Even when not angry or scolding，[80] when the claws are drawn in， one feels the clutch. He says to Beugnot， whom he has just berated， scandalously and unjustly， - conscious of having done him injustice and with a view to produce an effect on the bystanders， -"Well， you great imbecile， you have got back your brains？"On this， Beugnot， tall as a drum-major， bows very low， while the smaller man， raising his hand， seizes him by the ear， "a heady mark of favor，" says Beugnot， a sign of familiarity and of returning good humor. And better yet， the master deigns to lecture Beugnot on his personal tastes， on his regrets， on his wish to return to France： What would he like？ To be his minister in Paris？ "Judging by what he saw of me the other day I should not be there very long； I might die of worry before the end of the month." He has already killed Portalis， Cretet， and almost Treilhard， even though he had led a hard life： he could no longer urinate， nor the others either. The same thing would have happened to Beignot， if not worse. . . .
" Stay here . . . . after which you will be old， or rather we all shall be old， and I will send you to the Senate to drivel at your ease."Evidently，[81 the nearer one is to his person the more disagreeable life becomes.[82] "Admirably served， promptly obeyed to the minute， he still delights in keeping everybody around him in terror concerning the details of all that goes on in his palace." Has any difficult task been accomplished？ He expresses no thanks， never or scarcely ever praises， and， which happens but once， in the case of M. de Champagny， Minister of Foreign Affairs， who is praised for having finished the treaty of Vienna in one night， and with unexpected advantages；[83]
this time， the Emperor has thought aloud， is taken by surprise；"ordinarily， he manifests approbation only by his silence." - When M.
de Rémusat， prefect of the palace， has arranged "one of those magnificent fêtes in which all the arts minister to his enjoyment，"economically， correctly， with splendor and success， his wife never asks her husband[84] if the Emperor is satisfied， but whether he has scolded more or less.
"His leading general principle， which he applies in every way， in great things as well as in small ones， is that a man's zeal depends upon his anxiety."How insupportable the constraint he exercises， with what crushing weight his absolutism bears down on the most tried devotion and on the most pliable characters， with what excess he tramples on and wounds the best dispositions， up to what point he represses and stifles the respiration of the human being， he knows as well as anybody. He was heard to say，"The lucky man is he who hides away from me in the depths of some province."And， another day， having asked M. de Ségur what people would say of him after his death， the latter enlarged on the regrets which would be universally expressed. "Not at all，" replied the Emperor； and then， drawing in his breath in a significant manner indicative of universal relief， he replied，"They'll say， 'Whew！'"[85]
IV. His Bad Manners.
His bearings in Society. - His deportment toward Women. - His disdain of Politeness.
There are very few monarchs， even absolute， who persistently， arid from morning to night， maintain a despotic attitude. Generally， and especially in France， the sovereign makes two divisions of his time， one for business and the other for social duties， and， in the latter case， while always head of the State， he is also head of his house：
for he welcomes visitors， entertains his guests， and， that his guests may not be robots， he tries to put them at their ease. - That was the case with Louis XIV.[86] - polite to everybody， always affable with men， and sometimes gracious， always courteous with women， and some times gallant， carefully avoiding brusqueness， ostentation， and sarcasms， never allowing himself to use an offensive word， never making people feel their inferiority and dependence， but， on the contrary， encouraging them to express opinions， and even to converse， tolerating in conversation a semblance of equality， smiling at a repartee， playfully telling a story - such was his drawing-room constitution. The drawing-room as well as every human society needs one， and a liberal one； otherwise life dies out. Accordingly， the observance of this constitution in by-gone society is known by the phrase savoir-vivre， and， more rigidly than anybody else， Louis XIV.
submitted himself to this code of proprieties. Traditionally， and through education， he had consideration for others， at least for the people around him； his courtiers becoming his guests without ceasing to be his subjects.
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] . . .
