Far Flies the Eagle (23 page)

And Catherine, stung by the snubs she had invited, incensed him still further. “This miserable place,” she said venomously, “dismal and cold even in June, with its ridiculous houses, small enough to fit into one floor of their own Palaces, and that gross idiot with his pomposity and his elderly frumps. Bah!” She almost spat her contempt, and Alexander listened, his face reddening with anger and disappointment.

He had beaten Napoleon, he thought again and again, and this was his reward! He left Dover on the 26th of June to return to Russia before the opening of the great Congress of Vienna which was to decide the peace of the world.

He arrived in Vienna in September, prepared to fight his former allies as bitterly as he had fought Napoleon.

CHAPTER NINE

The Congress opened in Vienna on the 1st of October, 1814, in a setting of social brilliance reminiscent of Napoleon's zenith. Vienna was full; full of Kings, Princes, Royalties and nobles from every country in Europe; the crowded diplomatic staffs of the Allied Powers, attachés, equerries, secretaries, and spies and adventurers of both sexes. All fashionable European society poured into Vienna to watch the great world powers settling affairs, and to see men as famous as Alexander of Russia, Metternich and Talleyrand at close quarters.

Talleyrand was again Minister for Foreign Affairs, entrusted with the task of saving what he could for his defeated country by a King who disliked him and made the appointment to get him out of the Court. The Russians and Prussians were united in their demands. Poland for Russia and Saxony for Prussia.

Metternich and Castlereagh listened to these proposals and then decided they could have no better ally against the ambitions of their former allies than the Foreign Minister of France. Talleyrand made the utmost of the jealousy and dissension growing up between Austria and England and the bitter Autocrat of Russia, who was soon backing his demands with threats of war in language which was a warning echo of Napoleon.

A secret treaty was signed between England, Austria and France, promising mutual military aid if the Russo-Prussian claims were pressed too far. Talleyrand's place at the conference table had little relation to his country's defeat after a few sittings, and by the beginning of 1815 Alexander realized the extent of the barrier his allies had erected against his ambitions. The effect upon him was startling; the charm and gentleness disappeared completely; he shouted and raged, on one occasion threatening to throw Metternich out of the window after a particularly frustrating interview.

Only the Austrian Emperor's intervention prevented him forcing a duel on the Count. Metternich laughed at the uncivilized behaviour of the Czar behind his back and continued to avenge that broken promise not to restore the Bourbons. Alexander had smashed Austrian hopes of power, now he would smash Russia's; the Czar was proving himself nothing but a barbarian, he protested; he was claiming the victory over Napoleon for himself as if England and Austria had never taken part! It would be tragic indeed, he declared to the French and English Ministers, if their countries had made so many sacrifices to free Europe from Bonaparte's tyranny only to replace it by the domination of Alexander and his friends, the Prussians. Both nations were revealing themselves as aggressive and untrustworthy; their insolence was not only impertinent but unjustified.…

Napoleon's murderous victories were all conveniently forgotten, Metternich sneered; Jena, Friedland, Austerlitz, where the Czar himself had ridden for his life.… Austria had poured out men and money fighting Napoleon and never pressed the claims of the Empress Marie-Louise at the abdication. All Austria wanted was peace, and a just balance of power. Russia and Prussia would have to be checked.

Those first months of 1815 were restless and unhappy for Alexander. The Empress Elizabeth had joined him in Vienna; he hadn't seen her for nearly two years, and they met like strangers and immediately went their separate ways. Elizabeth avoided the Balls and Banquets as often as she could and stayed at her rooms in the Hofburg, while a round of gaiety and riotous spending engulfed the whole city. When she did accompany Alexander to an official function, they played their parts with dignity, the handsome Autocrat whose smile only warmed to women, and his stately wife whose marvellous jewels were the talk of Vienna. Afterwards they separated, and Elizabeth went to the arms of her old lover, Adam Czartorisky. Adam was on Alexander's staff at the Congress; it was years since he and Elizabeth had met, and neither had been faithful in the interval, but their passion for each other blazed up again, fanned more by sentiment than desire.

Both were unhappy, but Adam was becoming desperate as his hopes for Polish freedom faded with every word Alexander pronounced. His old friend had tricked him again, and he threw himself at the Czarina's feet, imploring her to forgive his desertion and take him back again.

Meanwhile Alexander alternated hours of prayer with fits of savage debauchery. His lapses in France were repeated in Vienna; the sensual fever raged in his blood, and it was only equalled by the turmoil of his mind. One of his first exploits was the seduction of Metternich's mistress, the haughty, beautiful Duchess of Sagan, who surrendered to him within a few hours, unaware that he was revenging himself on Metternich when he possessed her body, or that he left her to sink into a stupor of prayer that was almost a trance. He danced and dined and made love with the Viennese women of all classes, cynically judged them the most expert in the world, and then left them to agonize in wondering why God was allowing His servant to be treated so badly by the nations he had liberated.

In the last days of February he went to his wife's apartments in the Hofburg and asked one of her ladies, Mademoiselle Stourdza, to come to him. There was no lecherous intention; the Stourdza was a well-known mystic of unquestioned virtue.

Alexander received her alone; he had spoken to her before and found her simplicity refreshing.

“You must excuse this visit, Mademoiselle,” he said. “I would be grateful for your company for a few minutes.” His head fell forward into his hands and he stared gloomily at the carpet.

“I am tired and dispirited. Perhaps you can comfort me.”

The young woman sat down and looked at him kindly.

“You need guidance, Sire,” she said gently. “Would you like me to pray for you? I will pray now if you like.”

He made a gesture of assent and closed his eyes; his head ached and his whole body felt paralysed by despair.

“God has abandoned me,” he muttered to himself. “I destroyed Napoleon, all I want is to secure peace for the world, and everyone is trying to thwart me. I've told them it's not
my
will, but God's, but they don't listen!” His face flushed; he was beginning to get angry again.

He
should
have Poland, it was his due; it was God's reward to him for all he had achieved.…

The Stourdza had slipped to her knees; she was praying in whispers while he sat and watched her. The sight of her piety filled him with sickening shame; he thought of the hours he had spent with women of a different kind, and shuddered. He had tried to subdue that side of his nature, driven Marie away from him because he felt he must be worthy of the victory God would give him, and now, after that victory.… The Sagan, Princess Auesperg, Countess Orczy, and God knew how many more.

He was the grandson of Catherine the Great after all, the heir of the ‘Messalina of the North'. He bowed his head again and began to follow Mademoiselle Stourdza's prayers. Later she asked if she might read him a letter she had received. He felt rested and calm for the first time in weeks, and he agreed at once. The writer was a Russian noblewoman of great prophetic powers; she had long foretold the Czar's victory and his selection by God to a wide circle of people, including Mademoiselle Stourdza, who was deeply impressed by her spirituality. This last letter mentioned Alexander in detail and foretold his triumph over the forces of the Devil.

“She is a most remarkable woman, Sire. I wish you would receive her; her powers of prophecy are really wonderful.”

“She has just prophesied a victory for me over anti-Christ,” Alexander said. “But I have already beaten him, Mademoiselle. He is at Elba.…”

Mademoiselle Stourdza rose and curtsied as he stood up to end the interview.

“Madame de Krudener is never wrong, Sire,” she said calmly.

“I shall remember her name,” he promised as he left.

On the night of the 6th of March the representatives of the five great powers met in the Austrian Foreign Minister's rooms, and after a long and angry meeting came to no conclusion. Alexander heard the report and then went to bed. He lay awake till dawn, slowly deciding that there was nothing for it but to take up arms against Austria and England. The peacemaker would have to unsheathe the sword again; the prospect filled him with fierce happiness and he smiled in his sleep.

He was drinking chocolate in his dressing-room, when his valet announced the Austrian Foreign Minister. Alexander looked at his watch; it was a quarter-past eight in the morning. He hesitated; last night he had been going to war; last night Metternich had managed to thwart his claims once again.

“What the devil does he want?” he exclaimed irritably.

“He says it's extremely urgent, Your Majesty. He has just left the Emperor Francis.”

Could he have come to his senses at last? Was he going to agree to the Russian proposals?…

“Admit the Count,” Alexander ordered.

Metternich was immaculately dressed as usual, but his face was expressionless and very pale. He bowed deeply to the Czar.

“My apologies for disturbing Your Majesty at this hour. Only the gravest development could excuse it. Unfortunately it does.”

Alexander's eyes narrowed; in spite of the suave manner he knew that Metternich was shaken, and instinct prompted him to remain calm and prolong the other's suspense. Whatever had happened, they needed him again, he thought grimly.

“I believe you have just left the Emperor Francis,” he remarked.

“I have. Sire, and he charged me to come straight to you.”

Less than an hour earlier the ruler of Austria had stood trembling in his dressing-gown, wailing that if the Czar had been alienated too far by his treatment at the Congress, if he deserted them now, God help them all.… And for once Metternich respected his master's opinion. Without Alexander none of them had a hope of survival.

“Sit down, Count, and tell me of this grave development,” Alexander said coolly.

Metternich remained standing, and one slim hand touched the satin stock at his throat.

“I received a dispatch from Genoa this morning,” he said. “Napoleon has escaped from Elba.”

The Emperor of the French landed at Cannes with a small following of his Guards who had travelled with him from Elba. Within a few hours their numbers were swelled by volunteers from every town and village within reach. The words flew ahead from mouth to mouth; “The Emperor's returned!
Vive L'Empereur!
To arms!”

Men rushed to join him; everywhere he went crowds cheered and wept with joy; the white cockade of the Bourbons was torn off and trampled underfoot, the tricolor of the Empire appeared in every hat and buttonhole. Everything was forgotten; the wars, the suffering, the acts of folly; they saw Napoleon and they rallied to him blindly. France was sick of the Bourbons already; she had recovered from the shock of defeat and decided her Emperor had been cruelly betrayed in favour of a gross old reactionary who was trying to reimpose the old régime as if the Revolution had never taken place.

Away with the Bourbons, who dared ignore the army which had made France so great. Away with them all! Thank God the little Emperor had returned, he'd smash the enemies of France, and bring her back to the forefront of the world!

Vive L'Empereur!

He rode among them, smiling and acknowledging one delirious reception after another, leading a growing army on the road to Paris. Wherever he stayed, crowds danced and sang under his windows, and the forces sent by King Louis to fight him simply arrested their Royalist officers and put themselves at his disposal. The veterans of his campaigns who'd been dismissed into civilian life, left fields and workshops, donned their old uniforms with tears of joy, and marched to join their General.

In Paris, Marshal Ney set out to capture him at the head of an army, swearing wild oaths against him to the King. As he advanced, he was met with the news of one Bonapartist victory after another; his men were murmuring, many deserted. Louis XVIII had pardoned him, but neither he nor the other Marshals were accepted by the old régime. The Prince de La Moscova was still laughed at as the son of a cooper, and the wife he adored was snubbed till she refused with tears to come to Court. The sores of humiliation and neglect had been rubbed raw, and he missed the presence of the Emperor in the stuffy Tuilleries as a prisoner might miss the sun. Throughout the march he was gloomy and quick tempered, fighting with all his strength against the wild desire to break his word to the despicable King and follow the beckoning drum-beat of the greatest soldier the world had ever known.

Within a few miles of Napoleon's headquarters Ney received a personal letter from him.

The two armies met at Besançon, and in scenes of the wildest enthusiasm, Michel Ney flung himself into Napoleon's arms. His entire force followed him.

Then Murat, who had gone over to the Allies in 1813, declared for his Emperor and set out from Naples to conquer Italy in his name. Everywhere men who had foresworn him hurried to kneel and beg him to take them back. The soldiers and politicians who had abandoned him because they believed his ambition and obstinacy to be leading to absolute ruin, forgot everything in the mad excitement which greeted his return.

The old joy of battle and conquest surged up in them all; released from the bondage of a feeble King and a reactionary Government, the armies of Imperial France swept all before them and bore Napoleon into Paris on the 20th of March.