“The fact appears to be, which I communicate with the most intimate conviction of its truth, that some sycophant, entering into the weakness of the Emperor, and perceiving that he was only happy in giving a little more circumference to the bubble, seized the moment of Izquierdo’s nomination, and pointing to the United States, said: ‘These are destined to form the last labor of the modern Hercules. The triumph over England cannot be complete so long as the commerce and republicanism of this country be permitted to exist. Will it then be wise to insulate it,—to divest yourselves or your allies of those points which would place you at once in the midst of it? With what view was it that after selling Louisiana, attempts were made by France to buy the Floridas from Spain? Was it not in the anticipation of events which may make necessary to you a place in the neighborhood of these States,—a point on which to rest your political lever? Remember that Archimedes could not move the world without previously finding a resting-place for his screw. Instead, therefore, of parting with the Floridas, I would suggest whether we should not make the repossession of Canada a condition of a peace with England.’ The conception itself, and the manner in which it was presented, struck the Emperor forcibly. He mused a moment upon it, and then in the most peremptory manner ordered that the negotiation should not go on.”
Armstrong regarded this anecdote as important. Perhaps he had it, directly or indirectly, from Talleyrand, who used more freedom of speech than was permitted to any other man in France; but the task of penetrating the depths of Napoleon’s mind was one which even Talleyrand attempted in vain. From the first, Florida had been used by Napoleon as a means of controlling President Jefferson. “To enlarge the circumference of his bubble” was a phrase keen and terse enough to have come from Talleyrand himself; but this was not the purpose for which Florida had hitherto been used in Napoleon’s diplomacy, and in ordering that the negotiation should be stopped, the Emperor might well have other motives, which he preferred keeping to himself.
An observer far less intelligent than Armstrong might have seen that in face of the great changes which his despatch announced for Italy, Portugal, and Spain, the time when Napoleon would need support from the United States had not yet come. The critical moment was still in the future. Perhaps America might be forced into war by the “Chesapeake” outrage; at all events, she was further than ever from alliance with England, and the Emperor could safely wait for her adhesion to the continental system until his plans for consolidating his empire were more mature. For the present, Don Carlos IV. and the Prince of Peace were the chief objects of French diplomacy.
The story of Toussaint and St. Domingo was about to be repeated in Spain. Even while Armstrong wrote these despatches, the throne of Don Carlos IV. crumbled, almost without need of a touch from without. France had drawn from Spain everything she once possessed,—her navy, sacrificed at Trafalgar to Napoleon’s orders; her army, nearly half of which was in Denmark; her treasures, which, so far as they had not been paid in subsidies to Napoleon, were shut up in Mexico. Nothing but the shell was left of all that had made Spain great. This long depletion had not been effected without extreme anxiety on the part of the Spanish government. At any time after the Prince of Peace returned to power in 1801, he would gladly have broken with France, as he proved in 1806; but he stood in much the same position as Jefferson, between the selfishness of England and the immediate interests of Spain. King Charles, anxious beyond measure for his own repose and for the safety of his daughter the Queen of Etruria, shrank from every strong measure of resistance to Napoleon’s will, yet was so helpless that only a traitor or a coward could have deserted him; and Godoy, with all his faults, was not so base as to secure his own interests by leaving the King to Napoleon’s mercy. For a single moment the King yielded to Godoy’s entreaties. When the fourth European coalition was formed against Napoleon, and Prussia declared war, the Prince of Peace was allowed to issue, Oct. 6, 1806, a proclamation calling the Spanish people to arms. October 14 the battle of Jena was fought, and the news reaching Madrid threw the King and court into consternation; Godoy’s influence was broken by the shock; the proclamation was recalled, and the old King bowed his head to his fate. Had he held firm, and thrown in his fortunes with those of England, Russia, and Prussia, the battle of Eylau might have stopped Napoleon’s career; and in any case the fate of Spain could not have been more terrible than it was.
The Prince of Peace begged in vain that King Charles would dismiss him and form a new ministry; the King could not endure a change. Napoleon laughed at the proclamation, but he knew Godoy to be his only serious enemy at Madrid. He took infinite pains, and exhausted the extraordinary resources of his cunning, in order to get possession of Spain without a blow. To do this, he forced Portugal into what he called a war. Without noticing Godoy’s offence, immediately after the peace of Tilsit, as has been already told, the Emperor ordered the King of Portugal to execute the Berlin Decree. Unable to resist, Portugal consented to shut her ports to English commerce, but objected to confiscating British property. Without a moment’s delay, Napoleon, October 12,[91] ordered General Junot, with an army of twenty thousand men, to enter Spain within twenty-four hours, and march direct to Lisbon; simultaneously he notified[92] the Spanish government that his troops would be at Burgos, November 1; and that this time “it was not intended to do as was done in the last war,—he must march straight to Lisbon.”
After the peace of Tilsit, no Power in Europe pretended to question Napoleon’s will, and for Spain to do so would have been absurd. King Charles had to submit, and he sent an army to co-operate with Junot against Portugal. The Emperor, who might at a single word have driven King Charles as well as the King of Portugal from the throne, did not say the word. Godoy’s proclamation had given France cause for war; but Napoleon took no notice of the proclamation. He did not ask for the punishment of Godoy; he not only left the old King in peace, but took extraordinary care to soothe his fears. On the same day when he ordered Junot to march, he wrote personally to reassure the King:[93] “I will concert with your Majesty as to what shall be done with Portugal; in any case the suzerainty shall belong to you, as you have seemed to wish.” Yet four days later he ordered[94] another army of thirty thousand men to be collected at Bayonne, to support Junot, who had no enemy to fear. That his true campaign was against Spain, not against Portugal, never admitted of a doubt; his orders to Junot hardly concealed his object:[95]—
“Cause descriptions to be made for me of all the provinces through which you pass,—the roads, the nature of the ground; send me sketches. Charge engineer officers with this work, which it is important to have; so that I can see the distance of the villages, the nature of the country, the resources it offers.... I learn this moment that Portugal has declared war on England and sent away the English ambassador: this does not satisfy me; continue your march; I have reason to believe that it is agreed upon with England in order to give time for the English troops to come from Copenhagen. You must be at Lisbon by December 1, as friend or as enemy. Maintain the utmost harmony with the Prince of Peace.”
Junot entered Spain October 17, the same day that these orders were written, while Napoleon at Fontainebleau forced on the Spanish agent Izquierdo a treaty which might keep King Charles and Godoy quiet a little longer. This document, drafted by Napoleon himself, resembled the letter to Toussaint and the proclamation to the negroes of St. Domingo, with which Leclerc had been charged;[96] its motive was too obvious, and its appeal to selfishness too gross to deceive. It declared[97] that Portugal should be divided into three parts. The most northerly, with Oporto for a capital and a population of eight hundred thousand souls, should be given to the Queen of Etruria in place of Tuscany, which was to be swallowed up in the kingdom of Italy. The next provision was even more curious. The southern part of Portugal, with a population of four hundred thousand souls, should be given to the Prince of Peace as an independent sovereignty. The central part, with a population of two millions, and Lisbon for a capital, should be held by France subject to further agreement. By a final touch of dissimulation worthy of Shakespeare’s tragic invention, Napoleon, in the last article of this treaty, promised to recognize Don Carlos IV. as Emperor of the two Americas.
The so-called treaty of Fontainebleau was signed Oct. 27, 1807. That it deceived Godoy or King Charles could hardly be imagined, but the internal and external difficulties of Spain had reached a point where nothing but ruin remained. In the whole of Spain hardly twenty thousand troops could be assembled; barely half-a-dozen frigates were fit for sea; the treasury was empty; industry was destroyed. Napoleon himself had no idea how complete was the process by which he had sucked the life-blood of this miserable land. Even in the court at Madrid and among the people signs of an immediate catastrophe were so evident that Napoleon could afford to wait until chaos should call for his control.
Meanwhile Junot marched steadily forward. He was at Burgos on the day fixed by Napoleon; he established permanent French depots at Valladolid and at Salamanca. Leaving Salamanca November 12, he advanced to Ciudad Rodrigo, and after establishing another depot there, he made a rapid dash at Lisbon. The march was difficult, but Junot was ready to destroy his army rather than fail to carry out his orders; and on the morning of November 30 he led a ragged remnant of fifteen hundred men into the city of Lisbon. He found it without a government. The Prince Regent of Portugal, powerless to resist Napoleon, had gone on board his ships with the whole royal family and court, and was already on his way to found a new empire at Rio Janeiro. Of all the royal houses of Europe, that of Portugal was the first to carry out a desperate resolution.