This air of precipitation， this constant anxiety which it inspires，"puts an end to all comfort， all ease， all entertainment， all agreeable intercourse； there is no common bond but that of command and obedience. " The few individuals he singles out， Savary， Duroc， Maret， keep silent and simply transmit orders. . . . We did not appear to them， in doing what we were ordered to do， and we did not appear to ourselves， other than veritable machines， all resembling， or but little short of it， the elegant gilded arm-chairs with which the palaces of Saint-Cloud and the Tuileries had just been embellished."For a machine to work well it is important that the machinist should overhaul it frequently， which this one never fails to do， especially after a long absence. Whilst he is on his way from Tilsit， "everybody anxiously examines his conscience to ascertain what he has done that this rigid master will find fault with on his return. Whether spouse， family， or grand dignitary， each is more or less disturbed； while the Empress， who knows him better than any one， naively says， 'As the Emperor is so happy it is certain that he will do a deal of scolding！'"[88] Actually， he has scarcely arrived when he gives a rude and vigorous wrench of the bolt； and then， "satisfied at having excited terror all around， he appears to have forgotten what has passed and resumes the usual tenor of his life." "Through calculation as well as from taste，[89] he never ceases to be a monarch"； hence， "a mute， frigid court . . . . more dismal than dignified； every face wears an expression of uneasiness . . . a silence both dull and constrained." At Fontainebleau， "amidst splendors and pleasures，"there is no real enjoyment nor anything agreeable， not even for himself. "I pity you，" said M. de Talleyrand to M. de Rémusat， "you have to amuse the unamusable." At the theatre he is abstracted or yawns. Applause is prohibited； the court， sitting out "the file of eternal tragedies， is mortally bored . . . . the young ladies fall asleep， people leave the theatre， gloomy and discontented." - There is the same constraint in the drawing-room. "He did not know how to appear at ease， and I believe that he never wanted anybody else to be so， afraid of the slightest approach to familiarity， and inspiring each with a fear of saying something offensive to his neighbor before witnesses. . . . During the quadrille， he moves around amongst the rows of ladies， addressing them with some trifling or disagreeable remark，" and never does he accost them otherwise than "awkwardly and ill at his ease." At bottom， he distrusts them and is ill-disposed toward them.[90] It is because "the power they have acquired in society seems to him an intolerable usurpation. - "Never did he utter to a woman a graceful or even a well-turned compliment， although the effort to find one was often apparent on his face and in the tone of his voice. . . . He talks to them only of their toilet， of which he declares himself a severe and minute judge， and on which he indulges in not very delicate jests； or again， on the number of their children， demanding of them in rude language whether they nurse them themselves；or again， lecturing them on their social relations."[91] Hence， "there is not one who does not rejoice when he moves off."[92] He would often amuse himself by putting them out of countenance， scandalizing and bantering them to their faces， driving them into a corner the same as a colonel worries his canteen women. "Yes， ladies， you furnish the good people of the Faubourg Saint-Germain with something to talk about. It is said， Madame A...， that you are intimate with Monsieur B...， and you Madame C....， with Monsieur D ." On any intrigue chancing to appear in the police reports， "he loses no time in informing the husband of what is going on." - He is no less indiscreet in relation to his own affairs；[93] when it is over he divulges the fact and gives the name； furthermore， he informs Josephine in detail and will not listen to any reproach： "I have a right to answer all your objections with an eternal I！"This term， indeed， answers to everything， and he explains it by adding： "I stand apart from other men. I accept nobody's conditions，"nor any species of obligation， no code whatever， not even the common code of outward civility， which， diminishing or dissimulating primitive brutality， allows men to associate together without clashing. He does not comprehend it， and he repudiates it. "I have little liking，"[94] he says， "for that vague， leveling word propriety (convenances)， which you people fling out every chance you get. It is an invention of fools who want to pass for clever men； a kind of social muzzle which annoys the strong and is useful only to the mediocre. . . Ah， good taste ！ Another classic expression which I do not accept." "It is your personal enemy"； says Talleyrand to him， one day， "if you could have shot it away with bullets， it would have disappeared long ago！" - It is because good taste is the highest attainment of civilization， the innermost vestment which drapes human nudity， which best fits the person， the last garment retained after the others have been cast off， and which delicate tissue continues to hamper Napoleon； he throws it off instinctively， because it interferes with his natural behavior， with the uncurbed， dominating， savage ways of the vanquisher who knocks down his adversary and treats him as he pleases.
V. His Policy.
His tone and bearing towards Sovereigns. - His Policy. - His means and ends.- After Sovereigns he sets populations against him. - Final opinion of Europe.
