The Emperor's Morning Ritual — War and Peace

On August 25, the eve of Borodino, M. de Beausset, prefect of the French Emperor's palace, arrives at Napoleon's quarters at Valuevo with Colonel Fabvier, the former from Paris, the latter from Madrid. Donning court uniform, de Beausset orders a box carried before him and begins opening it in the first compartment of the tent while conversing with aides-de-camp. Fabvier remains at the entrance talking to generals. Napoleon has not yet left his bedroom and is finishing his toilet. Slightly snorting and grunting, he presents now his back and now his plump hairy chest to the brush with which a valet is rubbing him down. Another valet, finger over a bottle, sprinkles Eau de Cologne on the pampered body with an expression that says he alone knows where and how much. Napoleon's short hair is wet and matted, his face puffy and yellow, yet expressing physical satisfaction. Go on, harder! An aide who has reported the number of prisoners taken yesterday stands awaiting permission to withdraw. No prisoners! They are forcing us to exterminate them. So much the worse for the Russian army. Let Monsieur de Beausset enter, and Fabvier too. Two valets rapidly dress His Majesty in the blue uniform of the Guards.

De Beausset is still arranging the Empress's present on two chairs, covering it with a cloth. Napoleon comes out so quickly that the surprise is not ready. He pretends not to see, calls Fabvier, and listens with a stern frown to the heroism of troops at Salamanca, at the other end of Europe, with but one thought to be worthy of their Emperor. The result has been deplorable. Napoleon makes ironic remarks, as if he had not expected matters to go otherwise in his absence. I must make up for that in Moscow. Then he summons de Beausset, who has by then covered the chairs. The prefect bows with a courtly French bow only old retainers of the Bourbons know, and presents an envelope. Napoleon pulls his ear. You have hurried here. I am very glad. What is Paris saying? All Paris regrets your absence, as was proper. Though Napoleon knows in lucid moments it is untrue, he is pleased, and honours him by touching his ear again. De Beausset expected nothing less than to find him at the gates of Moscow. In three days you will see that Asiatic capital. You are fond of travel. De Beausset bows gratefully at this regard for a taste of which he had not till then been aware. Ha, what's this? With courtly adroitness de Beausset twitches off the cloth: a present from the Empress, a portrait by Gerard of the son borne to Napoleon by the daughter of the Emperor of Austria, the boy everyone calls the King of Rome. A curly-headed child with a look of the Christ in the Sistine Madonna plays at stick and ball: the ball the terrestrial globe, the stick a scepter. The allegory seems to Napoleon, as to all who saw it in Paris, quite clear and pleasing. Admirable! With an Italian's capacity for changing expression at will, he assumes pensive tenderness. He feels that what he now says and does will be historical, and that it will be best, in contrast to grandeur, to show the simplest paternal tenderness. His eyes grow dim. At a gesture everyone goes out on tiptoe. He touches, himself not knowing why, the thick spot of paint representing the highest light, then orders the portrait carried outside so the Old Guard may not be deprived of the pleasure of seeing the son and heir of their adored monarch. While he breakfasts with de Beausset they hear, as he anticipated, Vive l'Empereur! Vive le roi de Rome!

After breakfast he dictates his order of the day straight off without corrections. Short and energetic. Soldiers! This is the battle you have so longed for. Victory depends on you. It will give us all we need: comfortable quarters and a speedy return to our country. Behave as you did at Austerlitz, Friedland, Vitebsk, and Smolensk. Let posterity recall your achievements. Let it be said of each of you: He was in the great battle before Moscow. Before Moscow! He invites de Beausset, so fond of travel, to accompany him. De Beausset wants to sleep, does not know how to ride, and is afraid, but Napoleon nods and he has to mount. The shouting before the portrait grows still louder. Napoleon frowns. Take him away. It is too soon for him to see a field of battle. De Beausset closes his eyes, bows his head, and sighs deeply, to indicate how profoundly he values and comprehends the Emperor's words.