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Bohn’S Standard Library
THE CAMPAIGN OF SEDAN
“The policy of your Government will bring you to Jena,” said M. de
Moustier to Herr von Bismarck during the Crimean War. “Why not to
Waterloo?” was the prompt and prophetic reply.
Wo Kraft und Muth in deutscher Seele flammen.
THE CAMPAIGN OF SEDAN
The Downfall of the Second Empire
August–September 1870
by
GEORGE HOOPER
Author of “Waterloo: the Downfall of the First Napoleon: a History of
the Campaign of 1815,” etc.
With Map and Plans
[Illustration]
London
George Bell And Sons
1909
Chiswick Press: Charles Whittingham and Co.
Tooks Court, Chancery Lane, London.
PREFACE.
When it was decided to publish a new and cheaper edition of Mr. George
Hooper’s “Sedan,” the question arose whether anything should be added
to it. My father had intended, should a new edition be called for, to
revise and correct the work, and to furnish it with an index. After due
consideration it has been decided to make no additions to the book,
except the index, which has been carefully compiled. A few errors that
had crept into the text of the original edition have been corrected;
but in other respects the volume remains as it was left by its author.
WYNNARD HOOPER.
SOUTH KENSINGTON,
_October, 1897_.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
The War of 1870–71 was opened by a campaign of thirty days, complete in
itself, and the author must plead the dramatic unity of the great event
as a reason for treating it in a separate form. Although the foundation
of those ulterior successes which enabled the Germans to proclaim the
King of Prussia Emperor in Germany, and to do so in the palace of Louis
XIV., yet, from an historical point of view, the astonishing series
of battles and marches which ended in the Investment of Metz, and the
Capitulation of Sedan may be regarded as standing apart, because they
carried with them the Downfall of the Second Empire. The Campaign of
Sedan, in this respect, is the supplement of the Campaign of Waterloo;
but, of course, there is no resemblance between Napoleon III. and
Napoleon I., nor in the political and military conditions and results
of the two catastrophes.
The materials at the disposal of any author who ventures to narrate
the campaign are abundant and yet incomplete. The History of the War
prepared by the German Staff is minute even to weariness, but it must
always stand as the authentic foundation of every narrative. Unreadable
to the general public, it is invaluable to the soldier-student, and
to all who wish to know what the German Army is like, and how it
wages war. It need scarcely be said that the Staff narrative is the
basis of this book, which is an endeavour to present its essence
in a succinct and readable form. Unhappily, the French accounts are
wanting in precision, so that it is difficult to comprehend how they
fought their battles, and impossible to ascertain accurately what was
their numerical strength at any moment. The deficiency is serious,
because it mars the completeness of the story, and frustrates every
attempt to do them full justice. For, if the Army, as an Army, was
wasted by incapable commanders, the soldiers fought well and did
nothing to derogate from their old renown. They had to encounter
better commanders, more numerous and better soldiers, and they were
beaten, but they were not disgraced. The whole lesson of the war is
lost, if the fact is ignored that the German Army, from top to bottom,
was superior in every way to that of Napoleon III., as well as more
numerous; and that what made it superior was the spirit of Duty, using
the word in its highest sense, which animated the host, from the King,
who was its shining exemplar, to the private who was proud to rival his
King.
The contrast, which this war exhibited, between the French and German
methods of making and using an Army is so violent, that it becomes
painful, and imparts an air of one-sidedness to the narrative. But the
facts must be stated, although the bare statement suggests partiality
in the narrator. I have, nevertheless, tried to be impartial, and
in doing my best, I have found it impossible to read the abounding
evidence of Imperial neglect, rashness and indecision, without feeling
pity for the soldiers and the nation which had to bear the penalties.
The French Army has been remodelled and increased enormously; the
secular quarrel between Germany and France is still open; and some day
it may be seen whether the Republicans, out of the same materials,
have been able to create an Army such as the Imperialists failed to
produce. Whether they have succeeded or not, it may be fervently hoped
that the deep impression which the examples of thoroughness, revealed
by the wars of 1866 and 1870, made on our own country will never be
effaced; and that the public will insist that our small Army, in every
part, shall be as good as that which crossed the French frontier in
1870, and triumphed in the Campaign of Sedan.
KENSINGTON, _April 6th, 1887_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER I.
THE CAUSES OF THE WAR.
French Demands for the Rhine—Luxemburg—An Interlude of
Peace—The Salzburg Interview—The Emperor seeks Allies—The
Hohenzollern Candidature—The French Government and the Chamber 17
CHAPTER II.
THE GATHERING OF THE HOSTS.
German Mobilization—French Mobilization—War Methods Contrasted 56
CHAPTER III.
STAGE THUNDER.
The Combat at Saarbrück—Preparing to go Forward—Positions on
August 4—The Moral and Political Forces 72
CHAPTER IV.
INVASION IN EARNEST.
The Combat on the Lauter—French Position on the Saar—German
Position on the Saar 84
CHAPTER V.
TWO STAGGERING BLOWS.
1. Woerth—The Battle Begins—Attack on Woerth—Attack on
the French Right—Attack on Elsasshausen—MacMahon Orders
a Retreat—The Close of the Battle. 2. Spicheren—The
Battle-field—The Germans Begin the Fight—The Red Hill
Stormed—Progress of the Action—Frossard Retires 96
CHAPTER VI.
VACILLATION IN METZ.
The Emperor Resigns his Command—The German Advance—The German
Cavalry at Work—The Germans March on the Moselle 131
CHAPTER VII.
VON MOLTKE KEEPS THE WHIP HAND.
The French Propose to Move—The Battle of Colombey-Nouilly—Von
Golz Dashes In—The End of the Battle—The French Retreat—The
Germans Cross the Moselle—The Cavalry Beyond the Moselle—Orders
for the Flank March—The Emperor Quits the Army 145
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FRENCH RETREAT THWARTED.
Vionville-Mars la Tour—The Vionville Battlefield—The
French are Surprised—The Third Corps Strikes In—Arrival
of Bazaine—Bredow’s Brilliant Charge—The Fight becomes
Stationary—Arrival of the Tenth Corps—The Great Cavalry
Combat—End of the Battle 167
CHAPTER IX.
PRESSED BACK ON METZ.
Marshal Bazaine—The Battlefield of Gravelotte—The German
Plans—The Battle of Gravelotte—Prince Frederick Charles at
the Front—Steinmetz Attacks the French Left—Operations by the
German Left Wing—General Frossard Repels a Fresh Attack—The
Last Fights near St. Hubert—The Prussian Guard on the Centre
and Left—The Capture of St. Privat 188
CHAPTER X.
THE STATE OF THE GAME, AND THE NEW MOVES.
The King Marches Westward—The Cavalry Operations—The Emperor at
Chalons and Reims—MacMahon retires to Reims—The Chalons Army
Directed on the Meuse 228
THE GRAND RIGHT WHEEL.
The Cavalry Discover the Enemy—Movements of the French—The
Marshal Resolves, Hesitates, and Yields—Movements of the
Germans—Effects of MacMahon’s Counter-orders—German and French
Operations on the 29th—The Combat at Nouart—The State of
Affairs at Sundown—The Battle of Beaumont—The Surprise of the
Fifth Corps—The Flight to Mouzon 244
CHAPTER XII.
METZ AND STRASBURG.
The Battle of Noisseville 276
CHAPTER XIII.
SEDAN.
German Decision—Confusion in the French Camp—The Movements
of the Germans—The Battlefield of Sedan—The Battle of
Sedan—MacMahon’s Wound and its Consequences—Progress of the
Battle on the Givonne—The March on St. Menges—The Eleventh and
Fifth Corps Engage—The Condition of the French Army—The French
Cavalry Charge—General de Wimpffen’s Counter stroke—The Emperor
and his Generals—King William and his Warriors—How the Generals
Rated Each Other—The Generals Meet at Donchery—Napoleon III.
Surrenders—The French Generals Submit—The End 285
APPENDICES.
I. The German Field Armies—II. The French Army—III. The
Protocol of Capitulation—IV. A List of the Principal Works
Consulted for the Campaign of Sedan 339
INDEX 359
MAP AND PLANS.
I. BATTLE OF WOERTH.
II. BATTLE OF SPICHEREN.
III. BATTLE OF COLOMBEY-NOUILLY.
IV. BATTLE OF VIONVILLE-MARS LA TOUR.
V. BATTLE OF GRAVELOTTE.
VI. BATTLE OF SEDAN.
VII. GENERAL MAP.
THE CAMPAIGN OF SEDAN.
INTRODUCTION.
In July, 1870, fifty-five years after the Allied Armies, who had
marched from the decisive field of Waterloo, entered Paris, a young
diplomatist, Baron Wimpfen, started from the French capital, for
Berlin. He was the bearer of a Declaration of War, from the Emperor
Napoleon III., to William I., King of Prussia; and the fatal message
was delivered to the French Chargé d’Affaires, M. le Sourd, and by
him to the Prussian Government on the 19th of July. Thus, once again,
a Napoleon, at the head of a French Empire, was destined to try his
strength against the principal German Power beyond the Rhine.
Yet, under what different conditions! The Emperor was not now the
Napoleon who surrounded the Austrians at Ulm, broke down the combined
forces of Austria and Russia at Austerlitz, and extorted a peace which
set him free to overthrow, at Jena and Auerstadt, the fine army left by
Frederick the Great, and allowed to crystallize by his weak successors.
Nor did the late Emperor find in his front a divided Germany, and
the mere survival of a great military organization. He found a
united people, and an army surpassing in completeness, as it did in
armaments—the victors of Prague, Rosbach, and Leuthen. The Germany
known to the Congress of Vienna had disappeared—the deformed had been
transformed. The little seed of unity, sown early in the century, had
grown into a forest tree. The spirit of Arndt had run through the
whole Teutonic nation, which, after the turmoil of 1848 had subsided,
and the heavy hand of Russia had been taken off by the Crimean War,
found a leader in the strongly-organized kingdom of Prussia. When the
weak and hesitating will of Frederick William IV. ceased, first, by
the operation of a painful disease, and then by extinction, to disturb
the course of his country’s fortune, Prussia, in a few years, became
practically a new Power. King William I., who crowned himself with his
own hands at Königsberg, began his task, as a ruler, in a grave and
earnest spirit, holding that kingship was not only a business, but a
trust, and taking as his watchwords, Work and Duty. No monarch in any
age, no private man, ever laboured more assiduously and conscientiously
at his _métier_, to use the word of Joseph II., than the King of
Prussia. He became Regent in 1858, when Napoleon III. was engaged in
preparing for his Italian campaign against the House of Austria. French
policy, with varying watchwords, had run that road for centuries; and,
during the summer of 1859, it was the good fortune of the Emperor to
win a series of victories which brought his army to the Mincio, and
before the once famous Quadrilateral. The German Bund had taken no
part in the fray, but the rapid successes of the French aroused some
apprehensions in Berlin, and there went forth an order to mobilize
a part of the army, which means to put each corps on a war-footing,
and to assemble a force in Rhenish Prussia. Whatever share that
demonstration may have had in producing the sudden arrangement between
the rival Emperors, who made peace over their cigarettes and coffee
at Villafranca, the experiment tried by the Berlin War Office had one
important result—it brought to light serious defects in the system then
practised, and revealed the relative weakness of the Prussian army.
From that moment, the Regent, who soon became King by the death of his
brother, began the work of reforming the military system. For this
step, at least from a Prussian standpoint, there was good reason; since
the kingdom, although it was based on a strong and compact nucleus,
was, as a whole, made up of scattered fragments lying between great
military Powers, and therefore could not hope to subsist without a
formidable army. The relative weakness of Prussia had, indeed, been
burnt into the souls of Prussian statesmen; and King William, on his
accession, determined that as far as in him lay, that grave defect
should be cured. A keen observer, a good judge of character and
capacity, his experience of men and things, which was large, enabled
him at once to select fit instruments. He picked out three persons, two
soldiers and a statesman, and severe ordeals in after years justified
his choice. He appointed General von Roon, Minister of War, and no man
in modern times has shown greater qualities in the organization of an
army. He placed General von Moltke at the head of the General Staff,
which that able man soon converted into the best equipped and the
most effective body of its kind known to history. It rapidly became,
what it now is, the brain of the army, alike in quarters and in the
field. Finally, after some meditation, he called Herr Otto von Bismarck
from the diplomatic service, which had revealed his rare and peculiar
qualities, and made this Pomeranian squire his chief political adviser,
and the manager of his delicate and weighty State affairs.
Thenceforth, the long-gathering strength of Prussia, the foundations
of which were bedded deep in the history of its people, began to assume
a form and a direction which great events revealed to astonished and
incredulous Europe. The experiment undertaken by the King and his chief
councillors was rendered less difficult by that effect of the Crimean
War which so materially lessened the influence of Russia in Germany.
The intimate and friendly relations subsisting between the two Courts
remained unbroken, and to its preservation in fair weather and foul,
Prussia owed, to a large extent, the favourable conditions surrounding
the application and development of her policy. It seemed as necessary
to Prussian, as it now does to German interests, that the Russian
Government should be, at least, benevolently neutral; and probably
the art of keeping it so was profoundly studied by Herr von Bismarck
when he filled the post of Ambassador to the Court of St. Petersburg.
The large military reforms designed by the King and his advisers
aroused an uncompromising opposition in the native Parliament, which
was only overcome by the firmness with which King William supported
his outspoken and audacious Minister. The victory was secured by
methods which were called, and were, unconstitutional. The control
of the Chamber over the Budget was placed in abeyance, by a clever
interpretation of the fundamental law. It was held that if the Deputies
could not agree with the Government respecting the estimates of the
current year, the law which they had sanctioned in the preceding year
still remained valid. Thus the taxes were collected, appropriated and
expended, just the same as if the Chamber had not virtually “stopped
the supplies” in order to defeat the measures which were intended to
give the army stability, numbers, efficiency and cohesion. The whole
transaction ran counter to English maxims and customs; but it should be
remembered that Parliamentary Government, and especially government by
party, were never, and are not even now established in Berlin. The net
result of the contest was the renovation and the strengthening of the
National Army to an extent which, while it did not exceed, perhaps, the
expectations of those who laboriously wrought it out, left some Powers
of Europe ignorant, and others incredulous respecting its value.
Not that the military institutions of Prussia, dating back from the
“new model,” devised during the stress of the Napoleonic Wars, had
been fundamentally altered. Nothing was done except to increase the
numbers, close up and oil the machinery, render its working prompt
and easy by prudent decentralization, give it a powerful brain in the
General Staff, and impart to the whole system a living energy. The
art of war, if the phrase may be allowed, was, in accordance with
venerable traditions rooted in the Hohenzollern House, taken up as a
serious business; and that deep sense of its importance which prevailed
at the fountain head, was made to permeate the entire frame. That
is the real distinguishing characteristic of the Prussian, now the
German army, as contrasted with the spirit in which similar labours
were undertaken by some other Powers. The task was a heavy one, but
the three men who set about it were equal to the task. King William,
with a large intelligence, a severe yet kindly temper, and a thorough
knowledge of his work, threw himself heart and soul into the business,
and brought to bear upon its conduct that essential condition of
success, the “master’s eye.” General von Roon framed or sanctioned
the administrative measures which were needed to create an almost
self-acting and cohesive organism, which could be set in motion by a
telegram, as an engineer starts a complicated piece of machinery by
touching a lever. Von Moltke, as chief of the General Staff, supplied
the directing intellect, and established a complete apparatus for
the collection and classification of knowledge, bearing upon military
affairs, which might be applied wherever needed. These men, working
with “unhasting, unresting” diligence, founded a school of war, not
based on “the law of the Medes and Persians which altereth not,” but
upon the vital principle that a good army should possess in itself
such a power of adaptation, as will make it always abreast with the
latest genuine discoveries in tactics, arms, material appliances,
and discipline. Also the army was treated as a great school in which
officers and men alike were teaching and learning from dawn to sunset,
throughout the allotted period of service. The principal trio had other
and able helpers, but they were the main springs moving and guiding the
marvellous product of constant labour applied by rare capacity.
The ultimate, although not the immediate, effect of the French
successes at Magenta and Solferino, was the creation of an Italian
kingdom, which included within its boundaries, Naples, Sicily, the
States of the Church, except Rome, and of course the Duchies on
the right bank of the Po. The price of compliance, exacted by the
Emperor Napoleon, whose plans had been thwarted, was the cession to
him of Nice and Savoy. Venice and the territory beyond the Mincio
remained Austrian for several years. While the map of Italy was in
course of reconstruction, the political conflict in Berlin raged on
with unintermitted violence. Simultaneously the Austrian Emperor was
induced to assert his claims to predominance in Germany, but the
plans laid, in 1863, were blighted by the prompt refusal of William I.
to take any share in them. It was the first symptom of reviving
hostility between the two Powers, although a little later, on the
death of the King of Denmark, they were found, side by side in arms,
to assert the claims of the German Bund upon Holstein, Schleswig and
Lauenburg, and avert the occupation of those countries by the troops
of Saxony and other minor States alone. The campaign which ensued
brought the “new model of the” Prussian army to the test of actual
experiment. But the brave adversaries they had to encounter, if stout
in heart, were weak in numbers; and Europe did not set much store by
the victories then achieved by Prussia. The public and the Governments
were intently occupied with the Secession War in the United States of
America, and the astounding expedition to Mexico, which was designed
to place an Austrian Archduke on “the throne of the Montezumas,”
under illustrious French patronage. Thus the quality of the troops,
the great influence of the famous “needle-gun,” the character of the
staff, and the excellent administrative services escaped the notice
of all, save the observant few. The political aspects of the dispute
were keenly discussed. Lord Palmerston and Lord Russell were, at one
moment, disposed to fight for the Treaty of 1851; but the Danish King
committed grave blunders; Russia stood aloof, the Emperor Napoleon
III. distinctly refused to enter the lists, and the House of Commons
was decidedly averse to war. Here it should be noted that the French
Emperor, meditating on the value to him of the rival Powers in Germany,
had determined to stand well with both. He hoped to please Austria by
making the brother of Francis Joseph Emperor of Mexico, and to keep
open the possibilities of an alliance with Prussia, by throwing no
obstacles in her way on the Eider.
Then began the great strife between the two Governments which had
wrested the Elbe Duchies from the Dane. When the short war ended,
certain divisions from each army were posted in the conquered country,
and the rivalry which animated the two Courts was carried on by
diplomats and statesmen. Prussian policy, since the days of
Frederick II., had leaned always towards, if not an alliance with
Russia, yet the maintenance of a solid understanding with that growing
Power. Herr von Bismarck, who was a deep student in the history of his
own country, and who had always nourished large ideas, kept steadily
on the well-trodden path, but imparted to his methods a boldness, an
inventiveness, and an energy most unusual in Prussian statescraft.
The Polish insurrection of 1864 gave him an opportunity which he did
not neglect, and while the poor patriots were assisted from the side
of Galicia, on the Posen frontier they were ruthlessly repressed, the
Russian and Prussian troops making common cause, and crossing the
frontier whenever that step seemed needful. The ill-fated Poles, of
course, were defeated; Prussia had recorded a fresh claim upon the
benevolent neutrality of Russia, while Austrian “ingratitude,” never
forgiven in St. Petersburg, took a deeper tinge in the eyes of the
Czar. The Prussian Government had not long to wait for their reward.
During the summer of 1865, the abiding quarrel between Vienna and
Berlin, respecting the future status of the conquered or restored
Duchies, nearly came to an open rupture. Neither side, however, was
ready for a blow, and the “Convention of Gastein,” which Bismarck,
in a letter to his wife, defined as a mode of “pasting together the
cracks in the building,” was devised to gain time. The Prussian army,
still incomplete from the royal and the military point of view, had
been augmented after the Danish war, and the new levies of horse and
artillery had not acquired the requisite instruction. So the summer and
autumn of 1865 wore away, revealing the spectacle of King William and
Herr von Bismarck battling fiercely with the Parliament, and not so
clearly displaying Von Moltke and Von Roon labouring hourly to bring
the machine intrusted to their charge up to the highest attainable
efficiency. There were other reasons for delay. As it was more than
probable that the South Germans, and possible that the King of Hanover
would not rank themselves with Prussia, but go with Austria and the
Bund, an ally was wanted who would divide the forces of the largest
Power. That ally was found in the newly united kingdom of Italy.
But before the Italian envoy astonished the diplomatic world by his
apparition at Berlin, in March, the controversy between Austria and
Prussia had gone on rapidly, step by step, nearer towards a rupture.
Count Mensdorff, on behalf of the Emperor Francis Joseph, set up a
claim to full liberty of action in the Duchy of Holstein, and began
openly to favour the pretentions of the Duke Frederick of Augustenburg
to the Ducal Chair. That position was vigorously contested by Herr von
Bismarck, who put an opposite construction on the Treaty, which created
what was called the “condominium.” The consequence was a frequent and
animated exchange of despatches, containing such “arguments” as seemed
proper to the occasion. Into the merits of this dispute it is needless
to enter now, since the whole drift of the verbal struggle shows that
while Prussia was intent on providing a solid ground on which to fight
out a long-standing quarrel—“inevitable,” said Von Moltke, “sooner or
later,”—Austria was by no means inclined to shrink from a test directly
applied to her position in Germany. Whatever line she had taken her
rival would have discovered, or tried to discover, an opposing course;
but, it so happened, that, whether by chance or miscalculation, Count
Mensdorff, the Austrian Foreign Minister, managed his case so as to
give advantages to his abler antagonist. In the last days of February
a great council was held in Berlin. Not only the King and his chief
Minister, but General von Moltke and General von Manteuffel, from
Schleswig, took part in its deliberations. It was the turning point
in the grave debate, so far as Prussian action was concerned; for
the decision then adopted unanimously, was, that Prussia could not
honourably recede, but must go forward, even at the risk of war. No
order was given to prepare for that result, because the organization
of the army was complete, and moreover, because “the King was very
adverse to an offensive war.” Nevertheless, from that moment such an
issue of the dispute became certain to occur at an early day. Yet
neither party wished to fight over the Duchies; each felt that the
cause was too paltry. The Austrians, therefore, extended the field,
by appealing to the Bund, a move which gave Herr von Bismarck the
advantage he so eagerly sought. He answered it by resolving to push, in
his own sense, the cause of federal reform. Learning this determination
early in March, M. Benedetti observed to Herr von Bismarck that it
would insure peace. “Yes,” answered the Minister President,—“for
three months,” a very accurate forecast by a prophet who could fulfil
his own prediction, and who desired to fight the adversary promptly,
lest a reconciliation should be effected between Vienna and Pesth,
and Hungary, from a source of weakness, should thus become a tower of
strength.
A few days later, March 14th, General Govone, from Florence, arrived
in Berlin. His advent had been preceded by attempts, on the part of
Bismarck, to discover how the French would look on a Prusso-Italian
alliance. The subject was delicate, and even after the General’s
arrival, it was officially stated that he had come, exclusively, to
study the progress in small arms and artillery! The pretence was soon
abandoned, and the negotiations were avowed; but the conclusion of a
treaty was delayed for some days, because no specific date could be
fixed on for the outbreak of war, Prussia having determined, at least
to make it appear, that she was not the aggressor. At length a form of
words was devised, which satisfied both Powers, stipulating that Italy
was to share in the war, providing it began within “three months,” and
the Convention was signed on the 8th of April. Not, however, before it
had been well ascertained that France had really helped on the Prussian
alliance and desired to see war ensue, although, avowedly, she did not
interfere, giving out that she stood neuter, and that the understanding
which might be ultimately come to between France and Prussia would be
determined by the march of events, the extension of the war, and the
questions to which it might give rise. This language foreshadowed the
policy which the Emperor, if not M. Drouyn de Lhuys desired to follow;
and as Russia, recently obliged in the Polish troubles, was friendly,
if not allied, Herr von Bismarck was convinced that no foreign power
would array itself on the side of Austria, unless the campaign were
prolonged.
Henceforth, the aim of each disputant was to secure a vantage-ground
in Germany. Austria had partially collected troops in Bohemia and
Moravia, and had secretly stipulated with several States to call out
four Federal corps d’armée; while Prussia, who could wait, being always
ready, had only carried her preparations forward to a certain extent.
M. von Beust, the Saxon Minister, then intervened with a proposal
that the Diet should name arbiters, whose decision should be final;
a suggestion instantly rejected by the principals in the quarrel.
The Emperor Napoleon III., towards the end of May, when Prussian
mobilization had practicably been completed in eight corps, produced
his specific—the characteristic proposal that a Conference should be
held in Paris to study the means of maintaining the peace. Prussia
accepted the offer, but Austria put an end to the hopes of Napoleon,
by stipulating that no arrangement should be discussed which would
augment the territory or power of any party of the Conference, and in
addition that the Pope should be invited to share in any deliberations
on “the Italian Question.” These pretensions, by excluding, what
everyone wanted, the cession of Venetia to Italy, decided the fate
of the Conference. “They desire war at Vienna,” said Von Bismarck to
Count Benedetti. “These conditions have been conjured up solely for the
purpose of giving the States in South Germany time to complete their
military preparations.” And when the news came officially from Paris
that the Austrian answer had killed the project, the Minister President
shouted in the French Ambassador’s presence “Vive le Roi!” The solution
was war. The Prussian army, for once, had been mobilized by slow
degrees. More than a month elapsed between the first precautionary
and the final steps, but by the 12th of May the entire active army
had been summoned to arms. The Conference project was a last attempt,
made, indeed, after all hope of arresting the conflict had vanished,
alike in Vienna and Berlin; and it was followed by events in Holstein,
which put an end to the period of suspense, and formed a prelude to the
war. Practically, but without actual fighting, General von Manteuffel
compelled the Austrian brigade, under Field-Marshal von Glablenz, to
retreat swiftly over the Elbe. The pretext for this strong measure was
the fact that Austria, by her sole will, had summoned the Estates to
meet at Itzehöe, and had thus infringed the rights of King William!
Thereupon Austria requested the Diet at Frankfort to call out all
the Federal Corps; and her demand was complied with, on the 14th of
June, by a majority of nine to six. The Prussian delegate protested,
and withdrew, leaving Austria, Bavaria, Saxony, Wurtemburg, the two
Hesses, and several minor States, in open combination against Prussia.
But the same stroke which isolated the latter, also destroyed the
German Bund, invented by the kings and statesmen of 1815, to preserve
internal tranquillity, and safeguard the Fatherland against France.
The arrangement implied the co-operation of two Powers; one purely
German, yet subordinate; the other parcel German, and mainly consisting
of divers peoples outside Germany; and it fell to pieces at a blow,
because the time had arrived when one of the two must attain supremacy.
Side by side with the secular dynastic conflict arose in the nation
that longing for unity which could only be accomplished by a thoroughly
German Power.
That Power was Prussia, trained for the task by the steadfast labours
of two hundred years. The army she had formed did its work swiftly.
Pouring through Saxony and over the Silesian Mountains, the King and
his son, July 3rd, crushed the Austrians, on the memorable field of
Sadowa, near Königgrätz. The Hanoverian troops, after winning the
fight at Langensalza, had been obliged to surrender, and in South
Germany the army employed to overcome the Confederates was equally
victorious. On the 22nd of July, so swiftly had the main body moved,
the Prussians were in front of Vienna and Presburg on the Danube.
Four days afterwards, the Emperor Napoleon having struck in with an
offer of mediation, which was accepted, the preliminaries of a peace
were signed at Nikolsburg, on the 26th of July, and the final treaty
was settled and ratified at Prague, on the 23rd of August, long after
King William and his formidable Minister were once more in Berlin.
By this instrument, Austria was excluded from Germany; a Northern
Confederation, reaching to the Main, was founded; Hanover, the Elbe
Duchies, Hesse-Cassel, and other territories, were annexed to Prussia;
and a formal statement was inserted, declaring that Napoleon III., to
whom Austria had ceded Venetia, had acquired it in order to hand over
the city and Terra Firma, as far as the Isonzo, to Victor Emmanuel,
when the peace should be re-established. Prussia thus became the
acknowledged head of Germany, at least as far as the Main; and the
national longing for complete unity was about to be gratified in a much
shorter time than seemed probable in 1866.
Naturally, the astonishing successes won by Prussian arms against the
Federal Corps, as well as the Austrians, compelled the South German
States to sue for peace, and accept public treaties, which, while
leaving them independent, brought them all, more or less, within the
limits of a common German federation. But something more important was
accomplished at Nikolsburg. Herr von der Pfordten, the Bavarian Prime
Minister, repaired thither towards the end of July, and Bismarck was
in possession of information, including a certain French document,
which enabled him to state the German case in a manner so convincing
and terrifying, that the Bavarian agreed to sign a secret treaty,
bringing the army within the Prussian system, and stipulating that, in
case of war, it should pass at once under the command of King William.
That which Von der Pfordten conceded the Ministers of Wurtemburg and
Hesse Darmstadt could not refuse, and thus provision was made, on
the morrow of Sadowa, for that concentration of armed Germany which
overwhelmed France in 1870–71. So that, although nothing formally
constituting a United Germany had been done, Prussia, by securing the
control of all her forces, and knowing that a strong and deeply-rooted
public sentiment would support her, was satisfied that, providing
time could be gained in which to arm, instruct and discipline upon
the Prussian model the South Germans and the troops raised from the
annexed provinces, she would be more than a match for France. South
Germany, indeed, had long known her relative helplessness against the
French. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that the real peril
was more perceptible to the soldiers and statesmen than to the people,
many of whom were strongly imbued with democratic ideas of the French
type. Yet, although they hungered for what they understood as liberty
and independence, they were still German, and did not fail to see that
their cherished desires could not be gratified either under French
patronage or French prefects. The soldiers and statesmen had early
perceived the full secret of South German dependence. The Archduke
Charles, who had great knowledge and harsh experience to guide him,
pointed out that the French posts on the Rhine had placed the country
south of the Main at the mercy of France. “As long as the Rhine
frontier from Huningen to Lauterbourg remains in her hands,” wrote
a Prussian staff-officer at a later period, “Germany is open on the
Rhine frontier to an invasion directed upon the Southern States.” No
stronger testimony to the sense, if not to the reality of insecurity
could be adduced, than the remarkable fact that, even so far back as
the Crimean War, the then King of Wurtemberg, in conversation with Herr
von Bismarck, set forth, significantly, the feelings, the hopes and the
dread of South Germany. “Give us Strassburg,” he said, “and we will
unite to encounter any eventuality . . . . for until that city shall
become German, it will always stand in the way of Southern Germany,
devoting herself unreservedly to German unity and to a German national
policy.” Hence it will be seen that, beyond the Main, there were
traditional, yet very real fears of French invasion; and that these
apprehensions had no small share in facilitating the acceptance of
the secret military treaties, and in shaping the course of subsequent
events.
Thus much it seems needful to state, in order that some portion of the
earlier transactions which had a great influence in bringing on the
war of 1870, may be recalled to the reader’s mind. The short, sharp
and decisive duel fought between Austria and Prussia for leadership in
Germany, created a profound impression throughout Europe. Austria was
irritated as well as humbled; Russia, although the Czar remained more
than friendly, was not without apprehensions; but the French ruler and
his ministers were astounded, indignant and bewildered. The telegram,
which reported the Battle of Sadowa, wrenched a “cry of agony” from the
Court of the Tuileries, whose policy had been based on the conjecture
or belief that Prussia would be defeated, and would call for help. The
calculation was, that Napoleon III. would step in as arbiter, and that
while he moderated the demands of Austria, he would be able to extort
territorial concessions from Prussia as the reward of his patronage.
M. Drouyn de Lhuys would have had his master strike in, at once, and
cross the Rhine, or occupy the Palatinate; but the Emperor was not then
in the mood for heroic enterprises; he feared that his army was not
“ready,” and, besides, he still thought that by arrangement he could
obtain some sort of “compensation” from Prussia, at the expense of
Germany. But all he did was to pose as mediator at Nikolsburg; and Herr
von Bismarck, who had done his utmost to keep him in a dubious frame of
mind, regarded it as “fortunate” that he did not boldly thrust himself
into the quarrel. The “golden opportunity” slid by; M. Drouyn de Lhuys
resigned; and Imperial France acquiesced, publicly, in the political
and territorial arrangements which, for the first time, during the
lapse of centuries, laid broad and deep the foundations of German
Unity, and, as a consequence, rendered inevitable a France-German War.
CHAPTER I.
THE CAUSES OF THE WAR.
The Treaty of Prague, the secret military conventions signed at
Nikolsburg, the ascendancy secured by Von Bismarck, now elevated to
the dignity of a Count, together with the complete removal of alien
Powers from Italy, wrought a radical change in the political relations
of the European States. Excluded from Germany, although including
powerful German elements, the dominions of Austria still extended
to the verge of Venetia and the Lombard plains; but as the Prussian
statesman had already hinted, her future lay Eastward, and her centre
of gravity had been removed to Buda-Pesth. In the South German Courts,
no doubt, there was a bias towards Vienna, and a dislike of Prussia;
yet both the leaning and the repugnance were counterbalanced by a
deeper dread of France rooted in the people by the vivid memories of
repeated and cruel invasions. Russia, somewhat alarmed by the rapid
success of King William, had been soothed by diplomatic reassurances,
the tenour of which is not positively known, although a series of
subsequent events more than justified the inference made at that time,
that promises, bearing on the Czar’s Eastern designs, were tendered
and accepted as a valuable consideration for the coveted boon of
benevolent neutrality, if not something more substantial. Like Russia,
France had lost nothing by the campaign of 1866; her territories were
intact; her ruler had mediated between Austria and Prussia; and he had
the honour of protecting the Pope, who, as a spiritual and temporal
Prince, was still in possession of Rome and restricted territorial
domains. But the Napoleonic Court, and many who looked upon its head
as a usurper, experienced, on the morrow of Sadowa, and in a greater
degree after the preface to a peace had been signed at Nikolsburg,
a sensation of diminished magnitude, a consciousness of lessened
prestige, and a painful impression that their political, perhaps even
their military place in Europe, as the heirs of Richelieu,
Louis XIV., and Napoleon, had been suddenly occupied by a Power which
they had taught themselves to contemn as an inferior. Until the summer
of 1866 the Emperor Napoleon fancied that he was strong enough to play
with the Prussian Minister a game of diplomatic finesse; indeed, he
seems to have thought that the Pomeranian gentleman would be an easy
prey; but having thus put it to the proof, he did not concur in the
maxim that it is as pleasant to be cheated as to cheat, especially
when the result is chiefly due to complaisant self-deception. On the
other hand, Herr von Bismarck had no longer any delusions concerning
Louis Napoleon. If, at an early period, when the English Radicals were
considering whether the new Emperor was “stupid,” a proposition they
had taken for granted theretofore, he had over-estimated the capacity
of the self-styled “parvenu,” later experience had reduced the estimate
to just proportions, and had produced a correct judgment upon the
character of one who, down to the last, was always taken for more than
he was worth. If any one knew him well, it was probably his cousin,
the Duc de Morny, and M. St. Marc Girardin has preserved a sentence
which is an illuminative commentary upon so many curious transactions
during the Second Empire. “The greatest difficulty with the Emperor,”
said De Morny, “is to remove from his mind a fixed idea, and to give
him a steadfast will.” His fixed ideas were not always compatible
one with another. He professed great devotion to the “principle of
nationalities;” yet he desired to carry the French frontiers as far as
the Rhine, adding further German populations and Flemish towns whose
inhabitants are not French to those acquired by Louis XIV. He wished
for peace, no doubt, when he said that the Empire was synonymous with
that word, but he also hungered for the fruits of war; and, knowing
that his internal position and his external projects required, to
uphold the one and realize the other, a strong and complete army, he
had neither the wit to construct a trustworthy instrument, nor the
ceaseless industry needed to make the most of an inferior product, nor
that absolute independence of the party whose audacity gave him his
crown, which would have enabled him to select, in all cases, the best
officers for the higher and highest commands. Before, and during the
war of 1866, he wavered between two lines of policy, hoping to combine
the advantages of both; and when it was over he demanded compensation
for his “services” as an alarmed spectator, although he had made no
bargain for payment, but had stood inactive because he conjectured that
it would be the more profitable course.
_French demands for the Rhine._
In making that calculation he erred profoundly. M. Benedetti, the
French Ambassador to the Court of Berlin, was instructed as early as
the first week in August, 1866, to claim the left bank of the Rhine
as far as, and including the important fortress of Mainz. “Knowing
the temper of the Minister-President,” and knowing also, as he had
repeatedly told his Government, that all Germany would resist any
proposal to cede the least portion of territory, he first sent in a
copy of M. Drouyn de Lhuys’ despatch, and afterwards called on the
Minister. Prince von Bismarck, in 1871, published in the official
newspapers his account of the famous interview, which shows that
Benedetti, as he had pledged himself to do, resolutely pressed the
large demand. He was told that it meant war, and that he had “better
go to Paris to prevent a rupture.” Unmoved, he replied that he would
return home, “but only to maintain a proposition the abandonment of
which would imperil the dynasty.” “The parting words” of the Prussian
statesman to Count Benedetti, as nearly as they could be remembered by
the man who spoke them, were calculated to suggest grave reflections.
“Please to call His Majesty’s attention to this,” said Herr von
Bismarck. “Should a war arise out of this complication, it might be
a war attended by a revolutionary crisis. In such a case the German
dynasties are likely to prove more solid than that of the Emperor
Napoleon.” It was a menace and a prophetic warning, which touched
a sensitive fibre in the heart of the French ruler, who, after a
conversation with Count Benedetti, wrote, on the 12th of August, a
remarkable letter to M. de Lavalette, who became the _ad interim_
successor of M. Drouyn de Lhuys. Expressing his fears lest “the
journals” should taunt him with the refusal of his demand for the
Rhine provinces, he directed that the report should be contradicted,
flatly; and he added, “the true interest of France is not to obtain an
insignificant increase of territory, but to aid Germany in constituting
herself after a fashion which will be most favourable to our interests
and those of Europe.” Neither Dodona nor Delphos could have been more
oracular. Alarmed as he was, he did not altogether recede from his
position, but occupied it in a different way. On the 16th of August a
fresh set of proposals was forwarded to Count Benedetti, comprising a
regular scale of concessions—the frontiers of 1814 and the annexation
of Belgium, or Luxemburg and Belgium, or the Duchy with Belgium,
without Antwerp, which was to be “declared a free city.” The last-named
device was designed “to obviate the intervention of England” when the
projected act of violence was committed. “The _minimum_ we require,”
wrote the French Government to M. Benedetti, “is an ostensible treaty
which gives us Luxemburg, and a secret treaty which, stipulating for
an offensive and defensive alliance, leaves us the chance of annexing
Belgium at the right moment, Prussia engaging to assist us, by force
of arms, if necessary, in carrying out this purpose.” If Herr von
Bismarck asked what he should gain by such a treaty, the answer was
to be that he would secure a powerful ally, and that “he was only
desired to consent to the cession of what does not belong to him.” The
official papers on which these statements are founded were discovered
and acquired by the Germans in Cerçay, M. Rouher’s château, during
the war of 1870; neither their authenticity nor the construction put
on them have ever been contested; and they show, plainly, what was
the kind of projects nourished by the French Court in 1866–67. The
precise manner in which Count von Bismarck actually dealt with them
has not been revealed, but he kept a rough copy of the project drawn
up by Benedetti, which was handed to him by the French Ambassador in
1867, and the boxes of papers found at Cerçay gave him the draft treaty
itself annotated by the Emperor. Practically, the secret negotiation
dropped, was not renewed for several months, and was only “resumed,
subsequently, at various times,” without producing any other result
than that of letting Bismarck know the plans which were conceived in
Paris, and inducing him to keep the Napoleonic Government in play.
There can be no doubt on one point. The Prussian statesman did, at
various periods, probably at Biarritz in 1865, when he captivated
Prosper Merimée, and afterwards, while refusing point-blank to cede an
inch of German soil, ask his interested auditors why they could not
indemnify themselves by seizing Belgium. But a grim smile of irony must
have lighted up his face when he pointed to a prey which would not
have to be ceded, but caught and overpowered by main strength. He was
tempting, probing, playing with the Frenchman, employing what he called
the “dilatory” method, because he wanted time to equip the new and
still imperfect Germany; and, considering their own dark schemes, can
it be said that they deserved better treatment?
Having direct knowledge of the steps taken by France in August, 1866,
the earliest recorded formal attempt to procure secret treaties on the
basis of territorial concessions, with what searching comment must
Bismarck have read the astonishing diplomatic circular, signed by M.
de Lavalette, and sent out on the 2nd of September, at the very time
when the dark proceedings just briefly sketched were in full swing! It
was a despatch framed for public consumption, and intended to present
the Imperial policy in a broad, generous, and philosophic light,
having no relation to the course which, either then or afterwards,
the French ruler followed. Louis Napoleon told the whole world that
France could not pursue “an ambiguous policy,” at the moment when
he was meditating the forcible acquisition of Belgium. The Emperor
painted himself as one who rejoiced in the change effected by the
war, perhaps because it shattered the treaties of 1815. Prussia, he
said, had insured the independence of Germany; and France need not see
in that fact any shadow cast over herself. “Proud of her admirable
unity, and indestructible nationality, she cannot oppose or condemn
the work of fusion going on in Germany.” By imitating, she took a step
nearer to, not farther from, France; and the Imperial philosopher
professed not to see why public opinion “should recognize adversaries,
instead of allies, in those nations which—enfranchised from a past
inimical to us—are summoned to new life.” But there was consolation
for those alarmed patriots who could read between the lines. Petty
states, they were assured, tended to disappear and give place to large
agglomerations; the Imperial Government had always understood that
annexations should only bring together kindred populations; and France,
especially, could desire only such additions as would not affect her
internal cohesiveness—sentences which, like finger-posts, pointed
to the acquisition of Belgium. The war of 1866, it was admitted,
showed the necessity of perfecting the organization of the army; yet
smooth things were predicted by the Imperial soothsayer, for, on the
whole, the horizon, in September, as scanned from Paris, seemed to
be clear of menacing possibilities, and a lasting peace was secure!
The despatch was, in fact, prepared and administered as a powerful
anodyne. By keeping the French moderately quiet, it suited the purposes
of Bismarck, who, well aware of the uneasiness which it covered, felt
quite equal to the task of coping with each fresh attempt to obtain
“compensation” as it might arise. Perhaps Louis Napoleon was sincere
when he dictated this interesting State paper, for it is not devoid of
some “fixed ideas” which he cherished; yet probably it may take rank
as a curious example of the subtle tactics which he often applied to
deceive himself, as well as to cajole his people and his neighbours. At
all events, his will, if he willed peace, did not endure for he soon
sanctioned and set in motion renewed projects, for he intended to push
forward the boundary posts of France.
_Luxemburg._
As he found Prussia polite yet intractable, and prompt to use plain
language, if concessions were demanded, the Emperor Napoleon formed,
or was advised to form, an ingenious plan whereby he hoped to secure
Luxemburg. He entered into secret negotiations with Holland for the
purchase of the Duchy. The Queen of Holland, a Princess of the House of
Würtemburg, was a keen partizan of France. She it was, who, in July,
1866, uttered a cry of warning which reached the Tuileries. “It is the
dynasty,” she wrote, “which is menaced by a powerful Germany and a
powerful Italy, and the dynasty will have to suffer the consequences.
When Venetia was ceded, you should have succoured Austria, marched on
the Rhine, and imposed your own conditions. To permit the destruction
of Austria is more than a crime, it is a blunder.” Perhaps the notion
that Luxemburg could be acquired by purchase came from this zealous,
clear-sighted, and outspoken lady. Wherever it may have originated,
the scheme was hotly pursued, negotiations were opened at the Hague,
the usual Napoleonic operations were actually begun to obtain a
plébiscite from the Duchy. Count von Bismarck was discreetly sounded
by M. Benedetti, with the usual indefinite result, and the consent of
the King of Holland was obtained without much difficulty. At the same
time there was a strong current of opposition in the Dutch Government,
and Prince Henry, the Governor of Luxemburg, made no secret of his
hostility. The King himself was subject to recurring tremors caused by
his reflections on the possible action of the Prussian Court; and his
alarms were only mitigated or allayed from time to time by assurances
based, in reality, on M. Benedetti’s “impressions” that the Chancellor
was not unfavourable to the plan of cession. The truth is that
M. Benedetti did not accurately perceive the position which Bismarck
had taken up from the outset. It might be thus expressed: “Luxemburg
belongs to the King of Holland. It is his to keep or give away. If you
want the Duchy, why don’t you take it, and with it the consequences,
which it is for you to forecast.” The French Court and its Ministers
still laboured under the belief that they could manage the Berlin
Government, and they put their own interpretation on the vague, perhaps
tempting language of the Chancellor. At a certain moment, the fear,
always lurking in the King of Holland’s breast, gained the mastery,
and he caused the secret to be disclosed to the public. “He would do
nothing without the consent of the King of Prussia;” and by revealing
the negotiations he forced on a decision. The incident which terrified
the King of Holland was, no doubt, startling. M. Thiers had made a
strong anti-German speech in the Chamber, and M. Rouher had developed
his theory of the “trois tronçons,” or triple division of Germany.
The Chancellor, who had acquired full knowledge of French pretensions
from French Ministers, answered both statesmen by printing, in the
foreground of the “Official Gazette,” the treaty which gave King
William the control of the Bavarian army, in case of war. That fact
also produced a decisive effect upon the Dutch monarch, who saw in this
characteristic indirect retort to the French parliamentary display
a menace specially directed against himself. Hence the revelation
sufficed to thwart the bargain, then so far finished that signatures
were alone wanting to render it binding. The German people fired up
at the bare mention of such a proposal as the cession of a German
province. M. de Moustier, vexed and taken aback, called on Bismarck
to restrain the passions of his countrymen, and vainly urged the Dutch
monarch to sign the treaties. On the morning of the day when he was to
be questioned in the Reichstag, Bismarck asked Benedetti whether he
would authorize the Minister to state in the Chamber that the treaties
had been signed at the Hague. The Ambassador could not give the
required authority, seeing that although the King, under conditions,
had pledged his word to the Emperor, the formal act had not been done,
because Prussia had not answered the appeal for consent from the Hague.
On April 1, 1867, while Napoleon was opening the Exhibition in Paris,
Herr von Bennigsen put his famous question respecting the current
rumours about a treaty of cession. If the French were not prepared for
the fierce outburst of Teutonic fervour, still less could they relish
the question put by Herr von Bennigsen and the answer which it drew
from the Chancellor. The former described the Duchy as an “ancient
province of the collective Fatherland,” and the latter, while “taking
into account the French nation’s susceptibilities,” and giving a brief
history of the position in which Luxemburg stood towards Germany, made
his meaning clear to the French Court. “The confederate Governments,”
he said, “are of opinion that no foreign power will interfere with
the indisputable rights of German States and German populations. They
hope to be able to vindicate and protect those rights by peaceful
negotiations, without prejudicing the friendly relations which Germany
has hitherto entertained with her neighbours.” Napoleon and his
advisers were not likely to misconstrue language which, although it
lacked the directness of Von Bennigsen’s sentences, obviously meant
that the French scheme could not be worked out. Indeed, a few days
earlier, the Chancellor had used a significant phrase. Answering a
question in the Chamber, he said:—“If the previous speaker can manage
to induce the Grand Duke (of Luxemburg) to come into the North German
Federation, he will be able to say that he has called an European
question into existence; what more, Time alone can show.” The phrase
could hardly have escaped the notice of M. de Moustier, and coupled
with the second reply, already quoted, gave rise to indignation not
unmixed with alarm. At first the Emperor seemed determined not to
recede, and he took counsel with his generals, who could not give him
encouragement, because they knew that the Government was absolutely
without the means of making even a respectable defence against an
invasion. The period of suspense at the Tuileries did not endure
long. Shortly after the scene in the Reichstag, the Prussian Minister
at the Hague brought the matter to a crisis by a message which he
delivered to the Dutch Government. The King of the Netherlands, he is
reported to have said, can act as he pleases, but he is responsible
for what he may do. If he had believed that the meditated cession
was a guarantee of peace, it was the Minister’s duty to destroy the
illusion. “My Government,” he added, “advises him in the most formal
manner, not to give up Luxemburg to France.” The blow was fatal; the
King of course, took the advice to heart, and such a stroke was all
the more deeply felt in Paris because there the Emperor, who had
considered the end gained, now knew from Marshal Niel that it would
be madness to provoke a war. Yet, unless a loophole of escape could
be found, war was imminent. M. de Moustier discovered a safe and
dignified line of retreat. The Chancellor had referred to the treaty
of 1839 which governed the status of Luxemburg; M. de Moustier took
him at his word, and virtually brought the dispute within the purview
of Europe, by formally demanding that the Prussian garrison should
be withdrawn. He held that since the German forces were practically
centred in the hands of Prussia, Luxemburg, no longer a mere defensive
post, had become a menace to France. In this contention there was much
truth, seeing that the new Confederation of the North, and its allies
in the South, constituted a political and military entity far more
formidable and mobile than the old Bund. When the Chancellor refused
a demand, which his adversaries assert he was at one time prepared
to grant, the French Government, declaring that they had no wish
for other than friendly relations with Berlin, appealed to Europe.
The dispute ended in a compromise arranged as usual beforehand, and
settled at a conference held in London. The garrison was withdrawn,
the fortifications were to be razed, and the Duchy, like Belgium, was
thenceforth to be neutral ground, covered by a collective guarantee of
the Powers; but it still remained within the German Zollverein.
There were at work several influences which largely operated to
determine a peaceful issue. The French possessed no real army, and
the Emperor had only just begun to think about the needful military
organization on a new model; he had, besides, on hand an international
Exhibition, by which he set great store; and in addition a summons to
withdraw a garrison did not provide a _casus belli_ certain to secure
the support of public opinion. Nor did the Prussian Government consider
the moment opportune, or the question raised a suitable ground on
which to determine the inveterate cause of quarrel between France and
Germany. Upon this subject Dr. Busch has recorded some characteristic
observations made by the Chancellor, at Versailles, in 1870. “I
remember,” he said, “when I was at the Paris Exhibition of 1867, I
thought to myself ‘how would it have been by now, if we had fought out
the Luxemburg quarrel? Should I be in Paris, or the French in Berlin?’
We were not nearly as strong then as we are now. The Hanoverians and
Hessians of that day could not have supplied us with so many good
soldiers as to-day. As for the Schleswig-Holsteiners, who have lately
been fighting like lions, they had no army at all. The Saxon army was
broken up, and had to be entirely reconstructed. And there was but
little to be expected from the South Germans. What splendid fellows the
Würtembergers are now, quite magnificent! but in 1866 no soldier could
help laughing at them, as they marched into Frankfort like a civic
guard. Nor was all well with the Baden forces; the Grand Duke has done
a great deal for them since then. Doubtless public opinion throughout
Germany was with us, if we had chosen to make war about Luxemburg. But
that would not have made up for all those shortcomings.” It is plain,
from this retrospective comment, which comes in aid of other evidence,
that the great conflict, deferred to 1870, was nearly brought about in
1867, and that France was saved from utter rout, at that early period,
by the operation of a set of influences over which neither of the
principal actors had full control. The Franco-Dutch negotiation was
the last attempt which the Emperor Napoleon made to obtain territory
by direct or furtive diplomatic processes. In the early stages of the
risky business he had full confidence in his own ascendancy, not to say
“preponderance” in European councils. He was rudely undeceived. Herr
von Bismarck had tempted him with all kinds of suggestions, but the
Emperor himself, his Ministers and Ambassadors had been content to take
the “impressions,” which they derived from confidential conversations,
for definite, binding promises. One French agent correctly described
the fact when he said that “Herr von Bismarck is ready, not to offer
us compensations, but to allow us to take them;” he might have added,
“if we can and at our own risk.” There is no published evidence that
the Prussian statesman ever offered to cede Luxemburg, or sanction
the annexation of Belgium, or preclude himself from adopting, at
any conjuncture, the line which appeared most accordant with German
interests. On the contrary, long after the interviews at Biarritz and
in Paris, and the battle of Sadowa, Napoleon III., to use his own
terms, wanted, at least, “une certitude relative” that the Prussian
Government would not interpose any obstacle in the way of French
“aggrandizement” in the North. He asked, not for words, but an act
which he could never obtain; and the Luxemburg incident proved to
him conclusively that nothing could be gained by making demands on
the Court of Prussia. In 1867 and afterwards in November, 1870,
according to Dr. Busch, Bismarck described with his usual frankness the
hesitation of the Emperor. He had not understood his advantages, in
1866, when he might have done a good business, although not on German
soil, was the earlier commentary. The later was more illuminative.
“In the summer of 1866,” said Bismarck, “Napoleon had not the pluck
to do what was the right thing from his point of view. He ought—well,
he ought to have taken possession of the subject of Benedetti’s
proposal [Belgium], when we were marching against the Austrians, and
have held it in pawn for whatever might happen. At that time we could
not stop him and it was not likely that England would attack him—at
least he might have waited to see.” On this it may be observed that
the influence of Lord Cowley and Lord Clarendon would probably have
sufficed to turn him from such a plan had it entered into the Emperor’s
mind; and had he delivered the blow, in defiance of their protests,
or without consulting them, England, at that time, would have been
enraged at the treachery, and would have certainly occupied Antwerp.
The Emperor was a man who caressed audacious projects which he had not
always the nerve and courage to carry out. What is more astonishing, he
did not or could not provide the means essential to the accomplishment
of his desires. Thus the precedent afforded by his conduct in 1866 was
followed in 1867, and in each case the result was the same—vexatious
failure.
_An Interlude of Peace._
The war-clouds sank below the horizon, the Paris Exhibition was duly
opened, sovereigns and princes, statesmen and generals, journeyed to
the French capital, and the Court of the Tuileries gave itself up to
amusement, gaiety, and dissipation, neglecting nothing which could give
pleasure to its illustrious guests. It was the last hour of splendour,
the sunset of the Empire. Yet the brilliant scenes, which followed each
other day by day, were even then flecked with dark shades. If politics
were evaded or ignored in the palace, they were not absent from the
highways. Polish hatred found vent in the attempt of Berezowski to slay
the unfortunate Emperor Alexander II., and M. Floquet shouted in his
ear as he passed through the Courts of Justice, “Vive la Pologne!” The
crime and the insult augured ill for the future of that Franco-Russian
alliance which Charles X. endeavoured to establish and certain French
statesmen have always sighed for. M. Hansen records a sharp observation
made by Prince Gortchakoff during the Polish insurrection which the
Western Powers regarded with friendly eyes. The Vice-Chancellor held
that France and Russia were natural allies, because their interests
were the same. “If the Emperor Napoleon will not admit it,” he roughly
said, “so much the worse for him. Governments vanish, nations remain.”
Still, in 1867, he did not find the nation more favourable than the
Government had been in 1864. Twenty years later, although Russia had
become less unpopular, at least with the politicians, and a yearning
for a Russian alliance had gathered strength, the ultras proved how
little they understood some conditions essential to its gratification
by clamoring for the pardon and liberation of Berezowski! The Prussian
King and Queen were not exposed to any outrage, and the Parisians gazed
with curiosity upon Bismarck and Moltke, whom they admired, and had
not yet learned to detest; but the sparkling and joyful assemblies,
although the actors, on both sides, were doubtless sincere at the
time, nevertheless suggests a famous incident in the French Revolution
which figures on historical pages as “le baiser de l’amourette.” And
underneath the shining surface were concealed gnawing anxieties and
fears. The Emperor Napoleon had dreamed that he could found a Mexican
empire, and he had induced the Austrian Archduke Maximilian to accept
at his hands an Imperial crown. The enterprise, which was pushed on by
French troops, not only failed, but irritated England, who had been
deceived, and offended the United States, whose Government, victors in
a civil war, would not tolerate the establishment of the “Latin race”
in the centre of the huge continent. Not only had it become necessary
to recall the troops, but to bear a still deeper misfortune—if the
word may be applied to the consequences of a reckless and unscrupulous
adventure. It was while opening the Exhibition that the earliest hints
reached the Emperor of an event which dealt him a heavy blow; and,
on the eve of the day fixed for the distribution of prizes to the
competitors he had assembled, came the confirmation of the dreaded
intelligence, whispered weeks before. The gallant Archduke and Emperor
Maximilian, who had fallen into the hands of the triumphant and
implacable Mexicans, had been tried and shot, a deed which his French
patron was powerless to avenge.
_The Salzburg Interview._
The tragedy of Quaretaro reacted upon European politics, and
incidentally emphasized afresh the perennial antagonism between France
and Germany. Still smarting from the wounds of 1866, Austria hungered
for an ally, and the Saxon Count von Beust, whom the Emperor Francis
Joseph had made his Chancellor, was eager to try one more fall with
Count von Bismarck. Swayed by political reasons, the Austrian Emperor
not only did not resent the death of his brother, but was even willing
to welcome as his guest Louis Napoleon, who had so successfully seduced
the Archduke by dangling before him the bait of an Imperial crown. The
French Emperor and his Empress, therefore, travelled in state through
South Germany to Salzburg, where they met their Austrian hosts. The
occasion was, nominally, one of condolence and mourning, and the vain
regrets on both sides were doubtless genuine. Yet it so chanced that
the days spent in the lovely scenery of Salzburg were given up to gay
mirth and feasting—not to sorrow and gloom; and that the irrepressible
spirit of politics intruded on the brilliant company gathered round
an open grave. Both emperors felt aggrieved; one by the loss of his
high estate in Germany and his Italian provinces, the other because
his demand for the Rhenish territory had been rejected, and he had not
been allowed to take Belgium or buy Luxemburg. The common enemy was
Prussia, who had worsted Austria in battle, and France in diplomacy
and at Salzburg, perhaps earlier, the ground plans were sketched for
an edifice which the architects trusted might be built up sufficiently
large and strong to contain, at least, two allies. The sketch was
vague, yet it was definite enough at least to reveal the designs of the
draughtsmen; and the Emperors returned home still in jubilation.
Perhaps the Emperor Napoleon suffered some pangs of disappointment.
“Austria was his last card,” says M. Rothan, who, from the French
standpoint, has so keenly studied the period preceding the war of
1870. He wanted an offensive and defensive alliance, which Austria
would not accord, Count von Beust fearing that so grave a fact would
never escape the lynx-eyes of Bismarck, who, when it came to his
knowledge, would not fail to provoke a war before either ally had
fully, or even partially, completed his military preparations, then
so much in arrear. Not only were they backward in 1867, but Austria,
at all events, was still unprovided in 1870. The Archduke Albrecht,
who visited Paris during the month of February of that year, impressed
the fact on the Emperor Napoleon. “The story runs,” says M. Rothan,
“that, after having quitted the study of his Majesty, the Archduke
returned, and; through the half-opened door, exclaimed, ’sire, above
all things do not forget, whatever may happen, that we shall not be in
a fit state to fall into line before a year.’” Hence, it may well be
that the Austrian Chancellor was even then determined, in case of a
conflict, to shape his policy in accordance with the first victories;
and that the meditations of the Emperor Napoleon, as he re-crossed the
Rhine, were tinged with bitter reflections on his political isolation.
A little later, when he knew that Bismarck had discovered the drift
of the conversation at Salzburg, his anxieties must have become more
poignant. That Chancellor, who had secured afresh the goodwill of
Russia, and beheld with satisfaction the effect of the Imperial display
on Germany, enlarged, in a circular despatch, on the proof thus once
more afforded that German national feeling could not endure “the mere
notion” of “foreign tutelage” where the interests of the Fatherland
were concerned. Germany had a right to mould her own fortunes and
frame her own constitution. So that, as Von Buest had foreseen, the
dreaded Chancellor had promptly turned to account even the colloquies
of Salzburg. “France, with one hand,” he said, “presents us with
soothing notes, and with the other permits us to see the point of her
sword.” There was no open quarrel between the two antagonists, but each
suspected and closely watched the other. M. Rothan, himself a vigilant
and zealous official, furnishes an amusing example. In November, 1866,
he learned from “a Foreign minister accredited to a South German
Court,” what was to him the appalling fact that the Imperial work
of mediation at Nikolsburg had been counteracted, “even before it
had been sanctioned by the Treaty of Prague.” He referred to the now
famous military treaties. M. de X―, his informant, he says, obtained
his knowledge of the secret by a sort of inquisitorial method, “a la
façon d’un juge d’instruction,” that is, he affirmed the existence
of the documents, and thus extorted confessions, express or implied.
“The Bavarian Foreign Minister,” he said, blushed; “the Minister of
Würtemberg was confused; the Minister of Baden did not deny it, and
the Minister of Hesse avowed everything.” Further, M. de X― asserted
that, when it was no longer necessary to keep France in good humour,
Prussia would enforce the clauses which gave her supreme command, and
would bring the Southern armies into harmony with her own organization.
Apparently, this authentic information did not obtain a ready belief
in the autumn of 1866; but it alarmed and disturbed the French Court,
and the public confirmation of the unwelcome report, less than a year
afterwards, visible to all men in the actual re-organization of the
Southern armies, together with the failure to purchase Luxemburg, still
further increased the suspicion, deepened the alarm, and aroused the
indignation of the Emperor at the slights inflicted on France, who, as
the “predominant” Continental power and the “vanguard of civilization,”
always considered that she ought to have her own way.
_The Emperor seeks Allies._
In the beginning of 1868 the principal parties were engaged in
preparing for a conflict which each considered to be inevitable;
and the other Powers, great and small, more or less concerned, were
agitated by hopes and fears. Russia desired to recover her freedom
of movement in the East, and especially to throw off what Prince
Gortchakoff called his “robe de Nessus,” the clause in the treaty
of Paris which declared the Euxine to be a neutral sea. Austria
aimed at the restoration of her authority in Germany, and was not
yet convinced that her path lay eastward. Italy had many longings,
but her pressing necessity was to seat herself in the capital of the
Cæsars and the Popes, once again occupied by the French, who had
re-entered the Papal States to expel the Garibaldians. It was in the
skirmish at Mentana that the new breech-loading rifle, the Chassepot,
“wrought miracles,” according to General de Failly, and established
its superiority over the “needle gun.” Holland, Belgium, and even
Switzerland were troubled by the uncertain prospect which the Imperial
theory of “large agglomerations” had laid bare; Spain was in the
throes of a revolutionary convulsion; and England—she had just mended
her constitution, and had begun to look on Continental politics with
relative indifference, except in so far as they affected the fortunes
of “parties,” and might be used strategically as a means of gaining
or holding fast the possession of power. Yet so strained were the
relations of France and Prussia that General von Moltke actually
framed, in the spring of 1868, the plan of campaign which he literally
carried out in 1870—a fact implying that even then he considered
that his Government was sufficiently prepared to encounter the new
and imperfectly developed scheme of army organization and armament
originally devised by the Emperor and Marshal Niel, and modified
to satisfy the objections and suspicions raised in a deferential
Senate and an obliging Chamber of Deputies. For while the Opposition
distrusted the Emperor, the whole body shrank from the sacrifices
which Cæsar and his Minister of War considered necessary to the safety
of the State from a defensive, and absolutely indispensable from an
offensive point of view. The prime actors in the drama expressed a love
of peace, perhaps with equal sincerity: but as Germany thirsted for
unity, all the more because France, true to her traditional policy,
forbad it, the love so loudly avowed could not be gratified unless
Germany submitted, or France ceased to dictate. “I did not share the
opinion of those politicians,” said Bismarck in July, 1870, “who
advised me not to do all I could to avoid war with France because it
was inevitable. Nobody,” he added, “can exactly foresee the purposes
of Divine Providence in the future; and I regard even a victorious
war as an evil from which statesmanship should strive to preserve
nations. I could not exclude from my calculations the possibility that
chances might accrue in France’s constitution and policy which might
avert the necessity of war from two great neighbour races—a hope in
connection with which every postponement of a rupture was so much to
the good.” The language is a little obscure, but the meaning will be
grasped when it is remembered that his remark on the “chances” referred
to the probable grant of increased freedom to the French Parliament,
which he thought would fetter the Court and thwart the politicians.
That forecast was not justified by the event, since it was the
partially-liberated Chamber and the Liberal Ministry which so hastily
sanctioned the declaration of war. The truth is, however, that each
rival nationality inherited the liabilities contracted in the past. The
French had been accustomed for more than two hundred years to meddle
directly in Germany and find there allies, either against Austria,
Prussia, or England; and the habit of centuries had been more than
confirmed by the colossal raids, victories, and annexations of
Napoleon I. A Germany which should escape from French control and
reverse, by its own energetic action the policy of Henri IV.,
Richelieu, Louis XIV., his degenerate grandson, Louis XV, and of the
great Napoleon himself, was an affront to French pride, and could not
be patiently endured. The opposing forces which had grown up were so
strong that the wit of man was unable to keep them asunder; and all the
control over the issue left to kings and statesmen was restricted to
the fabrication of means wherewith to deliver or sustain the shock, and
the choice of the hour, if such choice were allowed.
To that end the adversaries had, indeed, applied themselves after the
last French failure to obtain any material compensation, not even what
M. Rouher called such a rag of territory as Luxemburg. Thenceforth,
keeping an eye on Prussia, the French Government sought to gain over
Austria and Italy, and form a defensive alliance which, at the fitting
moment, might be converted into an offensive alliance strong enough to
prevent the accomplishment of German unity, win campaigns, and enable
each confederate to grasp the reward which he desired. Carried on
during more than two years, the negotiations never got beyond a kind
of vague preliminary understanding which signified the willingness of
the three Courts to reach a definite, formal treaty if they could.
But obstacles always arose when the vital questions lying at the
root of the business had to be solved. Italy demanded and Austria
was willing that she should have Rome. To that France steadfastly
demurred, even down to the last moment, as will presently be seen.
Austria also, besides being unready, in a military sense, was visited
by the chronic fear that, if she plunged into war against Germany,
Russia would at once break into her provinces from Lithuania and the
Polish Quadrilateral, and settle the heavy account opened when Prince
Schwarzenberg displayed his “immense ingratitude” during the Crimean
war. Nor was the Court of Vienna exempt from apprehensions growing out
of the possible, even probable conduct of half-reconciled Hungary.
Count von Beust also deluded himself with the notion that the Prussian
treaties with the South German States were mere “rags of paper,” and
nourished the fond belief, except when he had a lucid interval, that
the South German people would not fight for the Fatherland. Waiting on
Providence, the would-be confederates, at the same time, counted on
the fortune of war, arguing that France was certain to win at first,
and that one victory under the tricolour would bring the inchoate
alliance instantly to maturity, and the armies it controlled into the
field. Based on such conjectural foundations, and opposed by such solid
obstacles, the grand design was doomed to fail; indeed it never got
nearer to completion than an exchange of letters by the Sovereigns;
grounded on the very eve, and went to pieces on the day of battle.
Diverted from Luxemburg, the French Government did not relax its
efforts to pave the way for the annexation of Belgium. During the
spring and summer of 1869 a successful effort was made to secure
political, commercial, and strategic advantages by obtaining a certain
control over the Belgian railways, notably the line which runs
from Luxemburg to Liège, and thence to the North Sea ports. These
proceedings, of course, did not escape notice at Berlin, where the ends
in view were perfectly appreciated; but they form only a petty incident
in the great struggle, and can only be mentioned with brevity in order
to indicate its growth. It may be stated here that, in 1873, the German
Chancellor reversed the process, and secured for his Government the
control of the Luxemburg lines. Another railway question which cropped
up in May, 1870, was the famous railway which, by means of an ingenious
tunnel within the Alps near St. Gothard, placed Germany in direct
communication with Italy through neutral territory. Count von Bismarck
openly said it was a Prussian interest, and the Northern Confederation
paid a part of the cost, which aroused indignation in France. At one
moment it seemed possible that this enterprise would serve as a _casus
belli_; but the French Government, after careful deliberation, decided,
in June, 1870, that they could not reasonably oppose the project,
although it certainly was regarded at the Foreign Office in Paris as
a further proof of German antagonism, and a sort of bribe tendered to
Italy. Since the beginning of the year France had been in the enjoyment
of certain Liberal concessions made by the Emperor, and confirmed, in
May, by the famous “plébiscite,” which gave him a majority of more
than five millions. Now, although the Emperor’s reflections on this
triumphant result of an appeal to universal suffrage were embittered
by the knowledge that large numbers of soldiers had helped to swell
the million and a half of Frenchmen who voted “No,” still the Foreign
Minister and his agents, according to M. Ollivier, were so elated
that they exclaimed with pride, “Henceforth, all negotiations are
easy to the Government,” since the world thoroughly understood that,
for France, peace would never mean “complaisance or effacement.” Yet
Prince Napoleon, in his brief sketch of these critical months, says
plainly that the Government concerned itself less with foreseeing the
political complications which might lead up to war, than with the best
mode of proceeding when war arrived. So true is this, that a General
was sent to Vienna to discuss the bases of a campaign with the Austrian
War Office. But in the spring of 1870 fortune seemed to smile on
official France; and on the last day of June M. Ollivier, instructed
by the Foreign Minister, considered himself authorized to boast before
the admiring Deputies that the peace of Europe had never been less
in danger than it was at the moment when he delivered his optimistic
declaration. In England, also, the Foreign Secretary could not discern
“a cloud in the sky.”
_The Hohenzollern Candidature._
One week later, not only M. Ollivier and Lord Granville, but Europe,
nay, the whole world, saw plainly enough the signs and portents
of discord and convulsion. On the 3rd of July the Duc de Gramont
learned from the French Minister at Madrid that Prince Leopold of
Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, with his own full consent, had been selected
as a candidate for the vacant throne of Spain, and that, at no
distant date, the Cortes would be formally requested to elect him.
The French Government quivered with indignation, and the political
atmosphere of Paris became hot with rage. Not that the former were
unfamiliar with the suggestion. It had been made in 1869, considered,
and apparently abandoned. Indeed, the Emperor himself had, at one
time, when he failed to obtain the Rhenish provinces, proposed that
they should be formed into a State to be ruled by the King of Saxony,
and at another, that the Sovereign should be the Hereditary Prince
of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen; the very Prince put forward by Marshal
Prim. He had been grievously hampered and perplexed in the choice of
a Sovereign of Spain by some Powers, especially by France; but now
the Imperial Government turned the whole tide of its resentment, not
upon Madrid, but Berlin, which, it was assumed, aimed at establishing
an enemy to France beyond the Pyrenees. Explanations were demanded
directly from the Prussian Government, but M. Le Sourd, the chargé
d’affaires, could extract no other answer than this—that the Prussian
Government knew nothing about the matter. The Duc de Gramont, who
had succeeded Lavalette, in May, as Minister for Foreign Affairs,
regarded the statement as a subterfuge, and forthwith determined to
fasten on the King a responsibility which he could not fasten on the
Government. The Duc de Gramont was not a wise counsellor; he was deep
in negotiations having for their object an offensive and defensive
alliance against Prussia, and he was hardly less moved by a noisy
external opinion than by his own political passions. He ordered M.
Benedetti, who had only just sought repose at Wildbad, to betake
himself at once to Ems, whither King William, according to custom,
had repaired to drink the waters. The French Ambassador reached the
pleasant village on the Lahn late at night on the 8th of July, and the
next day began a series of interviews with the King, which take rank
among the most curious examples of diplomacy recorded in history.
Before the ambassador could commence his singular task, an event
had occurred in Paris which seemed to render a war unavoidable. The
politicians of the French capital had become feverish with excitement.
Not only did a species of delirium afflict the immediate advisers of
the Emperor, but the band of expectants, who, more ardent Imperialists
than he was, still believed that nothing could withstand the French
army; while the opposition, loving France not less, but what they
called liberty more, were eager to take advantage of an incident which
seemed likely to throw discredit on the Bonapartes. Wisdom would have
prevented, but party tactics demanded a movement in the Chamber which
took the innocent-looking form of an inquiry. The Government dreaded,
yet could not evade, the ordeal, and M. Cochery put his question on the
6th of July. Had the Duc de Gramont been a clever Minister, or had he
represented a Government strongly rooted in the national respect and
affection, he would have been able to deliver a colourless response, if
he could not have based a refusal to answer upon public grounds. The
truth is, he was carried off his feet by the sudden storm which raged
through the journals and society, and it may be surmised that, even
then, despite the plébiscite, fears for the stability of the dynasty
had no small share in determining his conduct. Yet, it must be stated,
that he was only one of the Council of Ministers who sanctioned the use
of language which read, and still reads, like an indirect declaration
of war. After expressing sympathy with Spain, and asserting, what
was not true, that the Imperial Government had observed a strict
neutrality with regard to the several candidates for the crown, he
struck a note of defiance: “We do not believe,” he exclaimed, “that
respect for the rights of a neighbouring people obliges us to endure
that a foreign State, by placing one of its princes on the throne of
Charles V., should be able to derange, to our injury, the balance of
power in Europe, and to imperil the interests and honour of France.”
The pacific sentences uttered by M. Ollivier on this memorable occasion
were forgotten; the trumpet-blast of the Duc de Gramont rang through
the world, and still rings in the memory. Prussia was not named by
the Minister, but everyone beyond the Rhine knew who was meant by
the “German people,” and a “foreign Power;” while, as Benedetti has
stated in a private despatch to Gramont, the King deeply felt it as a
“provocation.”
Not the least impressive characteristic of these proceedings is the
hot haste in which they hurried along. M. Benedetti neither in that
respect nor in the swiftness and doggedness which he imparted to the
negotiations, is to blame. The impulse and the orders came from Paris;
he somewhat tempered the first, but he obeyed the second with zeal,
and, without overstepping the limits of propriety in the form, he
did not spare the King in the substance of his demands. Nor, in the
first instance, were they other than those permitted by diplomatic
precedent; afterwards they certainly exceeded these limits. The first
was that the King himself should press Prince Leopold to withdraw his
consent: indeed, direct him so to do. The answer was that, as King, he
had nothing to do with the business; that as head of the Hohenzollern
family he had been consulted, and had not encouraged or opposed the
wish of the Prince to accept the proffered crown; that he would still
leave him entire freedom to act as he pleased, but that his Majesty
would communicate with Prince Antoine, the father of Prince Leopold,
and learn his opinion. With this reply, unable to resist the plea for
delay, the ambassador had perforce to be content. Not so the Imperial
Government. The Duc de Gramont sent telegram on telegram to Ems, urging
Benedetti to transmit an explicit answer from the King, saying that
he had ordered Prince Leopold to give up the project, and alleging,
as a reason for haste, that the French could not wait longer, since
Prussia might anticipate them by calling out the army. The ambassador,
to check this hurry, prudently warned his principals, saying, that
if they ostentatiously prepared for war, then the calamity would be
inevitable. “If the King,” wrote De Gramont, on the 10th of July,
“will not advise the Prince to renounce his design—well, it is war
at once, and in a few days we shall be on the Rhine.” And so on from
hour to hour. A little wearied, perhaps, by the pertinacity of the
ambassador, and nettled by the attempt to fix on him the responsibility
for the Spanish scheme, the King at length said that he looked every
moment for an answer from Sigmaringen, which he would transmit without
delay. It is impossible, in a few sentences, to give the least idea
of the terrier-like obstinacy displayed by M. Benedetti in attacking
the King. Indeed, it grew to be almost a persecution, so thoroughly
did he obey his importunate instructions. At length the King was able
to say that Prince Antoine’s answer would arrive on the 13th, and the
ambassador felt sure of a qualified success, inasmuch as he would
obtain the Prince’s renunciation, sanctioned by King William. But,
while he was writing his despatch, a new source of vexation sprang up
in Paris—the Spanish Ambassador, Señor Olozaga, announced to the Duc
de Gramont the fact that Prince Antoine, on behalf of his son, had
notified at Madrid the withdrawal of his pretensions to the crown. It
was reasonably assumed that, having attained the object ostensibly
sought, the French Government would be well content with a diplomatic
victory so decisive, and would allow M. Benedetti to rest once more at
Wildbad. He himself held stoutly that the “satisfaction” accorded to
the wounded interests and honour of France was not insufficient. The
Emperor and the Duc de Gramont thought otherwise, because, as yet, no
positive defeat had been inflicted, personally, upon King William. The
Foreign Minister, therefore, obeying precise instructions from St.
Cloud, directed Benedetti to see the King at once, and demand from him
a plain declaration that he would not, at any future time, sanction
any similar proposal coming from Prince Leopold. The Duc de Gramont’s
mind was so constructed that, at least a year afterwards, he did not
regard this demand as an ultimatum! Yet how could the King, and still
more Bismarck, take it in any other light? Early on the 13th the
King, who saw the ambassador in the public garden, advanced to meet
him, and it was there that he refused, point blank, Louis Napoleon’s
preposterous and uncalled-for request, saying that he neither could nor
would bind himself in an engagement without limit of time, and applying
to every case; but that he should reserve his right to act according
to circumstances. King William brought this interview to a speedy
close, and M. Benedetti saw him no more except at the railway station
when he started for Coblenz. Persistency had reached and stepped over
the limits of the endurable, and King William could not do more than
send an aide-de-camp with a courteous message, giving M. Benedetti
authority to say officially that Prince Leopold’s recent resolution
had his Majesty’s approval. During the day the ambassador repeated,
unsuccessfully, his request for another audience; and this dramatic
episode ended on the 13th with the departure of the King, who had
pushed courtesy to its utmost bounds.
During that eventful 13th of July Count Bismarck, recently arrived in
Berlin from Pomerania, had seen and had spoken to Lord Augustus Loftus
in language which plainly showed how steadfastly he kept his grip on
the real question, which was that France sought to gain an advantage
over “Prussia,” as some kind of compensation for Königgrätz. The Duc
de Gramont also conversed with Lord Lyons in Paris, and induced him to
set in motion Lord Granville, from whose ingenious brain came forth a
plausible compromise wholly unsuitable to the exigency, and promptly
rejected at Berlin, but having an air of fairness which made it look
well in the pages of a Blue Book. It was a last effort on the part of
diplomacy, and served well enough to represent statesmanship as it
was understood by the Cabinet to which Lord Granville belonged. On
the evening of that day Count Bismarck entertained at dinner General
von Moltke and General von Roon; and the host read aloud to them a
telegram from Ems, giving an account of what had occurred, and the
royal authority to make the story public. “Both Generals,” writes Dr.
Moritz Busch, “regarded the situation as still peaceful. The Chancellor
observed—that would depend a good deal upon the tone and contents of
the publication he had just been authorized to make. In the presence of
his two guests he then put together some extracts from the telegram,
which were forthwith despatched to all the Prussian Legations abroad,
and to the Berlin newspapers in the following form:—‘Telegram from
Ems, July 13th, 1870. When the intelligence of the Hereditary Prince
of Hohenzollern’s renunciation was communicated by the Spanish to
the French Government, the French Ambassador demanded of His Majesty
the King, at Ems, that the latter should authorize him to telegraph
to Paris that His Majesty would pledge himself for all time to come
never again to give his consent, should the Hohenzollerns hark back to
their candidature. Upon this His Majesty refused to receive the French
Ambassador again, and sent the aide-de-camp in attendance to tell him
that His Majesty had nothing further to communicate to the Ambassador.’”
* * * * *
Substantially, it was the grotesque pile of misrepresentation
built up on this blunt telegram—M. Benedetti read it next morning
in the “Cologne Gazette,” and took no exception whatever to the
brief and exact narrative it contained—which set the Parisians on
fire. Travestied in many ways by calculating politicians, as well as
gossips, the message became a “Note,” or a “despatch,” imputing the
extreme of intentional rudeness to King William, and imposing the
depth of humiliation, publicly inflicted, upon France through her
representative, who, all the time, was not only unconscious of any
insult, but emphatic in his acknowledgments of the King’s courtesy,
kindness, and patience. Probably Count Bismarck wrote his telegram for
Germany, but its effect in satisfying the Fatherland, was not greater
than its influence upon the fiery French, who never read the text until
months afterwards, and in July, 1870, were set a-flame by the distorted
versions freely supplied by rumour’s forked tongue.
_The French Government and the Chamber._
War was now plainly inevitable, yet the decisive word still rested
with the Imperial Government. In Paris there were two currents running
strongly in opposite ways, and, for a moment, it seemed possible that
the tide which made for peace would overpower the surging stream which
drove onwards towards war. More than one-half the Ministry believed,
and some, M. Ollivier for one, said that the retreat of Prince Leopold,
with the consent of the King, a great diplomatic victory for France,
was enough, and had, indeed, brought the quarrel to an end. At midday,
on the 13th, M. Robert Mitchell, meeting M. Paul de Cassagnac, said,
“I have just left Ollivier, and, thank God, peace is secured.” “My
father,” was the reply, “has just quitted the Emperor; war is resolved
on.” The statement was not then exact, but it may be accepted as a
forecast. For, in truth, it was only at noon the next day that the
Ministers assembled in council at the Tuileries to answer the momentous
question which so profoundly agitated their minds. They sat six
hours; they were divided in opinion; yet, although Marshal Lebœuf was
authorized to call out the reserves—he had threatened to resign unless
that were done—the Ministers separated with the understanding that a
peaceful line of action should be adopted, based on a demand for a
Congress of the Powers to sanction the principle that no member of any
reigning house should accept a foreign throne. The Duc de Gramont’s
brief account of this notable Council shows that the hankering after
war was powerful therein; since he says that “the Government decided,
not without hesitation, but influenced by a love of peace, to propose
this pacific solution.” But all, or some of the Ministers, and still
more the Emperor, stood in dread of two things: they were alarmed lest
the “dynasty” should be injured by a course which bore the semblance
of a forced retreat, and they could not rely with confidence on the
sober opinion of the Chambers. The Court war-party operated upon the
Senators and Deputies through M. Clément Duvernois, a schemer, and M.
Jérôme David, by birth and training a fanatical Bonapartist, the second
accentuating the questions of the first, and giving to his own language
a substance which made retreat almost impossible. Both these men had
a double object. They intended to extort a declaration of war and, at
the same time, expel Emile Ollivier, together with what they called the
Parliamentary element, from the Ministry. The energetic, aggressive
and relentless group were really the mouthpieces of the Emperor and
Empress, and in a less degree of M. Rouher, who had been deposed by the
new Imperial constitution, and of the Duc de Gramont, who all through
the business desired to secure a prolongation of peace, solely because
it would give him time to ripen the projects of alliance with Austria
and Italy, and also to make war, lest “la Prusse,” aware of his design,
should choose her own hour for battle. It so chanced that Marshal
Lebœuf, after despatching the orders calling out the reserves, received
a note from the Emperor, which, he says, seemed to suggest a regret
at the decision adopted by the Council; and thinking, innocent man,
that some constitutional scruples had sprung up in the Imperial mind,
the Marshal begged that the Ministers might be summoned once more.
That night they met again, talked for an hour, and had nearly resolved
that the mobilization of the army should be deferred, when papers were
placed in the hands of the Duc de Gramont. The exact contents of these
documents have not been described, but they seemed to have contained
some report of language held by Count Bismarck which exasperated the
war party; and, in an instant, the Council resolved on war. That same
night, M. Robert Mitchell, walking in the garden of the Foreign Office,
asked M. Ollivier why he did not resign? The Minister gave a host of
plausible reasons having no real weight; adding these prophetic words:
“Whatever happens, I am sacrificed; for the war will sweep away the
régime to which I have attached my name. If we are beaten, God protect
France! If we are victorious, God protect our Liberties!”
So that, having a clear perception of the future, this Minister,
at least, met the Chambers on the morrow. The exciting events of
the past week, imperfectly understood and carelessly or purposely
misrepresented, had aroused a tempest of passion in Paris and France,
which, by its violence and uproar, overpowered, but could not wholly
silence, the voices of sagacity and sober judgment. The Senate was
unanimous for war. In the Chamber the Opposition waged courageously
a desperate contest, so desperate from the outset, that even M.
Thiers, perhaps because he told unpleasant truths, could not command
an unbroken hearing, while M. Gambetta only secured one by making a
rare display of forensic tact, basing himself on Parliamentary ground,
and tempering his appeal for “more light” with evidences of his
indisputable patriotism. The Duc de Gramont favoured the Senators with
a version of the facts, which was neither complete nor candid. M. Emile
Ollivier allowed an unhappy phrase to escape from his lips—he went
into the war “_à cœur leger_.” A committee was appointed to inspect
the diplomatic documents on which the Court relied; it was easily
satisfied, and late in the night, sustained by a large majority, the
policy of the Government was amply sanctioned.
Perhaps a sentence spoken by M. Guyot Montpayroux best illustrates
the predominant feeling. “Prussia,” he said, “has forgotten the
France of Jena, and the fact must be recalled to her memory.” Thus
was war declared by these infuriated legislators on the night of
July 15th. M. Thiers, who desired a war with Prussia “at the proper
time,” has left on record his judgment that the hour then selected
was “detestably ill-chosen.” Yet even he and M. Gambetta were both
anxious that “satisfaction” should be obtained for Sadowa; while
the thought which animated the Court is admirably expressed in the
phrase imputed to the Empress who, pointing to the Prince Imperial,
said, “This child will never reign unless we repair the misfortunes
of Sadowa.” Such was the ceaseless refrain. The word haunted French
imaginations incessantly, and it was the pivot on which the Imperial
policy revolved, and it exercised a spell scarcely less powerful and
disastrous upon Monarchists like M. Thiers, and Republicans like
Gambetta and Jules Favre. Still, it may be said that France was
divided in opinion. Consulted through the Prefects, only sixteen
departments were for war; no fewer than thirty-four were adverse, and
the remainder could not be said to hold with the one or the other.
Nor should it be overlooked that these estimates of popular feeling
were transmitted by functionaries who have always a wish to please
the superior Powers. Germany, on the other hand, was united as it had
never been since 1813. King William was applauded everywhere. When he
reached Berlin on the evening of the 15th, he was met at the railway
station by the Crown Prince, Count von Bismarck, General von Moltke,
and General von Roon. There the decision was formally taken to accept
the challenge, the fact was repeated to the crowd who had assembled,
and whose shouts were loud, deep, and prolonged; and that same night
went forth the brief telegraphic orders which from one centre touched
a thousand springs, and called into instant being an army, perfectly
organized, equipped, trained and supplied. So that when Baron Wimpfen,
a secretary of legation, entered Berlin on the 19th of July, and handed
to M. Le Sourd the French declaration of war—the sole official document
on the subject received by Prussia, as Von Moltke bluntly remarks—that
work had already begun which finished in little more than a fortnight,
enabled the King to break into France at the head of more than three
hundred thousand soldiers.
Only one word more need be said on this subject—the causes of the
war. Clearing away the diplomatic mist which hides the realities,
the student will discover two deadly opposites; on one side the
determination of France to insist on a right of meddling with internal
German affairs, and even of prescribing the form or forms which the
national aggregate should assume; on the other, the fixed resolve of
the German people that the French should no longer dictate or pretend
to dictate beyond the Rhine, that an end should be put to the policy
of seeking political profits by fomenting the spirit of discord in
the petty German Courts; and that, if possible, by dint of “Kraft
und Muth,” Germany should secure palpable safeguards against French
invasions, and resume possession of the strongholds and dependent
territories which were acquired, in times of adversity and disunion,
by Louis XIV. Thus, the causes of war were deeply rooted in essential
facts. The moment to be chosen, if it can be said to have been chosen,
was for statesmen to decide. The Imperial Government, down to the last
hour, sought to form a combination adverse to Prussia, intending to
wage war at its own time. Prussia refused to be made the victim of a
triple alliance, and taking a fair advantage of the imperious conduct
of the French Court, seized the golden opportunity, promptly answered
the declaration of war, and struck down the French Empire before its
hesitating and unprepared allies could move a finger to avert a defeat
which neither attempted, nor dared attempt to repair. Austria, the
unready, stood in fear of Russia: Italy, the ambitious, demanded the
right to enter Rome. “We can grant nothing of the kind,” said the
over-confident Duc de Gramont, so late as July 30. “If Italy will not
march,” he exclaimed, “let her sit still.” Abundant evidence exists
to prove that war between France and Germany was solely a question of
time, and Prussia cannot be blamed justly for selecting or seizing the
hour most suitable to her and least suitable to her adversaries. The
Duc de Gramont asserts that neither the Emperor nor the Government nor
France, desired war—certainly not just then; but they intended to make
war at a time and under conditions chosen by themselves. He admits that
it was the duty of the Imperial Government to evade a war, but also
prepare for a war as much as possible; and, failing to do the former,
he further confessed many months afterwards, that too much confidence
in the army and in its untested military virtues, and the dazzling
splendour of a glorious past dragged France, its Government and its
representatives, into an unequal struggle. “We believed ourselves too
strong to stoop,” he says, “and we knew not how to resist the system of
provocations so ably combined and directed by the Cabinet of Berlin.”
A frank confession, especially from the pen of a statesman who was
himself endeavouring to combine a system of alliances, and who was
anticipated by the Power against whom his plans were directed.
M. Prevost Paradol, who in a moment of weakness had accepted from the
Emperor the post of Minister at Washington, saw more clearly into the
future than the Duc de Gramont and some of his colleagues. On the very
afternoon of the day when the unhappy journalist killed himself, he saw
a countryman, the Comte d’Hérisson, and his language to the young man
showed how deeply he was moved, and with what sagacity he estimated
the near future. In his opinion, expressed on the 10th of July, war
was even then certain, because not only “la Prusse” desired war, but
because, as he said, “The Empire requires war, wishes for it, and
will wage it.” The young Frenchmen to whom he spoke made light of the
peril, and said he should like to travel in Germany, and study in the
libraries of her conquered cities. But the Minister checked his natural
exultation, saying, “You will not go to Germany, you will be crushed
in France. Believe me, I know the Prussians. We have nothing whatever
that is needed to strive with them. We have neither generals, men,
nor _matériel_. We shall be ground to powder. _Nous serons broyés._
Before six months are over there will be a Revolution in France, and
the Empire will be at an end.” Mourning over the error he made in
laying down his sharp critical pen to put on a diplomatic uniform,
and maddened by the retrospect and prospect, Paradol, a few hours
after uttering his predictions, escaped from unendurable misery by a
pistol-shot. It was like an omen of the coming catastrophe.