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.
Luxemburg.
As he found Prussia polite yet intractable, and prompt to use plain language, if concessions were demanded, the Emperor Napoleon formed, or was advised to form, an ingenious plan whereby he hoped to secure Luxemburg. He entered into secret negotiations with Holland for the purchase of the Duchy. The Queen of Holland, a Princess of the House of Würtemburg, was a keen partizan of France. She it was, who, in July, 1866, uttered a cry of warning which reached the Tuileries. “It is the dynasty,” she wrote, “which is menaced by a powerful Germany and a powerful Italy, and the dynasty will have to suffer the consequences. When Venetia was ceded, you should have succoured Austria, marched on the Rhine, and imposed your own conditions. To permit the destruction of Austria is more than a crime, it is a blunder.” Perhaps the notion that Luxemburg could be acquired by purchase came from this zealous, clear-sighted, and outspoken lady. Wherever it may have originated, the scheme was hotly pursued, negotiations were opened at the Hague, the usual Napoleonic operations were actually begun to obtain a plébiscite from the Duchy. Count von Bismarck was discreetly sounded by M. Benedetti, with the usual indefinite result, and the consent of the King of Holland was obtained without much difficulty. At the same time there was a strong current of opposition in the Dutch Government, and Prince Henry, the Governor of Luxemburg, made no secret of his hostility. The King himself was subject to recurring tremors caused by his reflections on the possible action of the Prussian Court; and his alarms were only mitigated or allayed from time to time by assurances based, in reality, on M. Benedetti’s “impressions” that the Chancellor was not unfavourable to the plan of cession. The truth is that M. Benedetti did not accurately perceive the position which Bismarck had taken up from the outset. It might be thus expressed: “Luxemburg belongs to the King of Holland. It is his to keep or give away. If you want the Duchy, why don’t you take it, and with it the consequences, which it is for you to forecast.” The French Court and its Ministers still laboured under the belief that they could manage the Berlin Government, and they put their own interpretation on the vague, perhaps tempting language of the Chancellor. At a certain moment, the fear, always lurking in the King of Holland’s breast, gained the mastery, and he caused the secret to be disclosed to the public. “He would do nothing without the consent of the King of Prussia;” and by revealing the negotiations he forced on a decision. The incident which terrified the King of Holland was, no doubt, startling. M. Thiers had made a strong anti-German speech in the Chamber, and M. Rouher had developed his theory of the “trois tronçons,” or triple division of Germany. The Chancellor, who had acquired full knowledge of French pretensions from French Ministers, answered both statesmen by printing, in the foreground of the “Official Gazette,” the treaty which gave King William the control of the Bavarian army, in case of war. That fact also produced a decisive effect upon the Dutch monarch, who saw in this characteristic indirect retort to the French parliamentary display a menace specially directed against himself. Hence the revelation sufficed to thwart the bargain, then so far finished that signatures were alone wanting to render it binding. The German people fired up at the bare mention of such a proposal as the cession of a German province. M. de Moustier, vexed and taken aback, called on Bismarck to restrain the passions of his countrymen, and vainly urged the Dutch monarch to sign the treaties. On the morning of the day when he was to be questioned in the Reichstag, Bismarck asked Benedetti whether he would authorize the Minister to state in the Chamber that the treaties had been signed at the Hague. The Ambassador could not give the required authority, seeing that although the King, under conditions, had pledged his word to the Emperor, the formal act had not been done, because Prussia had not answered the appeal for consent from the Hague. On April 1, 1867, while Napoleon was opening the Exhibition in Paris, Herr von Bennigsen put his famous question respecting the current rumours about a treaty of cession. If the French were not prepared for the fierce outburst of Teutonic fervour, still less could they relish the question put by Herr von Bennigsen and the answer which it drew from the Chancellor. The former described the Duchy as an “ancient province of the collective Fatherland,” and the latter, while “taking into account the French nation’s susceptibilities,” and giving a brief history of the position in which Luxemburg stood towards Germany, made his meaning clear to the French Court. “The confederate Governments,” he said, “are of opinion that no foreign power will interfere with the indisputable rights of German States and German populations. They hope to be able to vindicate and protect those rights by peaceful negotiations, without prejudicing the friendly relations which Germany has hitherto entertained with her neighbours.” Napoleon and his advisers were not likely to misconstrue language which, although it lacked the directness of Von Bennigsen’s sentences, obviously meant that the French scheme could not be worked out. Indeed, a few days earlier, the Chancellor had used a significant phrase. Answering a question in the Chamber, he said:—“If the previous speaker can manage to induce the Grand Duke (of Luxemburg) to come into the North German Federation, he will be able to say that he has called an European question into existence; what more, Time alone can show.” The phrase could hardly have escaped the notice of M. de Moustier, and coupled with the second reply, already quoted, gave rise to indignation not unmixed with alarm. At first the Emperor seemed determined not to recede, and he took counsel with his generals, who could not give him encouragement, because they knew that the Government was absolutely without the means of making even a respectable defence against an invasion. The period of suspense at the Tuileries did not endure long. Shortly after the scene in the Reichstag, the Prussian Minister at the Hague brought the matter to a crisis by a message which he delivered to the Dutch Government. The King of the Netherlands, he is reported to have said, can act as he pleases, but he is responsible for what he may do. If he had believed that the meditated cession was a guarantee of peace, it was the Minister’s duty to destroy the illusion. “My Government,” he added, “advises him in the most formal manner, not to give up Luxemburg to France.” The blow was fatal; the King of course, took the advice to heart, and such a stroke was all the more deeply felt in Paris because there the Emperor, who had considered the end gained, now knew from Marshal Niel that it would be madness to provoke a war. Yet, unless a loophole of escape could be found, war was imminent. M. de Moustier discovered a safe and dignified line of retreat. The Chancellor had referred to the treaty of 1839 which governed the status of Luxemburg; M. de Moustier took him at his word, and virtually brought the dispute within the purview of Europe, by formally demanding that the Prussian garrison should be withdrawn. He held that since the German forces were practically centred in the hands of Prussia, Luxemburg, no longer a mere defensive post, had become a menace to France. In this contention there was much truth, seeing that the new Confederation of the North, and its allies in the South, constituted a political and military entity far more formidable and mobile than the old Bund. When the Chancellor refused a demand, which his adversaries assert he was at one time prepared to grant, the French Government, declaring that they had no wish for other than friendly relations with Berlin, appealed to Europe. The dispute ended in a compromise arranged as usual beforehand, and settled at a conference held in London. The garrison was withdrawn, the fortifications were to be razed, and the Duchy, like Belgium, was thenceforth to be neutral ground, covered by a collective guarantee of the Powers; but it still remained within the German Zollverein.
There were at work several influences which largely operated to determine a peaceful issue. The French possessed no real army, and the Emperor had only just begun to think about the needful military organization on a new model; he had, besides, on hand an international Exhibition, by which he set great store; and in addition a summons to withdraw a garrison did not provide a casus belli certain to secure the support of public opinion. Nor did the Prussian Government consider the moment opportune, or the question raised a suitable ground on which to determine the inveterate cause of quarrel between France and Germany. Upon this subject Dr. Busch has recorded some characteristic observations made by the Chancellor, at Versailles, in 1870. “I remember,” he said, “when I was at the Paris Exhibition of 1867, I thought to myself ‘how would it have been by now, if we had fought out the Luxemburg quarrel? Should I be in Paris, or the French in Berlin?’ We were not nearly as strong then as we are now. The Hanoverians and Hessians of that day could not have supplied us with so many good soldiers as to-day. As for the Schleswig-Holsteiners, who have lately been fighting like lions, they had no army at all. The Saxon army was broken up, and had to be entirely reconstructed. And there was but little to be expected from the South Germans. What splendid fellows the Würtembergers are now, quite magnificent! but in 1866 no soldier could help laughing at them, as they marched into Frankfort like a civic guard. Nor was all well with the Baden forces; the Grand Duke has done a great deal for them since then. Doubtless public opinion throughout Germany was with us, if we had chosen to make war about Luxemburg. But that would not have made up for all those shortcomings.” It is plain, from this retrospective comment, which comes in aid of other evidence, that the great conflict, deferred to 1870, was nearly brought about in 1867, and that France was saved from utter rout, at that early period, by the operation of a set of influences over which neither of the principal actors had full control. The Franco-Dutch negotiation was the last attempt which the Emperor Napoleon made to obtain territory by direct or furtive diplomatic processes. In the early stages of the risky business he had full confidence in his own ascendancy, not to say “preponderance” in European councils. He was rudely undeceived. Herr von Bismarck had tempted him with all kinds of suggestions, but the Emperor himself, his Ministers and Ambassadors had been content to take the “impressions,” which they derived from confidential conversations, for definite, binding promises. One French agent correctly described the fact when he said that “Herr von Bismarck is ready, not to offer us compensations, but to allow us to take them;” he might have added, “if we can and at our own risk.” There is no published evidence that the Prussian statesman ever offered to cede Luxemburg, or sanction the annexation of Belgium, or preclude himself from adopting, at any conjuncture, the line which appeared most accordant with German interests. On the contrary, long after the interviews at Biarritz and in Paris, and the battle of Sadowa, Napoleon III., to use his own terms, wanted, at least, “une certitude relative” that the Prussian Government would not interpose any obstacle in the way of French “aggrandizement” in the North. He asked, not for words, but an act which he could never obtain; and the Luxemburg incident proved to him conclusively that nothing could be gained by making demands on the Court of Prussia. In 1867 and afterwards in November, 1870, according to Dr. Busch, Bismarck described with his usual frankness the hesitation of the Emperor. He had not understood his advantages, in 1866, when he might have done a good business, although not on German soil, was the earlier commentary. The later was more illuminative. “In the summer of 1866,” said Bismarck, “Napoleon had not the pluck to do what was the right thing from his point of view. He ought—well, he ought to have taken possession of the subject of Benedetti’s proposal [Belgium], when we were marching against the Austrians, and have held it in pawn for whatever might happen. At that time we could not stop him and it was not likely that England would attack him—at least he might have waited to see.” On this it may be observed that the influence of Lord Cowley and Lord Clarendon would probably have sufficed to turn him from such a plan had it entered into the Emperor’s mind; and had he delivered the blow, in defiance of their protests, or without consulting them, England, at that time, would have been enraged at the treachery, and would have certainly occupied Antwerp. The Emperor was a man who caressed audacious projects which he had not always the nerve and courage to carry out. What is more astonishing, he did not or could not provide the means essential to the accomplishment of his desires. Thus the precedent afforded by his conduct in 1866 was followed in 1867, and in each case the result was the same—vexatious failure.
An Interlude of Peace.
The war-clouds sank below the horizon, the Paris Exhibition was duly opened, sovereigns and princes, statesmen and generals, journeyed to the French capital, and the Court of the Tuileries gave itself up to amusement, gaiety, and dissipation, neglecting nothing which could give pleasure to its illustrious guests. It was the last hour of splendour, the sunset of the Empire. Yet the brilliant scenes, which followed each other day by day, were even then flecked with dark shades. If politics were evaded or ignored in the palace, they were not absent from the highways. Polish hatred found vent in the attempt of Berezowski to slay the unfortunate Emperor Alexander II., and M. Floquet shouted in his ear as he passed through the Courts of Justice, “Vive la Pologne!” The crime and the insult augured ill for the future of that Franco-Russian alliance which Charles X. endeavoured to establish and certain French statesmen have always sighed for. M. Hansen records a sharp observation made by Prince Gortchakoff during the Polish insurrection which the Western Powers regarded with friendly eyes. The Vice-Chancellor held that France and Russia were natural allies, because their interests were the same. “If the Emperor Napoleon will not admit it,” he roughly said, “so much the worse for him. Governments vanish, nations remain.” Still, in 1867, he did not find the nation more favourable than the Government had been in 1864. Twenty years later, although Russia had become less unpopular, at least with the politicians, and a yearning for a Russian alliance had gathered strength, the ultras proved how little they understood some conditions essential to its gratification by clamoring for the pardon and liberation of Berezowski! The Prussian King and Queen were not exposed to any outrage, and the Parisians gazed with curiosity upon Bismarck and Moltke, whom they admired, and had not yet learned to detest; but the sparkling and joyful assemblies, although the actors, on both sides, were doubtless sincere at the time, nevertheless suggests a famous incident in the French Revolution which figures on historical pages as “le baiser de l’amourette.” And underneath the shining surface were concealed gnawing anxieties and fears. The Emperor Napoleon had dreamed that he could found a Mexican empire, and he had induced the Austrian Archduke Maximilian to accept at his hands an Imperial crown. The enterprise, which was pushed on by French troops, not only failed, but irritated England, who had been deceived, and offended the United States, whose Government, victors in a civil war, would not tolerate the establishment of the “Latin race” in the centre of the huge continent. Not only had it become necessary to recall the troops, but to bear a still deeper misfortune—if the word may be applied to the consequences of a reckless and unscrupulous adventure. It was while opening the Exhibition that the earliest hints reached the Emperor of an event which dealt him a heavy blow; and, on the eve of the day fixed for the distribution of prizes to the competitors he had assembled, came the confirmation of the dreaded intelligence, whispered weeks before. The gallant Archduke and Emperor Maximilian, who had fallen into the hands of the triumphant and implacable Mexicans, had been tried and shot, a deed which his French patron was powerless to avenge.
The Salzburg Interview.
The tragedy of Quaretaro reacted upon European politics, and incidentally emphasized afresh the perennial antagonism between France and Germany. Still smarting from the wounds of 1866, Austria hungered for an ally, and the Saxon Count von Beust, whom the Emperor Francis Joseph had made his Chancellor, was eager to try one more fall with Count von Bismarck. Swayed by political reasons, the Austrian Emperor not only did not resent the death of his brother, but was even willing to welcome as his guest Louis Napoleon, who had so successfully seduced the Archduke by dangling before him the bait of an Imperial crown. The French Emperor and his Empress, therefore, travelled in state through South Germany to Salzburg, where they met their Austrian hosts. The occasion was, nominally, one of condolence and mourning, and the vain regrets on both sides were doubtless genuine. Yet it so chanced that the days spent in the lovely scenery of Salzburg were given up to gay mirth and feasting—not to sorrow and gloom; and that the irrepressible spirit of politics intruded on the brilliant company gathered round an open grave. Both emperors felt aggrieved; one by the loss of his high estate in Germany and his Italian provinces, the other because his demand for the Rhenish territory had been rejected, and he had not been allowed to take Belgium or buy Luxemburg. The common enemy was Prussia, who had worsted Austria in battle, and France in diplomacy and at Salzburg, perhaps earlier, the ground plans were sketched for an edifice which the architects trusted might be built up sufficiently large and strong to contain, at least, two allies. The sketch was vague, yet it was definite enough at least to reveal the designs of the draughtsmen; and the Emperors returned home still in jubilation.