Castlereagh's straightforward behaviour had an immense influence in leading Metternich to favour a more drastic solution of the French question than he had previously advocated. The Frankfurt proposals were now quietly waived, and Metternich came to see the need of withdrawing Belgium from France and intrusting it to the House of Orange. Still, the Austrian statesman was for concluding peace with Napoleon as soon as might be, though he confessed in his private letters that peace did not depend on the Châtillon parleys. Some persons, he wrote, wanted the Bourbons back: still more wished for a Regency (i.e., Marie Louise as Regent for Napoleon II.): others said: "Away with Napoleon, no peace is possible with him": the masses cried out for peace, so as to end the whole affair: but added Metternich: "The riddle will be solved before or in Paris."[407] There spoke the discreet opportunist, always open to the logic of facts and the persuasion of Castlereagh.
Our Minister found the sovereigns of Russia and Prussia far less tractable; and he only partially succeeded in lulling their suspicions that Metternich was hand and glove with Napoleon. So deep was the Czar's distrust of the Austrian statesman and commander-in-chief that he resolved to brush aside Metternich's diplomatic pourparlers, to push on rapidly to Paris, and there dictate peace.[408]
But it was just this eagerness of the Czar and the Prussians to reach Paris which kept alive Austrian fears. A complete triumph to their arms would seal the doom of Poland and Saxony; and it has been thought that Schwarzenberg, who himself longed for peace, not only sought to save Austrian soldiers by keeping them back, but that at this time he did less than his duty in keeping touch with Blücher. Several times during the ensuing days the charge of treachery was hurled by the Prussians against the Austrians, and once at least by Frederick William himself. But it seems more probable that Metternich and Schwarzenberg held their men back merely for prudential motives until the resumption of the negotiations with France should throw more light on the tangled political jungle through which the allies were groping. It is significant that while Schwarzenberg cautiously felt about for Napoleon's rearguard, of which he lost touch for two whole days, Metternich insisted that the peace Congress must be opened. Caulaincourt had for several days been waiting near the allied head-quarters; and, said the Austrian Minister, it would be a breach of faith to put him off any longer now that Castlereagh had arrived. Only when Austria threatened to withdraw from the Coalition did Alexander concede this point, and then with a very bad grace; for the resumption of the negotiations virtually tied him to the neighbourhood of Châtillon-sur-Seine, the town fixed for the Congress, while Blücher was rapidly moving towards Paris with every prospect of snatching from the imperial brow the coveted laurel of a triumphal entry.
To prevent this interference with his own pet plans, the susceptible autocrat sent off from Bar-sur-Seine (February 7th) an order that Blücher was not to enter Paris, but must await the arrival of the sovereigns. The order was needless. Napoleon, goaded to fury by the demands which the allies on that very day formulated at Châtillon, flung himself upon Blücher and completely altered the whole military situation. But before describing this wonderful effort, we must take a glance at the diplomatic overtures which spurred him on.
The Congress of Châtillon opened on February 5th, and on that day Castlereagh gained his point, that questions about our maritime code should be completely banished from the discussions. Two days later the allies declared that France must withdraw within the boundaries of 1791, with the exception of certain changes made for mutual convenience and of some colonial retrocessions that England would grant to France. The French plenipotentiary, Caulaincourt, heard this demand with a quiet but strained composure: he reminded them that at Frankfurt they had proposed to leave France the Rhine and the Alps; he inquired what colonial sacrifices England was prepared to make if she cooped up France in her old limits in Europe. To this our plenipotentiaries Aberdeen, Cathcart, and Stewart refused to reply until he assented to the present demand of the allies. He very properly refused to do this; and, despite his eagerness to come to an arrangement and end the misfortunes of France, referred the matter to his master.[409]
What were Napoleon's views on these questions? It is difficult to follow the workings of his mind before the time when Caulaincourt's despatch flashed the horrible truth upon him that he might, after all, leave France smaller and weaker than he found her. Then the lightnings of his wrath flash forth, and we see the tumult and anguish of that mighty soul: but previously the storm-wrack of passion and the cloud-bank of his clinging will are lit up by few gleams of the earlier piercing intelligence. On January the 4th he had written to Caulaincourt that the policy of England and the personal rancour of the Czar would drag Austria along. If Fortune betrayed him (Napoleon) he would give up the throne: never would he sign any shameful peace. But he added: "You must see what Metternich wants: it is not to Austria's interest to push matters to the end." In the accompanying instructions to his plenipotentiary, he seems to assent to the Alpine and Rhenish frontiers, but advises him to sign the preliminaries as vaguely as possible, "as we have everything to gain by delay." The Rhine frontier must be so described as to leave France the Dutch fortresses: and Savona and Spezzia must also count as on the French side of the Alps. These, be it observed, are his notions when he has not heard of the defection of Murat, or the rejection of his Spanish bargain by the Cortès.
Twelve days later he proposes to Metternich an armistice, and again suggests that it is not to Austria's interest to press matters too far. But the allies are too wary to leave such a matter to Metternich: at Teplitz they bound themselves to common action; and the proposal only shows them the need of pushing on fast while their foe is still unprepared. Once more his old optimism asserts itself. The first French success, that at Brienne, leads him to hope that the allies will now be ready to make peace. Even after the disaster at La Rothière, he believes that the mere arrival of Caulaincourt at the allied headquarters will foment the discords which there exist.[410] Then, writing amidst the unspeakable miseries at Troyes (February 4th), he upbraids Caulaincourt for worrying him about "powers and instructions when it is still doubtful if the enemy wants to negotiate. His terms, it seems, are determined on beforehand. As soon as you have them, you have the power to accept them or to refer them to me within twenty-four hours."
After midnight, he again directs him to accept the terms, if acceptable: "in the contrary case we will run the risks of a battle; even the loss of Paris, and all that will ensue." Later on that day he allows Maret to send a despatch giving Caulaincourt "carte blanche" to conclude peace.[411] But the plenipotentiary dared not take on himself the responsibility of accepting the terms offered by the allies two days later. The last despatch was too vague to enable him to sign away many thousands of square miles of territory: it contradicted the tenor of Napoleon's letters, which empowered him to assent to nothing less than the Frankfurt terms. And thus was to slip away one more chance of bringing about peace—a peace that would strip the French Empire of frontier lands and alien peoples, but leave it to the peasants' ruler, Napoleon.
In truth, the Emperor's words and letters breathed nothing but warlike resolve. Famine and misery accompany him on his march to Nogent, and there, on the 7th, he hears tidings that strike despair to every heart but his. An Anglo-German force is besieging the staunch old Carnot in Antwerp; Bülow has entered Brussels; Belgium is lost: Macdonald's weak corps is falling back on Epernay, hard pressed by Yorck, while Blücher is heading for Paris. Last of all comes on the morrow Caulaincourt's despatch announcing that the allies now insist on France returning to the limits of 1791.
Never, surely, since the time of Job did calamity shower her blows so thickly on the head of mortal man: and never were they met with less resignation and more undaunted defiance. After receiving the black budget of news the Emperor straightway shut himself up. For some time his Marshals left him alone: but, as Caulaincourt's courier was waiting for the reply, Berthier and Maret ventured to intrude on his grief. He tossed them the letter containing the allied terms. A long silence ensued, while they awaited his decision. As he spoke not a word, they begged him to give way and grant peace to France. Then his pent-up feelings burst forth: "What, you would have me sign a treaty like that, and trample under foot my coronation oath! Unheard-of disasters may have snatched from me the promise to renounce my conquests: but, give up those made before me—never! God keep me from such a disgrace. Reply to Caulaincourt since you wish it, but tell him that I reject this treaty. I prefer to run the uttermost risks of war." He threw himself on his camp bed. Maret waited by his side, and gained from him in calmer moments permission to write to Caulaincourt in terms that allowed the negotiation to proceed. At dawn on the 9th Maret came back hoping to gain assent to despatches that he had been drawing up during the night. To his surprise he found the Emperor stretched out over large charts, compass in hand. "Ah, there you are," was his greeting; "now it's a question of very different matters. I am going to beat Blücher: if I succeed, the state of affairs will entirely change, and then we will see."