Metternich- The First European Page 5

  Cobenzl resigned, Count Philip Stadion (formerly ambassador at St Petersburg) becoming responsible for foreign affairs. Metternich expected to replace Stadion in Russia, since the Tsar had asked for him, but on returning to Vienna in April, he was told that he was going to Paris. The news 'struck me like a thunderbolt'. He believed that it was because during his time at Berlin he had made a point of getting on with the French ambassador, M de Laforest. 'It was always my policy to avoid mixing official life with private so I tried to stay on good terms with my French colleague, being as courteous as possible.' The French foreign minister, Talleyrand, had noticed this and thought he might do business with such a man. Metternich was nervous at the prospect of representing a defeated country at Paris, but Francis insisted. As he says, 'it was the start of my public life . . . fate placed me face to face with the man who ruled the world.' It was also the beginning of a personal duel.

  In August Metternich presented his credentials to the Emperor of the French, who rudely kept his hat on throughout the audience. Determined not to be overawed, the ambassador made a brief, concise speech of a sort which he knew to be quite unlike the grandiloquent orations customary, referring to his sovereign simply as 'Emperor of Austria': 'I shall strive at all times to strengthen good relations between the two empires since only on that basis can lasting peace be established between independent states.' The speech seemed to surprise and even embarrass Napoleon, who replied with equal brevity. Metternich recalls that the Emperor's 'short, broad figure, untidy clothes and obvious attempts to impress' made him think less of the man before whom the world trembled. He noticed that Napoleon walked on tiptoe. 'I am certain that he would have given a lot to be taller and add dignity to his appearance, which grew even commoner as he put on weight.' Nonetheless, Metternich was aware that he was in the presence of one of the most fascinating men in history.

  In after years the Duke of Wellington summed up the Emperor and decided he 'wasn't a gentleman'. Metternich not only shared this opinion but turned it to account. He discerned early on Napoleon's secret reverence for blue blood and exploited his sole asset, his aristocratic bearing, just as he and his father had done at Rastatt. The Duchesse d'Abrantès recaptures the impression he made on the flashy court of Imperial France: 'M le Comte de Metternich, who powdered his blonde head (although he did not have a single white hair) to give himself a more dignified air, in his Knight of Malta's red coat with black facings and with his courtesy and easy nobility of bearing was truly the grand seigneur at his most elegant.' The red coat's significance has been overlooked. It was the uniform of an organisation detested by Napoleon—in treaty after treaty he insisted on confiscating its European estates—and a reminder of why war had broken out in 1803. There could have been no more arrogant gesture.

  War between France and Prussia was imminent. The Prussians had been infuriated at the revelation that the Emperor Napoleon, having given Hanover to them in March, was now offering it to Britain as part of a peace package. Haugwitz was replaced by Hardenberg, and what Metternich calls 'the feeble elite of the army' forced their timid King to declare war. He did so on 8 August, with an ultimatum that all French troops must withdraw behind the Rhine by 8 October. On 14 October Napoleon destroyed half his army at Jena while Marshal Davout routed the other half at Auerstadt. Its operational commander-in-chief, the Duke of Brunswick, was mortally wounded, and twenty-six generals were captured together with the entire artillery.

  In Metternich's view, Jena was the summit of Napoleon's power. Had he been satisfied with making a weakened Prussia join the Confederation of the Rhine, Napoleon's position would have become unassailable. Instead, he indulged in overkill, mercilessly pursuing Prussia's troops and riding into Berlin. The Hohenzollern realm and its army ceased to exist, the country being occupied by the French and split into four departments; Frederick William fled to Königsberg, where he was protected by Russian bayonets.

  Despite horrifying casualties, Napoleon defeated the Russians at Eylau in February 1807 and at Friedland in June. During the interview at Tilsit, on a barge in the Niemen River, the fickle Tsar succumbed to the Emperor's magnetism and agreed to join him in a war against England which would bring about a general peace. At a treaty signed on 8 July 1807 between France, Russia and Prussia, Russia took Finland from Sweden, Danubian Roumania from Turkey; Prussia lost half her territory, the lands west of the Elbe going to Jerome Bonaparte's Kingdom of Westphalia; while Prussian Poland became the Grand Duchy of Warsaw under the King of Saxony.

  In a dispatch from Paris at the end of July, Metternich said that the Parisians had thought France and Russia were going to divide the world between them, and that Austria would be broken up into small kingdoms; they were surprised that this had not happened at Tilsit. Prussia was now a third-rate power: 'We no longer have a powerful enemy on our right but neither could we ever find an ally there.' Metternich made a prophecy:

  The condition of Europe contains the seeds of its own destruction. Shrewd policy on our government's part should create a situation in which 300,000 men, directed by a single will and with the same objective, would take the leading role in Europe during a period of universal anarchy—one of those phases which always follow large scale seizures of power, and all but obliterates any trace of the usurper; a phase whose date nobody can foretell but which nothing can delay save the life of one man.

  He added how odd it was that the childless Napoleon had never taken steps to provide himself with a successor.

  He suspected, with some justice, that the Emperor regarded Austria as a rival. 'Undoubtedly we are first on the list of victims whom he believes he must sacrifice to his insane ambition.'

  Nevertheless the ambassador enjoyed Paris. He had an excellent staff, especially Baron Vincent, a Lorrainer who acted as Charge when he was away, and Engelbert de Floret, the Belgian First Secretary who became almost his shadow. He found the Imperial court ludicrously pretentious, observing that even Napoleon's new nobles laughed at their titles. He thought the French 'a people degraded below all others . . . worn out and demoralised, with any trace of the national character destroyed by eighteen years of revolution and crime'. However, they admired Metternich's patrician manners and superb stable, while his good looks and love of feminine company—he wrote appreciatively to Eleanor about the Paris fashions—enabled him to indulge in his favourite recreation, the seduction of high-born women. He was undeterred by the arrival of his wife and children.

  Caroline Murat, Napoleon's sister, could scarcely be called high-born, even if she was the future Queen of Naples. Her head and bust were too big, her legs too short, but she had a pretty face and was both charming and promiscuous. Metternich was surprised by her intelligence, struck by her premonition that her brother would overreach himself. A short affair began in 1806, lasting for some months; he wore a bracelet made from her hair. After their first night together, he was able to inform Stadion that Napoleon had a mistress at Warsaw (Maria Walewska) and a little later that he might divorce the Empress Josephine. After the end of the liaison he retained a certain affection for this peculiarly unloveable Bonaparte. For her it was merely an interlude in her long romance with General Junot, Duc d'Abrantès.

  It was rumoured that Napoleon had encouraged the affair to make the ambassador malleable in negotiations to adjust Austria's frontiers with Germany and Italy. But France already held all the cards, the Emperor agreeing to withdraw a garrison from Braunauon-the-Inn (on the Austro-Bavarian border) but no more. A treaty was signed at Fontainebleau on 10 October 1807 after a month of preparation and eight days of argument. An exhausted Metternich reported to Stadion that he had never met with 'more bad faith or sheer impertinence'. Moreover, 'My efforts to secure any improvements for Austria have been in vain.'

  'There has been a total change in Napoleon's manner recently; he seems to think that he has reached a position in which moderation simply exposes him to needless annoyance,' Metternich wrote a few days afterwards. 'The peace of Tilsit is responsib
le.' He warned that Austria was in the greatest danger. Some of his apprehension was due to Talleyrand, who had ceased to be Foreign Minister in August. Both were men of the ancien régime, practitioners of the 'haute diplomatie'. But the Frenchman was known to be dangerous; Metternich once compared him to a double-edged sword which might turn in the hand. Yet Talleyrand was telling the truth when he wrote that he had resigned his ministry when he realized that the Emperor's megalomania was leading to ruin.

  As has been seen, Metternich guessed very early that Napoleon meant to establish a universal monarchy, reducing other kingdoms to administrative departments. He was also aware that many Frenchmen were nervous about the Emperor's ambition, especially those who had done well out of the Revolution, the Notables. They were terrified that his foreign adventures might end in the collapse of France and a second breakdown of society. 'An immeasurable feeling of uneasiness was present amidst all the rejoicings at any victory by the French army, because everyone knew that such victories made new ones necessary, to complete the work.'

  He himself always thought that a second French Revolution was far from impossible, that 'the revolutionary elements were merely smothered for the time being'. His interpretation of what had happened in 1789 went as follows: A discontented middle class had used the doctrines of the Enlightenment, above all Rousseau's theory of the Social Contract, to destabilise society and overthrow the existing order. Those who benefitted had turned to a strong man to preserve their gains, but the saviour became a tyrant who, because his power rested on no firm foundation, had to make conquests abroad. War was the inevitable result of revolution. (In modern terms, liberal democracy always becomes totalitarian democracy, which invariably seeks to extend its territory by force.)

  'M de Talleyrand who now makes profession of attachment to the court of Austria', Metternich reported to Stadion at the end of January 1808, had talked to him for two days, explaining that there were two plans in the Emperor's mind. One was an expedition to India, the other partition of the Ottoman Empire. Soon Napoleon himself raised the topic of Turkey's future. Neither Metternich nor Talleyrand realised that he had done so in order to conceal his designs on Spain.

  Metternich did not share the awe in which contemporaries held the ex-bishop. 'His whole character makes him better suited to destroy than to build . . . always placing obstacles in the path of any positive course of action.' He quotes the Emperor's opinion: 'If I want anything done, I don't employ the Prince of Benevento. I use him if I wish something undone while appearing to want it.' Metternich's unflattering assessment did not stem from any antipathy—'In private life Talleyrand was as trustworthy as he was agreeable.'

  In March 1808, Charles IV of Spain abdicated in favour of his son Ferdinand VII, an abdication which he swiftly withdrew. Napoleon offered to arbitrate, inviting the entire Spanish royal family to Bayonne; as soon as they arrived, both father and son were bullied into abdicating. On 24 April a bulletin in the Moniteur announced that the Bourbons had ceased to reign in Spain, and in March Joseph Bonaparte was proclaimed King. Metternich was genuinely shocked. The Bourbon monarchy had been a loyal ally of the Emperor. 'Peace does not exist with a revolutionary system,' he commented, predicting that Turkey would go next.

  Yet his attitude towards Napoleon was never inflexible. He did not share Stadion's blind hatred of the Emperor. Loathing what the man stood for, despising certain aspects of his personality, Metternich was nonetheless fascinated by Napoleon's genius, by the wonderful clarity of his mind. 'Conversation with him always had a charm for me difficult to define.'

  His suspicion that Napoleon was overreaching himself was confirmed by the break with the Pope. Pius VII had refused to enforce the 'Continental Blockade' within his territory, an embargo on trade with Britain. French troops marched into Rome in April 1808.

  The Emperor gave the customary reception for the diplomatic corps on his birthday, 15 August 1808. Suddenly he asked Metternich, 'How far has Austria rearmed?' He then launched into a tirade, sneering at Austrian weakness. 'Just what do you think you can do against France and Russia? The next war against Austria will be war to the death—either you reach Paris or I conquer your entire empire!' (He had known since May that Austria was rearming, while Metternich had been sending details of French troop movements to Vienna.) The ambassador replied, untruthfully, that his country was rearming to save Turkey from dissolution. Neither he nor Austria's Emperor Francis I were invited to the meeting between Napoleon and the Tsar at Erfurt in September, its purpose being to show that Napoleon was supreme ruler of Germany. Yet Napoleon failed to secure a guarantee of Russian support in the event of war with Austria, whom he called 'my real enemy'. Talleyrand took the opportunity to warn the Tsar that he must save Europe from Napoleon's insane ambition.

  On 29 October the Emperor left Paris with the cream of his army, to put down a national uprising in Spain. Talleyrand and Fouché, his police minister, were convinced that there was going to be a disaster. No two men knew better what France was thinking and they were in close touch with Metternich. Unfortunately, they gave Metternich an exaggerated impression of French weakness, which he communicated to Vienna.

  The ambassador's mistress after Caroline Murat was the Duchesse d'Abrantès, the wife of Caroline's lover. Her Journal Intime, written twenty years later when she was an opium addict, reads like a novelette, with secret assignations and declarations of love, Metternich appearing as a wildly romantic figure. On one occasion her husband, crazed by jealousy at finding a letter from Metternich, tried to kill her with a pair of golden scissors; if she is to be believed, she was rescued by none other than Mme Metternich, who accused Abrantès of trying to play Othello. Admittedly she was a great beauty, small, dark-eyed and vivacious, very intelligent and well informed—though the Emperor called her 'a little pest'.

  Metternich took advantage of Napoleon's absence in Spain to go to Vienna. He found Stadion demanding war but Francis and Archduke Karl opposing it, saying that Austria's finances were insufficient, her army too weak. Metternich was convinced the Monarchy's very existence depended on fighting. He argued that the French were tired of Napoleon, who after his Spanish adventure would have far fewer troops—half of them German or Italian and supposed less loyal: 'Austria's forces, inferior to those of France before the [Spanish] rising, will at least become equal to them.' Francis and the Archduke let themselves be convinced that it would be possible to drive the French out of Germany and Italy. The offensive would begin in the spring of 1809.

  Napoleon restored the situation in Spain more quickly than anyone expected, replacing 'King Joseph' on his throne. In January 1809, he hastened back to Paris at news of Austria's preparations for war. Metternich was there to greet the Emperor, who treated him with ostentatious reserve, merely inquiring about 'Mme de Metternich's health'. Talleyrand advised Austria to wait until May before declaring war, since France should then be much weaker—'All Germany will be on your side and you will have supporters in Italy too, if not so many.'

  Metternich overestimated the extent of French war-weariness, even hoping for a coup against Napoleon. On 17 January, just before the Emperor's return, he grumbled to Stadion that Talleyrand and Fouché were not going to risk their necks, although well aware that 'the helm is in the hands of a mad pilot cheerfully steering their ship onto the rocks'. Yet the sheer magnitude of the prize made the gamble attractive; after freeing Germany and Italy the Habsburgs should be able to rule over them as never before, becoming the strongest power in Europe.

  The strain began to tell on Metternich, who informed Stadion that he expected to end at Vincennes like the Duc d'Enghien—shot in the moat at midnight. He sold his wine and his carriages. In those days diplomats caught in a war could not fly out or take a train; they had to go across country in a coach, at risk from trigger-happy troops. On 15 April the foreign minister Champagny informed Metternich that hostilities had begun and he might leave Paris; his family would be perfectly safe. His departure was delayed by the French
insisting on his being exchanged against their own embassy personnel in Vienna, so that he could not go until 25 May. Ominously, at Châlons-sur-Marne Metternich encountered Austrian prisoners—including officers whom he knew. It took him ten days to reach Vienna, with a cortège of half a dozen carriages containing his staff. The Imperial capital had already been occupied by the enemy, but on 18 June, after being interned for over three weeks, Metternich was allowed to join the Emperor Francis at Wolkersdorf.

  The war was still undecided. Despite Talleyrand's advice, war had begun too soon; Austria's hand had been forced by Andreas Hofer's rising in the Tyrol. Napoleon had halted the Austrian advance into Bavaria at Eckmühl, forcing Karl to retreat and occupying Vienna. Even so, Karl and his brother Archduke Johann had done wonders with their troops, supplementing the regulars with volunteers whose morale was excellent; they knew that every German was praying for their success, even Prussians. On 21-22 May, Karl fought the Emperor to a standstill at Aspern-Essling near Vienna, defeating him for the first time, and though Archduke Johann had been defeated in Italy, Johann's army still remained intact.

  However, on 5 July, Napoleon defeated Archduke Karl decisively at Wagram, driving the Austrians back in full retreat. Francis's comment to Metternich, 'We shall have much to retrieve', was a gigantic understatement—everyone knew that the French Emperor had threatened to make separate kingdoms out of Austria, Hungary and Bohemia. Metternich wished to continue the war, but an armistice was signed at Znaim on 11 July.

  Metternich must share some of the blame for this terrible disaster—he had completely misjudged the situation in France.