A stand, entirely draped with black velvet, embellished with silver fringe, had been prepared for the sovereigns. The nave and the choir were reserved for the specially invited guests, and the lateral parts of the sacred building for the public.
Long before the hour fixed for the ceremony an immense crowd blocked up the approaches to the Gothic fane. Every Frenchman in Vienna, no matter what his rank, had received an invitation, and not one failed. The Knights of the Golden Fleece and the ambassadors in full Court dress occupied the foremost rows of the choir. Behind them were all the notabilities, all the princely guests, and the authorities of the city of Vienna. A detachment of the regiments of the Guards and another of the Hungarian Nobiliary Guard were on duty round the catafalque, as at the funeral of emperors. Emperor Francis himself intended this as the highest expression of his personal sentiments. In the nave stood a considerable number of ladies attired in mourning and wrapped in long crape veils.
At eleven o’clock a blast of trumpets heralded the arrival of the Emperor Francis, the Emperor of Russia, the Kings of Prussia, Bavaria and Denmark; of the Queen and of the Empress of Russia. The Empress of Austria, confined to the palace by ill-health, was the only one absent from the ceremony. The Prince Léopold de Sicile, as the only member of the House of Bourbon, and M. de la Tour du Pin stood at the portals of the cathedral and conducted the sovereigns to the imperial stand. Immediately afterwards, the celebration began. In spite of his eighty-four years, the venerable Archbishop of Vienna, Prince de Hohenwarth, had made it a point to officiate. A profound respect, an intense and reverent emotion, pervaded the immense assembly at the sight of the royal sarcophagus and of the white-haired priest praying for divine pity on the virtuous monarch. It would be difficult to guess the feelings of all those monarchs, reverently prostrated not far from the catafalque, recalling such a great misfortune and such a great event in the history of France. All were more or less related to the illustrious house of France, the most ancient of Europe.
M. Zaiguelius, vicar of Sainte-Anne in Vienna, and of French origin, delivered an address in French, noticeable for its many beauties, and some people pretended that M. Talleyrand was not altogether a stranger to its composition. The text was, ‘Let the earth know the fear of the name of the Lord.’ In this very remarkable address, the speaker was particularly anxious to show the hand of God, which raises up and overthrows thrones. Then, after the prayers for Louis XVI. and Marie-Antoinette, he concluded by reciting the principal passages of the will, which has rightly been called the most heroic code of charity. This was, in fact, the most beautiful funeral oration of Louis XVI., and when M. Zaiguelius descended from the pulpit there was not a dry eye in the place. After this, two hundred and fifty voices sang, without accompaniment, the ‘Requiem,’ composed by Neukomm, a pupil of Haydn. The musicians had been reinforced by amateurs; they constituted two separate choirs, of which one was conducted by Salieri, the Director of the Imperial Music. Its effect was admirable. Listened to with the most reverential silence, the hymn of sorrow seemed less a prayer addressed to Heaven for a virtuous victim than a sequel to the sublime words of pardon to which we had just listened. The cost of this funereal solemnity amounted to nearly a hundred thousand florins, and was entirely defrayed by the Austrian Court.
An express order of the emperor had suspended for that day all the ordinary entertainments. During the evening there was positively a crowd in M. de Talleyrand’s drawing-rooms. Everything was most sedate, as usual, for political discussions were the order of the day there rather than those connected with fêtes and gaiety. The Polish question was more than ever to the fore, and apparently as far as ever from being settled. The incorporation of Poland with his empire had been the ardent aspiration of Alexander from the very beginning of the Congress of Vienna. Supported in that claim by the King of Prussia, to whom, as a set-off, he sacrificed and abandoned Saxony, he had not reckoned upon any particular resistance; but it became manifest at the very outset of the discussions that there would be a lively opposition to this dual spoliation and the kind of bargain it involved. In the matter of Saxony, both Metternich and Talleyrand strenuously opposed the overthrow of a prince sincerely beloved by his subjects, and who during forty years had honoured the throne by his uprightness and by a combination of many virtues. These two statesmen fostered the hope that by denying Saxony to Prussia they would contribute to a rupture between the czar and King Frederick William; and that in consequence of this the Congress would be enabled to cut an independent Polish kingdom out of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw. England, which in principle seemed favourable to the pretensions of Russia and Prussia, had, however, been persuaded by the arguments of the Austrian Minister and his French colleague, and had taken sides with them. The discussion became very envenomed, in spite of the kindly efforts of Prince Razumowski. It was during one of those stormy conferences that the Grand-Duke Constantine became very angry with M. de ——. Finally, during another sitting, Alexander, addressing Lord Castlereagh, had not scrupled to affirm that at his voice eight millions of Poles would not hesitate to arise in order to sustain the independence of their country.[100]
Behind this question of Poland there loomed, however, another question much more important and far-reaching for European equilibrium. Napoleon had as yet not uttered the famous words, that before fifty years Europe would be French or Cossack. But already many far-seeing minds had become alarmed, and not without reason, at seeing Russia assuming the mastership on the Vistula. With the object of ‘forcing her back towards her inhospitable climate,’ and of plucking Poland from her domination, Austria, France, and England made a secret treaty on the 10th of January 1815. Talleyrand’s influence had determined that compact, for he already inclined towards an English alliance, to the realisation of which he looked so hard fifteen years later. That self-same treaty which the ministers of Louis XVIII. left behind them at the time of their flight on the 26th March 1815, and which Napoleon promptly sent to Alexander, was the cause of Alexander’s resentment against Talleyrand, which was never overcome. It was one of the causes which, after the second Restoration, kept the French diplomatist away from the ministry and from public affairs.
Nevertheless, it was supposed that the Grand-Duke Constantine, who had left Vienna in deference to his brother and master’s will, was only occupied with reviews and manœuvres, the supposedly exclusive objects of his passion. Nobody thought of war, and everybody ardently desired peace. Suddenly there came to Vienna a proclamation addressed by the Grand-duke to the Polish nation, which was tantamount to an appeal to arms. This strange manifesto was composed as follows:—
‘To the Polish Army.—His Majesty the Emperor Alexander, your powerful protector, appeals to you by this. Gather round your standards, take up arms to defend your country and to maintain your political existence. While this august monarch prepares the happy future of your country, show the world that you are ready to sustain his whole efforts with the price of your blood. The same chiefs who during the last twenty years have led you on the road to glory will know how to lead you thither once more. The emperor is fully cognisant of your valour; amidst many disasters of a most fatal war he has seen your honour survive events which in no wise depended upon you. Signal feats of arms conferred distinction upon you in a struggle the motive of which was foreign to you; at present, when your efforts are directly devoted to your country, you will be invincible. Soldiers and warriors of all arms, be ye the first to give the example of all the virtues which should inspire your countrymen. A boundless devotion to the emperor, who has no other aim than the welfare of your country, an unalterable love for his august person; obedience, discipline, and courage—these are the means to ensure the prosperity of your country, which is under the ægis of the emperor. It is only by those means that you can attain the happy situation which others may promise you, but which he alone can bestow. His power and his virtues will be the guarantee of it to you.’
Two points in this document, more than any other, aroused profound astonishment. The Grand-duke, in inciting the Poles to rally around his brother the emperor, in soliciting their devotion to his person, forestalled, as it were, the supreme decision of the Congress. The question was practically pending before the sovereign tribunal, no decision whatsoever had been taken, nevertheless Constantine virtually proclaimed his brother the Protector of Poland. Secondly, what construction was to be placed on those threats of war, on that appeal to arms, when the whole of Europe was ostentatiously looking at the consolidation of a general appeasement? Against whom, then, were the Poles, guided by the Russians, to take up arms? Against the other Powers, who refused them their independence? Did Constantine in reality flatter himself that he was imposing upon the Poles and hoodwinking them by garbling the truth? Could she (Poland) be blinded by those protestations in favour of her nationality?
Since the proclamation, denied for a moment, had acquired the stamp of authenticity, the discussion provoked by it stifled all others. In Talleyrand’s drawing-room it was the subject of all conversations. He was known to be a partisan of Saxony and Poland. It was also known that, together with Metternich, he was the soul of that far-seeing and imperturbable resistance to Russian projects.