French demands for the Rhine.
In making that calculation he erred profoundly. M. Benedetti, the French Ambassador to the Court of Berlin, was instructed as early as the first week in August, 1866, to claim the left bank of the Rhine as far as, and including the important fortress of Mainz. “Knowing the temper of the Minister-President,” and knowing also, as he had repeatedly told his Government, that all Germany would resist any proposal to cede the least portion of territory, he first sent in a copy of M. Drouyn de Lhuys’ despatch, and afterwards called on the Minister. Prince von Bismarck, in 1871, published in the official newspapers his account of the famous interview, which shows that Benedetti, as he had pledged himself to do, resolutely pressed the large demand. He was told that it meant war, and that he had “better go to Paris to prevent a rupture.” Unmoved, he replied that he would return home, “but only to maintain a proposition the abandonment of which would imperil the dynasty.” “The parting words” of the Prussian statesman to Count Benedetti, as nearly as they could be remembered by the man who spoke them, were calculated to suggest grave reflections. “Please to call His Majesty’s attention to this,” said Herr von Bismarck. “Should a war arise out of this complication, it might be a war attended by a revolutionary crisis. In such a case the German dynasties are likely to prove more solid than that of the Emperor Napoleon.” It was a menace and a prophetic warning, which touched a sensitive fibre in the heart of the French ruler, who, after a conversation with Count Benedetti, wrote, on the 12th of August, a remarkable letter to M. de Lavalette, who became the ad interim successor of M. Drouyn de Lhuys. Expressing his fears lest “the journals” should taunt him with the refusal of his demand for the Rhine provinces, he directed that the report should be contradicted, flatly; and he added, “the true interest of France is not to obtain an insignificant increase of territory, but to aid Germany in constituting herself after a fashion which will be most favourable to our interests and those of Europe.” Neither Dodona nor Delphos could have been more oracular. Alarmed as he was, he did not altogether recede from his position, but occupied it in a different way. On the 16th of August a fresh set of proposals was forwarded to Count Benedetti, comprising a regular scale of concessions—the frontiers of 1814 and the annexation of Belgium, or Luxemburg and Belgium, or the Duchy with Belgium, without Antwerp, which was to be “declared a free city.” The last-named device was designed “to obviate the intervention of England” when the projected act of violence was committed. “The minimum we require,” wrote the French Government to M. Benedetti, “is an ostensible treaty which gives us Luxemburg, and a secret treaty which, stipulating for an offensive and defensive alliance, leaves us the chance of annexing Belgium at the right moment, Prussia engaging to assist us, by force of arms, if necessary, in carrying out this purpose.” If Herr von Bismarck asked what he should gain by such a treaty, the answer was to be that he would secure a powerful ally, and that “he was only desired to consent to the cession of what does not belong to him.” The official papers on which these statements are founded were discovered and acquired by the Germans in Cerçay, M. Rouher’s château, during the war of 1870; neither their authenticity nor the construction put on them have ever been contested; and they show, plainly, what was the kind of projects nourished by the French Court in 1866–67. The precise manner in which Count von Bismarck actually dealt with them has not been revealed, but he kept a rough copy of the project drawn up by Benedetti, which was handed to him by the French Ambassador in 1867, and the boxes of papers found at Cerçay gave him the draft treaty itself annotated by the Emperor. Practically, the secret negotiation dropped, was not renewed for several months, and was only “resumed, subsequently, at various times,” without producing any other result than that of letting Bismarck know the plans which were conceived in Paris, and inducing him to keep the Napoleonic Government in play. There can be no doubt on one point. The Prussian statesman did, at various periods, probably at Biarritz in 1865, when he captivated Prosper Merimée, and afterwards, while refusing point-blank to cede an inch of German soil, ask his interested auditors why they could not indemnify themselves by seizing Belgium. But a grim smile of irony must have lighted up his face when he pointed to a prey which would not have to be ceded, but caught and overpowered by main strength. He was tempting, probing, playing with the Frenchman, employing what he called the “dilatory” method, because he wanted time to equip the new and still imperfect Germany; and, considering their own dark schemes, can it be said that they deserved better treatment?
Having direct knowledge of the steps taken by France in August, 1866, the earliest recorded formal attempt to procure secret treaties on the basis of territorial concessions, with what searching comment must Bismarck have read the astonishing diplomatic circular, signed by M. de Lavalette, and sent out on the 2nd of September, at the very time when the dark proceedings just briefly sketched were in full swing! It was a despatch framed for public consumption, and intended to present the Imperial policy in a broad, generous, and philosophic light, having no relation to the course which, either then or afterwards, the French ruler followed. Louis Napoleon told the whole world that France could not pursue “an ambiguous policy,” at the moment when he was meditating the forcible acquisition of Belgium. The Emperor painted himself as one who rejoiced in the change effected by the war, perhaps because it shattered the treaties of 1815. Prussia, he said, had insured the independence of Germany; and France need not see in that fact any shadow cast over herself. “Proud of her admirable unity, and indestructible nationality, she cannot oppose or condemn the work of fusion going on in Germany.” By imitating, she took a step nearer to, not farther from, France; and the Imperial philosopher professed not to see why public opinion “should recognize adversaries, instead of allies, in those nations which—enfranchised from a past inimical to us—are summoned to new life.” But there was consolation for those alarmed patriots who could read between the lines. Petty states, they were assured, tended to disappear and give place to large agglomerations; the Imperial Government had always understood that annexations should only bring together kindred populations; and France, especially, could desire only such additions as would not affect her internal cohesiveness—sentences which, like finger-posts, pointed to the acquisition of Belgium. The war of 1866, it was admitted, showed the necessity of perfecting the organization of the army; yet smooth things were predicted by the Imperial soothsayer, for, on the whole, the horizon, in September, as scanned from Paris, seemed to be clear of menacing possibilities, and a lasting peace was secure! The despatch was, in fact, prepared and administered as a powerful anodyne. By keeping the French moderately quiet, it suited the purposes of Bismarck, who, well aware of the uneasiness which it covered, felt quite equal to the task of coping with each fresh attempt to obtain “compensation” as it might arise. Perhaps Louis Napoleon was sincere when he dictated this interesting State paper, for it is not devoid of some “fixed ideas” which he cherished; yet probably it may take rank as a curious example of the subtle tactics which he often applied to deceive himself, as well as to cajole his people and his neighbours. At all events, his will, if he willed peace, did not endure for he soon sanctioned and set in motion renewed projects, for he intended to push forward the boundary posts of France.