The Emperor seeks Allies.
In the beginning of 1868 the principal parties were engaged in preparing for a conflict which each considered to be inevitable; and the other Powers, great and small, more or less concerned, were agitated by hopes and fears. Russia desired to recover her freedom of movement in the East, and especially to throw off what Prince Gortchakoff called his “robe de Nessus,” the clause in the treaty of Paris which declared the Euxine to be a neutral sea. Austria aimed at the restoration of her authority in Germany, and was not yet convinced that her path lay eastward. Italy had many longings, but her pressing necessity was to seat herself in the capital of the Cæsars and the Popes, once again occupied by the French, who had re-entered the Papal States to expel the Garibaldians. It was in the skirmish at Mentana that the new breech-loading rifle, the Chassepot, “wrought miracles,” according to General de Failly, and established its superiority over the “needle gun.” Holland, Belgium, and even Switzerland were troubled by the uncertain prospect which the Imperial theory of “large agglomerations” had laid bare; Spain was in the throes of a revolutionary convulsion; and England—she had just mended her constitution, and had begun to look on Continental politics with relative indifference, except in so far as they affected the fortunes of “parties,” and might be used strategically as a means of gaining or holding fast the possession of power. Yet so strained were the relations of France and Prussia that General von Moltke actually framed, in the spring of 1868, the plan of campaign which he literally carried out in 1870—a fact implying that even then he considered that his Government was sufficiently prepared to encounter the new and imperfectly developed scheme of army organization and armament originally devised by the Emperor and Marshal Niel, and modified to satisfy the objections and suspicions raised in a deferential Senate and an obliging Chamber of Deputies. For while the Opposition distrusted the Emperor, the whole body shrank from the sacrifices which Cæsar and his Minister of War considered necessary to the safety of the State from a defensive, and absolutely indispensable from an offensive point of view. The prime actors in the drama expressed a love of peace, perhaps with equal sincerity: but as Germany thirsted for unity, all the more because France, true to her traditional policy, forbad it, the love so loudly avowed could not be gratified unless Germany submitted, or France ceased to dictate. “I did not share the opinion of those politicians,” said Bismarck in July, 1870, “who advised me not to do all I could to avoid war with France because it was inevitable. Nobody,” he added, “can exactly foresee the purposes of Divine Providence in the future; and I regard even a victorious war as an evil from which statesmanship should strive to preserve nations. I could not exclude from my calculations the possibility that chances might accrue in France’s constitution and policy which might avert the necessity of war from two great neighbour races—a hope in connection with which every postponement of a rupture was so much to the good.” The language is a little obscure, but the meaning will be grasped when it is remembered that his remark on the “chances” referred to the probable grant of increased freedom to the French Parliament, which he thought would fetter the Court and thwart the politicians. That forecast was not justified by the event, since it was the partially-liberated Chamber and the Liberal Ministry which so hastily sanctioned the declaration of war. The truth is, however, that each rival nationality inherited the liabilities contracted in the past. The French had been accustomed for more than two hundred years to meddle directly in Germany and find there allies, either against Austria, Prussia, or England; and the habit of centuries had been more than confirmed by the colossal raids, victories, and annexations of Napoleon I. A Germany which should escape from French control and reverse, by its own energetic action the policy of Henri IV., Richelieu, Louis XIV., his degenerate grandson, Louis XV, and of the great Napoleon himself, was an affront to French pride, and could not be patiently endured. The opposing forces which had grown up were so strong that the wit of man was unable to keep them asunder; and all the control over the issue left to kings and statesmen was restricted to the fabrication of means wherewith to deliver or sustain the shock, and the choice of the hour, if such choice were allowed.
To that end the adversaries had, indeed, applied themselves after the last French failure to obtain any material compensation, not even what M. Rouher called such a rag of territory as Luxemburg. Thenceforth, keeping an eye on Prussia, the French Government sought to gain over Austria and Italy, and form a defensive alliance which, at the fitting moment, might be converted into an offensive alliance strong enough to prevent the accomplishment of German unity, win campaigns, and enable each confederate to grasp the reward which he desired. Carried on during more than two years, the negotiations never got beyond a kind of vague preliminary understanding which signified the willingness of the three Courts to reach a definite, formal treaty if they could. But obstacles always arose when the vital questions lying at the root of the business had to be solved. Italy demanded and Austria was willing that she should have Rome. To that France steadfastly demurred, even down to the last moment, as will presently be seen. Austria also, besides being unready, in a military sense, was visited by the chronic fear that, if she plunged into war against Germany, Russia would at once break into her provinces from Lithuania and the Polish Quadrilateral, and settle the heavy account opened when Prince Schwarzenberg displayed his “immense ingratitude” during the Crimean war. Nor was the Court of Vienna exempt from apprehensions growing out of the possible, even probable conduct of half-reconciled Hungary. Count von Beust also deluded himself with the notion that the Prussian treaties with the South German States were mere “rags of paper,” and nourished the fond belief, except when he had a lucid interval, that the South German people would not fight for the Fatherland. Waiting on Providence, the would-be confederates, at the same time, counted on the fortune of war, arguing that France was certain to win at first, and that one victory under the tricolour would bring the inchoate alliance instantly to maturity, and the armies it controlled into the field. Based on such conjectural foundations, and opposed by such solid obstacles, the grand design was doomed to fail; indeed it never got nearer to completion than an exchange of letters by the Sovereigns; grounded on the very eve, and went to pieces on the day of battle.
Diverted from Luxemburg, the French Government did not relax its efforts to pave the way for the annexation of Belgium. During the spring and summer of 1869 a successful effort was made to secure political, commercial, and strategic advantages by obtaining a certain control over the Belgian railways, notably the line which runs from Luxemburg to Liège, and thence to the North Sea ports. These proceedings, of course, did not escape notice at Berlin, where the ends in view were perfectly appreciated; but they form only a petty incident in the great struggle, and can only be mentioned with brevity in order to indicate its growth. It may be stated here that, in 1873, the German Chancellor reversed the process, and secured for his Government the control of the Luxemburg lines. Another railway question which cropped up in May, 1870, was the famous railway which, by means of an ingenious tunnel within the Alps near St. Gothard, placed Germany in direct communication with Italy through neutral territory. Count von Bismarck openly said it was a Prussian interest, and the Northern Confederation paid a part of the cost, which aroused indignation in France. At one moment it seemed possible that this enterprise would serve as a casus belli; but the French Government, after careful deliberation, decided, in June, 1870, that they could not reasonably oppose the project, although it certainly was regarded at the Foreign Office in Paris as a further proof of German antagonism, and a sort of bribe tendered to Italy. Since the beginning of the year France had been in the enjoyment of certain Liberal concessions made by the Emperor, and confirmed, in May, by the famous “plébiscite,” which gave him a majority of more than five millions. Now, although the Emperor’s reflections on this triumphant result of an appeal to universal suffrage were embittered by the knowledge that large numbers of soldiers had helped to swell the million and a half of Frenchmen who voted “No,” still the Foreign Minister and his agents, according to M. Ollivier, were so elated that they exclaimed with pride, “Henceforth, all negotiations are easy to the Government,” since the world thoroughly understood that, for France, peace would never mean “complaisance or effacement.” Yet Prince Napoleon, in his brief sketch of these critical months, says plainly that the Government concerned itself less with foreseeing the political complications which might lead up to war, than with the best mode of proceeding when war arrived. So true is this, that a General was sent to Vienna to discuss the bases of a campaign with the Austrian War Office. But in the spring of 1870 fortune seemed to smile on official France; and on the last day of June M. Ollivier, instructed by the Foreign Minister, considered himself authorized to boast before the admiring Deputies that the peace of Europe had never been less in danger than it was at the moment when he delivered his optimistic declaration. In England, also, the Foreign Secretary could not discern “a cloud in the sky.”