NAPOLEON AND ALEXANDER AT ERFURT[27]
[Footnote 27: See Fischer: Goethe und Napoleon. Pingaud:
Bernadotte, Napoleon et les Bourbons. Rose: Napoleonic
Studies. Bernhardi: Geschichte Russlands und der europaeischen
Politik im XIX^ten Jahrhundert. Schilder: The Emperor
Alexander I, his Life and Reign.]
Napoleon's Imperial Hospitality -- The Interviews of Napoleon and
Goethe -- Meeting of Napoleon and Wieland -- Their Conversation
-- The Gains of Russia -- Dangerous Elements in the Dual League
-- Austria Menaced -- Napoleon's Marital Relations -- Fouche's
Machinations for the Divorce of Josephine -- Napoleon's Proposal
for a Russian Princess.
The second meeting of the two most powerful monarchs then living
occurred at Erfurt on September twenty-seventh, and their
deliberations lasted eighteen days. It was Napoleon's greatest
diplomatic engagement, and he was the victor. The town was his, and he
was, of course, the host. Such splendid hospitality as he lavished
would have touched a harder heart than Alexander's. The luxury and
military display were barbaric on the one hand, while, on the other,
Germany's greatest scholars and men of letters were summoned to
flatter the Czar's intellectual pretensions. There was the same
exhibition, too, of frank personal confidence and of imperial
magnanimity as at Tilsit. Talleyrand and the Russian chancellor,
Rumianzoff, held protracted conferences, the former, as he confesses
in his memoirs, plotting against his master's interests, in order to
see that Austria should suffer no harm. Day after day Napoleon and
Alexander paced the floor of the great room in the palace which had
been fitted as an office, examining details and bringing matters to a
conclusion. There was intoxication in the very air. The kings of
Bavaria, Wuertemberg, and Westphalia were present with their consorts
and attendant courtiers; so, too, were the Prince Primate and the
minor rulers of Germany. The drawing-rooms, streets, and theaters of
Erfurt were filled with the splendors of their gorgeous apparel and
that of their bedizened attendants. On October fourth the "Oedipe" of
Voltaire was given at the playhouse before the assembled courts. At
the words, "A great man's friendship is a boon from the gods,"
Alexander rose, and, grasping Napoleon's hand, stood for a moment in
an attitude that typified a renewed alliance. The house thundered with
applause.
More memorable still was the appearance on the scene of Germany's most
transcendent genius, who came to lay the homage of his intellect at
the feet of him whom he considered at the moment, and long after, not
only to be the greatest power, but the greatest idealist, in the
world. Goethe and Napoleon met twice--once in Erfurt, once in Weimar.
On both occasions it was the man of arms who sought out the man of
letters--_par nobile fratrum_. They talked of Werther and his sorrows;
the Emperor appreciatively, and with a knowledge of detail. It is said
that the latter took exception to some one passage in particular;
which one is not known. The poet had probably just risen from penning
the "Elective Affinities," and seemed to recognize his dazzling host
as a creature familiar with such ties, transcending the bounds of
nations, the trammels of commonplace human limitations, the confines
of ordinary thought and speech. "A great man can be recognized only
by his peers," is one of Goethe's own sentences. What to the poet were
common men and the chains of political bondage, what were nations and
their ambitions, in comparison with a society where mind and morals
had the glorious license of Olympians and could follow the
unobstructed paths of inclination in realms controlled only by fancy!
Napoleon's greeting was laconic, "Vous etes un homme." This flattered
Goethe, who called it the inverse "ecce homo," and felt its allusion
to his citizenship, not in Germany, but in the world. The
nineteenth-century Caesar then urged the great writer to carry out an
already-formed design and compose a drama on the life of his own great
prototype; such a work, he was sure, would be worthier of the theme
than Voltaire's effort. At St. Cloud Napoleon had once paid a glowing
eulogy to the power of tragic dramas, and, speaking of Corneille,
declared that to his inspiration the French nation owed many of its
finest impulses and its most brilliant deeds. "If he were here, I
would make him a prince." To Goethe he now said that in art, as in
politics, there should be rule and ordered beauty; apropos of the
drama imitated from Shakspere, which mingles tragedy and comedy, the
terrible with the burlesque, he expressed surprise that a great mind
like Goethe's did not like clean-cut models--"N'aime pas les genres
tranches." These two judgments, taken together, give a valuable
picture of Napoleon's mind.
Amid the brilliant scenes arranged for the entertainment of Napoleon
in the stately little town of Weimar, when surrounded by that German
aristocracy which he had humbled, he summoned to his presence the man
who in the two periods of his career personified first the strength
and then the weakness of the German folk--the aged Wieland. Indeed,
the Emperor's conversation throughout that excursion to Weimar was
chiefly of learning, as if he bowed before German knowledge, German
science, German letters. He had studied much, he said, in the
barracks, "when I was a young lieutenant of artillery," and his cold,
piercing glance seemed to search the very hearts of the proud princes
and dukes who crowded around and literally stood at his chair in
domestic service. It was at the ball given by the Grand Duchess that
he asked for Wieland. During the evening this gentle and now temperate
old man had been present while the actors of the French comedy,
brought among other decorative trappings from Paris, had declaimed the
"Death of Caesar" from the stage of the ducal theater; he had listened
to Talma's significant utterance of the words, "Rule without violence
over a conquered universe," and then, wearied by the excitement of
these strange experiences, had withdrawn from further revelry. The
Grand Duchess of Weimar, anxious to gratify her great guest, sent her
carriage to fetch the author of "Oberon"; and rather than detain the
illustrious dictator, the poet started as he was, in his ordinary
garments, with unpowdered hair, wearing his little skull-cap and felt
shoes. The meeting was therefore most dramatic. The dancing almost
ceased when Napoleon advanced to meet his visitor, for the company
crowded in a wide circle to look on and catch what they might hear.
But the conversation was in a low tone.
Wieland would never tell or write what was said, and we know only
enough to feel that the great soldier's words were worthy both of his
genius and of the occasion. He had treated the German nobility with
haughtiness; this plain scholar he treated as an equal. Speaking of
the ancients, and defending the Caesars against Tacitus, he discussed
the rise of Christianity and emphasized the value of all religions in
conserving morals. The poet replied, when needful, in broken French,
but soon felt at his ease, for the Emperor seemed disposed to engross
the conversation, and in the manner of the times proposed questions.
"Which of your works do you prefer?" Wieland disclaimed merit for any,
but, under urgency, confessed that he liked best his "Agathon" and
"Oberon." Then Napoleon asked the stock query which he so often put to
scholars and men of letters: "Which has been the happiest age of
humanity?" "Impossible to give a reply," said the poet; "good and
evil, virtue and vice, continually alternate; philosophy must
emphasize the good and make the evil tolerable." "Admirable!
admirable!" said Napoleon; "it is not just to paint everything dark,
like Tacitus. He is certainly a skilful artist, a bold, seductive
colorist, but above all he aims at effect. History wants no illusions;
it should illuminate and instruct, not merely give descriptions and
narratives which impress us. Tacitus did not sufficiently develop the
causes and inner springs of events. He did not sufficiently study the
mystery of facts and thoughts, did not sufficiently investigate and
scrutinize their connection, to give posterity a just and impartial
opinion. History, as I understand it, should know how to catch men and
peoples as they would appear in the midst of their epoch. It should
take account of external circumstances which would necessarily
exercise an important influence on their actions, and clearly see
within what limits that influence wrought. The Roman emperors were not
so bad as Tacitus describes them. Therefore I am forced to prefer
Montesquieu; he is more just, and his criticism is closer to the
truth." In discussing Christianity Napoleon said: "Philosophers seek
in vain a better doctrine than one which has reconciled man with
himself, and has guaranteed the peace and public order of peoples, as
well as the happiness and hope of individuals." The talk lasted for
two hours, and the interview ended by a movement, not of Napoleon, but
of Wieland himself, who seemed weary with standing. "Go, go," said the
Emperor, gently. "Good-night."
Such were the scenes which unrolled themselves before the eyes of
Europe. Festival succeeded festival--plays, processions, parades,
hunts, balls, and dinners. Onlookers sent broadcast to every quarter
accounts of the millennial harmony which presided over all. Emperors,
kings, princes, nobles, marshals, generals, historians, scholars,
poets, players, diplomatists,--the most brilliant actors on the
world's great stage,--were brought together at Erfurt in a group not
often equaled. The stars of Russian decorations, the ribbons of the
Legion of Honor, glittered for the first time on breasts like those of
Goethe and Wieland, which were not accustomed to such distinctions.
The dual league of emperors appeared to the world stronger and more
illustrious than before. In a sense this was true, for at the close
Alexander seemed to have obtained much, if not all, that he had
demanded. The two empires were still to act in unity for the
reestablishment of a general peace on terms which would guarantee to
France her conquests made in the south since Tilsit, and to Russia
what she had secured in the east and north. Things were looking
brighter for the Czar in Finland, and of the Eastern acquisitions
which he so ardently desired, Wallachia and Moldavia were already
within his grasp. In other words, England was to be forced into
acknowledging the new order of things established by France in Spain,
and into acquiescing in Russia's seizure of Finland, Wallachia, and
Moldavia. If Austria should ally herself with the Turks to defeat
Russia's aims, France would intervene for her ally, and, reciprocally,
Russia would do the same in case the cabinet of Vienna should declare
war against France. In any case, Francis was to be compelled to
recognize the new kings of Spain and Naples under the virtual
compulsion of a united summons by Russia and France. If England should
again prove intractable, the two monarchs would meet a third time, and
within a year, to concert further measures. These were very
substantial gains for Russia, and for the time being the
Franco-Russian alliance was, as it appeared to the world, mightier and
firmer than it had been.
But, on the other hand, it contained now what was wanting
before--active germs of dissolution. In the first place, Alexander and
his ministers had shown themselves so firm that more than once there
had been hot words even between the emperors, and the memories of
these were a source of the increased suspicions which Alexander
carried back to the Neva. The Czar had, moreover, been compelled to
yield a very important point. The treaty, as a whole, was to remain
secret for at least ten years. He might occupy and consider as his own
the two coveted provinces, but even they were not to be openly annexed
until England's answer was received. An Anglo-Turkish alliance,
Napoleon reasoned, would be disastrous, while a Russo-Turkish
alliance, in case of Russian victory, would give the ministers at St.
James's too much insight into the agreement of Erfurt, and perhaps
bring on some such calamity as the seizure of the Danish fleet which
the suspicions entertained at London concerning Tilsit had
precipitated. The ultimate aim of the treaty was to be indefinitely
concealed. Another dangerous element in the affairs of Erfurt was that
contained in the additional provocation given to Prussia and Austria.
It is generally believed that Napoleon urged Alexander to send troops
and occupy not only Warsaw, but parts of both Austria and Prussia.
This would embroil him with his neighbors, and make central Europe
secure while France was fighting Spain. If this be true, it explains
two facts. Prussia in her despair had sent one agent after another to
Paris in order to secure some mitigation of Napoleon's demands. The
last had been Prince William, the King's brother, who early in
September had agreed that his country should pay one hundred and forty
millions of francs, surrender to France the forts on the Oder, and
reduce her army to forty-two thousand men, in return for the
withdrawal of Napoleon's troops and a reduction of the indemnity by
fourteen and a half millions of francs. On October ninth, three weeks
afterward, the prince was invited by Napoleon to hunt hares on the
battle-field of Jena! This incident, taken in connection with the
demand for Stein's dismissal, seemed very significant of Napoleon's
attitude toward Prussia.
General Vincent had been despatched from Vienna nominally to explain
away at Erfurt the Austrian armaments; in reality, to observe what was
going on. Although he found no difficulty in winning the versatile
Talleyrand to his cause, he was treated with scant courtesy by
Napoleon, and sent back with a letter from him to Francis containing
bitter reproaches and menaces. Stein, after his withdrawal, found,
like Hardenberg, a refuge in Vienna. There he formed one of an
influential coterie composed of Alexander's envoy, Pozzo di Borgo, and
others of like mind, who were steadily consolidating the war
sentiment. The activity of these men explained a phrase in the letter
to Francis,--"The last rising in mass would infallibly have brought on
war if I could have supposed that that levy and those preparations had
been arranged with Russia,"--which hinted at Russia's possible
interest in the military preparations; and one day at Erfurt, as
Napoleon's grenadiers were marching by, the Czar had to listen while
their Emperor vaunted the courage they had displayed at Pultusk and
Friedland. Apropos of Napoleon's lack of delicacy, it is said that
once in the Tuileries he significantly addressed one of his court
ladies, not renowned for purity, with the words, "You are fond of men,
I understand." "Yes; when they are polite," was the rejoinder. At
Erfurt Talleyrand gave the same explanation of his master's vagaries.
"We French are more civilized than our monarch," he said to Montgelas,
the Bavarian minister of state; "his is only the civilization of Roman
history."
But there was another incident at Erfurt more pregnant of ultimate
changes than any of these. Thanks to Fouche's Mephistophelian
insinuations, and the details which leaked out concerning the quarrels
between Queen Hortense, representing her mother, and the Grand Duchess
of Berg, representing the Bonapartes, the subject of Napoleon's
divorce had become common talk. The new position at Tilsit as the
recognized head of Europe's kingly hierarchy seems as early as that to
have tempted the Emperor to a course distasteful to the man; but what
occurred there is uncertain, and did not commit him. At Fontainebleau,
the following autumn, his harsh and distant treatment of Josephine
gave color to the suspicion that he was again under temptation. Whom
would he choose? asked the gossips. Sometime during the year a list of
marriageable princesses was prepared by the Emperor's orders. It
included Maria Louisa of Austria, aged sixteen; Maria Amelia, niece of
the King of Saxony; and the two sisters of the Czar, the younger of
whom was not quite thirteen. The general opinion seemed to fix on one
or the other of the Czar's unmarried sisters. This rumor soon reached
St. Petersburg, and the scandal-mongers of that capital promptly
designated the Grand Duchess Catherine, for she was of marriageable
age, and they said she was learning French country dances. Alexander
was in consternation; the Russian party would be aghast if he should
consent, while a refusal might endanger the alliance on which hung all
his ambitions.
Some months previously, Fouche, aware of the conflict in Napoleon's
mind, had actually suggested to the Empress, and probably with her
husband's knowledge, that she should take the initiative. In reply she
ran with disheveled hair and streaming eyes to ask an explanation from
her lord in person. He consoled her with many protestations, but he
left for Italy without having entirely reassured her. On his return
from Milan he roundly abused his minister of police, and forbade his
continued plotting. Nevertheless, the daring functionary persistently
disobeyed, and by the month of March, 1808, the air of Paris was thick
with embittered and ardent pleas on one side or the other. One evening
the court was to attend a gala performance to be given in the
Tuileries. Their Majesties did not appear. Napoleon, in fact, had not
made ready; instead he had retired to his private apartments and had
sent for Josephine. She entered her husband's chamber in full array of
evening costume, to find him in bed, pale, worn, and weary. At once he
began the recital of his perplexities, pouring out, as it were, his
whole heart, and, though not uttering the request, he seemed as if
beseeching in dumb despair the decisive word from her. The Empress,
however, was inflexible. Was he, he said in fierce disappointment, to
be compelled to adopt his bastard children? Surprised and touched by
her signs of assent, the Emperor vowed never to desert her, and there
matters had remained.
At Erfurt the same vacillation overmastered Napoleon as that with
which he had been tormented since Tilsit. By his command Talleyrand
and Caulaincourt were to drop the remark before Alexander that the
matter of the divorce was a European question; he wished to test, he
said, the temper of his ally. Both ministers suggested that a
contemplated match between the daughter of Paul I and the King of
Sweden had fallen through because of the confessional difficulties,
the latter being a Protestant, the former of the Greek Church. The
Emperor shrugged his shoulders in displeasure, and they discharged
their task. Apparently the Czar was not shocked, for, opening the
subject himself, he told Napoleon that his best friends looked with
anxiety to see him consolidate his work and his dynasty by a second
marriage. This of course led to a confidential talk, in which the
possibility of a matrimonial as well as a political alliance was
mentioned. If Napoleon had demanded on the spot the hand of the Czar's
marriageable sister, Catherine, it is doubtful if Alexander would have
refused. But the imperial host still vacillated, for he had not taken
the irrevocable step; a hesitating mention was made of his guest's
younger sister, Anne, who was still a child, as an eventual
possibility, and nothing more was said.
To stamp the success of the meeting, a joint letter was sent to George
III, asking for peace on the principle of "uti possidetis." The two
monarchs parted with every manifestation of personal devotion; but on
Alexander's return to his capital his elder sister was married with
indecent haste to the Duke of Oldenburg.