyrand. It is inevitable, unless the Tsar bows to my demands.’
‘I see. Then this document is designed to provoke him into declaring war.’
‘I suspect that he will choose war as the lesser of two evils.’
