"Yes, he did write letters . . . with offers of peace . . ." the prince agreed timidly.

"As a matter of fact, we do not know precisely with what offers he wrote, but he wrote every day, every hour, letter after letter! He was terribly worried. Once, during the night, when we were alone, I rushed to him in tears (oh, yes, I loved him!): 'Ask forgiveness, ask forgiveness of the emperor Alexander!' I cried to him. That is, I ought to have said: 'Make peace with the emperor Alexander, but, being a child, I naively spoke my whole mind. 'Oh, my little one!' he answered—he was pacing up and down the room—'oh, my little one!' It was as if he didn't understand then that I was ten years old, and he even liked talking with me. 'Oh, my little one, I

am ready to kiss the feet of the emperor Alexander, but as for the Prussian king, as for the Austrian emperor, oh, they have my eternal hatred, and . . . finally . . . you don't understand anything about politics!' It was as if he suddenly remembered whom he was talking with, and he fell silent, but his eyes shot fire for a long time. Well, if I were to describe all these facts—and I was witness to greater facts—if I were to publish them now, and all these critics, all these literary vanities, all these jealousies, parties, and . . . no, sir, I humbly thank you!"

"Concerning parties, your observation is, of course, correct, and I agree with you," the prince replied quietly, after a short silence. "Quite recently I also read a book by Charras¹⁶ about the Waterloo campaign. The book is obviously a serious one, and the specialists maintain that it is written extremely knowledgeably. But a joy in Napoleon's humiliation shows through on every page, and if it were possible to dispute even any little sign of talent in Napoleon's other campaigns, it seems Charras would be extremely glad of it; and that is not a good thing in such a serious work, because it's a party spirit. Were you kept very busy then by your service to the . . . emperor?"

The general was in raptures. The prince's observation, by its seriousness and simple-heartedness, dispelled the last remnants of his mistrust.

"Charras! Oh, I was indignant myself! I wrote to him at the time, but ... as a matter of fact, I don't remember now . . . You ask whether my service kept me busy? Oh, no! They called me a chamber-page, but even then I did not regard it as serious. What's more, Napoleon very soon lost all hope of drawing any Russians to him, and, of course, would have forgotten about me as well, having drawn me to him for political reasons, had it not been . . . had it not been for his personal love for me, I say it boldly now. My heart also drew me to him. My service was not a required thing; I had to come to the palace occasionally and . . . accompany the emperor during his promenades on horseback, and that's all. I was a decent horseman. He used to go out for a ride before dinner; in his suite usually there was Davout, myself, the mameluke Rustan. . ."

"Constant,"¹⁷ the prince suddenly came out with for some reason.

"N-no, Constant wasn't there then; he had gone then with a letter ... to the empress Josephine;¹⁸ but instead of him there were

two orderlies, several Polish uhlans . . . well, that was all the suite, except for the generals, naturally, and some marshals, whom Napoleon took along to examine the terrain, the disposition of the army, to discuss . . . Most often it was Davout who accompanied him, I remember it as if it were yesterday: an enormous, corpulent, cool-headed man in spectacles, with a strange gaze. The emperor most often discussed things with him. He valued his thoughts. I remember them holding a special council for several days; Davout used to come in the morning and in the evening, and often they even argued; in the end, it seemed that Napoleon began to agree. The two of them were in the study, I was the third, almost unnoticed by them. Suddenly Napoleon's gaze happens to fall on me, a strange thought flashes in his eyes. 'Child!' he suddenly says to me, 'what do you think: if I embrace Orthodoxy and free your slaves, will the Russians follow me or not?' 'Never!' I cried in indignation. Napoleon was struck. 'In this child's eyes flashing with patriotism,' he said, 'I have read the opinion of the whole Russian people. Enough, Davout! It's all fantasies! Tell me your other plan.' "

"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;+¹⁹ the 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."