Talleyrand at once sees Labrador and arranges the reply to Metternich’s note. He himself replies that he will be pleased to meet the other Powers, in which he carefully includes Spain; Labrador, in accepting, puts France at the head of the Powers he is prepared to discuss with. When Talleyrand reached the Foreign Chancellery he finds all the chief ministers seated at a long table, and he drops into a vacant chair between Castlereagh, who presided, and Metternich. He immediately throws in the apple of discord by asking why he alone of the French legation is invited. When he is told that only the chiefs of the various legations are summoned, he asks why Baron von Humboldt represents Prussia as well as Prince Hardenberg. They point out delicately that Hardenberg is rather deaf, and he smilingly refers to his own lameness. “We all have our infirmities, and have the same right to profit by them.” But this is only a trivial point raised in order to induce nervousness; as is also his support of the Portuguese Minister’s claim (inspired by himself) to be admitted. Castlereagh opens the proceedings, and says they have first to inform Talleyrand and Labrador what has been done. The protocol (minutes) of the previous conferences is handed to Talleyrand. He raised his eyebrows in artistic astonishment when he finds that it contains the word “Allies” in every paragraph. Who are these “Allies?” Are we “still at Chaumont?” He had supposed that the war was over. They hastily—much too hastily—assure him that it is a mere form or phrase, and he continues to read about treaties and agreements that had been concealed or were supposed to be concealed from him. “I don’t understand it,” he says, returning the papers. “I don’t know of anything being done on these dates.” The only date he knows anything of is October 1st, when the Congress is to begin. The other ministers, thrown off their guard by his unforeseen tactics, abandon their protocol as unimportant, and it is not seen again. They then produce a document regulating the procedure of the Congress, and invite him and Labrador to sign it. He reads it, hesitates, and says it needs leisurely consideration. It may be that only the Congress itself can give the representatives of the four Powers the faculties they have assumed. Castlereagh and himself, he points out, are responsible to their nations, and must proceed cautiously. Castlereagh rather assents, and the Prussians fume. Something is said of “the King of Naples.” “Who is he?” asks Talleyrand. Humboldt ventures to say that the Powers have guaranteed Murat his territory. “But they could not, and, therefore, they did not,” insists Talleyrand.
The conference broke up amid a general air of embarrassment. I have taken the account of it from Talleyrand’s memoirs and his report to the King. But the Secretary of the Congress, Gentz, who soon formed a profound admiration of Talleyrand, describes it as a scene he could never forget, and says that all the intrigues of the ministers were defeated. Like Napoleon, Talleyrand believed in setting ajar the nerves of his diplomatic opponents, but he had also made a substantial attack on the plot to exclude France. The minutes of the previous meetings were destroyed, and no more meetings were held to which the French Minister was not invited.
The next morning he followed up his advantage by submitting a note on the procedure of the Congress. He claimed, plausibly enough, that the representatives of the eight Powers who had signed the Treaty of Paris (where the Congress was decided on) should appoint a commission to prepare its programme. This would let in Portugal and Sweden, as well as France and Spain. Baron Humboldt described it as “a torch flung amongst us.” Metternich and Castlereagh beg him to withdraw his note. Talleyrand explains that this is impossible as it has somehow leaked out, and the Spanish Minister has unfortunately (but at Talleyrand’s secret suggestion) sent a copy of it to his Court. Metternich threatens that the four Powers will act by themselves. Talleyrand amiably replies that in that event he will not feel called upon to attend the Congress. Nesselrode bluntly protests that the Tsar must leave Austria by the 29th, and Talleyrand suavely assures him he “is very sorry, as in that case the Tsar is not likely to see the end of the Congress.” Castlereagh endeavours to talk over Talleyrand with British common sense. The objects of France can be secured, he is explaining, when Talleyrand interrupts him with an expression of lofty amazement, and says France is there to represent principles, not to secure objects. They have to answer to Europe, which has suffered so much from the neglect of good maxims of conduct. Von Gagern, representing Bavaria, said: “Is it not extraordinary that, when the French speak of principles for the first time since the world began no one will listen to them?” Gentz admitted to Talleyrand at dinner that night that the other Powers knew he was right, but did not like to retreat. He wished Talleyrand had arrived earlier.
From an engraving, after the picture by Sir Thomas Lawrence.
PRINCE METTERNICH.
The Tsar had already granted him the interview he had asked on arriving at Vienna. In answer to Alexander’s inquiry as to the state of France he gave a very cheerful (and totally untrue) account. He had just received pitiable reports from Fouché and D’Hauterive. When the Tsar spoke of needs or interests deciding what was to be done in Europe, Talleyrand reminded him that right came before interest. “The interests of Europe constitute right,” said the Tsar. Talleyrand raised his head and dropped his arms, ejaculating: “Poor Europe!” When he remonstrated with Alexander for using the word “Allies,” the Emperor explained it away as being due to force of habit. A few days afterwards he saw Metternich, and humorously alluded to “the Allies.” “There are none now,” said Metternich. When Metternich tried to smile at his affectation of disinterestedness, Talleyrand offered to sign a note to the effect that France wanted nothing and would not accept anything from the Congress. Metternich mentioned Naples, and Talleyrand at once said it was a question of principle.
The Congress was now a week overdue, and the irritated ministers saw all their preparations for it thwarted. The Prussian party had been strengthened by their minister from London, one of the “eagles of their diplomacy,” but they could make no headway. On October 8th there was another conference. Talleyrand delivered to Castlereagh another note on the Congress, and wanted it stated that it would be held “in conformity with the principles of public right.” Hardenberg jumped up, and, with his fists clenched on the table, snapped out that “that went without saying.” “It will be all the easier to insert it,” replied Talleyrand. Baron Humboldt then took up the quarrel, and wanted to know “what they had to do with public right.” “It is in virtue of public right that you are here,” retorted Talleyrand quietly. The phrase did eventually appear in the Declaration. In the middle of the Conference Castlereagh drew Talleyrand aside, and asked him if he would be “easier” if they gave him his point. “What will you do about Naples if I promise?” immediately asked the moralist. Castlereagh promised his assistance.
Thus the opening stages of the diplomatic campaign went entirely in Talleyrand’s favour. He had advised the King to publish his instructions in the Parisian press, and all Vienna now read the edifying principles on which the French legation proceeded. Russia and Prussia were being gradually forced into a minority, and their covetous designs on Poland and Saxony were being cleverly represented as the real obstacles to progress. Their mortification was profound. Neither social coldness nor the refusal of information disturbed Talleyrand’s equanimity. The one design was defeated by the attractiveness of his establishment, the other was a stratagem he had too often encountered. Gagern and Castlereagh alone used to visit the Hotel Kaunitz in the first week or two, but the amiable countess soon saw her dinners well attended. Early in December the Austrian papers described her as the first lady in the quadrille at a ball of the utmost brilliance and importance. And Talleyrand’s tongue counted for something in the cosmopolitan society at Vienna. “His biting sarcasm ranged all the thinkers and all the laughers on his side,” said Metternich. His quips on the quaint manners of the Tsar, the heavy sullenness of the Prussians, the political innocence of the English, and the “niaiseries” of Metternich, circulated at every ball and dinner.
The opening of November saw little advance in the negotiations. Talleyrand fought resolutely for the preservation of Saxony, against the cession of Poland to Russia, and for the restoration of Naples to the Bourbons. He admitted that Prussia should be indemnified, but “the sacred principle of legitimacy” forbade the sacrifice of Saxony to them. When the Prussians retorted that they would be satisfied in conscience if the Powers assigned it to them, he replied that the Powers could not give what did not belong to them. When Russia tried to seize his weapon of “legitimacy” for the defence of their design to re-establish Poland (under the Russian crown), he blandly assented, if they would re-erect the whole of Poland and make it completely independent. And whenever a minister approached him with a quiet suggestion of “making a bargain,” he drew himself up with haughty moral dignity. He was determined to get both Saxony and Naples. Throughout October he was writing that the English ruled the Congress, and they had “no principles.” They were ready to give Saxony to Prussia—Castlereagh complaining bitterly of the “treachery” of its king—and generally to strengthen Prussia and Austria against France; but they joined Talleyrand and Austria in regard to Poland, and were ready to be accommodating as regarded Naples.