What I Remember, Volume 1

by Thomas Adolphus Trollope

My mother has given an account of the same conversation, which I have here recorded, in the second volume of her book on Vienna and the Austrians. Her account tallies with mine in all essentials (I did not read it—in this half-century—till after I had written the above sentences); but she relates one or two circumstances which I have omitted; and she apparently did not hear what the prince said afterwards about Napoleon as a gentleman—or perhaps it was said upon another occasion, which I cannot assert may not have been the case.

One point of my mother’s narrative should not be omitted. Metternich, observing that it was impossible for any human being to have heard what passed between him and Napoleon, but that everybody had read all about it, said that Savary relates truly the incident of the hat, which must have been told him by Napoleon himself. This is very curious.

Another amusing anecdote recounted by Metternich one evening, when my mother and myself, together with only a very small circle of habitués were present, I remember well, and intended to give my own reminiscences of it in this place. But I find the story so well told by my mother, and it is so well worth repeating, that I will reproduce her telling of it.

“During the hundred days of Napoleon’s extraordinary but abortive restoration, he found himself compelled by circumstances, bon gré mal gré to appoint Fouché minister of police. About ten days after this arch-traitor was so placed, Prince Metternich was informed that a stranger desired to see him. He was admitted, and the prince recognised him as an individual whom he had known as an employé at Paris. But he now appeared under a borrowed name, bringing only a fragment of Fouché’s handwriting, as testimony that he was sent by him. His mission he said was of the most secret nature, and in fact, only extended to informing the prince that Fouché was desirous of offering to his consideration propositions of the most important nature. The messenger declared himself wholly ignorant of their purport, being authorised only to invite the prince to a secret conference through the medium of some trusty envoy, who should be despatched to Paris for the purpose. The prince’s reply was, ‘You must permit me to think of this.’ The agent retired, and the Austrian minister repaired to the emperor, and recounted what had passed. ‘And what do you think of doing?’ said the emperor.

“‘I think,’ replied the prince, ‘that we should send a confidential agent, not to Paris, but to some other place that may be fixed upon, who shall have no other instructions but to listen to all that the Frenchman, who will meet him there, shall impart, and bring us faithfully an account of it.’

“The emperor signified his approbation; ‘And then,’ continued the prince, ‘as we were good and faithful allies, and would do nothing unknown to those with whom we were pledged to act in common, I hastened to inform the allied sovereigns, who were still at Vienna, of the arrival of the messenger, and the manner in which I proposed to act.’ The mysterious messenger was accordingly dismissed with an answer purporting that an Austrian, calling himself Werner, should be at a certain hotel in the town of Basle, in Switzerland, on such a day, with instructions to hear and convey to Prince Metternich whatever the individual sent to meet him should deliver. This meeting took place at the spot and hour fixed. The diplomatic agents saluted each other with fitting courtesy, and seated themselves vis-à-vis, each assuming the attitude of a listener.

“‘May I ask you, sir,’ said the envoy from Paris at length, ‘what is the object of our meeting?’

“‘My object, sir,’ replied the Austrian, ‘is to listen to whatever you may be disposed to say.’

“‘And mine,’ rejoined the Frenchman, ‘is solely to hear what you may have to communicate.’

“Neither the one nor the other had anything further to add to this interesting interchange of information, and after remaining together long enough for each to be satisfied that the other had nothing to tell, they separated with perfect civility, both returning precisely as wise as they came.