"Yes, but that plan was a strong thought as well!" said the prince, obviously interested. "So you ascribe that project to Davout?"
"At least they discussed it together. Of course it was a Napoleonic thought, an eagle's thought, but the other project was also a thought... It was that same famous 'conseil du lion,'*as Napoleon himself called this advice of Davout's. It consisted of locking themselves in the Kremlin with the entire army, building a lot of barracks, entrenching themselves behind fortifications, positioning the cannon, killing as many horses as possible and pickling the meat; of procuring or pillaging as much bread as possible and weathering the winter; and of breaking through the Russians in the spring. This plan strongly appealed to Napoleon. We went around the walls of the Kremlin every day, and he pointed out where to demolish, where to build, where there would be a lunette, where a ravelin, where a row of blockhouses—the eye, the speed, the stroke! Everything was finally decided; Davout kept pestering him to make the final decision. Again they were alone, and I was the third. Again Napoleon paced the room, his arms crossed. I couldn't tear my eyes from his face; my heart was pounding. 'I'm off,' said Davout. 'Where to?' asked Napoleon. 'To pickle horses,' said Davout. Napoleon gave a start; destiny was being decided. 'Little one,' he
*Lion's advice.
said to me suddenly, 'what do you think of our intentions?' To be sure, he asked me just so, as a man of the greatest mind occasionally resorts to heads or tails in the last moment. Instead of Napoleon, I turn to Davout and say, as if inspired: 'You'd better go back where you came from, General!' The plan was destroyed. Davout shrugged and whispered on his way out: 'Bah! Il devient superstitieux!'*And the next day the retreat was announced."
"All that is extremely interesting," the prince said terribly quietly, "if that's how it all was . . . that is, I mean to say . . ." he hastened to correct himself.
"Oh, Prince!" cried the general, so intoxicated by his story that he might not have been able to stop now even before the greatest imprudence, "you say: 'It all was!' But there was more, I assure you, there was much more! These are merely facts, small, political facts. But I repeat to you, I was witness to the nightly tears and groans of this great man, and no one saw it except me! Towards the end, true, he no longer wept, there were no tears, only an occasional groan; but his face seemed more and more veiled in gloom. As if eternity were already overshadowing him with its dark wing. Sometimes, at night, we spent whole hours together alone, silent—the mameluke Rustan would be snoring in the next room; the man was a very sound sleeper. 'But he is faithful to me and my dynasty,' Napoleon used to say of him. Once I felt terribly grieved, and he suddenly noticed tears in my eyes; he looked at me with tenderness: 'You pity me!' he cried. 'You, little one, and perhaps yet another child pities me, my son, le roi de Rome;+ 19the rest all hate me, all of them, and my brothers will be the first to sell me in my misfortune!' I burst into sobs and rushed to him; here he, too, could not restrain himself; we embraced each other and our tears mingled. 'Write, write a letter to the empress Josephine!' I said through my sobs. Napoleon gave a start, reflected, and said to me: 'You have reminded me of the third heart that loves me; thank you, my friend!' He sat down at once and wrote that letter to Josephine which was sent off with Constant the next morning."
"You did a beautiful thing," said the prince. "Amidst his wicked thoughts you prompted him to a kind feeling."
"Precisely, Prince, and how beautifully you explain it, in conformity with your own heart!" the general cried rapturously, and,
* Bah! He's becoming superstitious!
+ The king of Rome.
strangely enough, real tears glistened in his eyes. "Yes, Prince, that was a great spectacle! And, you know, I nearly followed him to Paris and, of course, would have shared with him 'the torrid prison isle,'
20but, alas! our fates were separated! We parted ways: he went to the torrid isle, where once at least, in a moment of terrible sorrow, he may have remembered the tears of the poor boy who embraced and forgave him in Moscow; while I was sent to the cadet corps, where I found nothing but drill, the coarseness of my comrades, and . . . Alas! Everything went to wrack and ruin! 'I do not want to part you from your mother and will not take you with me!' he said to me on the day of the retreat, 'but I would like to do something for you.' He was about to mount his horse. 'Write something in my sister's album as a souvenir,' I said timidly, because he was very upset and gloomy. He went back, asked for a pen, took the album. 'How old is your sister?' he asked me, pen in hand. 'Three,' I replied.
'Petite fille alors.'*
'Ne mentez jamais!
Napoléon, votre ami sincère.'+
"Such advice and at such a moment, you must agree, Prince!"
"Yes, it is portentous."
"That page, in a gilded frame, under glass, hung in my sister's drawing room all her life, in the most conspicuous place, right up to her death—she died in childbirth. Where it is now, I don't know . . . but . . . ah, my God! It's already two o'clock! I've kept you so long, Prince! It's unforgivable!"
The general got up from his chair.
"Oh, on the contrary!" the prince mumbled. "You've diverted me and . . . finally . . . it's so interesting; I'm so grateful to you!"
"Prince!" said the general, again pressing his hand painfully and looking at him intently, with flashing eyes, as if suddenly recollecting himself and stunned by some unexpected thought, "Prince! You are so kind, so simple-hearted, that I sometimes even feel sorry for you. I look upon you with tenderness; oh, God bless you! May your life begin and blossom ... in love. Mine is over! Oh, forgive me, forgive me!"
He left quickly, covering his face with his hands. The prince could not doubt the sincerity of his emotion. He also realized that
* A little girl, then.
+ Never tell a lie. Napoleon, your sincere friend.
the old man had left intoxicated by his success; but all the same he had a presentiment that he was one of that category of liars who, though they lie to the point of sensuality and even self-forgetfulness, at the highest point of their intoxication suspect to themselves all the same that people do not and even cannot believe them. In his present state, the old man might recollect himself, become ashamed beyond measure, suspect the prince of an excessive compassion for him, feel insulted. "Didn't I do worse by driving him to such inspiration?" the prince worried and suddenly could not help himself and laughed terribly, for about ten minutes. He was about to reproach himself for this laughter; but he understood at once that there was nothing to reproach himself for, because he felt a boundless pity for the general.