Talleyrand paused and a look of sadness crossed his features. A rare expression of feeling, Napoleon noted, as the other continued. ‘It is my fear that you have lost the sensibility of a just ruler, and that you have been seduced by the glory and power of military command. At present it seems that France is being ruled according to one principle - that of facilitating the waging of war. That, sire, is a perversion of power.’

The two men stared at each other. Napoleon was quite motionless as he considered this astonishing interpretation of his character and motives. It would be easy to dismiss Talleyrand from his presence, and yet Napoleon said nothing. There was much to despise about this aristocrat, yet he had always proved to be an effective and useful sounding board to refine Napoleon’s thinking. But there was something more. Despite all the treachery of the past, the Emperor still felt an affection of sorts for Talleyrand. They were both products of the Revolution. Talleyrand had as much of a hand in Napoleon’s rise to power as any man, and he in turn had benefited from the generosity of Napoleon, first as Consul and then as Emperor.

Talleyrand broke the tense silence. ‘Sire, do you remember Tilsit?’

‘Of course. It has been much on my mind lately.’

‘Then you will remember the high hopes we had for the future. The war with the Tsar was over. Better still, when you and he met, man to man, there was a mutual regard for each other, was there not? I recall how he looked up to you, as a man of destiny. On your part, there was a certain fondness.’

‘What of it?’ Napoleon cut in tersely. ‘What is your point?’

‘You must reach an accommodation with the Tsar. You must do everything that you can to rekindle that mutual regard, and affection. There must be peace between you. Great nations must find ways to live alongside each other, or they will surely tear each other to pieces.’

‘You speak of compromise,’ Napoleon replied with disdain. ‘Compromise is nothing but the death of a thousand cuts. It bleeds a great man of his determination, of his sense of direction, of his sense of purpose, until he is nothing but a petty schemer hanging on to power by his fingertips. When that happens he is no longer great, but a figure of ridicule, and finally pity. That much I understand, Talleyrand. As does Alexander. And only one of us can be permitted to dominate the rest of Europe.’

Talleyrand settled back in his chair and his expression resolved into its usual inscrutability. ‘Then there will be war between you and the Tsar. You have resolved to carry it through. I can see that now. So what is the point of this list of grievances? If Alexander agreed to answer them, it would change nothing. You would still be determined to wage war on him.’