Vienna, 1814: How the Conquerors of Napoleon Made Love, War, and Peace at the Congress of Vienna (21 page)

On October 21, when Gentz arrived at ten in the morning, as usual, for breakfast (only a few hours after Metternich had finished his letter to the duchess), another, more interesting breakfast was about to take place a few blocks away at the Palm Palace. The tsar was coming to the so-called Austrian salon for his meeting with the duchess at Metternich’s hour. Their conversation lasted about two hours, though what exactly happened is not known. Presumably, the tsar agreed to do everything he could to help the duchess regain custody of her child. He was certainly in no mood to disappoint her.

Immediately afterward, the ecstatic duchess took a carriage over to Kaunitz Palace to see her sister Dorothée, and rumors soon magnified the morning meeting in countless ways. It was reported and widely believed, for example, that the tsar had forced the duchess to break off her relations with Metternich. Baron Hager’s spies thought that this had in fact happened. When Metternich had had an opportunity to ask her about the meeting, the duchess had been coy, replying evasively, “The tsar was at my house and behaved very well, at least with words.”

On Saturday, October 22, Metternich was ready to lay his cards on the table. First, he delivered the note ending his relationship with the Duchess of Sagan, and then, later that evening at a ball over at Count Zichy’s mansion, he declared his stance on Saxony in a monumental letter to Hardenberg. He had decided to accept Prussia’s offer of support in return for annexation of Saxony. But sure enough, Metternich attached some important conditions to his tentative acceptance: Prussia must give up all other claims to Germany, regard this annexation as part of the larger settlement, and, most important, must actually
succeed
in preventing the tsar from gaining Poland. Alexander, Metternich was now more convinced than ever, must be stopped.

It must have been a stressful night for Metternich. Emotionally, he was a wreck; diplomatically, he had just handed over a letter that would cause, in Gentz’s words, “more grief in three months than he has had in all his life.”

A
S
A
USTRIA TENTATIVELY
approved of Prussian gains, Metternich wasted no time in demanding that Hardenberg fulfill his end of the bargain. Prussia must join Austria at once, and, moreover, they had to act immediately. On October 24, just two days away, the Austrian emperor, the Russian tsar, and the king of Prussia would leave for a weeklong trip to Hungary. Metternich wanted to work out a common strategy before that trip—that is, before the Austrian emperor would be out of town and cooped up with these two close allies.

On the afternoon of October 23, the day before the departure, Metternich and Hardenberg had a rushed meeting. Castlereagh, fearful as ever of a strong Russia, joined them. By the end of their private session, held at Castlereagh’s headquarters on the Minoritenplatz, the three ministers had decided to confront the tsar with a united stance and demand that he cooperate on Poland: Alexander would either have to agree to a fully independent Poland, or there would be no Poland at all. Russia, Prussia, and Austria would instead split the territory among them. But under no circumstances would the tsar be allowed simply to impose his will.

They would give Alexander five days from his return to Vienna to comply, or, as Castlereagh suggested, they would threaten to put the question of Poland before the entire community of powers. With this plan agreed upon, it was urgent for Metternich and Hardenberg to gain approval at once from their sovereigns.

The Russian tsar, meanwhile, was feeling his own sense of urgency to wrap up Poland before he went on his trip. He had heard how displeased the French delegation had become with the peace conference, and again let it be known that he wished to speak with Talleyrand. The French minister, obeying etiquette again, then requested an interview with the tsar.

Talleyrand was indeed unhappy. Prussia, his biggest fear, was still pressing its revolting principles, aiming to dethrone kings and destroy kingdoms. Metternich, oblivious to the dangers, was merely “the plaything of the intrigues that he believes he is directing.” Castlereagh, worst of all, was fumbling about like a “schoolboy in diplomacy.” Diplomats everywhere were moving like tortoises, as he put it, and Saxony, meanwhile, was about to be wiped off the map. Something had to be done.

So on the evening of October 23, Talleyrand and the Tsar of All the Russias had their second interview. After a short exchange of greetings, Alexander brought up Poland and asked where Talleyrand stood on this question. As Talleyrand’s correspondence makes clear, he was hoping to barter his cooperation on Poland in return for the tsar’s help in saving Saxony.

Talleyrand explained that he was “still the same” on Poland; that is, he favored a restored and independent kingdom. France’s only concern, he added, was that the redrawn borders would not in any way endanger Russia’s neighbors.

“They need not be alarmed,” the tsar said. “Besides, I have two hundred thousand men in the duchy of Warsaw; let anyone try to chase me out.”

As the conversation turned to Saxony, the tsar was not any more accommodating. Everything had been arranged, he said bluntly. He had given the territory to the king of Prussia, and Austria had consented.

“I do not know whether Austria does consent,” Talleyrand responded. “I should find it difficult to believe that she does—it would be so much against her interest.”

Then, raising the question to the level of law, Talleyrand asked if the “consent of Austria” could make Prussia “the proprietor of that which belongs to the King of Saxony.”

“If the King of Saxony does not abdicate, he shall be taken to Russia. He will die there; another has already died there,” the tsar responded, referring to the last king of Poland, Stanislaw II Augustus, who had been taken hostage by Russian troops in the 1790s and whisked away to finish his days outside St. Petersburg.

“Your Majesty will permit me not to believe that; the Congress has not been called together to witness such an outrage.”

“How, an outrage?” the tsar replied. “Why should the King of Saxony not go to Russia?”

Talleyrand did not know where to begin in answering this question, and struggled, as he put it, to control his indignation. Before he could say anything, the tsar launched into a monologue about how much France owed him, and how meaningless all this talk of international law really was. “Your public law means nothing to me,” the tsar said. “What do you suppose I care for all your parchments and all your treaties?”

Alexander continued to talk about how he had pledged his word to the king of Prussia to give him Saxony, and he intended to keep it. At this, Talleyrand saw an opportunity to remind the tsar that he had promised him a population of some nine or ten million. “Your Majesty could give them without destroying Saxony,” Talleyrand said, handing over a piece of paper outlining some alternatives.

“The King of Saxony is a traitor,” the tsar answered, referring to the king’s loyalty to Napoleon and conveniently forgetting that he, too, had once been loyal to Napoleon. So had the king of Prussia, and, in fact, most of the leaders and delegates at the congress at one time or another.

Talleyrand had hoped to convince the tsar that he could obtain a satisfactory peace without having to destroy his reputation. He had not succeeded. Alexander was still committed to his policy of annihilating the Kingdom of Saxony and handing its territory over to Prussia. The interview ended, as it began, in irritation and frustration.

By the next morning, the day of the departure for Hungary, Metternich and Hardenberg had not yet gained sanction for their united stance against the tsar. Alexander, instead, had preempted their move and summoned Metternich alone over to his apartments. Their discussion in the white and gold paneled wing of the Hofburg was one of the most difficult of Metternich’s entire career.

The tsar flat out demanded Metternich’s compliance: “I intend to create an independent state of Poland. I want your agreement before I leave for Hungary today.”

“Your Majesty,” Metternich replied in a manner that sometimes came across as flippant, “if it is a question of creating an independent Poland, Austria too can create one.”

At this, the tsar exploded. Metternich was the only man, he declared, who dared use such a tone with him. In Alexander’s words, it was “a tone of revolt,” as if the Austrian foreign minister were one of his subjects. The tsar then unleashed a barrage of “haughtiness and violence of language” that left Metternich stunned and visibly shaken.

Metternich compared the talk with the tsar to meeting Napoleon at his most irrational, and felt unsure whether he would end up leaving the palace through the door or through the window, as Alexander allegedly threatened. The Austrian minister never wanted to see the tsar in private again, he said, and predicted “the tsar will end up mad like his father.”

Diplomatic relations had hit rock bottom. The tsar set off to Hungary with the emperor and the king, but he did not leave anyone in charge in his absence, and all the pressing problems of the peace conference remained unresolved.

Chapter 13

R
OBINSON
C
RUSOE

I can never see a throne without being tempted to sit on it.

—N
APOLEON

A
ll over Europe, governments were watching Vienna’s victors lose themselves in celebrations and squabbles. One of the most curious observers, it turned out, was Napoleon Bonaparte.

He was, at this time, settling down in his new home on Elba, a rocky isle some seven miles off the northwestern coast of Italy. It is one of six main islands in the Tuscan Archipelago, a circle that also includes, in the south, the tiny, windswept Montecristo, immortalized in the Alexandre Dumas novel. To the north lies the barren Gorgona, which had served as the setting for another work of romantic fiction,
Clisson and Eugénie,
this one about a young Corsican rebel who commands an army only to be betrayed by a trusted friend. The author of the novella was none other than Napoleon himself, at age twenty-six.

The choice of Elba as Napoleon’s new home had been made in the spring of 1814, when the Allies captured Paris and demanded his immediate, unconditional abdication. Tsar Alexander had promised, personally, that if Napoleon cooperated, the terms would be generous. Maps were scanned for a place of exile that would encourage the French emperor to vacate the throne without delay.

France, Italy, and other sites within the former continental empire were quickly ruled out as being unacceptable to the victors. As the historian Norman Mackenzie explained, Corsica was objectionable because it was Napoleon’s birthplace, and also French property. Sardinia belonged to the House of Savoy, and Corfu was coveted by both England and Russia. Other places were considered, from the Canaries to the Caribbean. Some wanted Trinidad, others the Azores, or even Botany Bay in Australia. Talleyrand pressed for St. Helena in the South Atlantic. It was the Russian tsar who, in the end, proposed the island of Elba.

Actually, Alexander did more than propose the island—he simply refused to consider any other option. The reasons for this stance are open to question. For some, the tsar was relishing his new role as the magnanimous conqueror, an enlightened ruler who would be as forgiving in peace as he had been ferocious in war. Others saw the tiny island as a ridiculous choice intended to humiliate the fallen giant. Austria, however, had a very different explanation.

Behind the tsar’s “theatrical generosity,” Metternich saw only an attempt to antagonize Austria. The island of Elba was far too close to the Continent, and very near Austria’s own interests in northern Italy, especially since it could not be ruled out that Napoleon might one day tire of this new home. He was, after all, only forty-five years old with a promising career ahead, and would likely prove a magnet for the Continent’s discontented. Besides that, the island was not the tsar’s to give: it belonged to the Habsburg family (as part of the restored Habsburg duchy of Tuscany). As Metternich suspected, the tsar’s proposal could only be aimed at placing a source of turmoil in Austria’s rear. The southern half of the sprawling Habsburg empire was left highly exposed to the threat of Napoleon’s return.

Unfortunately for Austria, there had been very little discussion about sending Napoleon to Elba. The Russian tsar had reached Paris first and started working on his solution immediately. By the time the Austrian delegation made it through war-torn northeastern France in early April 1814, Alexander had already made his proposal and gained Napoleon’s consent. The signing of the agreement had to be firmed up as quickly as possible, the tsar said, before Napoleon changed his mind.