On returning from a second inspection of the lines, Napoleon remarks: The chessmen are set up, the game will begin tomorrow. Having ordered punch and summoned de Beausset, he talks about Paris and about changes he means to make in the Empress's household, surprising the prefect by his memory of minute court details. He shows an interest in trifles, jokes about de Beausset's love of travel, and chats carelessly, as a famous, self-confident surgeon who knows his job does when turning up his sleeves and putting on his apron while a patient is being strapped to the operating table. The matter is in my hands and is clear in my head. When the time comes I shall do it as no one else could, but now I can jest, and the more I jest and the calmer I am the more tranquil and confident you ought to be, and the more amazed at my genius.
Having finished his second glass of punch he goes to rest before the serious business which, he considers, awaits him next day. He is so much interested that he is unable to sleep, and in spite of his cold, which has grown worse from the dampness of the evening, he goes into the large division of the tent at three in the morning, loudly blowing his nose. He asks whether the Russians have not withdrawn, and is told that the enemy's fires are still in the same places. He nods approval. Well, Rapp, do you think we shall do good business today? Without doubt, sire. Do you remember what you did me the honour to say at Smolensk? The wine is drawn and must be drunk. Napoleon frowns and sits silent a long time, head on his hand. This poor army! It has diminished greatly since Smolensk. Fortune is frankly a courtesan, Rapp. I have always said so and I am beginning to experience it. But the Guards, Rapp, the Guards are intact? Yes, sire. He takes a lozenge, glances at his watch. He is not sleepy and it is still not nearly morning. It is impossible to give further orders for the sake of killing time; they have all been given and are being executed. Have the biscuits and rice been served out to the Guards? The rice too? Rapp has given the order, but Napoleon shakes his head as if not believing it executed. An attendant brings punch. He orders another glass for Rapp and silently sips his own. I have neither taste nor smell. This cold is tiresome. What is the good of medicine when it can't cure a cold? Corvisart gave me these lozenges but they don't help. Our body is a machine for living. Let life go on in it unhindered and let it defend itself. It is like a perfect watch that should go for a certain time; the watchmaker cannot open it, he can only adjust it by fumbling, and that blindfold. And having entered on the path of definition, of which he was fond, he suddenly gives a new one. Do you know, Rapp, what military art is? It is the art of being stronger than the enemy at a given moment. That's all. Tomorrow we shall have to deal with Kutuzov. Do you remember at Braunau he commanded an army for three weeks and did not once mount a horse to inspect his entrenchments? We shall see!
It is still only four o'clock. The punch is finished and there is still nothing to do. He rises, puts on a warm overcoat and a hat, and goes out. The night is dark and damp. Near by the campfires of the French Guards burn dimly; in the distance those of the Russian line shine through the smoke. The rustle and tramp of French troops already beginning to move to take up their positions are clearly audible. He walks in front of his tent, looks at the fires, and stops before a tall guardsman in a shaggy cap who has drawn himself up like a black pillar. What year did you enter the service? he asks with that affectation of military bluntness and geniality with which he always addresses the soldiers. Ah! One of the old ones! Has your regiment had its rice? It has, Your Majesty. Napoleon nods and walks away. At half-past five he rides to Shevardino. It is growing light. Only a single cloud lies in the east. Abandoned campfires burn themselves out. On the right a single deep report of a cannon resounds and dies away. Minutes pass. A second and a third shake the air, then a fourth and a fifth boom solemnly near by. Before the first shots have ceased to reverberate, others ring out, mingling with and overtaking one another. Napoleon with his suite rides up to the Shevardino Redoubt and dismounts. The game has begun.
