NAPOLEON AND AUSTRIA
"Never maltreat an enemy by halves": such was the sage advice of
Prussia's warrior King Frederick the Great, who instinctively saw the
folly of half measures in dealing with a formidable foe. The only
statesmanlike alternatives were, to win his friendship by generous
treatment, or to crush him to the earth so that he could not rise to
deal another blow.
As we have seen, Napoleon deliberately took the perilous middle course
with the Hapsburgs after Austerlitz. He tore away from them their
faithful Tyrolese along with all their Swabian lands, and he half
crippled them in Italy by leaving them the line of the Adige instead
of the Mincio. Later on, he compelled Austria to join the Continental
System, to the detriment of her commerce and revenue; and his thinly
veiled threats at Erfurt nerved her to strike home as soon as she saw
him embarked on the Spanish enterprise. She had some grounds for
confidence. The blows showered on the Hapsburg States had served to
weld them more closely together; reforms effected in the
administration under the guidance of the able and high-spirited
minister, Stadion, promised to reinvigorate the whole Empire; and army
reforms, championed by the Archduke Charles, had shelved the petted
incapables of the Court and opened up undreamt-of vistas of hope even
to the common soldier. Moreover, it was certain that the Tyrolese
would revolt against the cast-iron Liberalism now imposed on them from
Munich, which interfered with their cherished customs and church
festivals.
Throughout Germany, too, there were widespread movements for casting
off the yoke of Napoleon. The benefits gained by the adoption of his
laws were already balanced by the deepening hardships entailed by the
Continental System; and the national German sentiment, which Napoleon
ever sought to root out, persistently clung to Berlin and Vienna. A
new thrill of resentment ran through Germany when Napoleon launched a
decree of proscription against Stein, who had resigned office on
November 24th. It was dated from Madrid (December 16th, 1808), and
ordered that "the man named Stein," for seeking to excite troubles in
Germany, should be held an enemy of France and the Confederation of
the Rhine, and suffer confiscation of his property and seizure of his
person, wherever he might be. The great statesman thereupon fled into
Austria, where all the hopes of German nationalists now centred.[207]
On April the 6th the Archduke Charles issued a proclamation in which
the new hopes of reformed Austria found eloquent expression: "The
freedom of Europe has sought refuge beneath your banners. Soldiers,
your victories will break her chains: your German brothers who are now
in the ranks of the enemy wait for their deliverance." These hopes
were premature. Austria was too late or too soon: she was too late to
overpower the Bavarians, or to catch the French forces leaderless, and
too soon to gain the full benefit from her recent army reforms and
from the diversion promised by England on the North Sea.[208] But our
limits of space render it impossible adequately to describe the course
of the struggle on the Danube or of the Tyrolese rising.
Napoleon, hurrying from Paris, found his forces spread out over a
front of sixty miles from Ratisbon to positions south of Augsburg, and
it needed all his skill to mass them before the Archduke's blows fell.
Thanks to Austrian slowness the danger was averted, and a difficult
retrograde movement was speedily changed into a triumphant offensive.
Five successive days saw as many French victories, the chief of which,
at Eckmühl (April 22nd), forced the Archduke with the Austrian right
wing northwards towards Ratisbon, which was stormed on the following
day, Charles now made for the Böhmer Wald, while his left wing on the
south of the Danube fell back towards the Inn. Pushing his advantage
to the utmost, the victor invaded Austria and forced Vienna to
surrender (May 13th).
At that city Napoleon issued (May 17th) a decree which reveals the
excess of his confidence. It struck down the temporal power of the
Pope, and annexed to the French Empire the part of the Papal States
which he had spared the year before. The form of the decree was as
remarkable as its substance. With an effrontery only equalled by its
historical falsity, it cited the example of "Charlemagne, my august
predecessor, Emperor of the French"; and, after exalting the Imperial
dignity, it proceeded to lower the Popes to the position of Bishops of
Rome. The subordination of the spiritual to the civil power was also
assured by the assigning of a yearly stipend of 2,000,000 francs to
the Pope.
When Pius VII. protested against the seizure of his States, and hurled
a bull of excommunication at the spoliator, Napoleon issued orders
which led to his arrest; and shortly after midsummer the unfortunate
pontiff was hurried away from Rome to Florence.
Meanwhile Napoleon had experienced an unlooked-for reverse. Though so
far cowed by his defeats in Bavaria as to send Napoleon a cringing
request for peace, to which the victor deigned no reply, the Archduke
Charles obstinately clung to the northern bank of the Danube opposite
the capital, and inflicted a severe defeat on the Emperor when the
latter sought to drive him from Aspern-Essling (May 21st-22nd). Had
the Austrian commander had that remorseless resolve which ever
prompted Napoleon to wrest from Fortune her utmost favours, the
white-coats might have driven their foes into the river; for at the
close of both of those days of carnage they had a clear advantage. A
French disaster was in fact averted only by the combined efforts of
Napoleon, Masséna, Lannes, and General Mouton; and even they were for
a time dismayed by the frightful losses, and by the news that the
bridges, over which alone they could retire, had been swept away by
trees and barges sent down the flooded stream. But, as at Eylau,
Napoleon's iron will imposed on his foes, and, under cover of
darkness, the French were withdrawn into the island of Lobau, after
losing some 25,000 men.[209]
Among them was that prince of vanguard leaders, Lannes. On hearing
that his old friend was mortally wounded, the Emperor hurried to him,
and tenderly embraced him. The interview, says Marbot, who was
supporting the Marshal's shoulders, was most affecting, both these
stern warriors displaying genuine emotion. And yet, it is reported
that, after Lannes was removed to Ebersdorf, his last words were those
of reproach to the Emperor for his ambition. At that time, however,
the patient was delirious, and the words, if really uttered, were
meaningless; but the inventor of the anecdote might plead that it was
consonant with the recent tenor of the Marshal's thoughts. Like all
thoughtful soldiers, who placed France before Napoleon, Lannes was
weary of these endless wars. After Jena his heart was not in the work;
and he wrote thus about Napoleon during the siege of Danzig: "I have
always been the victim of my attachment to him. He only loves you by
fits and starts, that is, when he has need of you." His presentiment
was true. He was a victim to a war that was the outcome solely of
Napoleon's Continental System, and not of the needs of France. He
passed away, leaving a brilliant military fame and a reputation for
soldierly republican frankness which was fast vanishing from the camps
and _salons_ of the Empire.[210]
As yet, however, Napoleon's genius and the martial ardour of his
soldiers sufficed to overbear the halting efforts of Austria and her
well-wishers. On retiring into Lobau Island he put forth to the utmost
his extraordinary powers of organization. Boats brought vast supplies
of stores and ammunition from Vienna, which the French still held. The
menacing front of Masséna and Davoust imposed on the enemy.
Reinforcements were hurried up from Bavaria. Tyrol was denuded of
Franco-Bavarian troops, so that the peasants, under the lead of the
brave innkeeper, Hofer, were able to organize a systematic defence.
And a French army which had finally beaten the Austrians in Venetia,
now began to drive them back into Hungary. In Poland the white-coats
were held in check, and the Franco-Russian compact deterred Frederick
William from making any move against France such as Prussian patriots
ardently counselled.
To have done so would have been madness, unless England sent powerful
aid on the side of Hanover; and that aid was not forthcoming. Yet the
patriotic ardour of the Germans led to two daring efforts against the
French. Schill, with a Prussian cavalry regiment, sought to seize
Magdeburg, and failing there moved north in hopes of British help. His
adventurous ride was ended by Napoleon's Dutch and North German
troops, who closed in on him at Stralsund, and, on May 31st, cut to
pieces his brave troop. Schill met a warrior's death: most of the
survivors were sent to the galleys in France. Undeterred by this
failure, the young Duke of Brunswick sought to rouse Saxony and
Westphalia by a dashing cavalry raid (June); but, beyond showing the
weakness of Jerome Bonaparte's rule and the general hatred of the
French, he effected little: with his 2,000 followers he was finally
saved by British cruisers (August). Had the British expedition, which
in the ensuing autumn rotted away on Walcheren, been landed at
Stralsund, or in Hanover during the spring, it is certain that Germany
would have risen in Napoleon's rear; and in that case, the doubtful
struggle which closed at Wagram might have ended very
differently.[211]
All hopes for European independence centred in Wellesley and the
Archduke Charles. Although there was no formal compact between England
and Austria, yet the Hapsburgs rested their hopes largely on the
diversions made by our troops. In the early part of the Peninsular
campaign of 1809, these hopes were brilliantly fulfilled. Wellesley
moved against Soult at Oporto, and, by a dextrous crossing of that
river in his rear, compelled him to beat a calamitous retreat on
Spain, with the loss of all his cannon and stores. The French reached
Lugo an armed rabble, and were greeted there with jeers and
execrations by the men of Ney's corps. The two Marshals themselves
took up the quarrel, and so fierce were the taunts of Ney that Soult
drew his sword and a duel was barely averted.[212] An appearance of
concord was restored during their operations in Galicia and Asturias:
but no opportunity was missed of secretly thwarting the hated rival;
and here, as all through the Peninsular War, the private jealousies of
the French leaders fatally compromised the success of their arms.
Wellesley, seeing that the operations in Galicia would never decide
the war, began to prepare a deadly blow at the centre of French
authority, Madrid.
While Wellesley thrust a thin wedge into the heart of Spain, the
Archduke Charles was overthrown on the banks of the Danube. After
drawing in reinforcements from France, the Rhenish Confederation, and
Eugène's army of Italy, the French Emperor disposed of 180,000
highly-trained troops, whom he massed in the Lobau Island, or on the
right shore of the Danube. Every preparation was made for deceiving
the Austrians as to the point of crossing and with complete success.
With great labour the defenders threw up intrenchments facing the
north side of the island. But, on a thick stormy night (July 4th), six
bridges of boats were quickly swung across the stream lower down, that
is, on the east side of Lobau, while a furious cannonade on the north
side misled their foes. The crossing was effected without loss by
Oudinot and Masséna; and sunrise saw the whole French army advancing
rapidly northwards, thereby outflanking the Austrian earthworks, which
were now evacuated.
Charles was outmanoeuvred and outnumbered. His brother, the Archduke
John, was at Pressburg with 20,000 men, watched hitherto by Davoust.
But the French Marshal cleverly withdrew his corps, leaving only
enough men to impose on that unenterprising leader. Other Austrian
detachments were also far away at the critical time, and thus Napoleon
had a superiority of force of about 50,000 men. Nevertheless, the
defence at Wagram was most obstinate (July 6th). Holding his own on
the hills behind the Russbach, the Archduke swung forward his right in
such strength as to drive back Masséna on Aspern; but his weakened
centre was now pushed back and endangered by the persistent vigour of
Macdonald's onset. This success at the centre gave time for Davoust to
wrest Neusiedel from the white-coats, a movement which would have been
stopped or crushed, had the Archduke John obeyed his brother's orders
and marched from the side of Pressburg on Napoleon's unguarded right
flank. Finally, after an obstinate stand, the Austrians fell back in
good order, effectively covering their retreat by a murderous
artillery fire. A total loss of some 50,000 men, apportioned nearly
equally on either side, was the chief result of this terrible day. It
was not remarkable for brilliant tactics; and, as at Aspern, the
Austrians fully equalled their foes in courage.
[Illustration: WAGRAM]
Such was the battle of Wagram, one of the greatest of all time, if the
number of combatants be counted, but one of the least decisive in its
strictly military results. If we may compare Austerlitz with Blenheim,
Wagram may with equal fitness be matched with the vast slaughter of
Malplaquet exactly a century before. The French now felt the hardening
of the national defence of Austria and the falling off in their own
fighting powers. Marmont tells how, at the close of the day, the
approach of the Archduke John's scouts struck panic into the
conquerors, so that for a time the plain on the east was covered with
runaway conscripts and disconcerted plunderers. The incident proved
the deterioration of the Grand Army from the times of Ulm and Jena.
Raw conscripts raised before their time and hurriedly drafted into the
line had impaired its steadiness, and men noted as another ominous
fact that few unwounded prisoners were taken from the Austrians, and
only nine guns and one colour. In fact, the only reputation enhanced
was that of Macdonald, who for his great services at the centre
enjoyed the unique honour of receiving a Marshal's bâton from Napoleon
on the field of battle.
Had the Archduke Charles been made of the same stuff as Wellington,
the campaign might still have been retrieved. But softness and
irresolution were the characteristics of Austria's generals no less
than of her rulers.[213] The Hapsburg armies were still led with the
old leisurely _insouciance_; and their counsels swayed to and fro
under the wavering impulses of a seemingly decrepit dynasty. Francis
had many good qualities: he was a good husband and father, and his
kindly manners endeared him to the Viennese even in the midst of
defeat. But he was capricious and shortsighted; anything outside of
the well-worn ruts of routine vexed and alarmed him; and it is a
supreme proof of the greatness and courage of his reforming Minister,
Stadion, that his innovations should have been tolerated for so long.
Now that disasters were shaking his throne he began to suspect the
reformer; and Stadion confessed to the publicist, Gentz, that it was
impossible to reckon on the Emperor for a quarter of an hour together,
unless one stayed by him all the twenty-four hours.--"After a great
defeat, he will take himself off at once and will calmly commend us to
God."--This was what now happened. Another failure at Znaim so daunted
the Archduke that he sued for an armistice (July 12th). For this there
was some excuse. The latest news both from Spain and Prussia inspired
the hope that, if time were gained, important diversions might be made
in both quarters.
As we have seen, Sir Arthur Wellesley opened the campaign with a
brilliant success, and then prepared to strike at the heart of the
French power. The memorable campaign of Talavera was the result.
Relying on promises of aid from the Spanish Junta and from their
cross-grained commander, Cuesta, he led a small British force up the
valley of the Tagus to seize Madrid, while the chief French armies
were engaged in distant provinces. In one sense he achieved his aim.
He compelled the enemy to loose their hold on those provinces and
concentrate to save the capital. And before they fully effected their
concentration, he gave battle to King Joseph and Marshals Jourdan and
Victor at Talavera (July 28th). Skilfully posting the Spaniards behind
intrenchments and in gardens where their raw levies could fight with
every advantage, he extended his thin red lines--he had only 17,000
British troops--along a ridge stretching up to a plateau that
dominated the broken ground north of the town. On that hill Wellesley
planted his left: and all the efforts of Victor to turn that wing or
to break it by charges across the intervening ravine were bloodily
beaten off.
The fierce heat served but to kindle French and British to greater
fury. Finally, the dashing charge of our 23rd dragoons and the
irresistible advance of the 48th regiment of foot overthrew the
enemy's centre; and as the day waned, the 30,000 French retired, with
a loss of 17 cannon and of 7,000 men in killed, wounded, and
prisoners. Had the other Spanish armies now offered the support which
Wellesley expected, he would doubtless have seized Madrid. He had
written three days before Talavera: "With or without a battle we shall
be at Madrid soon." But his allies now failed him utterly: they did
not hold the mountain passes which confronted Soult in his march from
Salamanca into the valley of the Tagus; and they left the British
forces half starving.--"We are here worse off than in a hostile
country," wrote our commander; "never was an army so ill used: we had
no assistance from the Spanish army: we were obliged to unload our
ammunition and our treasure in order to employ the cars in the removal
of our sick and wounded." Meanwhile Soult, with 50,000 men, was
threading his way easily through the mountains and threatened to cut
us off from Portugal: but by a rapid retreat Wellesley saved his army,
vowing that he would never again trust Spanish offers of help.[214]
Far more dispiriting was the news that reached the Austrian
negotiators from the North Sea. There the British Government succeeded
in eclipsing all its former achievements in forewarning foes and
disgusting its friends. Very early in the year, the men of Downing
Street knew that Austria was preparing to fight Napoleon and built her
hopes of success, partly on the Peninsular War, partly on a British
descent in Hanover, where everything was ripe for revolution.
Unfortunately, we were still, formally, at war with her: and the
conclusion of the treaty of peace was so long delayed at Vienna that
July was almost gone before the Austrian ratification reached London,
and our armada set sail from Dover.[215] The result is well known.
Official favouritism handed over the command of 40,000 troops to the
Earl of Chatham, who wasted precious days in battering down the walls
of Flushing when he should have struck straight at the goal now aimed
at, Antwerp. That fortress was therefore ready to beat him off; and he
finally withdrew his army into the Isle of Walcheren, into whose
fever-laden swamps Napoleon had refused to send a single French
soldier. A tottering remnant was all that survived by the close of the
year: and the climax of our national disgrace was reached when a
court-martial acquitted the commanders. Napoleon would have had them
shot.
Helpless as the old monarchies were to cope with Napoleon, a wild
longing for vengeance was beginning to throb among the peoples. It
showed itself in a remarkable attempt on his life during a review at
Schönbrunn. A delicate youth named Staps, son of a Thuringian pastor,
made his way to the palace, armed with a long knife, intending to stab
him while he read a petition (October 12th). Berthier and Rapp, noting
the lad's importunity, had him searched and brought before Napoleon.
"What did you mean to do with that knife?" asked the Emperor. "Kill
you," was the reply. "You are an idiot or an Illuminat." "I am not an
idiot and do not know what an Illuminat is." "Then you are diseased."
"No, I am quite well." "Why do you wish to kill me?" "Because you are
the curse of my Fatherland." "You are a fanatic; I will forgive you
and spare your life." "I want no forgiveness." "Would you thank me if
I pardoned you?" "I would seek to kill you again." The quiet firmness
with which Staps gave these replies and then went to his doom made a
deep impression on Napoleon; and he sought to hurry on the conclusion
of peace with these odd Germans whom he could conquer but not
convince.
The Emperor Francis was now resigned to his fate, but he refused to
hear of giving up his remaining sea-coast in Istria. On this point
Metternich strove hard to bend Napoleon's will, but received as a
final answer: "Then war is unavoidable."[216] In fact, the victor knew
that Austria was in his power. The Archduke Charles had thrown up his
command, the soldiery were depressed, and a great part of the Empire
was in the hands of the French. England's efforts had failed; and of
all the isolated patriotic movements in Germany only that of the
Tyrolese mountaineers still struggled on. Napoleon could therefore
dictate his own terms in the Treaty of Schönbrunn (October 14th),
which he announced as complete, when as yet Francis had not signed
it.[217] Austria thereby recognized Joseph as King of Spain, and ceded
Salzburg and the Inn-viertel to Napoleon, to be transferred by him to
Bavaria. To the French Empire she yielded up parts of Austrian Friuli
and Carinthia, besides Carniola, the city and district of Trieste, and
portions of Croatia and Dalmatia to the south of the River Save. Her
spoils of the old Polish lands now went to aggrandize the Duchy of
Warsaw, a small strip of Austrian Gallicia also going to Russia.
Besides losing 3,500,000 subjects, Austria was mulcted in an indemnity
of £3,400,000, and again bound herself to exclude all British
products. By a secret clause she agreed to limit her army to 150,000
men.
Perhaps the severest loss was the abandonment of the faithful
Tyrolese. After Aspern, the Emperor Francis promised that he would
never lay down his arms until they were re-united with his Empire.
This promise now went the way of the many fond hopes of reform and
championship of German nationality which her ablest men had lately
cherished, and the Empire settled down in torpor and bankruptcy. In
dumb wrath and despair Austrian patriots looked on, while the Tyrolese
were beaten down by French, Bavarian, and Italian forces. Hofer
finally took to the hills, was betrayed by a friend, and was taken to
Mantua. Some of the officers who there tried him desired to spare his
life, but a special despatch of Napoleon[218] ordered his execution,
and the brave mountaineer fell, with the words on his lips: "Long live
the Emperor Francis." Tyrol, meanwhile, was parcelled out between
Bavaria, Illyria, and the Kingdom of Italy; but bullets and partitions
were of no avail against the staunch patriotism of her people, and the
Tyrolese campaign boded ill for Napoleon if monarchs, generals, and
statesmen should ever be inspired by the sturdy faith and hardihood of
that noble peasantry.
As yet, however, prudence and timidity reigned supreme. Though the
Czar uttered some snappish words at the threatening increase to the
Duchy of Warsaw, he still posed as Napoleon's ally. The Swedes, weary
of their hopeless strifes with France, Russia, and Denmark, deposed
the still bellicose Gustavus IV.; and his successor, Charles XIII.,
made peace with those Powers, retaining Swedish Pomerania, but only at
the cost of submitting to the Continental System. Prussia seemed, to
official eyes, utterly cowed. The Hapsburgs, having failed in their
bold championship of the cause of reform and of German nationality,
now fell back into a policy marked by timid opportunism and decorously
dull routine.
The change was marked by the retirement of Stadion, a man whose
enterprising character, no less than his enthusiasm for reform, ill
fitted him for the time of compromise and subservience now at hand. He
it was who had urged Austria forward in the paths of progress and had
sought safety in the people: he was the Stein of Austria. But now, on
the eve of peace, he earnestly begged to be allowed to resign the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and the Emperor Francis thereupon
summoned to that seemingly thankless office a young diplomatist, who
was destined to play a foremost part in the mighty drama of Napoleon's
overthrow, and thereafter to wield by his astute policy almost as
great an influence in Central and Southern Europe as the autocrat
himself.
Metternich was born at Coblentz in 1773, and was therefore four years
the junior of Napoleon. He came of an old family of the Rhineland, and
his father's position in the service of the old Empire secured him
early entrance into the diplomatic circle. After acting as secretary
to the Imperial delegates at the Congress of Rastatt, he occupied the
post of Austrian ambassador successively at the Courts of Dresden and
Berlin; and in 1806 he was suddenly called to take up the embassy in
Paris. There he displayed charms of courtly tact, and lively and
eloquent conversation, which won Napoleon's admiration and esteem. He
was looked on as a Gallophil; and, like Bismarck at a later crisis, he
used his social gifts and powers of cajolery so as to gain a correct
estimate of the characters of his future opponents.
Yet, besides these faculties of finesse and intrigue--and the Miltonic
Belial never told lies with more winsome grace--Metternich showed at
times a manly composure and firmness, even when Napoleon unmasked a
searching fire of diplomatic questions and taunts. Of this he had
given proof shortly before the outbreak of the late war, and his
conduct had earned the thanks of the other ambassadors for giving the
French Emperor a lesson in manners, while the autocrat liked him none
the less, but rather the more, for standing up to him. But now, after
the war, all was changed; craft was more serviceable than fortitude;
and the gay Rhinelander brought to the irksome task of subservience to
the conqueror a courtly _insouciance_ under which he nursed the hope
of ultimate revenge.--"From the day when peace is signed," he wrote to
the Emperor Francis on August 10th, 1809, "we must confine our system
to tacking and turning, and flattering. Thus alone may we possibly
preserve our existence, till the day of general deliverance."[219]
This was to be the general drift of Austrian policy for the next four
years; and it may be granted that only by bending before the blast
could that sore-stricken monarchy be saved from destruction. An
opportunity soon occurred of carrying the new system into effect.
Metternich offered the conqueror an Austrian Archduchess as a bride.
After the humiliation of the Hapsburgs and of the Spanish patriots,
nothing seemed wanting to Napoleon's triumph but an heir who should
found a durable dynasty. This aim was now to be reached. As soon as
the Emperor returned to Paris, his behaviour towards Josephine showed
a marked reserve. The passage communicating between their private
apartments was closed, and the gleams of triumphant jealousy that
flashed from her sisters-in-law warned Josephine of her approaching
doom. The divorce so long bruited by news-mongers was at hand. The
Emperor broke the tidings to his consort in the private drawing-room
of the Tuileries on November 30th, and strove to tone down the
harshness of his decision by basing it on the imperative needs of the
State. But she spurned the dictates of statecraft. With all her
faults, she was affectionate and tender; she was a woman first and an
Empress afterwards; she now clung to Napoleon, not merely for the
splendour of the destiny which he had opened to her, but also from
genuine love.
Their relations had curiously changed. At the outset she had slighted
his mad devotion by her shallow coldness and occasional infidelities,
until his lava-like passion petrified. Thenceforth it was for her to
woo, and woo in vain. For years past she had to bemoan the waning of
his affection and his many conjugal sins. And now the chasm, which she
thought to have spanned by the religious ceremony on the eve of the
coronation, yawned at her feet. The woman and the Empress in her
shrank back from the black void of the future; and with piteous
reproaches she flung back the orders of the Emperor and the soothings
of the husband. Napoleon, it would seem, had nerved himself against
such an outbreak. In vain did Josephine sink down at his feet with
heart-rending cries that she would never survive the disgrace: failing
to calm her himself, he opened the door and summoned the prefect of
the palace, Bausset, and bade him bear her away to her private
apartments. Down the narrow stairs she was borne, the Emperor lifting
her feet and Bausset supporting her shoulders, until, half fainting,
she was left to the sympathies of her women and the attentions of
Corvisart. But hers was a wound that no sympathy or skill could
cure.[220]
On his side, Napoleon felt the wrench. Not only the ghost of his early
love, but his dislike of new associates and novel ways cried out
against the change. "In separating myself from my wife," Napoleon once
said to Talleyrand, "I renounce much. I should have to study the
tastes and habits of a young woman. Josephine accommodates herself to
everything: she understands me perfectly."[221] But his boundless
triumphs, his alliance with the Czar and total overthrow of the
Bourbons and the Pope, had fed the fires of his ambition. He aspired
to give the _mot d'ordre_ to the universe; and he scrupled not to put
aside a consort who could not help him to found a dynasty. Yet it was
not without pangs of sorrow and remorse. His laboured, panting breath
and almost gasping words left on Bausset the impression that he was
genuinely affected; and, consummate actor though he was, we may well
believe that he felt the parting from his early associations.
Underneath his generally cold exterior he hid a nervous nature,
dominated by an inflexible will, but which now and again broke through
all restraint, bathing the beloved object with sudden tenderness or
blasting a foe with fiery passion. And it would seem that Josephine's
pangs had power to reawaken the feelings of his more generous youth.
The ceremony of divorce took place on December 15th Josephine
declaring with agonized pride that she gave her assent for the welfare
of France.
Already the new marriage negotiations had begun. They are unique even
amidst the frigid annals of royal betrothals. The French ambassador,
Caulaincourt, was charged to make definite overtures at St. Petersburg
for the hand of the Czar's younger sister; the conditions could easily
be arranged; religion need be no difficulty; but time was pressing;
the Emperor had need of an heir; "we are counting the minutes here,"
ran the despatch; and an answer was expected from St. Petersburg after
an interval of _two days_.[222] The request caused Alexander the
greatest perplexity. He parried it with the reply, correct enough in
form as in fact, that the disposal of his sister rested with the
Dowager Empress. But her hostility to Napoleon was well known. After
the half overtures of Erfurt she had at once betrothed her elder
daughter to the Duke of Oldenburg. No similar escape was now possible
for the younger one: but, after leaving Napoleon's request unanswered
until February 4th, the reply was then despatched that the tender age
of the princess, she being only twenty years old, formed an
insuperable obstacle.
Some such answer had long been expected at Paris. Metternich asserts
in his "Memoirs" that Napoleon had caused Laborde, one of his
diplomatic agents at Vienna, tentatively to sound that Court as to his
betrothal with the Archduchess Marie Louise. But the French archives
show that the first hint came from Metternich, who saw in it a means
of weakening the Franco-Russian alliance and saving Austria from
further disasters.[223] A little later the Countess Metternich was at
Paris; and great was her surprise when, on January 2nd, 1810,
Josephine informed her that she favoured a marriage between Napoleon
and Marie Louise. "I spoke to him of it yesterday," she said; "his
choice is not yet fixed; but he thinks that this would be his choice
if he were sure of its being accepted." Thereafter the Countess
received the most flattering attentions at Court, a proof that the
Hapsburg match was now favoured, even though the coyness of the Czar
was as yet unknown.
At the close of January a Privy Council was held at the Tuileries to
decide on the imperial bride. The votes were nearly equal: four voted
for Austria, four for Saxony, and three for Russia. After listening
quietly to the arguments, Napoleon summed up the discussion by
pronouncing firmly and warmly in favour of Austria. The marriage
contract was therefore drawn up on February 7th; and Berthier was
despatched to Vienna to claim the hand of Marie Louise. He entered
that city over the ruins of the old ramparts, which were now being
dismantled in accordance with the French demands.
The marriage took place at Vienna by proxy; the bride was conducted to
Paris; and the final ceremony took place at Notre Dame on April 2nd,
but not until the union had been consummated. Such were Napoleon's
second wooing and wedding. Nevertheless, he showed himself an
attentive and even indulgent spouse, and he remarked at St. Helena
that if Josephine was all grace and charm, Marie Louise was innocence
and nature herself.
The Austrian marriage was an event of the first importance. It gained
a few years' respite for the despairing Hapsburgs, and gave tardy
satisfaction to Talleyrand's statesmanlike scheme of a Franco-Austrian
alliance which should be in the best sense conservative. Had Napoleon
taken this step after Austerlitz in the way that his counsellor
advised, possibly Europe might have reached a condition of stable
equilibrium, always provided that he gave up his favourite scheme of
partitioning Turkey. But that was not to be; and when Austria finally
yielded up Marie Louise as an unpicturesque Iphigenia on the marriage
altar, she did so only as a desperate device for appeasing an
inexorable destiny. And, strange to say, she succeeded. For Alexander
took offence at the marriage negotiations; and thus was opened a
breach in the Franco-Russian alliance which other events were rapidly
to widen, until Western and Central Europe hurled themselves against
the East, and reached Moscow.
* * * * *