I met her accidentally in a small and crowded inn in the Apennines,
she conducted herself not only with courtesy, but with great taste,
delicacy, and propriety. In two visits which I paid Her Royal Highness
at Naples, her manner was hurried and her conversation strange; but
there was nothing indecorous or incoherent enough to infer any positive
aberration of intellect, though sufficient to suggest to my mind the
possibility of her being liable, as well as others of her family, to
that dreadful infirmity. A strange fatality seemed to attend her and
all who approached her. Those who accused and those who defended her,
the Prince, the Ministers, the Parliament, and the people, all who took
any prominent part either in her condemnation or triumph, degraded
themselves, and appear to me to have lost all discretion and judgment.
The truth is that the frequency and violence of the ferment raised by the
petty and unprofitable spite of an irritated husband, and the levities,
irregularities, and extravagances of a lady, neither young nor handsome,
were severe comments on the institution of Monarchy, and the zeal
inspired in her favour by her persecutions, real or supposed, a no less
strong proof of the childish love for Royalty still prevalent in this
country. Strange indeed that neither war nor peace, laws nor liberties,
could excite so much anxiety in a free and civilised nation as the
personal character and comfort of two individuals, who had nothing but
their rank about them to raise interest or even curiosity!
I revert to my narrative. The disasters of the French in the north had
compelled Napoleon to drain his army in Spain; and that circumstance,
combined with the skill and vigilance of Lord Wellington and the
unabated aversion of the Spaniards to the French, led to many brilliant
successes of the English in the Peninsula. In the spring of 1813 Joseph
and his Government abandoned Madrid, and before the end of June Lord
Wellington had gained the glorious battle of Vittoria, nearly on the
spot where the Black Prince defeated Du Guesclin four hundred and fifty
years before.[178] Lord Wellington, by the rapidity and skill of his
movements, executed in a masterly style by Sir G. Murray,[179] his very
able Quarter-Master-General, had intercepted and surprised the French.
Indeed, the signal victory he obtained at Vittoria was, like that of
Salamanca, as much owing to the superiority of his generalship as to
the courage of his troops. In the course of the ensuing three months he
drove the French beyond the frontiers, and soon became with his English,
Spanish, and Portuguese force the invader of France. Our Ministers were
too much elated with this success, with the disastrous retreat of the
French from Moscow, and with the prospect of the deliverance of Germany
by a Confederacy of Sweden, Russia, and Prussia, to make any reasonable
overtures of peace to the Emperor on his return to Paris.
Anxious as I was for peace, I did not think it prudent to urge it upon
Parliament during the early part of the Session, from the following
considerations:
1st. It was just possible that some negotiations might be on foot, and
that public discussion might be injurious to them.
2ndly. Debate would have betrayed some difference of opinion among our
own friends; for Lord Grenville and others would have recommended our
insisting upon terms yet more extravagant than any which Ministers were
likely to suggest.
3rdly. If there had been, as was shrewdly suspected, two parties in the
Cabinet, one disposed to negotiate with the Emperor Napoleon, the other
to stickle for a change of government in France, a motion for peace in
Parliament and the discussions thereupon would have tended to strengthen
the latter rather than the more pacific and moderate division of our
counsels.
4thly and lastly. I must acknowledge that I thought a Ministry, composed
of Lords Liverpool, Sidmouth, and Castlereagh, to the full as likely
to adopt moderate counsels, from a sense of their convenience, as the
Parliament or the public, in their then state of elation, to enforce them.
In the meanwhile, the silence of the Allied Powers during the winter
had impressed the people of France with a belief that their pretensions
were unreasonable, and the spirit and genius of Napoleon enabled him to
draw forth once more the immense resources of his Empire, to recruit his
armies, and to resume the field in the month of April. His first efforts
were fortunate; but he, like his adversaries, lost the opportunity of
acting with moderation and magnanimity in the hour of prosperity. He
agreed, indeed, to an armistice, and affected to negotiate for peace;
but he was so unreasonable in his demands, and so obviously averse to
any permanent adjustment of the interests of all parties, that not only
were hostilities renewed, but the Court of Vienna was provoked by him
or induced by the Allies to join in the Confederacy against him. I am
inclined to ascribe the fluctuation in the Austrian counsels to real
weakness and irresolution, and not to duplicity. The latter quality,
however, is the weapon most congenial to the taste and best adapted to
the faculties of that cowardly and ignorant Court, when it wishes to
resent an injury or ruin an enemy.
Before Parliament broke up I urged, in a speech, a motion, and a protest,
my conviction that a favourable period for negotiation had been allowed
to elapse; and though the course of events, and above all the misconduct
of the French Government, retrieved the error, I do not repent having
recorded such an opinion, or dread the judgment of such impartial persons
hereafter as will be at the pains of examining all the circumstances in
which we are placed.
On the rupture of the truce the tide of success set in for the
Confederates. In number and in spirit they overpowered the French, and
not only the fortune but the genius of Napoleon seems for a short season
to have abandoned him.[180] He permitted his enemies to encircle and his
allies to betray him in a manner that half his usual military skill or
political sagacity would have prevented. This period of unaccountable
error terminated in the great battle of Leipsic on October 18, 1813, a
battle fatal to the predominance of Napoleon in Europe, and the only
action in his eventful career derogatory to his skill as a General. He
was circumvented and defeated in a way that persons unpractised in war
had for several weeks predicted that he would be, and by armies commanded
by men not only inferior to him, but [in] no wise eminent for talents,
experience, or judgment. One of the critical moments of this great battle
was decided in favour of the Allies by the promptitude and gallantry of
Sir Robert Wilson, who, without any actual command, rallied a large body
of troops when yielding to the fire of the enemy—a brilliant exploit
which the Emperor Alexander in person rewarded by bestowing on the field
great military honours on Sir Robert.[181] He received also in the course
of a few days from every member of the Confederacy some of those tokens
of approbation, which they were afterwards base and silly enough to
recall.
The news of the victory of Leipsic reached London on the eve of the
meeting of Parliament. The Prince Regent’s Speech was, I believe, altered
to introduce an allusion to that great event. It was admirably composed.
Some exultation was natural, and it was there; but it was not insolent,
and there was more moderation towards both France and America than could
well have been expected. Neither Lord Grey nor Mr. Ponsonby came up to
the opening of Parliament. Lord Grenville had shown an inclination not
only to support the war, but to urge Ministers to continue it, with a
view of wresting further conquests from France: he was even disposed
to _lament_ the Spanish campaigns as having exhausted our means of
assisting our Allies in the North. From these topics, however, he was
dissuaded by Lord Grey, with whom he corresponded. The apprehension of
Whitbread moving for peace, so far from deterring Lord Grenville from
warlike language, manifestly furnished an additional inducement. The
temperate Speech from the Throne disarmed all persons who were disposed
to move for peace, and Mr. Whitbread defeated all projects, if there were
any, for widening the breach between him and the Grenville branch of
Opposition, by supporting Ministers cordially on questions of subsidies,
militia, and war. “Not the first time,” observed Mr. Grenville, in a tone
of disappointment, “that he has shown dexterity in avoiding an actual
rupture.”
In the Lords, the Duke of Sussex and Lord Wellesley expressed their
exultation at the events of the campaign, and their approbation of
the temper in which the Speech was conceived. Lord Grenville told
Lord Wellesley, when he sat down, that he differed with him and must
animadvert on his being so very pacific; but on my expostulating with
him and requesting him to forbear, with an acknowledgment that if he
disclaimed the pacific sentiments of Lord Wellesley I must attempt to
maintain them or leave the House, he very good-humouredly abstained from
all allusion to what Lord Wellesley had said, and confined himself to
the speech which he had originally intended to deliver. His expressions
were measured, but the general tone of his language was more warlike than
I liked or approved. The impression that it was more warlike than that
of Ministers was prevalent in the House at the time and in the country
afterwards. I felt a repugnance to any agreement with Ministers rather
than with my friends, and to avoid all such appearance I gave a silent
vote for the address.
Mr. Canning, jealous of the applause bestowed on Lord Grenville’s speech
by the lovers of war, came up some days afterwards and delivered a very
flowery harangue, in which he arrogated to the framers of former defeated
confederacies a large share of the merit of this, the only successful
one. He affected to distrust the Whigs in their support of the Ministry,
and laboured to render the contest as personal as he could against
Napoleon. He failed in his views. The Opposition, throughout the Session,
persisted in the line they had adopted at the commencement of it. They
purposely and studiously commended the temperate language of Government,
augured well of success, either in negotiation or by arms, from the
moderation of the views of Ministers, and exhorted them to act up to
their professions by abstaining from all interference with the Government
of France, and from all endeavours to impose any particular dynasty
either on a friendly or a conquered people.
One transaction only was open to any animadversion. On the reverses of
the French in Germany, a counter-revolution had taken place in Holland.
From the thoughtless impetuosity of the multitude or from some cabal
among designing politicians, the populace, not content with restoring the
Prince of Orange, bestowed on him the title of King, which his family had
never enjoyed and which his countrymen had in better times regarded with
aversion.[182] The Prince himself would have been satisfied, possibly
better satisfied, with the Stadtholderate. Even the English Ministers
disclaimed any direct participation in the measure, though some of them,
and more of their supporters at Court, could not suppress their triumph
at the suppression of the very name of Republic, which the fashionable
and servile seemed to regard like an indecent word, unfit to be mentioned
in company. The war, as Mr. Sheridan observed, which had originated in an
alarm lest all Europe should become a Republic, ended in converting every
Republic therein into a Monarchy or a dependency on some Monarchy.
The events in Holland encouraged the Prince Regent and others in their
hopes (strange ones for a Prince of the House of Brunswick) of restoring
the Bourbons in France on the principle of divine hereditary right,
ill-concealed under the specious title of legitimacy. Lord Castlereagh,
however, who left England for Holland after an adjournment of Parliament,
unusually long, at the end of December, 1813, certainly neither harboured
nor encouraged at that period any such design. Soon after his arrival
in Holland, and early in January, 1814, the great bodies of the Allied
armies passed the frontiers of France on the Spanish, Swiss, and German
sides, and were pressing forward with unequal but uninterrupted success
to the centre of the Empire. Napoleon agreed to and even offered
negotiations; and Lord Castlereagh, as English Plenipotentiary, accepted
his passports, and met the Ministers of the various Confederate Powers
and General Caulaincourt, the French negotiator, at Chatillon, with the
professed purpose, and, as I believe, with the earnest expectation of
concluding a treaty of peace with the Emperor Napoleon.
The situation of the plenipotentiaries was singular. Lord Castlereagh
and General Caulaincourt were personally sincere in their efforts for
a peace, which their respective Courts would perhaps have disclaimed,
and would certainly have regretted. Prussia and Russia and the other
Powers, some from pusillanimity, some from revenge, some from distrust
of Austria, were desirous of dethroning Napoleon; while Austria herself
would have willingly promoted that object, provided the Regency of France
could have been secured to the Empress Maria Louisa and the succession
to her son. In such counsels the Court of Vienna flattered itself that
it could, for a season at least, obtain considerable ascendancy. In the
meanwhile the Duke of Angoulême, secretly instigated by the Prince Regent
and invited perhaps through Lord Bathurst by Lord Wellington, joined the
armies of the latter General, in spite of the discouraging but at that
time correct remark of his cousin the Duke of Bourbon, who observed, “_Il
s’agit de nous nulle part._”
The hope of separating Austria from the Confederacy, by awakening her
jealousy and gratifying her well-known appetite for territory, deterred
Napoleon from adopting the frank and direct line which would have best
served his interests as well as suited his character. Hence, when, in
the course of his spirited and almost miraculous defence, his efforts
were crowned with any transient success, he more naturally than wisely
recoiled from the ignominious necessity of signing a peace with hostile
armies in the heart of his Empire, and he had recourse to disgraceful
subterfuges to elude it. But his military genius never shone brighter
than in that painful campaign. It was seconded by the valour of his army,
now comparatively small, and by the spirit [of] his officers, the younger
part of whom more especially displayed a devotion to his cause and to his
person seldom, if ever, exceeded in history. But he must have perceived
that the mass of the people, harassed by long and repeated sacrifices,
distrustful perhaps lest high thoughts would return with any favourable
change of fortune, and unanimated by those illusions and hopes of liberty
which invigorated their defence of national independence in the early
part of the Revolution, were comparatively indifferent to the contest.
They plotted, indeed, neither for the Bourbons nor for the Republic, but
they sighed for peace. They listened, too, with more complacency than
became good subjects, or even good citizens, to those arguments which his
own late conduct at Prague had rendered so plausible, _viz._, that he was
the main obstacle to the attainment of general pacification.
If such were the pardonable feelings of quiet, meek, and peaceable
spirits in the provinces, baser motives concurred with a desire for
tranquillity to engage some factions in Paris in a design of deposing the
great man whom they had contributed to elevate and to corrupt, and whom
they had for many years so abjectly served. Many, and among them Prince
Talleyrand,[183] had long since forfeited his favour. They had attempted
in the hour of his adversity to weaken his authority at home. If his
fortunes were restored, they thought they could not be forgiven. They
were, therefore, not merely ready to sacrifice Napoleon for peace, but
they were secretly desirous that the Allies should demand and obtain that
species of payment for the article.
With this view Talleyrand and, I believe, the Duke Dalberg[184] fixed
upon a M. Vitrolles, a man of bad private character, to convey a message
to the Austrians.[185] Their object was confined to this simple inquiry:
“_What conditions would be imposed on France, should France dethrone or
abandon Napoleon?_” They were not aware that the man they had selected
was, in truth, a secret agent of the Bourbons. Their very precautions
enabled him to render them his dupes. They prudently abstained from all
writing. Talleyrand furnished him with a ring known to Prince Metternich,
which would give weight to his assertion that he was the bearer of a
message from Paris. He arrived at Chatillon with some difficulty. The
Allies were at that moment much exasperated with what they termed the
subterfuges and bad faith of Napoleon. They were on the eve of breaking
off the negotiations. They were disposed to insist on his deposal,
but still irresolute and possibly divided as to what revolution to
substitute as the price of peace to France. Austria had enforced her own
predisposition in favour of a Regency and the succession of the King of
Rome, by observing that the silence and apathy of all parts of France
within the lines of the Allies proved the contempt and oblivion into
which the persons and cause of the Bourbons had fallen. That just remark
was towards the end of the conferences at Chatillon more weakened in
appearance than in reality, by the declarations in favour of the exiled
family at Bordeaux, on the entrance of the English troops, on March 12,
1814.
Though there was hardly time for all the details and intrigues of that
transaction to have reached Chatillon, the Allies were probably aware
that it was the contrivance of one or two busy merchants connected
with England by commerce and by blood, and instigated by foreigners
or emigrants rather than any spontaneous effusion of popular feeling
which led to the display of the White Cockade in that city, where the
distresses occasioned by war with England are, however, always more
felt than in any other part of France.[186] The officious loyalty of
Mr. Lynch, the head of an Irish house in Bordeaux, however agreeable
to Louis XVIII. or to the Prince Regent, would hardly have swayed the
determination of the Congress of Chatillon. But when M. Vitrolles, after
producing for his credentials the ring of Prince Talleyrand, artfully
gave to his mission the character of a communication rather than an
inquiry, and asserted that Talleyrand and others had formed their plot
and were anxiously expecting at Paris the Allied armies and a prompt
declaration in favour of the exiled family of Bourbon, the Austrians
themselves were overpowered by such evidence; and those who at all times
would have preferred the triumph of hereditary despotism over any other
form of government, naturally concluded that considerations of prudence
were no longer in the way of their favourite measure.
Such, according to the report of many well-informed persons to me,[187]
was the intrigue by which the Sovereigns were ultimately led to espouse
the cause of the Bourbons. It is certain that when the armies did
arrive at Paris the Allies were much surprised to find no conspiracy
for the Bourbons actually organised; and I believe that Talleyrand, on
the first explanation, was no less surprised at finding that his name
had been quoted to the Sovereigns as advising the restoration of the
Bourbons. He was too quicksighted not to make a virtue of necessity,
and too dexterous, when he found the restoration unavoidable, not to
father the spurious child which had been so unexpectedly sworn to him by
the prostitute who had conceived it. The Prince Regent, who had hardly
concealed his alarm lest the conferences at Chatillon should terminate in
a treaty, and who, from petty motives and despicable prejudices incident
to his nature and his station, had always panted for the restoration
of the Bourbons, represented and probably thought this accidental
consummation of his wishes the result of his personal sagacity and great
exertions in their cause. When this was related to Mr. Sheridan, and it
was added that the Prince Regent assumed the merit of the campaigns and
the termination of them in the restoration of Louis XVIII., he drily
remarked, “No, surely! I thought it was the abundant harvest on which he
chiefly plumed himself.”
The facility with which the vanity of His Royal Highness often admitted
and seemed to believe that great actions to which he could not have
contributed originated with him, was on many occasions ludicrous.
He spoke of battles, at which it was notorious he could not have
been present, in the direct terms of an eye witness; and he gravely
remonstrated with Mr. Westmacott[188] for omitting him in the sketch of a
_bas-relief_ which represented the battle of Waterloo. It must, however,
be acknowledged that he might more plausibly attribute the restoration
of the Bourbons in 1814 to his personal exertions than at first sight
appears, for there is reason to suspect that he not only sent the Duke
of Angoulême to Bordeaux, but that he intrigued at home and abroad to
convert his own Ministers and Foreign Powers to the persuasion of the
propriety and even necessity of that measure. In the military events he
had, indeed, no share, as he never quitted England and never witnessed an
action. They were too various and extensive for any one not conversant in
such matters even to recount very intelligibly, but they are fortunately
too well known to require a place in such notes as I have undertaken to
write.
Of the Allies, the Prussians showed most zeal and enterprise; the
Russians most method and constancy; and the Austrians least military
skill or prowess. It was remarkable that the armies of those three Powers
defeated the first General of his age at Leipsic, pursued him into the
heart of his populous Empire, and finally wrested from him his capital
and his crown, without establishing one military reputation or furnishing
history with one name which, either in war or politics, will swell the
catalogue of great men. Schwarzenberg was a mere cypher; Blucher at
best a dashing huzzar; and among the Russians there was not a single man
prominent enough to require either notice or character. Never were such
vast objects obtained by more insignificant personages. It is gratifying
to an Englishman to observe that these remarks do not apply to Lord
Wellington. He was a great man in the field, and a more considerable
one in a Cabinet than his sorry exhibitions in the Senate led the
Parliamentary public to suppose.
When he resumed offensive operations in the Peninsula he had to contend
with Soult, the Duke of Dalmatia, one of the ablest of the captains
of Napoleon. He baffled all his manœuvres, and gained more than one
pitched battle over his troops; and then closed his brilliant campaign
by a hard-fought action in which he was successful, on April 10, near
Toulouse, so many days after the entrance of the Allies into Paris, the
decree of the Senate, and even the abdication of Napoleon, that either
great neglect had occurred in conveying intelligence to the French
generals, or Marshal Soult is answerable for an unnecessary effusion of
blood,[189] like that imputed to William III. at St. Denis, near Mons, in
1678.
Of the transactions immediately connected with the abdication of
Napoleon at Fontainebleau and the counter-revolution at Paris, it would
be superfluous to speak more.[190] Louis, long represented as dying,
revived with the thoughts of reigning. He came to Grillon’s Hotel,
Albemarle Street.[191] London was crowded with equipages and attendants
covered with that ancient badge of pure hereditary despotism, the white
cockade, which, whether as the symbol of the Stuarts or of the Bourbons,
would have been construed into an overt act of treason at almost any
other period since the acknowledgment of the Parliamentary title of the
House of Brunswick. The Prince Regent with his own hand bestowed the
Garter on Louis. Much emotion was affected on the occasion; but the two
actors were too unwieldy, too old, and above all too well known, to
excite any great interest in that flat and insipid exhibition.