The legendary version of Talleyrand’s character that still lingers amongst encyclopædists and historians is refuted by his resignation in 1807. No cause can be assigned for it except an honest refusal to co-operate further with Napoleon’s harsh and dangerous and selfish policy. “Napoleon has abandoned the cause of peoples and is bent only on personal glory. He has entered on the fatal path of nepotism, in which I shall decline to follow him.” Talleyrand said this in 1807, not as a later explanation of his step. To Mme. de Rémusat he also said, in the same year: “Napoleon suspects me whenever I speak of moderation; if he ceases to believe me you will see with what folly he will compromise himself and us.” We are offered no serious alternative as a motive of Talleyrand’s retirement, which Count von Senfft describes as “very honorable.” The Emperor, says Senfft, wanted “absolutely submissive instruments.” Talleyrand declined to be one, as soon as the tragic selfishness of Napoleon was fully revealed. No one affected not to understand his action. It was a protest—a protest made at the height of Napoleon’s power. He had worked loyally and well with the Emperor “to establish for France monarchical institutions which should guarantee the authority of the sovereign by restricting it within just limits; and to induce Europe not to grudge France her prosperity and glory.” Now Napoleon’s ambition was naked, France was burdened with the most exacting and ruinous military servitude to it, humanity was trodden under foot. And the only man in France to refuse further service was the man who is glibly described as devoid of principle or ideal, and prepared at all times to sell his soul to the wealthiest master.
So little obligation is felt to historical facts by those early and malicious biographers of Talleyrand, on whom our historians seem to rely, that Michaud says he is “quite sure” Talleyrand remained even after Tilsit the inspirer of Napoleon’s plans of conquest. Michaud is thinking in the first place of Napoleon’s descent on Spain, and it must be admitted that it requires careful study to determine Talleyrand’s attitude on this subject. Just before Jena, the Spanish minister, Godoy, had commenced operations for war against some unnamed Power, which all knew to be France, and Napoleon had sworn to Talleyrand that he would extinguish the Spanish Bourbons. When the news of Napoleon’s success reached Madrid, Godoy endeavoured to undo his terrible blunder, and Napoleon concealed for a time the claw that was in readiness for Spain. They returned to Paris in August, and Napoleon shortly turned his attention to the Peninsula. Portugal had refused to join in the blockade against England. A treaty was signed by Spain and France, dividing it (in very unequal fractions) between them, and the French troops crossed the Pyrenees.
I need only summarise here the rapid and disgraceful succession of events in Spain. After Portugal had been taken, the French troops remained masters of Spain. In March the Spanish people, threatened with national ruin and disgusted with their incompetent and scandalous rulers, effected a Revolution. Charles IV abdicated, and was replaced by Ferdinand. Napoleon arrived at Bayonne, enticed both Ferdinand and the late Royal Family there by a trick, and forced them to abdicate. He wrote to Talleyrand on May 1st: “King Charles is a frank and good-looking fellow. The Queen’s sentimentality and history are written on her face—that will tell you enough. Godoy looks like a bull.... He had better be relieved of any imputation of lying, but must be left covered with a thin veil of contempt. Ferdinand is a brute, very malicious, and very hostile to France.” A few days later he wrote again to say that Talleyrand must receive and guard the Spanish princes at the mansion he had just bought at Valençay. “Your mission is an honourable one,” he says, sarcastically. “To receive and entertain three illustrious personages is quite in keeping with the character of the nation and with your rank.”
Talleyrand affirms in the memoirs that he had entirely disapproved the Spanish expedition, and that Napoleon sent the princes to him in order to make it appear that he approved. His enemies and Napoleon declare that he fully endorsed and urged the expedition until its evil effects were clear, and then disowned it. We have here another of the “mysteries” of Talleyrand’s career. The subject had arisen while he was with the Emperor in Germany and Poland, and, although he had resigned the Foreign Ministry on their return, it must not be supposed that he ceased entirely to share the conduct of foreign affairs. Senfft says that his successor in the Ministry, Champagny, so bored and annoyed Napoleon by the contrast of his incompetence, that Talleyrand was practically recalled to office in October. The truth seems to be that his Chancellorship, which gave him a certain formal interest in foreign affairs, was interpreted with some elasticity. For a time Talleyrand did not resist this. We shall find him doing important work presently. He had made his protest sufficiently clear.
However, in the matter of the Spanish expedition it seems possible to show that Talleyrand had little or no influence. Did he, or did he not, approve the expedition, apart from the treacherous termination? In his memoirs he says that he violently opposed this “insensate” invasion, and that “the disgrace which my candour brought on me justifies me in my conscience for separating myself from his policy and finally from his person.” This was written, of course, after all the world saw the blunder. Thiers concludes that he recovered Napoleon’s favour after Tilsit by complaisance in his Spanish plans. He relies on Cambacérès, who is habitually hostile to Talleyrand. Pasquier, another hostile writer, says that Talleyrand urged Napoleon to make war on Spain, and appropriate the crown. D’Hauterive is described by his biographer as saying that Talleyrand was “in favour of the expedition on certain conditions.” Napoleon declared to Las Cases that Talleyrand “goaded him into war.” Mme. de Rémusat, generally credible, says Talleyrand “was in favour of an open declaration of war” to overthrow the dynasty in the interest of Spain. Lytton quotes Beugnot for his belief that Talleyrand opposed the expedition altogether; and Count Ségur quotes de Pradt virtually to the same effect.
We have the usual conflict of evidence. We must at once distrust Napoleon’s later statements. The ex-Emperor would not take the trouble to “lie beautifully.” He forfeits all claim to be heard here when he goes on to say that Talleyrand urged him to murder the Spanish princes! I am just as ready to surrender Talleyrand’s statement that he “vehemently opposed” the expedition. In fact he also says: “Driven to death by the specious arguments of the Emperor, I advised him to occupy Catalonia until he should be able to conclude a maritime peace with England.” If we moderate the first few words, we probably have here the truth of the matter; though it is very possible that the sight of the incompetence of the royal family and the distress of Spain kept his mind in some vacillation as to the intervention of France. That he urged Napoleon to invade and annex Spain is a statement made by the Emperor’s admirers only after it had proved a fatal and dishonourable enterprise; that the Emperor needed any such urging on the part of Talleyrand is a perfectly ludicrous supposition. The most probable reading of the situation (as regards Spain) before the troops cross the Pyrenees is that Talleyrand wavered between two motives—a keen perception of Spain’s evil plight on the one hand and of Napoleon’s ambition and nepotism on the other—and used vaguely approving language.
The final action of Napoleon was determined by the course of events, and not submitted for his approval or disapproval. There is no ambiguity about Talleyrand’s attitude on that. He was at his new home at Valençay in Touraine, a large and beautiful chateau lying in an extensive park, when the Spanish royal carriage arrived. In its heavy medieval splendour, with its panels of gold and silver, its curtains of crimson silk, and its huge gilt wheels, it reminded him painfully of the arrested development of Spain. He received the two young princes and their uncle with some feeling, and then set out for Nantes to meet Napoleon. If we may trust the memoirs (I would not press the point), he told Napoleon very freely what he thought of his stratagem. “It is one thing to take crowns, another thing to steal them,” he claims to have said; and it is stated that he told the Emperor that many irregularities, such as mistresses, would be overlooked in a gentleman, but when he stooped to cheating at cards he forfeited the name. Napoleon went on to Paris, and Talleyrand returned to Valençay. The Emperor paid him 75,000 francs a year for the maintenance of the princes, but he seems to have treated them with real sympathy.
The task of entertaining them proved difficult. They had not a single accomplishment that counted in the code of a French gentleman. The attempt to interest them in books was a complete failure. Talleyrand did, indeed, notice with some consolation, that the pious uncle, Don Antonio, spent long hours in his valuable library, but he was more than disappointed when he discovered that the devout Spaniard had been cutting out the illustrations from rare old editions of the bible and the classics, to protect the morals of his nephews. It is usually said, and was certainly generally believed at Paris, that Don Carlos repaid his host by becoming the lover of Princess Talleyrand. “Spain was unlucky for both of us,” said Napoleon to him when he heard this. But the anonymous biographer of the princess[46] points out that even Mme. de Rémusat (who detested the princess) does not expressly accuse them of more than a platonic affection, and claims that not a single stain rests on her character after she became Mme. Talleyrand. In any case, Talleyrand insisted that they should be treated as princes. Napoleon wrote to complain that Ferdinand was addressing him as “mon cousin,” and directed that he be taught to write “Sire.” “Ajaccio and St. Helena dispense with comment,” says Talleyrand. When Colonel Henri, commanding the military guard, made himself officious, he told him that the Emperor did not rule at Valençay. But in the midst of his efforts to teach them to shoot and ride and read he was summoned to Paris. The princes parted from him with tears, and offered him their old prayer-books as souvenirs.
Napoleon had in February suggested a second conference with the Tsar. At that time he was offering Russia Constantinople and impelling it to a descent on India, was sending an army against Sweden, and was menacing the very existence of Prussia and Austria. He had a real idea of dividing the Old World with Russia, and excluding England from it. Then came news of the rising of the people of Spain against France, and the landing of the English in Portugal. Wellesley had begun his historic advance towards Paris; though few then dreamed of the end of it. The southern trouble upset Napoleon’s calculations and diverted troops from the north. He fixed September 27th (1808) for the meeting with Alexander, and sent for Talleyrand to accompany him. He was weary of Champagny “coming every morning to excuse his blunders of the previous day,” Talleyrand says. At all events, Talleyrand’s experience at Tilsit and his friendship with Alexander recommended him. Napoleon directed all the documents to be sent to him, and met him with the most engaging confidence and cordiality. He would remember later that Talleyrand was already talking to members of his Court of his “vile treachery” in Spain. Talleyrand studied the correspondence, and “at once made up his mind to prevent the spirit of enterprise from dominating this singular interview.” In the circumstances we can hardly hold that his acceptance was an infringement of the dignity of his resignation. In any case, his position as Grand Chamberlain compelled him to go.
So in September Talleyrand found himself on the way to Erfurt with the vast apparatus that Napoleon had dispatched to impress his allies. The road from Paris was alive with couriers, carriages, officers and troops. Napoleon had ordered the whole of the Comédie Française to go. When Dazincourt asked if they were to play comedies or tragedies, he replied that comedy was not appreciated beyond the Rhine. Dazincourt suggested “Athalie” amongst other tragedies. “What do you mean?” he said. “Do you think I want to get Joas into the heads of these Germans?” “These Germans,” he said to Talleyrand, “are still talking of d’Enghien. We must raise (agrandir) their standard of morality. I am not thinking of Alexander. Such things are nothing to a Russian. But we have to stir the men with melancholic ideas who abound in Germany.” He meant thinkers like Goethe. They must “give tragedies like Cinna,” and he sang the couplet: