“Austria at first offered her services as a mediatrix; but, changing her tone in proportion as her warlike preparations advanced, she soon signified her wish to become an arbitress, at the same time intimating that she expected great advantages in return for the services she might render. At length, after an armistice of two months, when Austria thought herself perfectly prepared, and when every thing was agreed upon among the coalesced powers, they opened the Congress, not to treat of peace and to establish amicable relations, but to develop their real sentiments, and to insult us unreservedly. The Russians, in particular, behaved with unusual ill grace. They were no longer the Russians who anxiously solicited an armistice after the routs of Lützen, Würtzen, and Bautzen. They now looked upon themselves as the dictators of Europe, which, indeed, they have since really become, by the spirit of their diplomacy, the blindness of their allies, their geographical situation, and finally by the force of things. But whom did Alexander select as his minister to this Congress? Precisely one who, by personal circumstances, was, according to the laws of France, unqualified for such a post;—one who was by birth a Frenchman. Certainly it would have been difficult to offer a more personal and direct insult. Napoleon felt it; but he concealed his resentment.
“Under such circumstances much could not be expected from the Congress: during the few days of its sitting, our enemies merely drew up a series of notes more or less acrimonious, while the conduct of Austria was marked by the most odious partiality.
“On the 10th of August, only two days after the first meeting of the negotiators, the Russians and Prussians haughtily withdrew; and on the 12th, Austria, that faithful ally, that obsequious and devoted friend, who had shewn herself so eager to become our mediatrix and arbitress, suddenly laid aside those titles to declare war against us, allowing no interval save that required for the signature of the manifesto, which she had been for two months secretly concerting with her new allies, and which will ever remain a record of her shame and degradation, since it acknowledges the sacrifice of an Archduchess to the necessity of crouching before a detested ally. History will decide on these acts. However, to the honour of the throne and of morality, there is reason to believe that most of these transactions, and in particular the real course of affairs, was unknown to the Emperor Francis, who is reputed to be the most gentle, upright, moral, and pious of princes. It has been affirmed that many of these acts were determined on without his knowledge, and that others were represented to him under a totally false colouring. The whole of these disgraceful proceedings must be attributed to British gold, to the craftiness of Russian diplomacy, and to the passions of the Austrian aristocracy, excited by the English faction which at that time ruled Europe.
“The Congress broke up with mutual feelings of irritation. The Emperor then expressed his sentiments in official and public documents, in the most forcible language, and in a tone of the highest superiority. But this he did with the view of creating a favourable impression on the public mind; for he remained so far master of himself as that, though hastening to take up arms, he nevertheless demanded a renewal of the negotiations, which were resumed at Prague. He deemed it advisable not to lose the advantages of constant communications: Austria would be easily detached if we obtained advantages, and she would be easily convinced if we sustained reverses. Such was the Congress of Prague.
“It will perhaps be asked whether Napoleon was duped by this Congress and the circumstances arising out of it. The answer is that he was not, or at least not entirely. If he had not a knowledge of every fact, he was never for a moment mistaken as to the intentions and sentiments that were really entertained.
“Napoleon, from the moment of his first victory at Lutzen, had authentically proposed a general congress. This he conceived to be the only means of treating for a general peace, insuring the independence[independence] of France, and the guarantee of the modern system. Every other mode of negotiation appeared to him merely a lure; and if he seemed to depart from this principle, in accepting the mediation of Austria, and agreeing to the conferences at Prague, it was because, as time advanced, affairs became more complicated. The defeat of Vittoria, the evacuation of Spain, and the spirit of the French people, which was declining, had considerably diminished his prosperity. He anticipated the result of the negotiations: but he wished to gain time, in his turn, and to await the course of events. He was not deceived as to the part which Austria would act; and, without knowing precisely how far she would carry her deception, he could well discern, from her mysterious conduct and delays, what was likely to be her determination. At Dresden, he had even had personal conversations with the first negotiator of the Austrian government, who had sufficiently indicated the line of conduct he intended to pursue. The Emperor having remarked that he had, after all, eight hundred thousand men to oppose the enemy, the negotiator eagerly added, ‘Your Majesty may say twelve hundred thousand; for you may, if you please, join our force to your own.’ But what was to be the price of this advantage? Nothing less than the restitution of Illyria, the cession of the Duchy of Warsaw, the frontier of the Inn, &c. ‘And after all,’ said the Emperor, ‘what should I have gained by this? Had we made all these concessions, should we not have been humbling ourselves for nothing, and furnishing Austria with the means of making farther demands, and afterwards opposing us with greater advantage?’ He never relinquished the idea that the true interests of Austria being closely connected with our danger, we should be more certain of regaining her by our misfortunes than of securing her by our concessions. Napoleon was therefore deaf to every demand; but he had so little doubt of the engagements which Austria had already contracted with our enemies that he is described as having said, half good-humouredly and half indignantly, to the Austrian negotiator: ‘Come now, confess: tell me how much they have paid you for this.’”
How severely did Napoleon suffer on this occasion! What trials of patience did he not undergo! And yet he was accused at the time of not wishing for peace! “How was I perplexed,” said he, “when conversing on this subject, to find myself the only one to judge of the extent of our danger and to adopt means to avert it. I was harassed on the one hand by the coalesced Powers, who threatened our very existence, and on the other by the spirit of my own subjects, who in their blindness, seemed to make common cause with them; by our enemies, who were labouring for my destruction, and by the importunities of my people and even my Ministers, who urged me to throw myself on the mercy of foreigners. And I was obliged to keep up a bold look in this embarrassing situation: to reply haughtily to some, and sharply to rebuff others, who created difficulties in my rear, encouraged the mistaken course of public opinion, instead of seeking to give it a proper direction, and suffered me to be tormented by demands for peace, when they ought to have proved that the only means of obtaining it was to urge me ostensibly to war.
“However, my determination was fixed. I awaited the result of events, firmly resolved to enter into no concessions or treaties which could present only a temporary reparation, and would inevitably have been attended by fatal consequences. Any middle course must have been dangerous; there was no safety except in victory, which would have preserved my power, or in some catastrophe, which would have brought back my allies.”
I beg to call the reader’s attention to this last idea, which I have already noticed on a former occasion. It will perhaps be thought I attach great importance to it; but this is because I feel the necessity of rendering it intelligible. Though I now enter into it completely, yet it was long before I understood it, and it appeared to me paradoxical and subtle.
“In what a situation was I placed!” continued the Emperor. “I saw that France, her destinies, her principles, depended on me alone!”—“Sire!” I ventured to observe, “this was the opinion generally entertained; and yet some parties reproached you for it, exclaiming, with bitterness, Why would he connect every thing with himself personally?”—“That was a vulgar accusation,” resumed the Emperor warmly. “My situation was not one of my own choosing, nor did it arise out of any fault of mine; it was produced entirely by the nature and force of circumstances—by the conflict of two opposite orders of things. Would the individuals who held this language, if indeed they were sincere, have preferred to go back to the period preceding Brumaire, when our internal dissolution was complete, foreign invasion certain, and the destruction of France inevitable? From the moment when we decided on the concentration of power, which could alone save us; when we determined on the unity of doctrines and resources which rendered us a mighty nation, the destinies of France depended solely on the character, the measures, and the principles of him whom she had invested with this accidental dictatorship: from that moment the public welfare, the State, was myself. These words, which I addressed to men who were capable of understanding them, were strongly censured by the narrow-minded and ill-disposed; but the enemy felt the full force of them, and, therefore, his first object was to effect my overthrow. The same outcry was raised against other words which I uttered in the sincerity of my heart: when I said that France had more need of me than I of her. This profound truth was declared to be merely excess of vanity. But, my dear Las Cases, you now see that I can relinquish every thing; and as to what I endure here, my sufferings cannot be long. My life is limited; but the existence of France...!” Then, resuming his former idea, he said: “The circumstances in which we were placed were extraordinary and unprecedented; it would be vain to seek for any parallel to them. I was myself the keystone of an edifice totally new, and raised on a slight foundation! Its stability depended on each of my battles! Had I been conquered at Marengo, France would have encountered all the disasters of 1814 and 1815, without those prodigies of glory which succeeded, and which will be immortal. It was the same at Austerlitz and Jena, and again at Eylau and elsewhere. The vulgar failed not to blame my ambition as the cause of all these wars. But they were not of my choosing; they were produced by the nature and force of events; they arose out of that conflict between the past and the future—that constant and permanent coalition of our enemies, which obliged us to subdue under pain of being subdued.”