From an engraving, after the picture by Sir Thomas Lawrence.PRINCE METTERNICH.
From an engraving, after the picture by Sir Thomas Lawrence.
PRINCE METTERNICH.
The Tsar had already granted him the interview he had asked on arriving at Vienna. In answer to Alexander’s inquiry as to the state of France he gave a very cheerful (and totally untrue) account. He had just received pitiable reports from Fouché and D’Hauterive. When the Tsar spoke of needs or interests deciding what was to be done in Europe, Talleyrand reminded him that right came before interest. “The interests of Europe constitute right,” said the Tsar. Talleyrand raised his head and dropped his arms, ejaculating: “Poor Europe!” When he remonstrated with Alexander for using the word “Allies,” the Emperor explained it away as being due to force of habit. A few days afterwards he saw Metternich, and humorously alluded to “the Allies.” “There are none now,” said Metternich. When Metternich tried to smile at his affectation of disinterestedness, Talleyrand offered to sign a note to the effect that France wanted nothing and would not accept anything from the Congress. Metternich mentioned Naples, and Talleyrand at once said it was a question of principle.
The Congress was now a week overdue, and the irritated ministers saw all their preparations for it thwarted. The Prussian party had been strengthened by their minister from London, one of the “eagles of their diplomacy,” but they could make no headway. On October 8th there was another conference. Talleyrand delivered to Castlereagh another note on the Congress, and wanted it stated that it would be held “in conformity with the principles of public right.” Hardenberg jumped up, and, with his fists clenched on the table, snapped out that “that went without saying.” “It will be all the easier to insert it,” replied Talleyrand. Baron Humboldt then took up the quarrel, and wanted to know “what they had to do with public right.” “It is in virtue of public right that you are here,” retorted Talleyrand quietly. The phrase did eventually appear in the Declaration. In the middle of the Conference Castlereagh drew Talleyrand aside, and asked him if he would be “easier” if they gave him his point. “What will you do about Naples if I promise?” immediately asked the moralist. Castlereagh promised his assistance.
Thus the opening stages of the diplomatic campaignwent entirely in Talleyrand’s favour. He had advised the King to publish his instructions in the Parisian press, and all Vienna now read the edifying principles on which the French legation proceeded. Russia and Prussia were being gradually forced into a minority, and their covetous designs on Poland and Saxony were being cleverly represented as the real obstacles to progress. Their mortification was profound. Neither social coldness nor the refusal of information disturbed Talleyrand’s equanimity. The one design was defeated by the attractiveness of his establishment, the other was a stratagem he had too often encountered. Gagern and Castlereagh alone used to visit the Hotel Kaunitz in the first week or two, but the amiable countess soon saw her dinners well attended. Early in December the Austrian papers described her as the first lady in the quadrille at a ball of the utmost brilliance and importance. And Talleyrand’s tongue counted for something in the cosmopolitan society at Vienna. “His biting sarcasm ranged all the thinkers and all the laughers on his side,” said Metternich. His quips on the quaint manners of the Tsar, the heavy sullenness of the Prussians, the political innocence of the English, and the “niaiseries” of Metternich, circulated at every ball and dinner.
The opening of November saw little advance in the negotiations. Talleyrand fought resolutely for the preservation of Saxony, against the cession of Poland to Russia, and for the restoration of Naples to the Bourbons. He admitted that Prussia should be indemnified,but “the sacred principle of legitimacy” forbade the sacrifice of Saxony to them. When the Prussians retorted that they would be satisfied in conscience if the Powers assigned it to them, he replied that the Powers could not give what did not belong to them. When Russia tried to seize his weapon of “legitimacy” for the defence of their design to re-establish Poland (under the Russian crown), he blandly assented,ifthey would re-erect the whole of Poland and make it completely independent. And whenever a minister approached him with a quiet suggestion of “making a bargain,” he drew himself up with haughty moral dignity. He was determined to get both Saxony and Naples. Throughout October he was writing that the English ruled the Congress, and they had “no principles.” They were ready to give Saxony to Prussia—Castlereagh complaining bitterly of the “treachery” of its king—and generally to strengthen Prussia and Austria against France; but they joined Talleyrand and Austria in regard to Poland, and were ready to be accommodating as regarded Naples.
On November 5th Metternich invited Talleyrand to meet himself and Castlereagh. They wanted his confidence and assistance to make some progress. The French Minister threw up his arms. How could he help them when he knew nothing that they did not know, whereas they were perpetually withholding their deliberations from him? Let them open the Congress. He was told that the Prussians—Castlereagh told himprivately how they dreaded him—would not hear of it until the Powers were agreed. On the same day the King of Prussia had a private interview with the Tsar, and they decided to support each other. Prussia was to have Saxony, and Russia to set up a kingdom of Poland. Talleyrand met the agreement by impressing its inacceptable features on Austria and England, and drawing closer to them. By the insertion of articles in the Parisian papers and the publication of pamphlets he was bringing public opinion to his view as regarded Saxony. The Austrian generals were openly in favour of it, and there was a strong feeling for it in England. By the beginning of December Metternich sent Talleyrand a copy of a letter in which he protested to Prussia against the annexation of Saxony, and “rejoiced to find himself in line with the French Cabinet on an object so worthy of defence.” The Tsar was losing ground daily. In spite of his excessive amiability—he danced or took tea with every lady in Vienna—his ambition was alarming people. The Prussian ambassadors were seen nowhere. They were shedding fruitless perspiration in their cabinets. By the end of November Talleyrand reported to Louis that France was now not only not excluded from the settlement of questions that interested her, but was sharing in the redistribution of Italy, Switzerland, and Germany. Austria and England now needed her. The perspicacious Louis solemnly accepted Talleyrand’s assurance that it was his (the King’s) lofty enunciation of principles which had changed the atmosphere ofVienna. His brief letters are full of unconscious humour.
By the middle of December Talleyrand heard that Austria, Russia, and Prussia had come to an agreement about Poland. The Tsar relinquished his larger pretensions, granted parts of Poland to Prussia and Austria, and was then allowed to give the remainder a constitution. Prussia appealed to Austria to help her to get her much laboured compensation, and Metternich offered her part of Poland and only a fifth part of Saxony. This note was delivered to Talleyrand, and at once inspired him with a fresh flow of that “noble phraseology” which he had promised Mme. de Staël to employ at Vienna. He ceased to speak of Poland, and concentrated on Saxony. The King of Saxony must be invited to say what part of his territory he would surrender (it was now clear the whole could not be preserved). Civilised nations know no such process as confiscation. Castlereagh was now directed to come to an understanding with Talleyrand. The French Minister responded with a proposal that England, France, and Austria should sign a convention to protect Saxony, and in the early days of January a secret treaty between the three was signed. Military preparations were quietly made, and it transpired in Vienna that they had urged the Turks to make a diversion against Russia in case of war. A number of the secondary Powers joined them.
For a time the situation seemed dangerous, and the exasperation of Prussia was great. But the defensivecharacter of the new alliance was discreetly emphasised, fresh concessions of territory were made to Prussia, and the Tsar urged a peaceful and speedy settlement. Talleyrand wrote in glowing language to France, and he was assured from the capital that his prestige had risen considerably. He made a last adroit use of his indirect diplomatic machinery before the close of the Congress. The anniversary of the execution of Louis XVI occurred on January 21st, and arrangements were made for an impressive ceremony in the cathedral at Vienna, at which few of the rulers and statesmen could decline the invitation to assist. Every detail of it was directed to further Talleyrand’s aims. The sermon delivered had been prepared by the Count de Noailles—Louis said that nothing so fine had been heard at Paris—and Talleyrand induced Gentz to write a special account of the ceremony in the ViennaBeobachter. A huge crowd of princes and politicians dined that night at the Hotel Kaunitz. Vienna was subtly impregnated with sympathy.
The last stages of the Congress passed more swiftly and smoothly. Prussia had to withdraw her protest against the admission of Talleyrand to the commission on territorial redistribution, so that the great aim of his policy as regarded procedure was fully attained. That he should secure the literal acceptance of his programme in the redistribution itself was not to be expected, but the final arrangement was widely different from what the other Powers had intended. The kingdom of Saxonywas preserved, though greatly reduced. On the other hand Prussia obtained the Rhine districts, which Talleyrand had tried to prevent her from getting on the ground that she was “a quarrelsome neighbour.” The other Powers were not unwilling to see her mount guard against France on the Rhine. The smaller German kingdoms were left in existence. Some of them had bespoken Talleyrand’s interest. Austria obtained Venice in spite of him, but he eventually got his way as regarded Naples. Wellington (who replaced Castlereagh in February) supported the French demand for the expulsion of Murat, Russia was driven to the same conclusion in the design of weakening Austria, and Murat finally played into their hands by declaring for Napoleon. Thus the two chief details of his programme, the maintenance of a kingdom of Saxony and the restoration of Naples to the Bourbons, were secured. His dignified refusal to compromise had the full empirical justification which he had expected. In other matters he was less rigid in his cult of “principle.” He raised no protest to Bernadotte retaining Sweden, and maintained the act of mediation in Switzerland.
The Congress of Vienna is the greatest of Talleyrand’s diplomatic achievements, and I have endeavoured to give an outline of his methods of action there. The results are familiar in general history. Apart from the distinguished talent that he exhibited, and that is easily appreciated, it only remains to say a word about his motives. It is needless to point out that his inexorableinsistence on principle was a carefully calculated expedient. It would be misleading to recall here his saying that “the best principle is to have none at all.” He had principles; but they were ultimate principles. Peace, justice, France and humanity were ideals at which he never scoffed. There his idealism ended. It was one of the chief grounds of the exasperation of his opponents that they knew how little he really cared about principles of “legitimacy” and the like. His action was inspired and controlled by a variety of motives—the interest of France, the cause of European peace, the family interests of Louis XVIII, some sense of chivalry for the smaller States, the picturesqueness and humour of posing as the champion of virtue amongst the partitioning Powers, and the expectation of gratitude from such men as the King of Saxony. He is said to have received two, and even three, million francs from Saxony. As usual, the statement is quite unauthoritative, and the rumours are conflicting. The Congress of Vienna probably brought him a very large sum. I have pointed out before that there was no pretence of stealth about his receiving money, though the sums mentioned by various writers seem generally to be guesses. Not a single instance is alleged in which he was “bought.” Presents of money changed hands very freely at Vienna. As it had been Talleyrand’s deliberate policy to stand between the larger Powers and the smaller—to prevent, as far as possible, the growth of the former by the absorption of the latter—he would be in the end an exceptional recipient of gratitude.55He would have smiled at the notion that this gratitude should only have been embodied in diamonds or china, especially if it is true that at that very moment his splendid library was being dispatched to Sotheby’s.
Before the Tsar left Vienna Talleyrand was compelled to impair still more their earlier friendship. Alexander had shown much coolness in regard to him in September and October. To disappointment in the development in France was added the consciousness that Talleyrand was strenuously opposing his Polish plans. As time wore on, and Talleyrand’s campaign succeeded, there was a change. By the end of November Alexander was looking out everywhere for Talleyrand, who avoided him. The settlement of the Polish question left them tolerably friendly. Then came an incident which Talleyrand must have faced with great reluctance. He had earlier favoured the idea of a marriage between the Archduchess Anna and the Duc de Berry. He now felt that a Franco-Russian alliance was undesirable, and wrote to dissuade Louis XVIII from entertaining the project. The Tsar approached him directly on the matter at Vienna, and he had to suggest difficulties and have recourse to the verytransparent device of postponing the subject. The Tsar had not forgotten how Talleyrand and he had secretly agreed at Erfurt to deceive Napoleon in regard to the same archduchess. It considerably widened the breach between them.
Had Talleyrand foreseen the events of the coming March he might have used more diplomacy. In the evening of March 6th the various ministers were urgently summoned by Metternich. Talleyrand was the first to arrive and to hear that Napoleon had sailed from Elba. There was excitement enough, but it is a great exaggeration to speak of dismay. The news had the good effect of quickening the pace at Vienna, and there was not a moment’s hesitation on the part of the Powers as to the steps to be taken. Napoleon was a common enemy, a common outlaw. Talleyrand did not believe at first that he would land in France, but he could hardly have been unprepared for the account of his victorious advance on Paris. For weeks he had been receiving letters on the mutinous condition of the army, the criminal expenditure on gold-laced household troops, the incessant attacks on the holders of nationalised property, and the other abuses and follies of the returned party. Within a fortnight Napoleon was at Paris, and the pompous and misguided Louis was flying towards Belgium. The Powers became “allies” once more, and set their forces in motion to arrest “the bandit.”
Lytton, who has done so much to clear the character of Talleyrand from calumny, is here betrayed into anunfortunate error. He says that Talleyrand recollected that the first duty of a diplomatist after a congress is to see to his liver, and departed for Carlsbad. Sainte Beuve and others have eagerly reproduced this picture of the wily politician retiring into inactivity on Napoleon’s reappearance, and waiting to see which side would win in the struggle. The picture is totally false. The Congress was not completed—its act was not signed—until June 9th. Talleyrand left Vienna the very next day for Belgium, and was in Brussels on June 21st. Further, we have the correspondence he wrote to Louis from Vienna, and from this it is clear, not only that he remained at Vienna, but that he rendered most important and loyal service to Louis throughout the Hundred Days. There is never more than an interval of a few days between his letters, and they are all dated from Vienna. It is true that Von Gagern speaks of him as asking an asylum in Wiesbaden, but there is no room whatever to admit an absence from duty at any time of more than a day or two. Finally, we know that he formally rejected the advances made by Napoleon.
In the first few days he clearly felt no serious concern about the movements of Napoleon. The event might be turned to good account, he observed. He went at once with Metternich and Wellington to see the King of Saxony at Pressburg on behalf of the Congress. It was left to Talleyrand chiefly to persuade the king that he must submit, and the mission was quickly discharged. He found an old friend of his, theCountess de Brionne, dying at Pressburg, and interrupts his account of the Congress to describe his touching farewell. He could weep like a woman on such occasions. He was back in Vienna on March 13th, and signed on behalf of France the manifesto of the Powers against Napoleon. It is impossible that he should have had any serious doubt about the final issue of Napoleon’s raid. He heard Alexander offer the whole resources of his country, and saw the absolute unanimity and resolution of Europe. The Treaty of Chaumont was revived, and every State in Europe was invited to join the grand coalition. Talleyrand secured that the French king should now be included in the allied forces against Napoleon.
Unfortunately, four days afterwards came the news that the King had crossed the frontier with a slender regiment of followers. Talleyrand had urged that he should remain in one of the fortresses in the north of France. He had written to the King on April 23rd to tell him of the firm attitude of the Powers against Napoleon, but had added, “with infinite regret,” that they were less definite in their attitude towards Louis. This was really not the case at that time, but it seemed a good opportunity to bring the King to reason. He followed up his point with a strong plea for reform and Liberalism, and said he would join the King as soon as the interests of France permitted him to leave Vienna. A few days later he wrote that there had been an intrigue to prevent the signature of the Act of theCongress, and he must remain to defeat it. Then came the very unwelcome news that Louis had fled from the country. Talleyrand wrote to express his regret, and hoped that the Court had brought away from Paris all his letters from Vienna. Amongst them was a copy of the secret treaty with Austria and England against Russia and Prussia. Napoleon would not fail to make use of this. Louis’s courtiers had brought away the crown jewels and left the documents behind.
The Act of the Congress was not signed until June 9th, and Talleyrand resisted all entreaties to come to Belgium until this was done. Chateaubriand wrote him that it was “absolutely necessary” for him to come. Talleyrand’s decision to remain at or near Vienna until the fruits of his diplomacy were fully secured is not open to criticism or misinterpretation. There was a real danger in the postponement and re-opening of the Congress. It is quite true that he was approached by an emissary of Napoleon during April. Montrond, an old friend of Talleyrand’s, came to Vienna to ascertain the attitude of the Powers and make overtures to Talleyrand. Napoleon, who had at first proscribed him, was now anxious to secure him. Michaud declares, with the customary absolute lack of authority, that Talleyrand offered to negotiate for him the return of the Empress and her son. Napoleon himself admits that one of the objects of Montrond was to “win Talleyrand,” and claims that “all his objects were achieved.” The claim is frivolous. We have not avery distinct picture of Talleyrand’s occupation during April and May, but there is no ground whatever for doubting the truth of his statement that he refused to treat with Montrond. At the most we may merely smile at his explanation that it would have “prostituted his politics.” He saw that Europe was determined to remove Napoleon. No doubt he had a momentary anxiety when he learned that Napoleon had given the Russians a copy of his secret treaty of January 3rd, but he laughed it off to Nesselrode, and soon learned that Alexander was unmoved by it. Once that danger was over, the alliance against Napoleon was irresistible.
On the other hand there was an increasing disinclination among the Allies to pledge themselves to support Louis, and other alternatives were freely discussed. We may very well admit that Talleyrand kept an open mind on these, and would much rather be in Austria than Belgium. But he acted loyally on behalf of the King. It was he who induced the reluctant Allies to send representatives to the Court at Ghent. The most serious alternative to Louis was the Duke of Orléans, who was at London, and in regard to whom Talleyrand seems to have been entirely passive. It is not unlikely that, apart from his real concern to see the Act of the Congress signed, he wanted to see the ultra faction entirely discredited at Ghent, and a more definite leaning to his own liberal policy before proceeding there. He knew how things were going on at Ghent. The distracted King was wavering between the courtiers,who threw the whole blame of the revolution on the Radicals, and the Liberal statesmen who returned it to the shoulders of the returned emigrants. The Allies were throwing their weight in the latter side of the scale, and were discussing the advisability of superseding Louis. The Tsar openly favoured the Duke of Orléans. Louis was forced to press for the return of Talleyrand, and the signing of the act of the Congress on June 9th left him no reason for delay in Vienna. He departed on the following day, and arrived at Brussels on the 21st.
Waterloo had been fought and won. Napoleon was now a dead force, but Louis continued to be a very equivocal one. Acting on the unfortunate advice of Wellington, the King was re-entering France in the train of the allied armies. Talleyrand had urged the more politic course of entering France independently, and setting up the government quite apart from their influence. He concluded that the King was again swayed by his incompetent followers, and declined to see him. He had proceeded to Mons, where the King had halted, but angrily rejected the advice of the more moderate ministers to have an interview. In the night, however, he was awakened with the intelligence that Louis was on the point of leaving Mons, and he hurried across. Witnesses who scanned Talleyrand’s countenance after the interview read contradictory expressions into it. Chateaubriand says he was “mad with rage”; Beugnot, a less sentimental observer, says that he was in one of his best moods. Talleyrand probably played the Sphinx,but we know from him that he “made no impression” on the King, although he spoke very plainly to him of the divine right of kings and the human rights of peoples.
He had, apparently, some presentiment of the evil disposition of the King, and had prepared a memorandum to be read at leisure. In this “Report” he gave his official account of his work at Vienna, and added a very straight talk on the situation in France. While the principle of legitimacy was triumphing in Vienna, he said, it was being enfeebled in France itself. He summarises the complaints of constitutionalist people, putting them in the mouth of observers at Vienna. “The source of a power must not be confused with its exercise.” “When religious sentiments were profoundly graven on the hearts and were all-powerful in the minds of the people, men might believe that the power of the sovereign was an emanation of the Divinity. To-day it is the general opinion—and it is useless to seek to enfeeble it—that governments exist solely for the people.” Neglect of these principles had prepared the way for Napoleon. His memoir made no more impression than his conversation.
The King would not be persuaded to follow Talleyrand’s plan of entry into France, and proceeded to Cambrai. Talleyrand ended by asking permission to take the waters at Carlsbad, and the King politely trusted they would do him good. It is useless to seek to discover any plan in Talleyrand’s thoughts on theday after the King left him at Mons. There was probably none. The situation was too changeful and precarious for such designs. He assisted at the dinner given by the Mayor of Mons, and covered his chagrin with more than customary charm and brilliance of conversation. Metternich wrote to confirm him in his attitude; but Wellington was determined to have in France “one man they could trust,” and immediately begged him to rejoin the King. He replied in a long letter to Wellington, accepting his advice and enlarging on the folly of the King in putting himself in the hands of the extreme Royalists. There was still, he said, no guarantee whatever of constitutional procedure, and the whole work of the Allies might again be frustrated. But he joined Louis “amongst the baggage of the English army” at Cambrai, and resumed the struggle with evil influences. Wellington now occupied the predominant position that Alexander had held in the Restoration of 1814. Talleyrand speaks of him at the time with no great respect, but they later formed an intimate friendship.
When Talleyrand arrived at Cambrai a Council was called by the King. A most tactless proclamation had been issued by the Court party, and Talleyrand now submitted a second one to the Council. It contained such phrases as: “My Government may have made mistakes; possibly it has.” The King’s brother objected that such an admission “lowered royalty” and could not be made. When the document went on to describethe King as “carried away by his affections,” Monsieur warmly requested to know if that was a reference to himself. “Yes, it is,” said Talleyrand, “since Monsieur has placed the discussion on that ground. Monsieur has done a great deal of harm.” The Duc de Berry now heatedly interposed that only the presence of the King prevented him from resenting the use of such language to his father. Louis stopped the quarrel, and said that the proclamation would be altered. The substance of it was adopted, however, and it was issued, signed by the King and by Talleyrand.
They entered Paris on July 8th, and another phase of Talleyrand’s difficulties began. Whether the Allies would have been more moderate, or less secure in their ground, if Louis had followed his advice and entered France independently of them, is not quite so clear as he would have us think. In any case the situation was very different from what it had been in 1814. Prussia was more determined than ever to humble France. The Tsar was less disposed than ever to curb Blücher, and to protect Louis. Wellington was the only one who was thoroughly in favour of the Restoration; and he was too little acquainted with French affairs and too eager to take independent action to co-operate with Talleyrand’s plans. After two months of exasperating struggle Talleyrand was driven into retirement.
THE “FOREIGNERS OF THE INTERIOR”
On July 9th, the day after the re-entering of Paris, Talleyrand was appointed Foreign Minister and President of the Council. His difficulties began with the new Ministry. He had in June drawn up a list of ministers, and had carefully excluded Fouché and included two men with a view to conciliating the Tsar. But Fouché was intrigueing most assiduously for a place in the Ministry. The contrast between the two men is instructive. Both have the remarkable history of taking service under the successive governments of the country; both were experts of the highest ability in their respective departments. Yet while later writers have expended a vast amount of moral indignation over the “knight of the order of the weathercock” (as they called Talleyrand) there has been comparatively little concern about Fouché. While Talleyrand has been at times buried beneath a mass of such epithets as corruption, treachery, venality, and unscrupulousness, Fouché has been passed by with a smile at his knavery. Nevertheless, while Talleyrand takes his place with some dignity in the eyes of contemporary statesmen in the successive administrations, Fouché has to resort to the most unblushing jobbery, and is only admitted under theheavy pressure of practical exigencies. Nothing could better illustrate the effort and prejudice that have been thrown into the hostile interpretation of Talleyrand’s career.
Fouché had been at work since April, when, while serving under Napoleon, he had offered the King to get rid of him on condition of receiving the Ministry of Police. After Waterloo he flew from place to place, and statesman to statesman, offering to surrender Napoleon, obtain the capitulation of Paris—anything in order to get his coveted place in the Ministry. He persuaded Monsieur that he was necessary for crushing the remainder of the rebellion, and at last imposed that view on Wellington. Talleyrand resisted the tendency to purchase his useful qualities, but was overruled and had to admit him as a colleague. He is often blamed for not resigning at once. No doubt he tested that suggestion by his usual question: “What good would it do?” It is difficult to see any real ground for censuring him. He strongly blames Wellington for admitting Fouché, and suggests that he was too eager “to be the first to enter Paris.” Chateaubriand was in attendance on the King at St. Denis, and saw Talleyrand come from his chamber leaning on Fouché—“vice leaning on the arm of crime,” he bitterly says. It was Chateaubriand above all who had implored Talleyrand to come from Vienna to the assistance of the King.
Talleyrand was further disappointed in forming the new Ministry by being unable to include the twofriends of the Tsar. Pozzo di Borgo preferred to remain in the service of Russia. The Duc de Richelieu replied that he had been twenty years out of France, and was quite incompetent to take a responsible position in the conduct of the affairs of the country. Talleyrand seems to have known that the Tsar was pressing for Richelieu to replace himself, and he sent a rather sarcastic reply. When Richelieu did actually replace him at the head of the Ministry two months afterwards, he took the mild revenge of inserting a copy of his letter (pleading incompetence for a minor position) in his memoirs, and issuing amoton the subject. Someone asked him if he really thought Richelieu capable of taking the head of French affairs. “Of course;” he said, “no one in France knows so much about the Crimea as he does.”
The next step was to nominate the prefects of departments. The most competent men were Napoleonists, and could not be reinstated. On the other hand the Court party were pressing upon the King a host of totally incompetent men on the plea that they were faithful Royalists. To have been in Ghent became the first qualification for office. When one man urged his claim on Talleyrand in this way he asked: “Are you sure youwentto Ghent, and have not merely returned from there.” The man was naturally puzzled. “Because, you see,” Talleyrand continued, “there were only seven or eight hundred of us there, and to my knowledge seventy or eighty thousand havecomefrom there.” Buthe had to witness the appointment of hundreds of these incapable Royalists, while the state of the provinces demanded firm and competent administrators. Between the excesses of the allied troops and the conflicts of Royalists and Bonapartists there were sanguinary disturbances. One advantage was gained indirectly. Fouché had to draw up a report on the troubles for the King, and he published this before submitting it to his colleagues. He pretended it had been stolen from him, but Talleyrand demanded his expulsion from the Ministry, and the King assented (September 19th). The mythologists give this as the last dialogue of the two ministers. “So you are dismissing me, you scoundrel.” “Yes, you imbecile.”
Meantime there were a score of other distractions. The conduct of the allied troops was so exasperating and oppressive that the King directed him to make a formal protest. The Allies demanded guarantees of peace, and a long and irritating correspondence ensued. On the other hand the ultras were making every effort to restore the vicious features of the old regime, in absolute blindness to the history of the Hundred Days; or, indeed, on the plea that greater “firmness” in 1814 would have prevented Napoleon’s raid. Talleyrand was sorely tried. “With infinite trouble,” he says, he succeeded in maintaining a certain degree of liberty for the Press. He had then to combat the demand for the punishment of those who had sided with Napoleon. He pleaded that it was enough to depose the senators whohad offended, but a list of a hundred names for proscription had been prepared by the obsequious Fouché. After a struggle of several days Talleyrand got the list reduced to fifty-seven names. He also warned a large number of those who were to be brought to trial, and gave passports and money freely so that they might leave the country. He dispensed 459,000 francs in this way. Moreover, when the King went on to create the new peers, he prevailed on him to include a few of the names of those who had joined Napoleon.
Nor were Talleyrand’s difficulties with the Allies themselves less considerable. Immediately after the entry into Paris Blücher had promised himself the pleasure of blowing up the Pont Jena, a fine new bridge over the river. His whole conduct was vindictive. He had quartered his troops in the Place de Carrousel, with the guns pointing on the gates of the Tuileries. He had already mined two arches of the bridge when the King heard, and wrote to Talleyrand that if the threat were carried out he would have himself taken to the bridge and blown up with it. Talleyrand at once dispatched Beugnot to “use the strongest language at his command” to Blücher. Beugnot wanted to quote the King’s letter, but Talleyrand said the Prussians “would not believe we are so heroic as that.” Blücher was quickly discovered at his favourite gaming-room (No. 113, Palais Royal), and was pacified with a promise that the name of the bridge would be changed.
Talleyrand was less successful in his resistance to the Allies when they claimed the statues and pictures and other works of art that had been brought to Paris. On September 11th Castlereagh wrote him that the Pope, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, the King of the Netherlands, King of Prussia, and others demanded the return of their treasures, and the Allies had decided to comply. Talleyrand at once protested in the sacred name of morality against such a spoliation of the Parisian museums. At least, he concluded, this should have been done in 1814 or not at all. Wellington now took up the argument, and cut him short “with the brutality of a soldier.” The phrase is scarcely too strong. The Duke’s letter terminated: “The sovereigns were unable to wrong their subjects in order to satisfy the pride of the French army and nation, who must be made to feel that, in spite of a few temporary and partial advantages in various States, the day of restitution had come, and the allied monarchs could not neglect this opportunity of giving the French a great lesson in morality!” Talleyrand observes in the memoirs that no doubt Wellington had equally espoused the cause of morality when he had been on service in India.
And through all these troubles and distractions there was the grave anxiety about the new terms to be offered to France by the Allies. Pasquier would have us believe that during these busy months Talleyrand was peculiarly indolent, and that his whole energy was absorbed in fretting over a certain lady who seemedinclined to desert him.56But the whole of Pasquier’s narrative at this period is tinged with bitterness against Talleyrand, and must not lightly be followed. He is too obviously trying to justify the change from Talleyrand to his friend Richelieu. However much he may have betrayed his concern at the obstinate absence from Paris of his friend, it is, on the face of it, absurd to say that he could think of nothing else. We have seen that he had plenty to do, and did it. If it is true that there was a notable lack of the intense energy he usually displayed at critical periods (as Casimir Périer says), it is surely possible to trace this to the profound weariness and disgust that the whole situation would inspire. Feebly supported by the King, hated and maligned by the courtiers, surrounded by the intrigues of the Richelieus and Pasquiers and Fouchés, confronted with the hostility of Prussia and Russia and annoyed by the blunders of Wellington, conscious of the wretched state of the country and of the determination of the Allies to undo their generosity of 1814 and avenge Vienna, convinced that he himself would soon be cast aside as a worn-out tool, he had cause enough for weariness.
During the whole of August and the early part of September the Allies had succeeded in wrapping their deliberations in a secrecy which he could not penetrate.About the middle of September he learned their terms, and they were presented a few days later in “a sort of ultimatum.” They themselves summarised their intentions pointedly enough in the clause: “Two-thirds of the territory added to the France of former days by the Treaty of Paris will now be detached from it.” In addition, France was to pay an indemnity of 600,000,000 francs, provide 200,000,000 to build fortresses against herself in the provinces adjoining her frontiers, and maintain a foreign army of 150,000 men along her frontiers for seven years as a guarantee of peace. Prussia had triumphed. The English Ministers had wished to moderate the terms, but even they were shaken when it was pointed out that the Netherlands must be strengthened against France. Talleyrand, who rightly or wrongly believed that the whole of these harsh proceedings of the Allies would have been prevented if Louis had followed his advice at Mons, made a last effort to resist. The Council agreed with him in rejecting the terms, and he wrote a long and very able statement of his objections. He fell back on the bases of his policy as laid at Vienna. Conquest did not, in modern life, constitute a moral right to confiscation; moreover, Louis had been expressly admitted as one of the Allies against Napoleon. France was prepared to make sacrifices in return for the sacrifices of the other Powers, but he would not continue the negotiations if these exorbitant demands were pressed.
Castlereagh, who is severely censured by Lytton for joining in these harsh claims, replied that the Allies madeno pretence whatever to a right given by conquest. The whole base of their claims was the right to indemnity and to a territorial settlement that gave Europe some guarantee of stability. Some of the foreign representatives were pressing for a special notice of the defiant conclusion of Talleyrand’s letter, but he decided to resign. Louis was prepared to yield; he had no army with which to threaten resistance, and it was clear that Talleyrand’s diplomatic talent would now avail him nothing. Talleyrand explains that his position was weakened by the fact that some of the King’s entourage were all along in favour of a cession of territory, and that during the Hundred Days the Chamber of Representatives had already made the offer. He was, therefore, unable to press his last plea that the country would not endure such terms. He resigned his post on September 23rd, rather than sign the treaty. Metternich, Castlereagh and Stewart begged him to continue to be “a statesman of Europe,” and Pasquier admits that almost all the Foreign Ministers deeply regretted his retirement, though he confesses that he himself did not share that feeling. The Tsar was pleased. His favourite, the Duc de Richelieu, was substituted for Talleyrand. Louis accepted his resignation with a mingled feeling of apprehension and relief. “I thank you for your zeal,” he said to Talleyrand before the whole Cabinet; “you are without reproach, and nothing prevents you from living peacefully at Paris.” Talleyrand replied: “I have had the pleasure of rendering to the King servicesenough to believe that they have not been forgotten. I am unable to see how anything could force me to leave Paris. I shall stay here; and I shall be happy to learn that the King will not be induced to follow a line that may compromise his dynasty and France.”
Napoleon had not been very wide of the mark when he said in 1814 that the Bourbons would avenge him by throwing over Talleyrand within six months. It did not, however, require any great penetration to foresee such an issue. The personality of the King and of his entourage furnished solid ground for prophecy. The curious evolution of the Tsar into a friend of Louis and enemy of Talleyrand, and his resumption of a great influence on French affairs, made further for estrangement; and when the first elections under the Restoration gave the power to the ultra-royalist faction in the country, the situation was complete. Talleyrand retired to write his impressions of men and events. Louis provided for him the sinecure of High Chamberlain at 100,000 francs a year, and a further pension of 16,000 francs. He did not foresee that Talleyrand would take a conscientious view of his new duties, and would haunt his chair, a silent, smiling Mephistopheles, for years to come.
Talleyrand probably felt that the King would be forced to recall him in time. For the moment he betook himself to the writing of the famous memoirs which were to sustain the legend of his inscrutability until the close of the nineteenth century. It is probable that hehad written the material for the first volume (up to 1809) already. In this he gives a prosaic and brief account of his first fifty years, with lively and artistic pictures of some of his great fellow actors (especially the Duc d’Orléans), and with a very discreet and unboastful account of his share in the Revolution. The second volume and half of the third carry the story up to the middle of 1814. The rest of the work consists almost entirely of his correspondence from Vienna, during the second Restoration, and from London under Louis Philippe; the letters being scantily threaded on a brief and common-place narrative. The close of the narrative at his retirement from the Ministry is dated “Valençay, 1816.” The rest was compiled in the last three years of his life. He took stringent precautions that they should not be published until thirty years after his death, and not even then if those to whom they were entrusted thought fit to postpone the publication. It was, in fact, decided in 1868 to refrain from issuing them for another generation, and they only appeared in 1891. From one end of Europe to the other there was an expression of profound disappointment when they appeared. Such stringent measures had promised stirring revelations, but the volumes contained absolutely no sensational matter and very little that was new to historians.
There is very little of the “apologia” in the memoirs, and not much of the impulse that urged most of his contemporaries to cover reams of paper withtheir contradictory versions of history. He is usually content to let documents tell the story. But, though Talleyrand ignores most of the charges that were made against him, he naturally reviews history in a light that sets his own career in harmony. Lady Blennerhassett surmises that his chief object when he wrote in 1816 was to conciliate Louis XVIII, and prepare the way for a return to power. Lord Acton has expressed the same opinion. It is based on the dexterous presentation of the way in which he was forced into the Revolution, the brevity with which he dismisses the more offensive parts of his share in it, his explanation of Napoleon as a step towards the Restoration, and the fulness of his account of his share in the Restoration and the work at Vienna. But this theory has to struggle desperately with the fact that his precautions against the publications of the memoirs before the appointed time were absolute, and must have been sincere. Nothing would have been easier for a man like Talleyrand than to have secured an accidental disclosure or theft of his papers; and the fact that he used to read passages from them to a few of his friends does not further his supposed plan in the slightest degree. Ordinary conversation with them would do just as well. On the other hand, we can quite understand the air of progressive policy he gives to his career by merely assuming that he wished to make it appear consistent. A statesman who was convinced that monarchy was the best form of government for France, and who, nevertheless, took a purelyrationalist and utilitarian view of monarchy, would deal just in that way with his share in the Revolution and the Napoleonic era. It was a minor comfort to the epicurean to leave a rounded version of his life to posterity.
The literary aspect of the memoirs may be briefly dismissed. Their authenticity is now beyond dispute, but it is acknowledged that Talleyrand did not write the connected narrative. He had the habit of jotting down his ideas on scraps of paper, and leaving it to his secretaries to weave them together. This was done by M. Bacourt with the memoirs. M. Pierre Bertrand has, in his preface to the “Lettres inédites de Talleyrand à Napoleon,” sufficiently disposed of the insinuation that Talleyrand could not write. By comparison of the Prince’s notes with the secretary’s drafts and the finished letters he has shown that Talleyrand counted for far more than was supposed in the composition. He might have shown, by internal evidence, that many of the letters were wholly written by Talleyrand. However, we know that Talleyrand dictated letters, or left it to his secretaries to compose them, whenever it was safe to do so. It was a sound economy; and it was not unconnected with his heavy foot-gear, which led him to prefer the couch to sitting at a table. Of the literary quality of his writing there is not much to be said. He could do “fine writing” at times, as Sainte-Beuve said; and Lord Acton admits that much of the characterisation in the memoirs is very clever. But the bulk of the work is without distinction.
Talleyrand’s position in Paris during the year after his resignation was a curious one. The Hotel St. Florentin continued to be a resort of the most distinguished foreigners and many of the ablest French politicians, but the strange conflicts of the time put the Prince (Benevento had returned to the Papacy, but he had now a French title) in a peculiar attitude. The King and the Cabinet were now engaged in a struggle to defend constitutional monarchy against the excesses of the extreme Royalists. Talleyrand claimed to be at once “constitutional and anti-ministerial.” The positive ground for this attitude was that the King had annulled the elections and ordered fresh ones, to give the Liberals the chance of undoing the triumph of the reactionaries. As a result of this novel situation Talleyrand found himself using almost the same language as his bitterest Royalist enemies, and declaiming against “a Cabinet that enslaved and degraded France.” It is quite clear that there was an element of calculation and of prejudice in his position. His opposition became so exasperating that the King forbade him to come to the Court for some months.
After this we have a period of four years of political silence. Indeed, only three incidents call for our notice during the next fourteen years. He resigned himself once more to the position of a mere spectator, and was content to throw a light jet of sarcasm on the panorama that passed before him. English visitors to Paris, who eagerly sought to enter the Hotel St. Florentin, describehim sitting in his favourite chair by the open window in the summer, looking across to the Tuileries. The long and luxuriant hair now bore the snow of more than sixty winters, but was curled and perfumed every morning with no less care than when he was the Abbé de Périgord. The bluish shade had passed from his grey eyes, and as age wore on his eyelids drooped more and more, so that he seemed at times to sleep during conversation. But when the moment came the old fire would flash from under his shaggy eye-brows, and his sepulchral voice would give forth a phrase that would reverberate through all the salons of Paris. The freshness and transparency of his younger complexion gave place in time to a death-like greyness. Lady Morgan, who saw him at this period, said his face was like that of a sleeping child. It was a superficial tribute to the art of the two valets who spent hours in preparing it every day. Most visitors who visited him at his hotel, or met him in the picture galleries, leaning heavily on his long stick, dressed in his long blue overcoat, and with his chin sunk in his large muslin cravat, thought they saw the face of a dead or dying man, or a piece of yellow wax-work—until his eye pierced them.