“The room which Napoleon made into his study was of moderate size. It was lighted by a single window made in a corner and looking into the garden. The principal piece of furniture, placed in the middle, was a magnificent bureau, loaded with gilt bronze, and supported by two griffins. The lid of the table slided into a groove, so that it could be shut without disarranging the papers. Under the bureau, and screwed to the floor, was a sliding cupboard, into which every time the Emperor went out was placed a portfolio of which he alone had the key. The armchair belonging to the bureau was of antique shape; the back was covered with tapestry of green kerseymere, the folds of which were fastened by silk cords, and the arms finished off with griffins’ heads. The Emperor scarcely ever sat down in his chair except to give his signature. He kept habitually at the right of the fireplace, on a small sofa covered with green taffeta, near to which was a stand which received the correspondence of the day. A screen of several leaves kept off the heat of the fire. At the further end of the room, at right angles in the corners, were placed four bookcases, and between the two which occupied the wall at the end was a great regulator clock of the same kind as that furnished in 1808 by Bailly for the study at Compiègne, which cost 4000 francs.... There were books also in the back study, books in the cabinet of the keeper of the portfolio, along the side of the bedroom, and books also in the little apartment.
“Opposite the fireplace, a long closet with glass doors, breast high, with a marble top, contained boxes for papers, and carried the volumes to be consulted and the documents in use; no doubt also the equestrian statuette of Frederick II., which the Emperor constantly had under his eyes. This statuette was the only work of art which he ever personally desired to have.
“In the recess of the window was the table of the private secretary. The room was furnished with a few chairs. At night, to light his bureau, Napoleon used a candlestick with two branches, with a great shade of sheet iron of the ordinary kind.”
There was also a back study, where the Emperor usually received his Ministers of State, a topographic study, and two small rooms. From this suite of apartments Napoleon may be said to have directed Western Europe.
Brief mention must be made of the Emperor’s “campaign” library. The volumes were contained in two mahogany cases fitted with shelves; each book was noted in a miniature catalogue and had its special place, changes being made from time to time. Novels, historical memoirs, poetry, and the classics were invariably represented. No fewer than six chests of volumes were conveyed to Waterloo.
Meanwhile the rearrangement of Europe, always to the advantage of France, continued almost without cessation by the addition of a strip of territory here, some miles of another man’s possessions there. Soon every inch of coast line from the Rhine to the Elbe was under Napoleon’s domination. Oldenburg, a Duchy ruled by one of the Czar’s relations, was swallowed up, the Hanseatic towns and Valais were incorporated in the ever-growing Empire. The restoration of Polish independence by the Emperor of the French seemed not improbable and annoyed the Czar intensely. The latter had good ground for thinking that Napoleon contemplated this course in the recent territorial acquisitions of the Duchy of Warsaw according to the terms of the Treaty of Schönbrünn. When he boldly asked for an assurance that the kingdom of Poland should never be re-established, Napoleon politely declined, contenting himself with the statement that he would not assist anyone else to do it, thereby leaving a loophole for his own interference should he deem it necessary or desirable.
Such a reckless, or rather insane, policy made it evident that Napoleon no longer intended to share the world with the Emperor of all the Russias as he had suggested at Tilsit and Erfurt. We have already noticed that the Czar had entertained suspicions of his friend’s loyalty, a doubt reciprocated by Napoleon, who was intensely annoyed that Russia had not kept strictly to the terms of the Continental System, the relaxation of which was considerably to the benefit both of Great Britain and of Russia. Alexander, also, had been at war with Turkey, and Napoleon, instead of aiding his ally, as the Czar had a certain amount of right to expect, endeavoured to prolong the contest to serve his own personal ends. This the Porte, suspecting ulterior motives, refused to do, and on the 28th May 1812 peace was restored, to be followed in July by peace between Russia and Great Britain. Sweden, coveting Norway and knowing that no help could be expected from France in the fulfilment of her hope, while possibly it might be received from Russia, also came to terms with the two reconciled Powers after hostile measures had been undertaken against her by Davout in Pomerania. Preparations for war were now made by France and Russia in real earnest. Following his usual plan Napoleon made overtures to England for a cessation of hostilities. His terms were that the present occupants of the thrones of Spain and Naples should be acknowledged by Great Britain and her troops withdrawn from their territory. He on his part undertook to recall his armies.
On the eve of the Emperor’s departure for Dresden to dazzle and flatter his allies by a final display of grandeur worthy the Conqueror of Western Europe, Pasquier, his newly-appointed Prefect of Police, had an interview with him. The question of a shortage in the food supply of Paris had come up, and Pasquier had ventured to remark that the situation would be rendered more dangerous by the monarch’s absence. “Napoleon appeared struck by these few remarks,” Pasquier tells us. “When I had ended speaking, he remained silent, and pacing to and fro between the window and the fireplace, his arms crossed behind his back, like a man who is pondering deeply. I followed in his steps, when, facing me suddenly, he uttered the words which follow: ‘Yes, there is doubtless some truth in what you tell me; it is one more difficulty added to the many I have to face in the greatest, the most difficult undertaking I have ever attempted; but I must fain bring to a termination what I have begun. Farewell, monsieur le préfet.’”
On the 9th May 1812, the Emperor and his consort set out on their journey to the capital of Saxony. It was one long series of festivities culminating in a Court of Kings which included the Emperor and Empress of Austria, the Kings of Prussia, Saxony, Naples, Würtemberg, and Westphalia, and the rulers of Saxe Weimar, Saxe Coburg, and Dessau. “His levée,” says de Ségur, “presented a remarkable sight. Sovereign princes waited for an audience from the Conqueror of Europe; they were mixed up to such an extent with his officers that the latter were frequently on their guard lest they should accidentally brush up against these new courtiers and be confounded with them.” His description may be a little exaggerated, but it showed to what a supreme height Napoleon had risen, and how marked had been the change in his ideas since the days when he would have willingly laid down his life for Republicanism. At St Helena he stated that at Dresden he “appeared as the King of Kings.” This was not meant in any blasphemous sense, but was merely the Emperor’s summing-up of the unique and all-powerful position he then occupied. The inhabitants of Dresden waited in the streets for hours on the chance of getting a fleeting glimpse of the “little great man” who had done so much and who was expected to do considerably more in the forthcoming campaign. “It was not his crown,” says Count Philip de Ségur, “his rank, the luxury of his Court, but him—himself—on whom they desired to feast their eyes; a memento of his features which they were anxious to obtain: they wished to be able to say to their less fortunate countrymen and posterity that they had seen Napoleon.” Englishmen who had every reason to hate him have left behind records which testify to the fascination exercised over them by the Emperor on various occasions. The Germans had nothing to thank him for, and yet they flocked in crowds to see their oppressor.
Far from giving way to the fears which he had confessed to Pasquier, the Emperor made light of the many difficulties which he knew to be insuperable to the task he had undertaken. To the Abbé de Pradt, Archbishop of Malines, whom he sent as envoy to Warsaw, he remarked, “I will destroy Russian influence in Europe. Two battles will do the business; the Emperor Alexander will come on his knees, and Russia shall be disarmed. Spain costs me very dear: without that I should be master of the world; but when I become such, my son will have nothing to do but to retain my place.”