CHAPTER XXIX
After allowing his army a brief rest, Napoleon set out against the Russians. His troops entered Poland, and on November 28, 1806, Murat took possession of Warsaw. The Poles received the French as deliverers. They believed that the dismemberment of their country by Austria, Prussia, and Russia was to be at last avenged, and Poland once more to take its place among the nations. By thousands the bravest flocked to the French standards, as enthusiastic for Napoleon as were the French themselves.
It may be that in his treatment of Poland the Emperor made one of his huge mistakes. It may be that he here lost his one great opportunity of permanently curbing the three Continental powers, whose combined strength finally wore him out. Had Poland’s resurrection as a nation been promptly proclaimed, had her crown been given to some born soldier, like Murat, Lannes, Soult, or Poniatowski, he would have drawn to his physical support every man of Polish blood, and to his moral support the active approval of every liberal in the world.
Across the path of Russia he would have thrown the living rampart of a gallant nation, fired by love of country and a passion for revenge. With Turkey on one frontier, and united Poland on another, and the mighty power of Napoleon ready to aid both, Russia’s position would, apparently, have been desperate. In like manner, a united Poland, on the flanks of Austria and Prussia, would, apparently, have been the very best guarantee that those two nations would not invade France.
In brief, had Napoleon decreed the liberty of Poland, he would have secured an ally whose strength and position were of vast importance to him, and whose need of his support would have kept her loyal. On the other hand, he would have incurred the lasting hatred of the three robber powers, and they would have had a common cause of union against him. This is what he realized, and this is what held him back; but in the end his temporizing, inconsistent, I-will-and-I-won’t policy did exactly that—brought upon him the lasting hatred of the three robber powers, and lost him the united support of Poland. For in order that his ranks might be recruited with Polish volunteers, he constantly dangled before the eyes of the unfortunate nation the prospect of independence. “Show yourselves worthy and then—.” In other words, rush to my eagles, fight my battles, die in my service, lavish your blood and your treasures upon me, and I will then consider whether Poland shall once more become a nation! It is a sorry picture—this of the greatest man of history sporting with Polish hopes, rights, lives, destiny.
Gallant men of this heroic nation gave him their lives—for Poland. At least one beautiful Polish woman gave him her honor—for Poland. He won part of the country because of his vague promises. He failed to win united Poland because his promises were vague. But the mere fact that Poland looked to Napoleon as its liberator, the fact that Poles trooped by thousands to fight for him, the fact that he erected Prussian Poland into the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, bore just the bitter fruit which Napoleon was so anxious the tree should not bear—the union of the three powers which had despoiled Poland, and whose suspicion and hatred had been aroused past all remedy by his dalliance with the Poles.
But these final results were all in the future as yet. For the time, Napoleon’s plan worked well enough. He got all the help he needed from Poland without burning any bridges between him and the three powers. His attitude seemed to say to Russia, Austria, and Prussia, “See what I can do with these Poles if you provoke me too far!” Polish independence was artfully utilized in two ways; to the Poles it was an aspiration rousing them to rush to the French eagles; to the three powers it was a threat, warning them to come to terms with Napoleon.
In the game of national chess, Poland thus became a mere pawn on the board. From any moral point of view such a policy is infamous. And the indignation of the historian is deepened when he is forced to add that Napoleon’s conduct was but an imitation of the statecraft of former times, just as similar infamies of the present day are imitations of time-honored precedents of kings and cabinets. Cavour one day exclaimed, “What rascals we should be if we did for ourselves what we are doing for our country!” He was referring to some especially dirty work (dirt and blood being copiously mixed), which he had been doing in copartnership with Napoleon III. in bringing about Italian independence. The confession is worth remembering. Christian civilization has certainly reached a curious pass when its leading statesmen admit that in statecraft they are continually doing things which would disgrace them as private citizens.
In the Memoirs of the Princess Potocka there is a vivid picture of the Polish situation in the winter of 1807, the writer being in Warsaw at the time.