WAR AND DIPLOMACY
On the morning of December 11th, 1799, Napoleon installed himself at
the Luxembourg, and began at once the stupendous activity with which he
was to raise France to the position of first Power in Europe. Within a
fortnight Talleyrand was back at the Foreign Office, with a prospect
at last of using in his correspondence that “noble language” which the
Revolution and Directorate had disdained to use. Of the civilians in
France, two men alone were necessary to Napoleon—Fouché and Talleyrand.
Fouché was useful. Talleyrand had the additional advantage of making
Napoleon bow in secret to his superior culture and finesse. In the work
of the next seven years, which was to raise France higher than she had
ever been in the course of her history, the soldier and the diplomatist
were intimately joined. For some years it is often impossible, apart
from military operations, to distinguish the action of the one from
that of the other.
In the earlier years of the nineteenth century, in which the glory of
Napoleon and the greatness of France generally coincide, Talleyrand
had an unmistakeable regard and affection for his chief. No one more
fully appreciated the genius of Napoleon, in peace or war, and no
one appraised more highly its advantage to France. He had, too, a
sufficient sense of amiable cynicism to think lightly of the irony
with which Napoleon brushed aside the pretentious forms of liberty and
fraternity, and set up a solid but despotic system of government. With
a smile he saw the country accept with an overwhelming majority the
new scheme of universal suffrage. The voters of each district were to
choose ten of their number; these tens were to unite in each Department
and choose ten “Notabilities of the Department;” these were in turn
to choose their tens; and then the governing powers would select the
members of the legislative bodies and the chief officials of the State.
The Council (chosen by the executive) would initiate measures; the
Tribunate, the really popular and able body, could discuss them (within
limits), but not vote on them; the Legislative Body could vote, but not
discuss them; and the ornate and equally silent Senate had a right of
Veto. Talleyrand gave no support to Benjamin Constant when he opposed,
in the name of liberty, the almost immediate introduction of the
closure in the Tribunate. Like most of his friends, he at once deserted
Mme. de Staël’s salon, because she impelled Constant to this course.
Nor did he demur when Bonaparte very quickly reduced the number of
journals from 73 to 13, observing (among other things) that they were
making remarks that insulted “the sovereignty of the people.” They had
been unable to restrain their wit over the new democracy. Talleyrand
had never been a “polygarchist,” to use a word which he himself calls
barbarous but inevitable. In his opinion the people had proved their
incompetence to rule. It was not time-serving, but real conviction,
that made him encourage Napoleon’s monarchical tendency.
So he passed with good spirit through the few ironic months before
Napoleon departed for Italy. He was present at the first meeting
of Sieyès and Napoleon. Sieyès saw clearly enough the direction of
Napoleon’s policy; Napoleon told him his “Grand Elector” was a _roi
fainéant_, and “the time of do-nothing kings was past.” They quarrelled
violently and parted. At the second meeting Sieyès was more amiable.
“The pike is making short work of the other fishes,” said a shrewd
lady to Mme. Bonaparte. By February the constitutional difficulty
was over. Sieyès had disappeared, with a rich sinecure and a large
estate. Ducos was submerged in the Senate. The “Grand Elector” had
become “First Consul,” with almost unlimited power over the military,
naval, civic and foreign administration. The amiable Second and Third
Consuls, Cambacérès and Lebrun, were willing to act as little more
than background to Napoleon. The more heated Jacobins were banished
(Talleyrand striking one of his bitterest enemies, Jarry, off the list
of the proscribed). The more serious members of the old legislation
were distributed over Europe in foreign embassies and consulships.
The Senate was installed at the Luxembourg; the virtuous Tribunate
at the Palais Egalité (a hotbed of prostitutes and gamblers); and
the Consuls (though Cambacérès prudently declined the honour) at the
Tuileries. Napoleon issued a proclamation to the nation, which ended:
“Citizens, the Revolution is now sealed with the principles that first
set it afoot. It is over.” On the last day of the national mourning
he had directed on account of the death of Washington, Napoleon and
his colleagues drove in royal state, in a splendid carriage drawn by
six white horses, to the Tuileries. They had to pass under a gate over
which still lingered the inscription: “Royalty is abolished for ever
in France.” Talleyrand drove under it with the other ministers in
advance of Napoleon. On the following day Napoleon went over his new
home with his friends. “Well, Bourrienne,” he said, “here we are at
the Tuileries. The next thing is to see that we stop here.” But he had
it immediately decorated with the statues or busts of great generals
and great democrats of all nations. Demosthenes, Scipio, Brutus and
Mirabeau smiled or frowned on the visitor amidst a crowd of warriors
and kings.
Talleyrand, who rightly believed that these changes were for the real
good of France, would not be insensible to the humour of the situation
or the diplomatic genius of the new head of the State. It had been
decreed that ministers should discuss their portfolios every day before
the three Consuls, but Talleyrand had pointed out to Napoleon on the
day of his installation at the Foreign Office (Nov. 21st, 1799) that
its affairs were of a peculiarly private nature, and had proposed that
he should confer with the First Consul alone. Napoleon was more than
willing, and the long, close, and most fruitful co-operation of the
two began. Napoleonist writers are apt to imagine that Talleyrand was
little more than a clerk, as most of the other ministers were, but we
shall see as we proceed that Napoleon often left even the initiative to
him. Thiers observes that Fouché and Talleyrand were the only ministers
who were not effaced by the phenomenal activity of Napoleon. His vast
intelligence was already at work on plans for beautifying Paris,
improving the roads of the country, restoring financial soundness,
creating a system of education, reviving industry, formulating a code
of laws, and effecting a hundred other improvements. A royalist visitor
who saw Napoleon at the time said that he looked like a well-dressed
lackey—until you met his eye. That eye was now searching Paris through
and through for means of consolidating his position; it was sweeping
over the broad provinces of France in search of disorders to remedy and
dangers to crush: it was following royalists and Jacobins into exile,
scanning the countenances of kings and statesmen abroad, counting their
ships and forces, turning from East Indies to West Indies, from St.
Petersburg to Cairo and Persia. In Fouché he had a political detective,
unhampered by the faintest sense of moral principle, who could answer
for Paris. Gradually relaxing the laws against the emigrants, he threw
open the career to all talent, excepting only the militant royalists
and the most violent Jacobins. Priests were now only required to
promise, not to swear allegiance; large numbers of emigrants were
struck off the list on one pretext or other, though the peasants were
at the same time assured that not a franc’s worth of emigrant or
ecclesiastical property would be restored; and all were promptly put
under the searchlight of the Ministry of Police. Even Jacobins were in
time absorbed. Talleyrand saw one leave Napoleon’s room one day, and
expressed surprise at it. “You don’t know the Jacobins,” said Napoleon.
“There are the salty Jacobins and the sugary Jacobins. That one is a
salty Jacobin. I do what I like with those. They have to be arrested
sometimes, but a little money soon manages that. But the sugary
Jacobins! They would destroy twenty governments with their metaphysics.”
[Illustration: _From an engraving, after the picture by Delaroche._
NAPOLEON.]
As long as such a man would leave the choice of language to Talleyrand
the diplomatic combination would be superb. They got quickly to work.
The year 1799 had hardly closed, London was still wondering what this
new phase of French politics portended, when George III. received an
edifying invitation from the First Consul to entertain a project of
peace. In flawless and dignified language he was urged to reflect
before plunging Europe once more into the horrors of war. “The fate
of all civilised nations,” the letter concluded, “cries for the
termination of a war that embraces the whole world.” Pitt replied—or,
rather, sent a note to Talleyrand at the Foreign Office—that England
saw no guarantee of stability in French policy until the legitimate
ruler of the country was restored. It is generally agreed that this
was an egregious blunder, an arrogant and tactless attempt to dictate
to the French nation. It was, at all events, immediately recognised
as such in France, and the people were more than reconciled to a
continuation of the war with England. Talleyrand gravely enquired of
Lord Grenville what England would say to a proposal to restore the
Stuarts. Napoleon had written at the same time and in the same vein to
the Emperor of Austria. “A stranger to every sentiment of vain glory,
my first desire is to arrest the shedding of blood.” Austria replied to
Talleyrand, as England had done, though less offensively, asking for
guarantees of stability. The reply to Austria indicates clearly enough
that, as Talleyrand writes, Napoleon did not want peace. They were
asked to take the Treaty of Campo Formio (framed when Austria was in a
much worse position) as the base of negotiation.
In both cases the correspondence soon came to a futile close. Napoleon
had reached the steps of the throne as a military commander, and new
victories would at least sustain his prestige. Moreover, the financial
condition of France was very low, and Napoleon had had experience of
the pecuniary value of victorious warfare. His letters and the first
replies (ignoring his official position) strengthened his support in
the country, and in fact, as Talleyrand observes, made him out to be
“something of a statesman.” He turned cheerfully to the rest of his
diplomatic task before proceeding to face Austria. By tactful action in
the western provinces he put an end to the civil war there, induced the
Vendean leaders to come to Paris, and actually attached some of them to
his service. The next important step was to detach Russia from Austria,
secure the neutrality of, if not an alliance with, Prussia, and have a
good understanding with Spain. The King of Prussia was not unwilling
to see France and Austria exhaust themselves in a long conflict, while
he himself could continue in peace to strengthen his finances and
his army. Duroc was sent to inform him of the change of Government
in France, and soon afterwards Talleyrand sent his friend General
Beurnonville, an enemy of Austria, to fill the embassy at Berlin.
Through Prussia an attempt was to be made to reach the Tsar. Very soon
Prussia ceased to talk of the Rhine provinces, and reported that the
opposition to France at St. Petersburg was relaxing. Napoleon suspected
that Prussia was maintaining too long the profitable rôle of mediator,
and urged a direct appeal to Russia. Hearing that the Tsar had
seriously quarrelled with Austria, and was not well disposed towards
England, he collected all the Russian prisoners he had, re-clothed
them, and sent them home with military honours. When he further sent
the sword of La Valette to the Tsar (who had been appointed Grand
Master of the Order of St. John, and had an enthusiasm for his charge)
and invited him to take possession of Malta (then very precariously
held by the French against the English), the Tsar was won.
In the meantime the French Minister at Madrid had reported on the
situation in Spain. A boorish, thoughtless king, who gave the slightest
possible attention to public affairs: a spirited, hard-working queen,
with an eye for Parisian millinery: a conceited and incompetent
paramour of the queen, Godoy, who was in reality the first minister of
the country. In a few weeks cases of valuable French arms were on their
way to Godoy. The king, innocent of the vaguest suspicion of political
machinery, desired some for himself. A splendid assortment was at once
dispatched; and Citoyenne Minette was sent to the queen, with boxes of
exquisite Parisian costumes, chosen by Josephine, and with diplomatic
instructions from Talleyrand in her pocket.
By the beginning of May Napoleon was ready to open the campaign against
Austria. He had set in motion his vast plans for the improvement of
Paris and the country, and the restoration of commerce, education,
justice, and order. He had pacified la Vendée, and set free the troops
for the campaign in Italy. Russia was detached from the coalition, and
had sent an ambassador to Paris—a man with whom it would be easy to
deal, said Talleyrand, because he had no instructions, and was incensed
against his own government. Prussia was most benevolently neutral.
Spain seemed to have entirely forgotten Louis XVI. Leaving Talleyrand
to sustain the good disposition of these Powers, Napoleon set out on
May 6th for Italy. “What we want now,” said Talleyrand to him, “is for
success in war to put new life into the department of peace.”
Within six weeks came the news of the victory at Marengo. By July 3rd
Napoleon was back in the capital. Austria was crushed, Italy won, and
England isolated. A new phase of diplomatic work had now to begin.
From the battle-field Napoleon had written to the Austrian Emperor.
The Emperor injudiciously sent his reply by the same messenger, a very
undiplomatic Austrian soldier, the Count St. Julien, who followed
Napoleon to Paris, and was entrusted to Talleyrand to deal with. He
had, of course, no power whatever to negotiate, but was instructed
to sound the French, and only say sufficient for that purpose
about Austria’s disposition. Within a week St. Julien signed the
preliminaries of a treaty with France that bound Austria to close her
ports against England (with whom she had signed an agreement one month
before). The inexperienced soldier had asked Talleyrand’s advice as to
the extent of his powers, and Talleyrand gravely replied that if he
were in St. Julien’s place he would sign. When Napoleon heard that St.
Julien was disavowed and sent to a fortress, and the negotiations were
annulled, he said that he rather expected it, but merely “wanted to put
the Emperor in the wrong in the eyes of Europe.” He talked of renewing
hostilities, but Talleyrand dissuaded him, and in October Count
Cobentzl reached Paris for the serious work of negotiation. In the
meantime the effect of Marengo was visible on all sides. A succession
of fêtes brought Paris and France to the feet of the First Consul.
Millions were sent to the Treasury from the seat of war.
Cobentzl was to treat with Joseph Bonaparte at Lunéville, but Napoleon
invited him to pay a visit to Paris first. On the evening of his
arrival Talleyrand took him to the Tuileries. Napoleon had prepared
the very furniture of the room to receive him. Cobentzl, with distinct
recollection of the violent little man who had smashed his porcelain
to illustrate how he would break Austria, found himself admitted into
the large room on the ground floor where Napoleon worked. The lustre
was unlit. One small lamp shone on the desk in the far corner where
Napoleon sat, and Cobentzl found, after crossing the long dark room,
that all the chairs had been removed except the one that Napoleon
used. He was nervous and uncomfortable, while Napoleon conducted his
well-rehearsed part with the ease of a conqueror. The few days in Paris
were not pleasant to the Austrian envoy. He gladly moved to Lunéville
to treat with the less dramatic and less violent Joseph. Napoleon’s
brother had already been used in the conclusion of a treaty with the
United States. It is absurd to say that Talleyrand was passed over
in these matters for personal reasons. Napoleon’s employment of his
elder brother, who had no mean ability, in these high affairs of State
requires no explanation. On February 9th, 1801, the new treaty was
signed at Lunéville. Austria was restricted to Venice in Italy, and
lost the Rhine provinces and the Netherlands. Talleyrand did little
more than conduct the correspondence between the two brothers. Count
Cobentzl had made every effort to escape a rupture with England by
signing a separate peace, but the supervention of the victory of
Hohenlinden in December had too utterly enfeebled his country.
An event had occurred in December in connection with which Talleyrand
is often severely censured. An attempt had been made by certain
_chouans_ to blow up the First Consul as he went to the opera. Napoleon
at once called a Council of State, and declared it was the work of
the Jacobins. Whatever the suspicions of the Councillors were, they
knew that Napoleon was bent on making this a pretext for a severe blow
at the Terrorists, and they said nothing when a number of the more
truculent were executed and deported for a crime that was afterwards
found to be the work of Royalists. There was much indignation against
Fouché for the negligence of the police. Mr. Holland Rose says that
“if we may credit the _on dit_ of Pasquier, Talleyrand urged the
execution of Fouché.” We may _not_ credit the _on dits_ of Pasquier
when they reflect on Talleyrand; and such a suggestion is entirely
inconsistent with Talleyrand’s character. It seems to be stated
with more authority (though the reports are not consistent) that
Talleyrand—probably at the instigation of Napoleon—advocated taking
action on a _senatus-consultum_, which would dispense with the need of
passing measures through the less complaisant bodies. Talleyrand said
at the time that it was necessary to give foreign governments one of
those guarantees of stability about which they were so anxious. There
were few tears shed over the brutal and hasty treatment of the remnant
of the Terrorists.
In those early years Talleyrand felt a lively personal attachment
to Napoleon. “The sentiment that attaches me to you,” he writes,
“my conviction that the devotion of my life to your destiny and to
the grand views that inspire you is not without effect in their
realisation, have made me take more care of my health than I have
ever done before.” Later, when Napoleon had rendered some service to
his family: “I am with you in life or death.” His letters up to 1804
frequently exhale an odour that the British perception would class
as that of rank flattery. Making due allowance for the exaggerated
manners of the day, the sentiment seems to be sincere. The allusions
of Napoleonists in later years to “an Auteuil conspiracy” (where
Talleyrand had a house) early in the nineteenth century are frivolous.
Talleyrand would, no doubt, shudder at the coarseness of Napoleon’s
language at times and cannot have been blind to his ambition. But the
latter coincided as yet with the interest of France, and the former was
almost obliterated in the glare of his genius. When we consider the
vast work that Napoleon was doing for France, and the very probable
effect a restoration of the King at that period would have had, we feel
that Talleyrand must have clung to him with real anxiety.
On the other hand, Napoleon would take care to attach to his person
and cause a minister of the ability of Talleyrand. To the end of his
career he acknowledged that Talleyrand had no equal in his work, and
their letters show that “foreign ministry” was taken in a wide sense.
Talleyrand could entertain returned nobles who despised the thin polish
of the Tuileries, as well as play with a St. Julien, or conciliate
Swiss and Italian patriots. To one letter Talleyrand appends a list
of the ladies at his last soirée who did not dance. When the Spanish
princes came to Paris, it was Talleyrand’s fête at Neuilly that
remained in their memories; it was at Neuilly they met the old nobility
and culture of France, and enjoyed the most brilliant display of
Parisian decorative art. When Napoleon wanted to have himself appointed
President of the Italian Republic it was Talleyrand he sent to meet the
450 stern Italian patriots at Lyons, who would not venture nearer into
the mesmeric circle of the Tuileries. Talleyrand describes the state
of the roads, the price of bread and the feeling of the provincials,
as he travels; selects his friend Melzi among the deputies to “open
his heart to”; puts before them in his grave, sententious way “not
what Napoleon desired, but what it was expedient for the Cisalpine
Republic to ask.”[33] When Napoleon and Josephine arrived, it was
almost superfluous to awe the Italians with reviews and parades. The
Constitution was accepted, and the Italian branch of Napoleon’s empire
created. When, in the summer of 1801, Spain made its “orange-war” on
Portugal, instead of subjugating it as Napoleon had demanded, the First
Consul sent the whole of the papers to Talleyrand who was at the baths
of Bourbon l’Archambault. “I fear my advice has a smack of the douche
and cold bath about it,” says Talleyrand in reply; but his moderate and
judicious scheme saved the angry Napoleon from a serious blunder. The
news of Spain’s interested failure to close Portugal against England
had come to Napoleon in the midst of his negotiation for peace with
London, and he talked of making war on Spain. Talleyrand urged the more
refined punishment of disposing of Trinidad to England, sending Lucien
(the Madrid ambassador) on a long visit to Cadiz, and of generally
“wasting time at Madrid and pushing things on at London.”
[Illustration: TALLEYRAND
(Under Napoleon).]
Peace with England was, in fact, the next measure that the interest of
France demanded. In March, 1801, overtures were made from England.
Pitt had fallen over the Catholic Emancipation proposals, and the new
ministry under Addington desired to close the war. Now that Napoleon
had crushed Austria, cajoled Spain, and conciliated Russia, he would
prefer to attempt a blow at his great enemy, but the news from abroad
moderated his ambition. From St. Petersburg came the announcement
that the Tsar had “died of apoplexy.” He had been murdered in a
palace-conspiracy on March 23rd. Napoleon vented his feelings in
the customary rhetoric. Talleyrand lifted his eyebrows and said,
“Apoplexy again? It is time they invented a new disease in Russia.”
Immediately afterwards came the report of the English victory at
Copenhagen, and the detachment of Denmark; and about the same time
bad news reached Paris from Egypt. Shortly afterwards Bonaparte is
described by Stapfer as saying to the British Ambassador at Paris:
“There are only two nations in the world, England and France.
Civilisation would perish without them. They must be united.”
One cannot claim that Talleyrand did much more than clerical work in
the negotiations that led to the Peace of Amiens, though he entered
into it with more than usual ardour. Napoleon’s temporary and insincere
cry for a peaceful co-operation of the Mistress of the Sea and the
Mistress of the Land expressed Talleyrand’s habitual feeling[34]. He
did desire to see a naval supremacy of France in the Mediterranean,
but he would leave the high seas to England, with a hope that free
trade would still favour France’s commerce and colonising adventures.
It was, therefore, with a real sense of triumph that he saw France
conclude a most advantageous peace at a moment when a change of
policy seemed possible in Russia. Joseph Bonaparte again conducted
the negotiations. The preliminaries were signed on October 1st, 1801,
and the Treaty of Amiens was ratified on March 27th. England had
imprudently relied on certain verbal promises of Otto in signing the
preliminaries, and these were, of course, disavowed by Talleyrand.
“Make plenty of promises but put nothing on paper,” is a very frequent
charge from him and Napoleon to envoys. The integrity of Portugal
was guaranteed. Egypt was assigned to the Turks, and Malta to the
Knights of St. John. France gave to England the islands of Trinidad
and Ceylon (which did not belong to her), and obtained recognition of
her extension into Italy and Germany. The diplomatic reputation of the
Bonapartes and Talleyrand rose to a great height at Paris, where the
advantages gained were discussed with astonishment. As Mr. Rose puts
it: “With three exceptions England had given way on every point of
importance since the first declaration of her claims.”
Towards the close of March Talleyrand presented himself to Napoleon one
morning for the usual discussion of business. When it was all over he
calmly produced the Treaty of Amiens! But he was far from insensible
of the height to which France had risen since the end of 1799. The
flood of allied armies that had dashed against her frontiers for seven
or eight years had now ebbed impotently away. Her territory reached to
more natural boundaries, and her influence was felt far beyond them—in
Holland, Germany, Switzerland, Italy and Spain. There seemed some hope
at last of that internal organisation which France so sorely needed.
And Bonaparte’s ideal went very largely on the lines of Talleyrand’s
own schemes. His great address on education was exhumed; his financial
proposals were followed more than once in the restoration of fiscal
health to the country. Nor would Talleyrand have any sympathy with the
opposition to Napoleon’s creation of the Legion of Honour. “Toys!” said
Napoleon, when someone spoke lightly of his distribution of ribands:
“Well, you keep men in order with toys.” It was a not unhappy mean
between the old hereditary gradation of society, with its demoralising
and irritating narrowness, and the crude “equality” of the Revolution.
When, therefore, the proposal of a life Consulship was put before
Paris by Napoleon’s instruments, Talleyrand had no reason to demur
to it. The benevolent despot was his ideal of government for France.
Besides, who _could_ succeed Napoleon? Who else could give form and
substance to the fair vision of France that had arisen before the minds
of thoughtful men? To talk of Talleyrand “deserting” the principles
of the Revolution which he had embraced is mere verbiage. He had
never believed that pure democracy would be permanent or practicable
in an uneducated nation. There did not seem to him on that account
any reason why he should sit idly beyond the frontiers, living on an
English pension, until others would lead France again into the paths of
destiny. So when Cambacérès hinted that the work of the First Consul
merited a peculiar recognition, he felt no repugnance. The obsequious
Senate proposed a Consulship for ten years, and Napoleon disdainfully
ignored it. Then the idea of a life-Consulship was put to the country
in a plebiscite, and carried by an imposing majority.
In the long and complete negotiations that followed the peace
Talleyrand was very active. His detractors had the alternative of
ignoring his action altogether, and reducing him to the inglorious
rank of first clerk of the Foreign Office, or of assigning to him
a very considerable activity with a proportionate “corruption.”
The truth is that during 1802-3 Talleyrand was very busy, and his
work was lucrative. Once more, however, there is no charge that he
sold the interest of France or of peace. In those last days of the
buccaneering period the great Powers regarded helpless little States
as a providential means of compensating each other. Poland had been
coldly dismembered. Turkey in Europe was freely subjected to plans, as
it still is. Holland, Hanover, and a score of other places were pawns
on the board. It was understood that after the peace the possesssions
of the ecclesiastical princes on the Rhine should be put on the
market. The hotel of the Foreign Minister at Paris was besieged with
princes and their envoys. Baron von Gagern tells how he saw Luchesini,
Cobentzl, and others playing with Talleyrand’s adopted daughter,
Charlotte, and her lap-dog.
Prussia was the first to be rewarded for her benevolent neutrality and
her silence in view of the invasion of Italy. Bavaria, Wurtemberg,
Hesse, Baden, and the House of Orange were indemnified out of
ecclesiastical property. Vienna saw its legendary “empire” break up
without the power of murmuring. Austria itself and the Grand Duke of
Tuscany absorbed more of the ecclesiastical domains. The cession of the
left bank of the Rhine to France had created the need for indemnities.
France, with the ready consent of Europe, covered her aggression
by dividing the right bank among the dispossessed princes and the
Powers. At the Hotel Galiffet and at St. Cloud the map of Europe was
assiduously used. Little squares of territory with few guns and troops
changed colour rapidly. There were believed to be men and women in them.
Then there were the southern odd parts of the map to be settled.
Switzerland had invited the interference of a strong hand by her
constant anarchy. Napoleon was not unwilling to play the part of
mediator, and clip off the province containing the road to Italy. The
sturdy Swiss patriot, Stapfer, has left us the long correspondence
with which he reported to his authorities the dreary two years he spent
at Paris. In one of his letters he says to Talleyrand: “I shall feel
gratified and honoured throughout life that I have been in touch with
you who have brought the light and the urbanity of the old regime into
the new, and who have proved that all the results of social advance
and of the culture of the first ranks of society may be completely
reconciled with democratic principles.” It is just to add that this
is a prelude to a very solid “but.” However, Stapfer acknowledged
in the end that Napoleon’s mediation in Switzerland had done good.
Luchesini tells us that when Napoleon asked Talleyrand to secure his
nomination to the presidency of the Swiss Republic, as he had done
with the Italians at Lyons, the Foreign Minister at once threatened
to resign. Piedmont had been incorporated as a French province by a
_senatus consultum_ in September. Genoa and Lucca had been granted
“constitutions.” Elba had sent three deputies to Paris, where they were
entertained as princes and given a _douceur_ of 3,000 francs each; and
Elba was incorporated into the growing empire.
In two years the Foreign Office had negotiated treaties with Austria,
Russia, Prussia, Bavaria and England, redistributed all the small
principalities of the Rhine valley, and prepared constitutions for
Lucca, Genoa, Elba, Piedmont and Switzerland. Many princes, provinces
and free towns gained by the changes: many escaped losses that seemed
only too imminent: many lost less than they might have done. It is
probable enough that Talleyrand accepted from these sums of money that
were collectively respectable. A few cases are put on reliable record.
There is not the least reason to doubt that in most cases of advantage
conferred the Foreign Minister was ready to receive money. He freely
expressed his disposition. _Cadeau diplomatique_ was a familiar and
not dishonourable phrase of the day. “I have given nothing to St.
Julien,” Talleyrand wrote to Napoleon, “because all the Directory
jewellery is out of date.” On another occasion he urges Napoleon to
give a substantial sum of money to the Spanish Minister. No doubt, the
present usually took the form of a piece of jewellery _worth_ money.
“Talleyrand preferred cash,” says von Gagern, indulgently. It saved
trouble. When we regard the enormous quantity of negotiations and
settlements thrown on Talleyrand by Napoleon’s plans, it is difficult
to feel surprise that he made some millions of francs. His action does
not invite our admiration, but we may bear in mind that in not a single
case is he known to have strained or deserted his duty for money, and
that more than half the specific charges against him will not sustain
examination.
To complete the picture of the extraordinary activity of Napoleon
and Talleyrand at this time we must notice its range beyond Europe.
Treaties were concluded with Turkey, Algeria and Tunis. Napoleon’s mind
found time to interest itself in Australia, India, America and the West
Indies. After the peace of Amiens he took up the idea of colonies as
“safety valves” for the over-strained and over-populated nation which
Talleyrand had put forward under the Directory. But Talleyrand seems to
have been little more than a clerk in the not very honourable pursuit
of this plan. Napoleon sent out his ill-fated army to St. Domingo with
a message to Toussaint l’Ouverture that it was coming to help him. At
the same time he directed Talleyrand to inform England that it was
going to destroy the native government, and hint that it might restore
the slave trade; while Bruix and others were pointing out to the dazed
new democracy in France that slavery had been fully recognised by those
admirable models of theirs, the “free peoples of antiquity.” In 1801 he
made Talleyrand assure Spain that Louisiana, which Spain ceded to him,
would never be given to a third Power. It is on record that Talleyrand
firmly opposed him when he unscrupulously sold it to the United States
two years later. Expeditions to India and to Australia complete the
gigantic programme of their activity, save for the important work of
reconciliation with Catholicism which may open a new chapter.