“And let him know that I will do so!” said Napoleon, rising and pushing his cup away with his hand. “I’ll drive all his Württemberg, Baden, and Weimar relations out of Germany. … Yes. I’ll drive them out. Let him prepare an asylum for them in Russia!”
Balashëv bowed his head with an air indicating that he would like to make his bow and leave, and only listened because he could not help hearing what was said to him. Napoleon did not notice this expression; he treated Balashëv not as an envoy from his enemy, but as a man now fully devoted to him and who must rejoice at his former master’s humiliation.
“And why has the Emperor Alexander taken command of the armies? What is the good of that? War is my profession, but his business is to reign and not to command armies! Why has he taken on himself such a responsibility?”
Again Napoleon brought out his snuffbox, paced several times up and down the room in silence, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, went up to Balashëv and with a slight smile, as confidently, quickly, and simply as if he were doing something not merely important but pleasing to Balashëv, he raised his hand to the forty-year-old Russian general’s face and, taking him by the ear, pulled it gently, smiling with his lips only.
To have one’s ear pulled by the Emperor was considered the greatest honor and mark of favor at the French court.
“Well, adorer and courtier of the Emperor Alexandre, why don’t you say anything?” said he, as if it was ridiculous, in his presence, to be the adorer and courtier of anyone but himself, Napoleon. “Are the horses ready for the general?” he added, with a slight inclination of his head in reply to Balashëv’s bow. “Let him have mine, he has a long way to go !”