The French Government and the Chamber.
War was now plainly inevitable, yet the decisive word still rested with the Imperial Government. In Paris there were two currents running strongly in opposite ways, and, for a moment, it seemed possible that the tide which made for peace would overpower the surging stream which drove onwards towards war. More than one-half the Ministry believed, and some, M. Ollivier for one, said that the retreat of Prince Leopold, with the consent of the King, a great diplomatic victory for France, was enough, and had, indeed, brought the quarrel to an end. At midday, on the 13th, M. Robert Mitchell, meeting M. Paul de Cassagnac, said, “I have just left Ollivier, and, thank God, peace is secured.” “My father,” was the reply, “has just quitted the Emperor; war is resolved on.” The statement was not then exact, but it may be accepted as a forecast. For, in truth, it was only at noon the next day that the Ministers assembled in council at the Tuileries to answer the momentous question which so profoundly agitated their minds. They sat six hours; they were divided in opinion; yet, although Marshal Lebœuf was authorized to call out the reserves—he had threatened to resign unless that were done—the Ministers separated with the understanding that a peaceful line of action should be adopted, based on a demand for a Congress of the Powers to sanction the principle that no member of any reigning house should accept a foreign throne. The Duc de Gramont’s brief account of this notable Council shows that the hankering after war was powerful therein; since he says that “the Government decided, not without hesitation, but influenced by a love of peace, to propose this pacific solution.” But all, or some of the Ministers, and still more the Emperor, stood in dread of two things: they were alarmed lest the “dynasty” should be injured by a course which bore the semblance of a forced retreat, and they could not rely with confidence on the sober opinion of the Chambers. The Court war-party operated upon the Senators and Deputies through M. Clément Duvernois, a schemer, and M. Jérôme David, by birth and training a fanatical Bonapartist, the second accentuating the questions of the first, and giving to his own language a substance which made retreat almost impossible. Both these men had a double object. They intended to extort a declaration of war and, at the same time, expel Emile Ollivier, together with what they called the Parliamentary element, from the Ministry. The energetic, aggressive and relentless group were really the mouthpieces of the Emperor and Empress, and in a less degree of M. Rouher, who had been deposed by the new Imperial constitution, and of the Duc de Gramont, who all through the business desired to secure a prolongation of peace, solely because it would give him time to ripen the projects of alliance with Austria and Italy, and also to make war, lest “la Prusse,” aware of his design, should choose her own hour for battle. It so chanced that Marshal Lebœuf, after despatching the orders calling out the reserves, received a note from the Emperor, which, he says, seemed to suggest a regret at the decision adopted by the Council; and thinking, innocent man, that some constitutional scruples had sprung up in the Imperial mind, the Marshal begged that the Ministers might be summoned once more. That night they met again, talked for an hour, and had nearly resolved that the mobilization of the army should be deferred, when papers were placed in the hands of the Duc de Gramont. The exact contents of these documents have not been described, but they seemed to have contained some report of language held by Count Bismarck which exasperated the war party; and, in an instant, the Council resolved on war. That same night, M. Robert Mitchell, walking in the garden of the Foreign Office, asked M. Ollivier why he did not resign? The Minister gave a host of plausible reasons having no real weight; adding these prophetic words: “Whatever happens, I am sacrificed; for the war will sweep away the régime to which I have attached my name. If we are beaten, God protect France! If we are victorious, God protect our Liberties!”
So that, having a clear perception of the future, this Minister, at least, met the Chambers on the morrow. The exciting events of the past week, imperfectly understood and carelessly or purposely misrepresented, had aroused a tempest of passion in Paris and France, which, by its violence and uproar, overpowered, but could not wholly silence, the voices of sagacity and sober judgment. The Senate was unanimous for war. In the Chamber the Opposition waged courageously a desperate contest, so desperate from the outset, that even M. Thiers, perhaps because he told unpleasant truths, could not command an unbroken hearing, while M. Gambetta only secured one by making a rare display of forensic tact, basing himself on Parliamentary ground, and tempering his appeal for “more light” with evidences of his indisputable patriotism. The Duc de Gramont favoured the Senators with a version of the facts, which was neither complete nor candid. M. Emile Ollivier allowed an unhappy phrase to escape from his lips—he went into the war “à cœur leger.” A committee was appointed to inspect the diplomatic documents on which the Court relied; it was easily satisfied, and late in the night, sustained by a large majority, the policy of the Government was amply sanctioned.
Perhaps a sentence spoken by M. Guyot Montpayroux best illustrates the predominant feeling. “Prussia,” he said, “has forgotten the France of Jena, and the fact must be recalled to her memory.” Thus was war declared by these infuriated legislators on the night of July 15th. M. Thiers, who desired a war with Prussia “at the proper time,” has left on record his judgment that the hour then selected was “detestably ill-chosen.” Yet even he and M. Gambetta were both anxious that “satisfaction” should be obtained for Sadowa; while the thought which animated the Court is admirably expressed in the phrase imputed to the Empress who, pointing to the Prince Imperial, said, “This child will never reign unless we repair the misfortunes of Sadowa.” Such was the ceaseless refrain. The word haunted French imaginations incessantly, and it was the pivot on which the Imperial policy revolved, and it exercised a spell scarcely less powerful and disastrous upon Monarchists like M. Thiers, and Republicans like Gambetta and Jules Favre. Still, it may be said that France was divided in opinion. Consulted through the Prefects, only sixteen departments were for war; no fewer than thirty-four were adverse, and the remainder could not be said to hold with the one or the other. Nor should it be overlooked that these estimates of popular feeling were transmitted by functionaries who have always a wish to please the superior Powers. Germany, on the other hand, was united as it had never been since 1813. King William was applauded everywhere. When he reached Berlin on the evening of the 15th, he was met at the railway station by the Crown Prince, Count von Bismarck, General von Moltke, and General von Roon. There the decision was formally taken to accept the challenge, the fact was repeated to the crowd who had assembled, and whose shouts were loud, deep, and prolonged; and that same night went forth the brief telegraphic orders which from one centre touched a thousand springs, and called into instant being an army, perfectly organized, equipped, trained and supplied. So that when Baron Wimpfen, a secretary of legation, entered Berlin on the 19th of July, and handed to M. Le Sourd the French declaration of war—the sole official document on the subject received by Prussia, as Von Moltke bluntly remarks—that work had already begun which finished in little more than a fortnight, enabled the King to break into France at the head of more than three hundred thousand soldiers.
Only one word more need be said on this subject—the causes of the war. Clearing away the diplomatic mist which hides the realities, the student will discover two deadly opposites; on one side the determination of France to insist on a right of meddling with internal German affairs, and even of prescribing the form or forms which the national aggregate should assume; on the other, the fixed resolve of the German people that the French should no longer dictate or pretend to dictate beyond the Rhine, that an end should be put to the policy of seeking political profits by fomenting the spirit of discord in the petty German Courts; and that, if possible, by dint of “Kraft und Muth,” Germany should secure palpable safeguards against French invasions, and resume possession of the strongholds and dependent territories which were acquired, in times of adversity and disunion, by Louis XIV. Thus, the causes of war were deeply rooted in essential facts. The moment to be chosen, if it can be said to have been chosen, was for statesmen to decide. The Imperial Government, down to the last hour, sought to form a combination adverse to Prussia, intending to wage war at its own time. Prussia refused to be made the victim of a triple alliance, and taking a fair advantage of the imperious conduct of the French Court, seized the golden opportunity, promptly answered the declaration of war, and struck down the French Empire before its hesitating and unprepared allies could move a finger to avert a defeat which neither attempted, nor dared attempt to repair. Austria, the unready, stood in fear of Russia: Italy, the ambitious, demanded the right to enter Rome. “We can grant nothing of the kind,” said the over-confident Duc de Gramont, so late as July 30. “If Italy will not march,” he exclaimed, “let her sit still.” Abundant evidence exists to prove that war between France and Germany was solely a question of time, and Prussia cannot be blamed justly for selecting or seizing the hour most suitable to her and least suitable to her adversaries. The Duc de Gramont asserts that neither the Emperor nor the Government nor France, desired war—certainly not just then; but they intended to make war at a time and under conditions chosen by themselves. He admits that it was the duty of the Imperial Government to evade a war, but also prepare for a war as much as possible; and, failing to do the former, he further confessed many months afterwards, that too much confidence in the army and in its untested military virtues, and the dazzling splendour of a glorious past dragged France, its Government and its representatives, into an unequal struggle. “We believed ourselves too strong to stoop,” he says, “and we knew not how to resist the system of provocations so ably combined and directed by the Cabinet of Berlin.” A frank confession, especially from the pen of a statesman who was himself endeavouring to combine a system of alliances, and who was anticipated by the Power against whom his plans were directed. M. Prevost Paradol, who in a moment of weakness had accepted from the Emperor the post of Minister at Washington, saw more clearly into the future than the Duc de Gramont and some of his colleagues. On the very afternoon of the day when the unhappy journalist killed himself, he saw a countryman, the Comte d’Hérisson, and his language to the young man showed how deeply he was moved, and with what sagacity he estimated the near future. In his opinion, expressed on the 10th of July, war was even then certain, because not only “la Prusse” desired war, but because, as he said, “The Empire requires war, wishes for it, and will wage it.” The young Frenchmen to whom he spoke made light of the peril, and said he should like to travel in Germany, and study in the libraries of her conquered cities. But the Minister checked his natural exultation, saying, “You will not go to Germany, you will be crushed in France. Believe me, I know the Prussians. We have nothing whatever that is needed to strive with them. We have neither generals, men, nor matériel. We shall be ground to powder. Nous serons broyés. Before six months are over there will be a Revolution in France, and the Empire will be at an end.” Mourning over the error he made in laying down his sharp critical pen to put on a diplomatic uniform, and maddened by the retrospect and prospect, Paradol, a few hours after uttering his predictions, escaped from unendurable misery by a pistol-shot. It was like an omen of the coming catastrophe.