There is nothing of this sort with Napoleon. He preserves nothing of
the etiquette he borrows from the old court but its rigid discipline
and its pompous parade. "The ceremonial system," says an eyewitness,
"was carried out as if it had been regulated by the tap of a drum;
everything was done, in a certain sense, 'double-quick.'[87] . . .
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