Vienna, 1814: How the Conquerors of Napoleon Made Love, War, and Peace at the Congress of Vienna (12 page)

Under further pressure from her mother, Wilhelmine had then handed over her baby, born Adelaide-Gustava, or “Vava,” to be raised by Armfelt’s cousins back in Finland. The duchess would make sure her daughter had every monetary need fulfilled. Vava’s true identity was to be concealed until she turned fifteen, which, by the autumn of 1814, was only months away.

But the duchess had come to regret that decision, and she wanted her daughter returned immediately. How she hated that she had handed over the baby to her lover’s family, and how she despised herself for yielding to her mother’s demands. Her remorse would at times be all-consuming. She tried to escape by losing herself in the world of the salon, or waltzing “like a lost soul.” Yet she suffered increasingly from bouts of depression and intense migraine headaches that lasted three to four days.

There was one person in Vienna who knew her secret, and that was Prince Metternich. The duchess had told him, some ten months before, around Christmas 1813, when she had asked for his help. Could the Austrian foreign minister, she had hoped, use his finesse and influence to help her regain her daughter? Could he perhaps talk with the Russian tsar?

Little Vava was in Finland, a country the tsar had conquered in 1809 and now controlled; he had also appointed the girl’s father as its governor. Perhaps Metternich could convince Alexander to intervene—after all, the tsar had done it before, when he had visited Wilhelmine’s mother and won Dorothée for Talleyrand’s nephew.

Thrilled to be able to help, and confident of his own success, Metternich had at once given his word. He would ask the tsar for this favor immediately, and he added, “I shall make the safety of Russia depend on it.”

A
CROSS THE CORRIDOR
in the Palm Palace, Princess Bagration was making a stir, hosting salons attended by the elite of the congress, particularly from the Russian and Prussian delegations. Prince Hardenberg and Count Nesselrode were regulars, and the salon would sometimes seem like a tiny St. Petersburg in the middle of Vienna. Years later, one admirer left a vivid description of the “lovely princess” who attracted attention wherever she went: “The Princess never wore anything but white India muslin, clinging to her form and revealing it in all its perfection.”

As one of Baron Hager’s agents pointed out, Bagration had not entirely lost her wild “foolishness of youth.” She had had many love affairs over the years, including one, thirteen years before, with none other than Metternich. At that time, both of them had been living in Dresden, then regarded as an opulent, if decadent, backwater. Metternich was a young twenty-eight-year-old ambassador on his first diplomatic mission; Bagration, the beautiful nineteen-year-old wife of a much older Russian general, who was almost always somewhere else. By 1802, the princess had given birth to a daughter and boldly named her Clementine, after the man who almost certainly was the father, Klemens Metternich.

This extramarital affair did not last long, but it had left its scars. Although little remains of the end of this relationship beyond gossip and rumor, there is no sign that the two former lovers parted on anything other than difficult terms. Yet by the summer of 1814, Metternich was again visiting Bagration’s salon. Both found themselves in the spa town of Baden bei Wien, nestled in the Vienna Woods, some two hours away by carriage. Metternich was preparing for the congress, and coming over regularly to the princess’s fashionable salon for cards, drinks, and the latest gossip. He was enjoying himself so much that he even toyed with the idea of hosting the entire peace conference in this pleasant spa town.

Now, at the Vienna Congress, Bagration seemed interested again in her old lover, “her” Metternich, and seemed determined to win him back. Even if Metternich apparently seemed more interested in the woman across the wing of the Palm Palace, Princess Bagration was not one to sit idly and concede defeat, especially not to the Duchess of Sagan. What’s more, if she could not have him herself, then Metternich would suffer the consequences.

O
N THE DAY
after his initial meeting challenging the Big Four at the summer villa, Talleyrand went over to the Hofburg for an audience with the Russian tsar. Alexander had let it be known that he wished to speak with Talleyrand. The French minister then, in the etiquette of the day, politely requested an audience. This was their first meeting in Vienna, and the first time they had seen each other in months.

Talleyrand and the tsar had come to know each other during the Napoleonic Wars. In September 1808, they had plotted together against Napoleon at Erfurt and collaborated on arranging Dorothée’s marriage. The tsar had become a great admirer of Talleyrand’s ability. In fact, when the Allies captured Paris, Alexander honored Talleyrand by staying at his house, instead of the royal palace (it was rumored that the palace had been mined, and more than a few historians have wondered about Talleyrand’s role in spreading this rumor).

But their relationship had deteriorated greatly in the intervening months. For one thing, the tsar blamed Talleyrand for the king of France’s failure to live up to his promises of establishing a genuine constitutional monarchy. This was all the more frustrating for the tsar because he also blamed Talleyrand for convincing him to support the king’s restoration in the first place. Alexander had personally been unimpressed with Louis and had preferred placing many other alternatives on the throne, including the former Bonaparte marshal Bernadotte and a younger Bourbon like the duc d’Orléans. Alexander had even considered establishing a republic. Talleyrand, however, had persuaded him to accept Louis, and now that French affairs seemed to be struggling, the tsar was not pleased.

The tension was palpable as the French minister arrived at the Hofburg. After a preliminary discussion about the situation back in France, the conversation switched to diplomacy at Vienna, particularly Russia’s intentions in Poland, and immediately took a more menacing turn.

“Now let us talk of our affairs,” the tsar said impatiently, “we must finish them here.”

“That depends on Your Majesty,” Talleyrand replied. “They will be promptly and happily terminated if Your Majesty brings to bear on them the same nobility and greatness of soul as in the affairs of France.”

“But each must find what suits it here,” the tsar countered.

“And what is right.”

“I shall keep what I hold,” the tsar affirmed bluntly, referring to the Russian armies in occupation of Poland.

“Your Majesty would only wish to keep that which is legitimately yours,” the cunning minister responded provocatively, in his deep guttural.

“I am in accord with the Great Powers.”

“I do not know whether Your Majesty reckons France among those Powers.”

“Yes, certainly; but if you will not allow each to look after his own interests, what do you propose?” Alexander asked.

“I place right first, and self-interest second,” Talleyrand said.

“The self-interest of Europe is what’s right,” the tsar snapped.

“This language, Sire, is not yours; it is foreign to you, and your heart disowns it.”

“No, I repeat it; the self-interest of Europe is what’s right,”

As Talleyrand described it, he turned to the wall, and exasperated, rested his head on the fine paneling and muttered, “Europe, unhappy Europe!” After this display of frustration, fearing that the “might is right” mentality would only plunge the Continent into more war and suffering, the French minister turned again to the tsar about the future peace. “Shall it be said that you have destroyed it?”

“Rather war than that I should renounce what I hold,” Alexander blurted out.

Talleyrand said nothing, his body language showing, he said later, a combination of displeasure, opposition, and resignation to resumed hostilities, if necessary,

“Yes, rather war,” the tsar repeated, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Then, as the clock struck in the corner, the Tsar of All the Russias beamed. “Ah! It is time for the play; I must go. I promised the Emperor; they are waiting for me.”

With these words the tsar abruptly left, nonchalantly dismissing the fate of 2.5 million souls in Russian-occupied Poland, never mind the anxieties of his fellow peacemakers.

Chapter 8

S
PIES
A
RE
E
VERYWHERE!

My children cannot sneeze but that Prince Metternich is sure to hear about it.

—O
NE VISITOR DESCRIBING
V
IENNA’S ESPIONAGE NETWORK

C
andles were already burning late into the night at the Secret Cipher Office in the Hofburg Palace. The minister of police, Baron Hager, was well aware that even with the recent budget increases, Vienna’s espionage service was woefully inadequate to cope with the task of keeping track of all the arrivals in town.

Baron Hager was frantically recruiting a large network of agents and underlings to infiltrate foreign missions, maintain surveillance, and trail important dignitaries through town, carefully noting the places they visited, the people they met, and anything that happened out of the ordinary. Special attention was paid to dinner parties and evening entertainments, where a great deal of the Vienna Congress would take place. Every morning, with his café au lait, Emperor Francis would devour the thick dossiers of police reports. He would soon be one of the best-informed people in town.

The spy baron already had some high-placed people on his payroll. Confidants would range from the poet Giuseppe Carpani, Mozart’s old friend, to the celebrated Viennese courtesan Josephine Wolters. The identity of the agents was always closely protected, and some of the most active spies have in fact never been identified, known only by their code names, like the prolific agent known as
, or the sophisticated, enigmatic informer who signed his daily reports **. The latter was certainly an aristocrat who moved at the highest levels of society, even addressed by Baron von Hager as “Your Highness.”