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
Paris, January 1812
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.’
Talleyrand stared at him.‘In my experience war is always the greatest of evils.’
‘You say that because you are not a soldier. There is more to war than death.’
‘Oh, yes, so I have heard. In addition to death, there is the devastation and despoiling that follows in the wake of an army. Hunger, looting, rape, torture and massacre. Not to mention the huge cost in gold that it takes to wage war on the scale that you envisage.’
Napoleon stared back at him. ‘You speak like the consummate civilian you are. If it were left to the likes of you, then every nation would be crawling on its belly, prostrating itself to its neighbours.’
‘If international affairs were left to my kind, I suspect that there might be an end to the curse of war that has blighted humanity throughout history, sire.’
‘Then you are a fool, Talleyrand. The history of mankind is the history of warfare. Men have always fought each other. They always will. Which means that the primary quality in all men is their adeptness at war. Anything else is subordinate to that need. You speak of diplomacy as if it were an art in itself. It is not.’ Napoleon leaned forward as he continued. ‘Diplomacy can only succeed in so far as it is backed up by force. For all your fine words, do you really think that you could persuade other nations to do as we wish if they did not fear the military consequences of defying us? Your kind merely provide the illusion that the affairs of nations are governed by discussion. Such delusion merely flatters the weak and undermines the strong. Any man who cannot see through such a charade fails to grasp the fundamental reality. Power defines progress. Nothing else.’
‘Then why do you have need of men like me, sire? Why waste time with diplomacy if you have such contempt for it?’
Napoleon smiled thinly. ‘Even if we are little more than brawling barbarians wrapped in fine clothes, the idea that we might be something better than that is a comforting solace to the common man. If it serves my purpose to indulge such an idea then I will do so without hesitation.’
Talleyrand considered this for a moment and shook his head. ‘There we differ, sire. You see, I believe that we are not barbarians. That we are capable of barbaric acts is beyond question. Therefore, it behoves the best of men to persuade the rest to embrace civilised values, for the long-term good of all. That is the sacred duty of the good and the great, in my view.’
‘No doubt you feel that I am not of that class?’