already prepared for the wedding journey with the new bride, whom he himself conveyed to France within four months of the first pang of suspicion smiting the heart of Josephine. The first rule of morals, to statesmen like Metternich, is that nothing is too humble for wisdom to stoop to in pursuit of an aim; and that no work can dirty the hands of pure patriots who live for an idea. Prince Metternich therefore turned match-maker and gentleman-usher without humiliation, in order to marry the great Bonaparte to an Austrian princess.
But how he could possibly be the humble servant in appearance (though the political rival in reality) of the Russian and the French Emperors at the same moment may be a puzzle now, as it would have been at the time if the fact had been generally known. Certainly, the government of the Czar would seem to be after Metternich’s own heart,—with its centralisation, its influence in deterring men from thought, and encouraging them in levity, and other convenient qualities; whereas Bonaparte was the representative of revolution in Europe. How could the resolute Austrian get on with both? Why, he did not, on the whole, get on so well with the French Emperor as with the Russian, though he paid his homage to the former as the antagonist of the revolutionary tendencies of France. It was in relation to Bonaparte that we discover the weaknesses of Metternich, and his liability to vacillation, like other men. The uncertain and perfidious policy of Austria during the great European struggle was owing to the doubts and baffled forecast of Metternich, after he had made the Emperors of Austria and France father and son, without being able to make the latter duly filial in his behaviour. The whole connection furnishes some more odd situations for the managing statesman who was always in self-imposed charge of everybody’s affairs.
Most of us would have found it dreadfully mortifying to be thrust into such corners of subterfuge, and driven into such labyrinths of intrigue, as Metternich encountered in some stages of his career: but he seems to have rather enjoyed the exercise of his faculties in extricating himself. He had also exquisite moments of triumph,—as when he saw the Emperors Alexander and Napoleon embracing on the raft, in the middle of the river at Tilsit: and seven years of glory were in store for him, after the humbling of his sovereign’s son-in-law.
Meanwhile, he deceived that remarkable relative of his master as no one else ever deceived him.
In 1813, when Napoleon could not sustain the course of conquest with which he began his campaign, Metternich proposed an armistice,—welcome to the French. This act of apparent consideration was a mask, behind which Austria planned and promised a junction with the allies, who had sworn never to relax in the war till Napoleon was subdued. At the same moment Metternich was occupied with two affairs. He was offering to Napoleon his services as a negotiator of peace with the allies, and preparing the declaration of war which Austria would launch when the armistice could no longer be protracted. Napoleon was, perhaps, never in so fearful a rage as when the declaration was proclaimed, and he found he had been kept in play by Metternich while his enemies were assisted by the self-same Metternich to prepare his doom.
Yet did Napoleon once more appeal to the minister who had rid him of his first wife, and given him another. In the next October, after the first day of the battle of Leipsic, Napoleon sent a secret messenger in the night to Metternich, with an offer to retire behind the Rhine, if Austria would procure him terms. The minister returned no sort of answer; and his sovereign rewarded this audacious prudence by making him a prince of the Austrian empire.
Some months remained before Metternich entirely extricated himself from the embarrassments of his relations with Napoleon: and probably those were the least complacent months of his career, so far. When the allies were struggling through France upon Paris, in 1814, Prince Metternich exhausted their patience by the obscurity and vacillation of his conduct. On the one hand, he could not forget the chance of the French throne for the grandson of Austria; and, on the other, he would not leave the shelter of the allied armies while Napoleon might yet become dangerous.
Wellington pushed the Prussians forward, while the Austrians were slowly retiring; and, as soon as all was evidently over with Bonaparte, Metternich induced the wife to disappoint her fallen husband of her presence, and to repair to the Austrian court in complete abandonment of him. Thus he separated those whom he had brought together; and they never saw each other again.
We were next favoured with a visit from the Austrian minister, who was about to become the dictator of Europe. We made him an Oxford Doctor of Civil Law. His game, at that time, was to baffle the Russian and Prussian allies, whom he suspected of intending to break the peace of Paris. He plotted against them with the Bourbons and Wellington; but, in the midst of the game, his old difficulty revived.
He received a very private despatch on the 7th of March, 1815, which made him the fountain of news to the two pairs of his allies,—the two with whom he had sworn an “indissoluble alliance,” and the other two with whom he was plotting against his “indissoluble allies.” Napoleon was back from Elba; and the event put an end to all considerations but that of disposing of him.
Next followed Metternich’s seven years of glory—from 1815 to 1822. The treaties of 1815 were his. He gave away countries and peoples at his pleasure, and found willing instruments in all the princes and ministers of Europe. He let romantic sovereigns propound a Holy Alliance, and preach a high-flown political gospel. He put on an air of deference towards everybody who had a hobby or a scruple. He made no boasts in his own name; but he decreed and arranged the policy of Europe—uniting Belgium and Holland, which flew