Metternich- The First European Page 6

  6

  'Tacking and Turning, and Flattering,' 1809-12

  I did not make the peace of 1809, for I did not choose to make it.

  METTERNICH to George Ticknor in 1836

  To co-operate without losing one's soul, to assist without sacrificing one's identity, to work for deliverance in the guise of bondage and under enforced silence, what harder test of moral toughness exists?

  HENRY KISSINGER, A World Restored

  A remarkable partnership was about to begin, between the Emperor Francis and Clemens von Metternich. Francis I has had a bad press. Treitschke depicts him as 'a heartless and mistrustful despot' who only granted pardons to condemned men if they hoped to be executed. Historians emphasise his suspicious nature, uninquiring mind and narrow piety. His portraits are unattractive; the face is that of an immensely well bred horse, the eyes guarded, the pose stiff. His reputation is lowest among those American historians of Metternich who in the 1950s and 1960s, as Alan Sked puts it, 'admired his [Metternich's] defence of Europe against the Left and who envisaged him as some sort of nineteenth century John Foster Dulles stemming the tide of red revolution.' They saw the Emperor as the man blocking Metternich's plans to reform the Monarchy. Others are less dismissive. 'Francis does not altogether deserve the very harsh judgements which have been passed on him by many later Austrian historians and adopted by their superficial foreign copyists,' says C. A. Macartney. 'He was neither a bad man nor a stupid one.' Sked thinks that the Emperor had much more in common with Metternich than is generally appreciated, and that Metternich had more influence than he admitted over his 'August Master.'

  Personally Francis was a very decent man, simple and unassuming, an Austrian George III (George as perceived by the British, not by Americans). He had to work far harder but did not complain and was popular throughout his long reign, especially with the Viennese; plain-mannered, speaking broad Viennese dialect, walking round his capital unescorted, he was always ready to give his humblest subjects an audience. The Imperial anthem which commemorates him, 'Gotterhalte Franz den Kaiser', was sung (to what later became the tune for 'Deutschland über Alles') until 1918. He was a skilful political tactician, though scarcely a political strategist, a good judge of character. He was fully aware of Metternich's calibre, if he did not invariably take Metternich's advice and may sometimes have felt a certain jealousy.

  On the morning of 8 July 1809, Francis sent for Metternich. 'Count Stadion has just resigned,' he told him. 'I'm giving the department of foreign affairs to you.' Metternich prevaricated: 'I don't think I'm capable of steering such a big empire's ship of state.' He did not want to be blamed for making what was obviously going to be a humiliating peace, persuading Francis that Stadion's abrupt departure might convey the impression that Austria was so broken she would accept any terms. Stadion stayed on as foreign minister in name until the treaty had been signed, Metternich directing negotiations from the background. The plenipotentiary dealing with the French was Prince Liechtenstein, who had succeeded Archduke Karl as commander-in-chief.

  Metternich swiftly accepted the need for a peace, as long as he was not blamed for it. He almost lost Francis's confidence by suggesting that Galicia (Austrian Poland) should be surrendered and the Polish kingdom restored, his object being to weaken the Franco-Russian alliance; the Tsar would have seen the restoration as a threat to his own Polish provinces. Fortunately he convinced the Emperor that another lost battle would be the end of the Monarchy. In a memorandum of 10 August Metternich told Francis bluntly, 'Whatever the peace terms, the outcome means that our sole security lies in adapting to the French system.'

  Peace was signed on 14 October 1809. Predictably, Napoleon imposed harsh terms. The Monarchy lost a third of its territory, Galicia going to the Grand Duchy of Warsaw while what is now northwestern and coastal Yugoslavia became the French province of Illyria—cutting Austria off from access to the sea and threatening Hungary. There was also a crippling financial indemnity.

  Stadion left office a week before the signing and Metternich became foreign minister. In November he described himself as 'caught in a maelstrom'. Even so, Gentz was shocked by his obvious confidence. Yet he had reason not to despair. At least the Monarchy had been saved. Napoleon would have been much wiser to split it up into several states. The new minister had outlined the road forward in a memorandum of 10 August:

  From the moment peace is signed we have to limit our activities to tacking and turning, and flattering. It is the only way we can survive until the hour of deliverance. Without Russian aid any opposition to such pressure from all sides is unthinkable. Their vacillating court will wake up sooner if it sees that it can gain nothing more from its wretched policy. Always contradicting itself and the principles it held yesterday, it may yet join us when it finds its aggressive rival crossing its path. There is only one way forward, to build up our strength for better times, working very quietly to ensure our survival . . .

  His conviction that France and Russia would eventually fall out was strengthened by the Tsar's failure to help Napoleon during the war.

  He intended to collaborate, on a scale which would not be seen again until the Second World War, and soon found a means to remove French suspicion of Austria's long-term objectives. The new ambassador in France, Prince Schwarzenberg, reported that Napoleon was going to divorce Josephine. At once Metternich told the prince, untruthfully, that the Emperor Francis had authorised him to encourage overtures towards Napoleon for the hand of an Archduchess. He added, 'You will also try to identify what advantages Austria might gain from a family alliance.'

  On 29 November he asked a French agent in Vienna, Alexandre de Laborde, whether Napoleon had ever thought of marrying an Archduchess, but admitted that he had not discussed the idea with Emperor Francis. In December Floret wrote from Paris to say there was a good chance that Napoleon might seek an Austrian bride.

  The foreign minister was shaken momentarily by rumours that Tsar Alexander was giving sympathetic consideration to a French request for a Grand Duchess, but they turned out to be without foundation.

  According to Metternich, Napoleon approached Eleanor—who had never left Paris—at a masked ball in January 1810 to ask if the Archduchess Marie Louise would accept him. Shortly after, Josephine confided in Eleanor that she hoped he would marry an Archduchess. Metternich told his wife to let Josephine know there was no obstacle. He swiftly persuaded the Emperor Francis to order his daughter to marry the Corsican ogre, telling Prince Schwarzenberg with some satisfaction that the Russian ambassador to Vienna, Count Schuvalov, had been 'terrified by the news'.

  In the previous century Kaunitz had instigated a 'diplomatic revolution' of which the most unpopular feature in Austria had been the ensuing marriage of an Archduchess (Marie Antoinette) to the Dauphin. But in those days the two dynasties had at least been equals, and their countries had not fought so bitter a war. It is hard to exaggerate the revulsion felt by the ruling circles of the defeated, humiliated Austria of 1810; they regarded the sacrifice of their Emperor's daughter almost as a blasphemy. (One can imagine the horror in Britain if George III had let Napoleon marry a British princess.) It took great courage for a newly appointed minister to commit the Habsburg Monarchy to such a step. Yet he cannot have anticipated that it would contribute so much, and quite so rapidly, to Napoleon's destruction.

  Two years before, when the French Emperor had been trying to secure a Russian Grand Duchess, Metternich had commented, 'If Alexander refuses his sister [to him], we're going to see some extraordinary developments', implying that any rupture between the two powers must inevitably lead to war because there was no buffer state between them. When the at first incredulous Tsar heard of Napoleon's Austrian marriage, his reaction was that the Emperor intended to invade Russia—he muttered, 'The next step will be to drive us back into our forests.'

  Metternich decided that he must revisit Paris at once, not only for reasons of diplomacy. His wife and family were still there, while he had conti
nued to write to Mme d'Abrantès, assuring her, 'I cannot live without you.' (This flattering declaration occurs in letters to a number of ladies.) He arrived at the Tuileries on 4 April 1810, just after the great nuptial Mass at Nôtre Dame, attending the wedding banquet in the palace; he appeared on a balcony, raised his glass to the crowd and shouted cheerfully, 'Au roi de Rome'—the title destined for Napoleon's unborn son.

  He had been much more frightened by the Franco-Russian axis than is generally appreciated. In March 1810, shortly after the marriage was announced, he explained to the Prussian ambassador Finckenstein that had Napoleon decided to marry a Grand Duchess instead of Marie Louise, the closer alliance with Russia might have meant the end of Austria.

  He spent five months in Paris, taking a considerable risk. Not everyone in Vienna liked him and he was criticised. However, the Emperor Francis supported him, approving the choice of Franz-Georg as locum tenens foreign minister. No doubt Metternich expected concessions from Napoleon; he also dreamt of a general European peace which would include Britain, and Gentz was asked to prepare a paper on how to persuade the British to take part in negotiations. And he wanted to learn what was in the French Emperor's mind, what would be his next move. In the event, he obtained nothing save more time in which to pay the indemnity. For Napoleon had got all he wanted—legitimisation of his parvenu empire.

  Even so, the French Emperor was unusually amiable, offering Metternich a German principality, which he declined. Years later, he claimed that no one who was not a Frenchman had seen so much of Napoleon. Some consider that the Emperor was merely playing with him; if so, Napoleon confided in him as he did in no other envoy. Metternich had the distinct impression that war between France and Russia might break out in the summer of 1812.

  Metternich lived with his family in the house which he had inhabited as ambassador. He and Eleanor went to the ill-fated ball given by the Schwarzenbergs in July, where the curtains caught fire and many guest were burnt to death, including the ambassador's sister-in-law. Eleanor had to tolerate a brief revival of Metternich's affair with Caroline Murat, now Queen of Naples. However, Mme d'Abrantès was in Spain with her husband.

  When Metternich returned to Vienna in October 1810 he reported to the Emperor Francis that Austria's only hope of survival was to avoid another war. In his absence an influential group had emerged to oppose him: the former foreign minister Stadion, the finance minister Count Wallis, the Archdukes Karl and Joseph, and the Empress Maria Ludovica of Modena, who hated Metternich for allying with the man who had stolen her little country—she complained that he was frivolous. But the group could do nothing, since he had Francis's unwavering support.

  'He has held and still holds the monstrous idea of ruling alone over all Europe,' Metternich wrote in January 1811. 'Napoleon has reached such great heights that only he can decide the limits of his ambition.' Later he recalled of the year 1811: 'Napoleon's power oppressed the entire continent . . . It was the edge of catastrophe but, to thoughtful observers, looked not so much like the calm before a storm as a gloomy vista of rulers and peoples humiliated by the diktat of inescapable destiny.'

  In the same report he warns the Emperor Francis, 'We are on the brink of total financial collapse.' The enormous cost of the recent war, together with the savage indemnity, resulted in state bankruptcy and draconian inflation. Too much paper money had been in circulation; all bank notes were called in and devalued by 80 per cent, 500 gulden in paper buying only 100 in gold. A succession of bad harvests came to a head, causing an exaggerated demand for credit and a bank rate of 60 per cent. The crisis dragged on until 1816, many people being ruined.

  Yet the Emperor of the French had problems too. The 'Continental Blockade', refusing admission to British goods, meant bankruptcy for Russia, which withdrew from the system at the end of 1811. (Ironically, Napoleon had freed Austria from such a burden by removing its coastline.) The war in Spain was going badly for the French. No less damaging were the French Emperor's attempts to control the Church by bullying Pius VII.

  Throughout Metternich's reports there still ran the theme of European concert. Time and again he refers to 'all the European Powers', implying the survival of the old international structure from before the revolutionary wars. This tallies with his views as a young envoy at Dresden and anticipates his vision of Europe in the years ahead.

  So far he had not established contact with the British government. They knew where he stood from Gentz, who was now living in Vienna and was the boon companion of the British agents there, John Harcourt King and John Mordaunt Johnson. Downing Street learnt that the Austrian foreign minister was not so Attached to the Napoleonic system as might appear. In May 1811 Johnson reported that Gentz was 'on the most intimate footing with Count Metternich'. The odd, slightly disreputable little man, loose-living and debt-ridden yet indomitable in his lonely crusade against the ideas of the French Revolution, was becoming indispensable.

  Nevertheless, Metternich believed that French hegemony over Europe would continue for the rest of Napoleon's life. Only after his death might a France ruled by a half-Habsburg Emperor allow the continent to return to normal. But at least Austria was free from the interference suffered by states within the Confederation of the Rhine.

  Metternich has seldom been congratulated on the marriage of Marie Louise. At the time and after, there were jokes about the sacrifice of a virgin to a minotaur. It may well have saved the Monarchy.

  7

  Statesman against Soldier, 1812-13

  Napoleon and I spent years together as though we were playing chess, watching each other carefully—I in order to checkmate him, he so that he could crush me and all the chess pieces.

  METTERNICH

  Prince Metternich behaved like a skilled minister. He is the one statesman who has appeared in Europe since the Revolution. He has destroyed me systematically and I have helped him by my mistakes.

  NAPOLEON

  Metternich's diplomacy before, during and above all after Napoleon's Russian campaign was a bravura performance. He saved Austria from an involvement which could well have proved ruinous. Only when he was certain that Napoleon would be beaten did he commit himself.

  As has been seen, he knew that war was coming. He was far from displeased at the prospect of Russia suffering as Austria had done, and when Count Schuvalov proposed a secret Austro-Russian alliance he declined smoothly, explaining to the Emperor Francis that 'Russia's sole object in these negotiations is her own security'. Since he was convinced that Russia was going to fight a defensive war and be defeated, he could see little point in allying with her. Even so, he was seriously alarmed when Berlin made overtures to the Tsar, but Alexander would not accept the terms and Prussia signed a new treaty with France in February 1812. Austria followed suit in March, agreeing to supply the French with an 'auxiliary army' of 30,000 men; her territorial integrity was guaranteed, while there was also a secret clause that should the Kingdom of Poland be restored, Austria would be given Illyria in exchange for Galicia. What really mattered was that Napoleon's father-in-law did not have to declare war on Russia. Metternich himself called it one of the oddest compromises in diplomatic history. 'I was satisfied because what I wanted more than anything else was to ensure Austria's political freedom of action when the time came to decide what to do about the approaching war.'

  In May 1812 Napoleon summoned his client kings and princes to meet him at Dresden, where he had assembled 600,000 troops from all over Europe. Not only the 'sovereigns' of the Confederation of the Rhine had to attend but the Austrian Emperor—who grumbled 'I cannot stand the creature' when referring to his son-in-law. His foreign minister came too, meeting the French Emperor daily. He records their discussion of the forthcoming campaign. Napoleon was convinced that the Russians would eventually advance to meet him, explaining that he would invade only as far as Smolensk during 1812 but that, if this failed to draw the Tsar, he would thrust deeper in 1813. 'I have to admit that neither I nor anyone else thought Napol
eon would try to complete so difficult an enterprise in a single campaign' is Metternich's comment.

  The subject monarchs crept away from Dresden, back to capitals whose citizens despised them. The Archdukes and the Empress argued furiously that a policy of collaboration humiliated both the dynasty and Austria, while the Hungarians refused to grant subsidies, so that Francis had to suspend the Diet and levy taxes arbitrarily; Archduke Joseph, the Palatine (or Viceroy), protested, much to the Emperor's anger. Metternich saw an opportunity to eliminate his principal opponents when the Austrian police intercepted sympathetic letters from the Empress to the Archduke; he promptly showed them to Francis with the warning that his wife and brother were about to start an affair. He would have no more trouble from Maria Ludovica or from Joseph.

  Napoleon launched his invasion in June and Metternich waited for Russia to collapse. In March he had observed that Alexander did not have enough soldiers; a single defeat would destroy him utterly. His opinion was endorsed by Prince Schwarzenberg—until recently ambassador in Paris—whose troops were on the Grande Armée's extreme right wing, where they did not see any serious fighting.

  An old friend arrived in Vienna in September, Hilarion de Liedekerke Beaufort, whom he had not seen since their visit to England in 1794. He stayed for two months and Metternich entertained him frequently. On 11 September he noted:

  At half-past three I went to Clément de Metternich's, where he received me in his office, filled with fine furniture and prints with which I entertained myself while he finished his work. Then I got into his barouche and off we went to dine at his villa [on the Rennweg], very prettily done up and surrounded by a really large garden. It is only a few steps from Vienna but one might think oneself a hundred leagues away. Clément . . . has planted the garden, and built hothouses, conservatories and a menagerie, all in fourteen months, in such a way that it looks as though it has been there for years.