It was the escort he needed that he might scour the world, and then fall in a little valley on a deserted island, under weeping willows.
Never had there been so many sleepless nights as in the time of that man; never had there been seen, hanging over the ramparts of the cities, such a nation of desolate mothers; never was there such a silence about those who spoke of death.

And yet there was never such joy, such life, such fanfares of war, in all hearts.

Never was there such pure sunlight as that which dried all this blood.

God made the sun for this man, men said; and they called it the Sun of Austerlitz.

But he made this sunlight himself with his ever-booming guns that left no clouds but those which succeed the day of battle.
It was this air of the spotless sky, where shone so much glory, where glistened so many swords, that the youth of the time breathed.