Vienna, 1814: How the Conquerors of Napoleon Made Love, War, and Peace at the Congress of Vienna (39 page)

Boosted by the progress on so many fronts, Talleyrand now shifted his attentions to focus on the pressing question of Naples. King Joachim I (Murat) was still in power there, and while no one particularly liked the fact, few were willing to do anything about it. Talleyrand was using all his arguments to rally support, emphasizing the importance of legitimacy for the postwar order, and the vital necessity of removing this unpredictable warrior from the throne. Peace could never be assured, he argued, as long as the last usurper ruled in Europe.

It was important to reach a favorable conclusion on this matter immediately, Talleyrand felt, because the congress seemed to be winding down. Rumors abounded everywhere of imminent departures. Tsar Alexander had already announced his intention to return home by the middle of the month, though the date of departure had been postponed a couple of times. He pledged, at all events, to be back in St. Petersburg in time for the celebration of Easter, which in the Russian Orthodox calendar fell that year on the last day of April.

Following the tsar’s lead, other sovereigns had also expressed their desire to return home. Even the host, Emperor Francis, was restless. Officially, he wanted to leave town to make a tour of the banking city of Milan, the ruined marvel of Venice, and other gems of northern Italy that were being restored to Austria. Indeed, after months of putting on a never-ending round of banquets, masked balls, and other forms of entertainment, the emperor was growing weary of his permanent houseguests.

“This desire on the part of every one to go away,” Talleyrand predicted, “will expedite the conclusion of affairs.” If he had any chance to restore the Bourbon king to Naples, he knew that he had to act quickly.

One morning in mid-February, Talleyrand went over to meet with the tsar, hoping to recruit his assistance on removing Murat. The tsar, however, was more interested in finding out why exactly the king of France had not paid the 2 million francs that he had promised Napoleon.

“As I have been absent from Paris for five months,” Talleyrand answered, “I do not know what has been done in this respect.”

“The treaty has not been executed; we ought to insist on its execution,” the tsar assured him. “Our honor is at stake; we cannot possibly draw back.” Alexander added that the emperor of Austria agreed completely.

“Sire, I will report all that you have done me the honor of saying to me,” Talleyrand answered politely, and then tried to turn the discussion back onto the subject of Naples. He argued as best he could, but the tsar had a valid point, as would soon be painfully clear.

I
T WAS INDEED
true that King Louis XVIII had not paid any of the 2 million francs in pension promised to him. Napoleon’s own funds, meanwhile, were dwindling. He had to support about a thousand guards, maintain his palace, and pay many other expenses, not to mention the cost of the court life he had wanted as emperor of Elba.

Napoleon had heard rumors about the squabbling heads of state in Vienna, and, worse, his own informers reported that some delegates were lobbying to have him moved farther away from the Continent. Story after story had also arrived emphasizing the chaos that reigned in France. The army was on half pay, if paid at all. Many had been discharged from service, or relegated to the sidelines to make way for the king’s favorites, fit only for the parade ground. The government seemed stuck in a “malevolent muddle,” and many openly expressed their regret for the loss of their former emperor.

Napoleon, too, seemed frustrated and bored. On the surface, he had settled down into a modest domestic routine. Evenings ended early, about nine, when Napoleon would stand, walk over to the piano, and, with a single finger, tap the first fourteen chords of Haydn’s Symphony no. 94
(Surprise).
Then he “bowed and left the room.” But those near him knew how much Napoleon resented the way the Allies had treated him, and he feared more treachery. Above all, he regretted that he had abdicated without a fight. Why had he listened to his advisers and not his own inclinations? Just the thought of that made him sick.

In this discontent, a mysterious visitor arrived at Elba that February: Fleury de Chaboulon, a thirty-year-old out-of-work bureaucrat, a former subprefect in Burgundy. Traveling incognito, this man brought reminders of Napoleon’s popularity, and, more important, news that a plot was being hatched to overthrow King Louis XVIII and replace him with the king’s more popular cousin, the duc d’Orléans. The significance was clear. Napoleon could not sit back on this tiny island while someone else captured the throne of France.

In all likelihood, Napoleon had been planning to leave Elba for some time. But this visit probably convinced him that the time for action had come. In addition, in mid-February, Neil Campbell announced that he was leaving for a trip to the mainland for a cure of his wounds (and a visit with his mistress). Campbell would not be back for two weeks, and Napoleon realized his opportunity.

It was his audacious moves, after all, that had crowned his greatest achievements. A bold strike to seize power had succeeded back in 1799 when many others had plotted and failed. He had crowned himself emperor in 1804, and succeeded, despite the protests of others. A daring decoy maneuver had helped him win big at Austerlitz. Again and again, it was the gutsy moves that had worked best, pushed at breathtaking speed and catching his opponents off guard (of course, they had also failed spectacularly sometimes, like the Russian invasion).

Fed up with the string of broken promises and determined to strike before something worse happened to him, or someone else capitalized on the turmoil back in France, Napoleon had made up his mind. It was time to return to France.

All the energy he had invested in conquering and controlling Europe was now brought to this enterprise. As always, he was careful not to reveal his true intentions. The ship
Inconstant,
which had mysteriously crashed into a roadstead on a routine sail around Elba a few weeks before, was now being refurbished without too much undue attention. He strengthened the masts, revamped the hull, and added a layer of paint that, on inspection, made the brig look remarkably close to an English warship.

On February 26, 1815, the very day of his departure, Napoleon had made sure that everything seemed normal. The soldiers had been planting trees, working in the garden, and carrying out other standard duties, as they had done for months. Napoleon went to Mass in the morning, dined with his mother and sister in the evening, and then rode down to the harbor, passing many curious cheering and waving Elbans. Everything had been loaded onto the sixteen-gun brig
Inconstant.
After nine months and twenty-two days, Napoleon and his crew were ready to set sail.

Napoleon had earned a reputation for daring enterprises, but this one was to be his riskiest venture yet. He was invading one of the most powerful countries on earth, and he had about 1,100 men, seven small boats, and four cannons. The emperor liked the odds. “I shall reach Paris,” he announced, “without firing a shot.”

Chapter 25

T
IME TO
S
AVE THE
W
ORLD
A
GAIN

The events are so extraordinary, so unexpected, so magical… it seems that 1,001 Nights is coming true, and everything happens by the wand of some invisible magician.

—J
EAN
-G
ABRIEL
E
YNARD IN HIS DIARY,
M
ARCH
1815

O
n Tuesday, March 7, after three in the morning, Metternich climbed the marble steps to his private rooms on the third floor of the Chancellery, where he crawled into bed for a well-deserved sleep. Another lengthy meeting of the Committee of Five had finally ended, and he was exhausted. “I had forbidden my valet to disturb my rest,” he said.

Only a few hours later, his valet entered the chamber with a dispatch marked “URGENT.” Metternich took the envelope, glanced at the faraway sender, and then promptly set it on his nightstand. He then tried to go back to sleep, but as he put it, “sleep once disturbed, would not return.” About half past seven, he gave up his tossing and turning, and opened the dispatch. It was a letter that he would never forget.

The commissioner on Elba, Neil Campbell, reported that Napoleon was nowhere to be found and wondered if anyone had seen him. The Austrian foreign minister sprang out of bed, threw on his clothes, and raced over to the Hofburg to inform Emperor Francis. By eight in the morning, they were deep in discussion.

“Napoleon apparently wants to play the adventurer; that is his business,” the emperor told Metternich. He continued:

Our business is to secure for the world that peace which he has troubled all these years. Go at once to the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia; tell them that I am prepared to order my army once again to march back into France. I have no doubt that the two Sovereigns will join me.

As Metternich described the historic morning, he had a meeting with the tsar over in the Amalia wing of the palace at 8:15 and then hurried across the inner court to meet with the king of Prussia. By nine that morning, he was back at the Chancellery for a meeting with Austrian field marshal Prince Schwarzenberg. “It was in less than an hour,” he boasted with some exaggeration, “that war was declared.”

Meanwhile, a few blocks away at Kaunitz Palace, Talleyrand was still in bed. Dorothée was seated next to her uncle, drinking chocolate and looking forward to her dress rehearsal later in the day for a theater production that opened that evening. A white-wigged footman in gray livery brought in a note from Prince Metternich.

“It is probably to tell me what time today’s meeting of the Congress is to begin,” Talleyrand predicted without much concern, as he handed the note to Dorothée. She opened it and read its contents. “Bonaparte has escaped from Elba. Oh, Uncle, what about my rehearsal?”

“Your rehearsal, Madame, will take place all the same,” Talleyrand replied with an unruffled composure. Equally calm, he rose from the bed, summoned his assistants, hurried through his ritual levee, and then headed over to the Austrian Chancellery.

B
Y TEN O’CLOCK
, the Allies were already gathering in Metternich’s study for an emergency meeting.

Talleyrand was the first to arrive at the Chancellery, and Metternich took the opportunity to read the dispatch.

“Do you know where Napoleon is headed?” Talleyrand asked.

“The report does not say anything about it.”

“He will land somewhere on the Italian coast and fling himself into Switzerland,” Talleyrand predicted.

“No,” Metternich answered, “he will go straight to Paris.”

This viewpoint was by no means obvious at the time. The road to Paris would mean progressing through many parts of southern France that had been bastions of royal support and scenes of bitter opposition to Napoleon. Given his unpopularity there, a French destination seemed unlikely, to say the least. If Napoleon “sets foot there,” Russia’s Corsican adviser, Pozzo di Borgo, would soon predict, “he will be seized the moment he lands, and hanged from the nearest tree.”

At this point, Prince Hardenberg and Count Nesselrode entered Metternich’s study. The Duke of Wellington also arrived, having quickly changed his plans upon hearing the news. He had hoped to spend the morning hunting in the park.

When the ministers began discussing the dispatch, it was clear that they had no idea of Napoleon’s intentions. One thing that they did agree on, however, was the importance of keeping everything quiet, as they did not want to alarm the town. Napoleon’s escape would not appear in the next morning’s newspapers,
Wiener Zeitung
and the
Österreichischer Beobachter.
On the following day, there was only a small notice in the latter paper, buried in the “Foreign News” section under the headline for Italy.

Even Metternich’s assistant, Friedrich von Gentz, who had shouldered so many duties as secretary of the Congress, was not informed. Gentz would come by Metternich’s office that same morning, as usual, where the two discussed congress business, though there was no hint of Napoleon being on the loose. Gentz would not find out until later that day, when his old friend Wilhelm von Humboldt told him.