The Lost Fruits of Waterloo

The Treaty of Chaumont was followed by the battle of Leipzig, and that was followed by several smaller battles in which the allies fought their way through French territory until they stood before the gates of Paris in the autumn of 1814. Napoleon fled the Nemesis that had overtaken him, the city was opened to his enemies, and Alexander I, at the head of his splendid guard, led the conquering army down the broad avenue of Champs Elysée, the inhabitants of the city cheering the radiant pageant. Men reflected that two years earlier a great French army had penetrated to the Russian city of Moscow and found it smoking ruins; and they could but observe the contrast. It was worthy of the greatness of the tsar of the Russias to show a generous face to a beaten foe; and the Frenchmen were gallant enough to receive the friendship of the tsar in the spirit in which it was given. A lenient treaty by which France was saved from humiliation and Napoleon was given Elba, was also due chiefly to the good will of Alexander. An Englishman on the spot, who did not see things with the broad vision of the prime minister, wrote that the tsar “by a series of firm and glorious conduct has richly deserved the appellation of the liberator of mankind.” But as Alexander continued to “play the part of Providence in France” the same writer became alarmed and five days later wrote to London urging that Castlereagh come to the French capital. The hint was taken, and soon the manly stride of the handsome tsar was intercepted by the deftly woven webs of the skilled diplomat. Erelong France was handed over to the Bourbons, who came back to show that they had learned nothing and forgotten nothing.

The center of interest now shifted to the Congress of Vienna, whose sessions lasted from September 10, 1814, to June 9, 1815. Europe had looked forward to it for many years as the means of effecting a wise and just reform in all the evils that afflicted the continent. “Men had promised themselves,” said Gentz, “an all-embracing reform of the political system of Europe, guarantees for universal peace, in one word, the return of the golden age.” Thus Alexander was not entirely ahead of his time. There were enlightened men then, as now, who hoped for a spirit that would rise above mere diplomatic self-interest; and we may look upon the tsar as their exponent. But they were to be disappointed. Spoils were to be divided and in the disputes that the expected division engendered, the spirit of reform was dissipated. Alexander spent his energy in trying to reëstablish the kingdom of Poland with liberal institutions, but his desire that it should be under his protection aroused the keenest opposition from the neighboring nations. If a victorious Russia stood as protector of a reëstablished France and a renewed Poland, who could foretell her power in future dealings among nations? Considering the extent to which jealousy carried the contentions of the states at Vienna, it is enough that the congress did not break up in an appeal to arms.

Gentz, whom we recall as the secretary of the congress, was one of the men who had entertained hopes that it would give a new and better form to the political structure of Europe. He avowed his disappointment at the results in saying:

“The Congress has resulted in nothing but restorations, which had already been effected by arms, agreements between the Great Powers of little value for the future balance and preservation of the peace of Europe, quite arbitrary alterations in the possessions of the smaller states; but no act of a higher nature, no great measure for public order or for the general good, which might compensate humanity for its long sufferings or pacify it for the future… But to be just, the treaty, such as it is, has the undeniable merit of having prepared the world for a more complete political structure. If ever the Powers should meet again to establish a political system by which wars of conquest would be rendered impossible, and the rights of all guaranteed, the Congress of Vienna, as a preparatory assembly, will not have been without use. A number of vexatious details have been settled, and the ground has been prepared for building up a better social structure.”6

Looking back over the past century it is hard to find justification for Gentz’s optimism. The respite that Europe had for a generation from war was due in a sense to the lesson learned in the Napoleonic struggle; but it was not a permanent lesson. We shall proceed to examine the expedients that came to be used for the end specified; but it is certain that they did not achieve permanently the end desired. Had the Congress of Vienna done all that was expected of it, the world might today be at peace. If not at peace, we might at least say that the men of the Congress did all they could to secure peace.

If we ask for the fundamental cause of the failure of the Congress of Vienna to satisfy the hopes of liberal men in constructing what Gentz called “a more complete political structure,” the answer must lie in the illiberal views of the ruling classes in the European states. Self-government was less developed than in the most conservative state of today. Had the people of these states been in power, and had they been to a fair degree trained in the principles of good government, the result could hardly have been as it was. But the ignorant bureaucrats and arbitrary rulers were in power, men who in their own lives never knew the burdens of war, and to whom national egotism appeared a high virtue; and they thought only of gaining territory for their states. They placed such things above the high opportunity to reform the political structure of Europe. They turned to the future with the old principles still dominant, hoping that by a system of concert among the great states they could stave off war for an indefinitely long period. They could place self-interest against self-interest, forgetting that a time was likely to come when self-interest might lead the strongest to dare the rest of the world, hoping to move quickly in a moment of temporary advantage and thus gain ends that only the most severe sacrifices could take away. But that is a story reserved for another chapter.

Before we take up the Concert of Europe we must deal with the Holy Alliance, which, though but an interlude in the play, is so frequently mentioned in the books that it cannot be omitted from this discussion. It was signed at Paris, November 20, 1815, and may be considered only one of the forms in which the tsar’s ideal was embodied. Its religious character made it the butt of ridicule for the “practical” statesmen of the day, and the historian has been prone to look at it from their standpoint. But it was then popular to express political principles in religious phrases, and the alliance is to be interpreted by the purpose that lay underneath, rather than by the mere form in which it was set forth.

As we have seen, Alexander I had formulated his plan for a league of states long before the end of the war. He had relaxed his intentions in no sense when he met Baroness Krüdener in June, 1815. This remarkable woman, though nobly born, was a religious enthusiast who to the faculty of intense conviction added the gift of preaching. Wherever she went she found followers who hung on her words and yielded themselves to her impassioned appeals for religious devotion. In the height of her enthusiasm she came to think that she had revelations from God. Many a popular revivalist of recent times could be compared with her; and if we are tolerant of their undoubtedly well-meant efforts to stir humanity to righteousness, we may allow her also a fair share of our esteem as a would-be agent of good through the employment of human means to attain human ends.

Like the other religious teachers of the day she was deeply impressed by the calamities of the war. She knew of the tsar’s desire to establish a régime of peace and came to believe she was divinely called to induce him to take a conspicuous step in that direction. At first Alexander, who was not always religious, refused to see her; but in June, 1815, an interview was arranged while he was at Heilbron, on the campaign. He was deeply impressed and asked her to remain near him. When he went to Paris after the second defeat of Napoleon she was given quarters near his palace, and it was there, in the following autumn, that he drew up the plan of the Holy Alliance.

The “Alliance” was expressed in the spirit of a mediæval religious brotherhood. The signatory sovereigns pledged themselves to take the will of God for highest law, to give aid to an imperiled brother sovereign, and to hold the Alliance as “a true and indissoluble fraternity.” The constituent states were to make “one great Christian nation” and their sovereigns were to act “as delegates of Providence” in ruling their respective states. If such an ideal could have been accomplished at all, a stronger grip of the church on the springs of government would have been necessary than existed in that day. The tsar proclaimed the Holy Alliance on November 26, 1815. It was signed by all the states of Europe except Turkey, Great Britain, and the Papal State. Great Britain’s refusal to sign was due to Castlereagh, to whom the tsar seemed mentally unbalanced. He gave as his justification that the prince-regent, ruling in the place of his insane father, had no authority to sign, but said that he would support the principles of the Alliance. As it was to be a union of Christian states the sultan was not invited to sign. The Pope was not asked because of his overwhelming influence in matters connected with religion. Frederick William, of Prussia, was a religious man and is believed to have signed in good faith. Metternich advised the emperor of Austria to sign but said that the document was mere verbiage.

In all I have said hitherto about the tsar’s idea of preserving peace no definite plan has been mentioned. His most specific utterance was to ask for a league of nations, but he said nothing of its powers, its specific organization, or the limits of its action. The suggestion was vague, probably because the mind of its author was itself vague. If taken seriously it could be made to serve as the foundation of a unified state of Europe which might hold all other states under its hand, a unified state largely under the domination of Russia. That its author had no such object in view is not to be doubted for an instant; but who could tell how long he would remain in his existing state of mind, and how soon he might be succeeded by a tsar of far other spirit? As a plan for permanent peace the Holy Alliance was impossible, not only because it was cast in religious forms and thrown to a world in which the authority of religion had lost much of its ancient hold on the minds of men of influence, but because its indefinite form made it a possible instrument of greater evils than war.

Beneath its defects, however, was the great idea of a unified Europe, in which justice has the place of suspicion and intrigue, in which runs one law, one order, and one obedience to the majesty of the state. Alexander not only believed in such an ideal, but he was willing to cast his nation into the melting-pot in order to fuse such a state. He could have given no better proof of his support of his ideal. Of course, it was ahead of the time, how much so it is hard to say. The widespread popular longing for permanent peace would have gone far in accepting unification of the states, and in this sphere of opinion the religious cast of the scheme was not a great disadvantage. The thing which stood firmly in its way was the dull practicality of the upper, ruling class. If it could have passed these lions in the way, it might have had a chance of working its way forward into some acceptable form of a league in perpetuity. But it is a big if that I have used. Upper ruling classes know more about government than the lower classes, and that is a source of conservatism. The lower classes, knowing little, usually act upon their impulses; the members of the upper, ruling class, having information in varying degrees, usually strike an average of mediocre enlightenment, and it is a difficult thing for a new idea to gain possession of them. In 1815 the upper, ruling class was well settled in power in Europe, and it was most convinced of its superior wisdom. It never accepted the tsar’s plan; and failing to get its acceptance the plan was futile.

CHAPTER IV

EUROPE UNDER THE CONCERT OF THE POWERS

Having disposed of Alexander’s plan for a federation of nations it now remains to consider the other plan which, under the name of “Concert of Europe,” was adopted by Castlereagh and Metternich, though not for the same purpose as that which had inspired the tsar. Its fundamental idea had been in the positions taken by Pitt and Castlereagh when replying to the tsar’s proposals, but it found its official basis in a Treaty of Alliance signed by Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia at Paris, November 20, 1815, the same day they accepted the Holy Alliance. Its chief provisions were as follows: 1. The Powers bound themselves to see that the second treaty of Paris, regulating affairs between France and the allies, was executed. 2. They agreed to meet from time to time to take cognizance of the state of affairs in Europe. 3. They promised to suppress any recurrence of the revolutionary activity of France. 4. They settled upon the quota of men and supplies that each nation should furnish in case common action became necessary. 5. They undertook to “consolidate the intimate tie which unites the four sovereigns for the happiness of the world.” The most important of these provisions for the purpose of this inquiry was the second, taken in connection with the fifth.

The first meeting that may be said to have been called under the agreement was the Conference of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1818. It was called to determine whether or not France should be relieved of her garrisons of occupation, a matter which was soon adjusted. Alexander I saw his opportunity and urged that the sovereigns should take steps to make the Holy Alliance a more vital kind of league. But Castlereagh interposed, as in former meetings, and turned the efforts of the tsar aside without arousing his displeasure. This may be considered the last gasp of the Holy Alliance, as it was the complete triumph of the Concert over it. At the same time France was admitted to the alliance of the four powers, which henceforth was known as the Quintuple Alliance. But if ever a question were to come up in which France was at variance with the four other Powers over matters connected with her obligations assumed in recent treaties, these four Powers would continue to act in their old capacity. Mr. W. A. Phillips remarks that the Quadruple Alliance still survived as “a rod in pickle for a France but doubtfully disciplined.” For us, who are chiefly concerned to see the result of the attempt to take the affairs of Europe under the protection of the great Powers, it is sufficient to remember that France gave no further trouble of the kind anticipated, and that the Quintuple Alliance, as the formal expression of the Concert of Europe, had other problems to consider.

The first arose out of revolutions in Spain and Naples, where armed men seized the power and forced the kings to accept liberal constitutions. Alexander I and Metternich looked on with different feelings. The former had been encouraging the liberals in Italy and was not greatly shocked by the revolution there, but he was deeply concerned over the upheaval in Spain and would have led a Russian army thither to suppress it. The suggestion alarmed Metternich, who did not relish the idea of Alexander’s marching through Austrian lands with a great body of men. He did what he could to discourage the expedition against Spain. At the same time he believed that Naples should be disciplined, since its revolution endangered the safety of Austrian possessions in Italy. It is amusing to see how self-interest ran across the currents of the general good as proclaimed in the Concert of Europe.

The tsar thought the situation warranted calling another conference of the Quintuple Alliance. Metternich objected, being chiefly concerned by the seeming certainty that the tsar would wish to carry into the situation his well-known views in support of liberalism. To him it seemed sufficient that the powers should agree severally to give their arms to the suppression of revolution, without meeting in conference. After much discussion a conference was called, at Troppau, but it was regularly attended by only three of the five powers. The suppression of constitutional government was not popular in Great Britain, and her government took no official part in the conference. France held aloof also; she was so much under the protection of Great Britain that she did not dare risk British displeasure by allying herself with the forces of repression.

Did the absence of two nations from Troppau presage the dissolution of the Alliance? Castlereagh gave a negative reply. His nation, he said, was not bound beyond her treaty obligations, the terms of which were clear and specific. They were embodied in the Treaties of Chaumont and Paris. He considered the project of dealing with revolution in its present form as beyond the meaning of these agreements. “If,” he said, “it is desired to extend the Alliance so as to include all objects present and future, foreseen and unforeseen, it would change its character to such an extent and carry us so far, that we should see in it an additional motive for adhering to our course at the risk of seeing the Alliance move away from us without our having quitted it.” These frank words show that the Alliance was strained but not broken. It would seem that a system like that of which we speak should have at bottom some broad common principles. In purpose it should be harmonious. As between the prevailing British idea of liberty and Metternich’s ideas of legitimacy there was no ground for mutual support; and out of this divergence of views was to grow the disruption of the Alliance, as we shall soon see.

Up to this time the two ideas that had run side by side were the tsar’s plan for a league to secure coöperation of a general nature and the British plan limiting common action to a few specific matters, chiefly connected with the repression of France in case she wished to return to a policy which would threaten the peace of Europe. As it became increasingly apparent that France was no longer a menace this type of union became less important, and the British ardor for it cooled, especially since it was becoming more and more certain that the Alliance was being used to support repression.

At the same time a change was passing through the mind of the tsar. In all he had done he had been supported by liberal ministers, against whose influence at his court Metternich did not hesitate to intrigue. Alexander’s conversion to the cause of repression came suddenly and completely in 1820, when there was a mutiny in a favorite regiment of his guard. Sober advisers pointed out to him that the action of the regiment had no political significance, but he would not be convinced. He insisted he would not countenance revolt abroad, lest it encourage insurrection at home. All the fervor he had shown in behalf of liberal ideas he now manifested in behalf of repression. At Troppau he met Metternich in a spirit of profound repentance for what he had done in the past, saying with an outburst of emotion: “So we are at one, Prince, and it is to you that we owe it. You have correctly judged the state of affairs. I deplore the waste of time, which we must try to repair. I am here without any fixed ideas; without any plan; but I bring you a firm and unalterable resolution. It is for your Emperor to use it as he wills. Tell me what you desire, and what you wish me to do, and I will do it.” The speech astonished the Prince as much as it pleased him. All his schemes had lost in the defection of Castlereagh, and probably more, was made up in the accession of his new ally. Not only was the cause of legitimacy, as he advocated it, made safe; but the danger was removed of a Franco-Russian alliance, always a thing to be dreaded by the great Powers in the center of Europe.

In the conference at Troppau, Austria, Russia, and Prussia now acted together. Up to that time Metternich had ignored the Holy Alliance. He now brought it out as his stalking horse. The three sovereigns, controlling the conference, issued a declaration suspending from the Alliance any state that tolerated revolution in its borders and declaring that the other Powers in the Alliance would bring back the offending state by force of arms. Under the indefinite terms of the instrument this was a legal interpretation of power, but it was not in the spirit of the benevolent sovereign who made the Holy Alliance possible.

Those of us who now favor a league or federation of states as a means of preserving peace perpetually may well study the crisis to which a similar system had come in the development of international relations in 1820. The tsar’s ideal was a thing of glory thrown before a sordid world. Not even he, as we see, was proof against the debasement of his surroundings. If his plan had been adopted by all the nations, it is likely that the time would have come when the confederation thus formed would have become an agency for reaction against which liberal views would have been unable to contend.

On the other hand, we must not ignore the weight that a confederation would have had as an idea in promoting respect for liberal government. If it had been established under the protection of the tsar, it may well have been that Metternich would not have taken up the crusade of legitimacy, that the tsar and Castlereagh acting together in behalf of liberal institutions would have insured a steadier attitude on the part of the former, and that under such circumstances the kings of Spain and Naples would have been less inclined to the severe measures which provoked revolution. Of course, these are mere conjectures, but it is only fair to mention them as things to be said for the other side of the question.

When we come to apply the lessons of 1815–1820 to the present day, we must not forget that conditions are now very greatly changed. It was the supremacy of arbitrary government in Europe that made the hopes of 1815 come to naught. Of all the agents who then controlled affairs in the great states of Europe, Castlereagh, next to the tsar, was the most liberal. If a plan of union were adopted after the present war, it might not be a success, but the failure would not be for the same reasons as those that brought the Alliance of 1815 to a nullity.

Castlereagh made a protest against the purposes of the three Powers at Troppau in which were some telling arguments against such a league as was threatening. They were well made and would be applicable to the situation today, if it were proposed to establish a league like that which found favor at Troppau. The plan proposed, said he, was too general in its scope. It gave the projected confederation the right to interfere in the internal affairs of independent states on the ground that the general good was concerned, and if carried out the Alliance would, in effect, be charged with the function of policing such states. Against all this he protested, and he pointed out that so many grounds of dissatisfaction lay in the scheme that to try to enforce it would surely lead to counter alliances, the end of which would be war. It ought to be said, also, that Castlereagh was opposed to giving up war as a means of settling disputes. “The extreme right of interference,” he said, “between nation and nation can never be made a matter of written stipulation or be assumed as the attribute of an alliance.” If a man takes that position he can hardly be expected to see good points in any scheme to preserve peace perpetually.

The evils he pointed out are largely eliminated in the modern plans that are offered. For example, the jurisdiction of the proposed leagues or federations is strictly limited to the enforcement of peace. A supreme court held by eminent judges would pass upon cases as they come up and say whether or not the central authority should employ force. Under the plan it would be hard to bring a purely internal question before the court, and if brought there it would not be considered by the judges, since the pact of the federation would specify that such cases were not to be tried. The pact would be the constitution of the federation, and the court would be expected to pass on the constitutionality of measures from the standpoint of that instrument. Under a system like that recently advocated a revolution in Naples would have to be submitted to a court whose members were appointed from states in which free institutions are in existence. It could not be the tool of a Metternich. Under such a system the whim of a tsar, if such a ruler ever again wears a crown, could not make or mar a question like that which underlay the calling of the Conference of Troppau. So many are the differences that it is, perhaps, not profitable to dwell longer on this point. The study of the peace problem and the attempt to solve it a hundred years ago is extremely interesting to one who considers the situation now existing, but it is chiefly because the mind, having grasped the development of the former problem and become accustomed to see the process as a whole, is in a better state to understand the present and to know wherein it differs from the past and in what respect old factors are supplemented by new factors. Such lessons from the past are open to all who will but read.