Metternich says that at this crisis he felt himself the representative of all European society. He felt the strength of his position, felt that the mighty Napoleon lay in the hollow of his hand.
“If I may say so, Napoleon seemed to me small!”
“If I may say so”—why the modest doubt? Where is the limit of what one may say in one’s Memoirs? Do the writers of Memoirs ever by any possibility get worsted in discussion, or fail to say and do the very best thing that could have been said and done?
Metternich proceeds to relate how he read Napoleon a paternal lecture; how he explained to the French Emperor that France as well as Europe required peace; how he intimated that Austria would throw her aid to the coalition; how he predicted that the French army would be swept away, and how he asked the Emperor, “If this juvenile army that you levied but yesterday should be destroyed, what then?” “When Napoleon heard these words he was overcome with rage, he turned pale, and his features were distorted. ‘You are no soldier,’ said he, ‘and you do not know what goes on in the mind of a soldier. I was brought up in the field, and a man such as I am does not concern himself much about the lives of a million of men.’ With this exclamation he threw his hat into the corner of the room.”
Of course the Memoirs represent Metternich as promptly taking advantage of this imprudent outbreak, and as throwing Napoleon quite upon the defensive. It is noticeable that in the Memoirs of Napoleon’s enemies, the authors invariably got the better of him in trials of wit. Some very dull people gave him some very crushing conversational blows—in their Memoirs.
But this much is known of the Dresden interview,—it lasted half a day, and Metternich reports less than half an hour’s talk. The Austrian does not record how unerringly Napoleon guessed the riddle, and how directly he put the question,—“Metternich, how much has England paid you to act this part against me?” Nor does he record the fact that Napoleon, in his extremity, offered to buy Austria off by ceding the Illyrian provinces, and that the bargain could not be made because the Emperor Francis advanced his demands as often as Napoleon enlarged his concessions. Austria, sold to England, was perfectly willing to be bought by France; but the price demanded was so excessive, that Napoleon indignantly cried out, “I will die under the ruins of my throne before I will consent to strip France of all her possessions, and dishonor myself in the eyes of the world!”
Metternich records that he said to Napoleon: “You are lost. I thought it when I came here; now I know it.” The Emperor’s reply to this remarkable observation is not on the Metternich tablets. The writers of Memoirs have a habit of getting in the last word.
Not satisfied with having crushed Napoleon, Metternich dealt a parting blow to Berthier, the Emperor’s goose.
“In the anterooms I found the same generals whom I had seen on entering. They crowded round me to read in my face the impression of nearly nine hours’ conversation. I did not stop, and I do not think I satisfied their curiosity. Berthier accompanied me to my carriage. He seized a moment when no one was near to ask me whether I had been satisfied with the Emperor.” To this humblest of questions, “Were you satisfied with the Emperor?” the important Metternich replied, with a loftiness which must have painfully bruised the Emperor’s goose:—
“Yes, yes! It is all over with the man. He has lost his wits.”