by Alan Palmer
It could, of couse, be argued that had Alexander roared London as gently as any sucking dove, British distrust of Russian expansion would still have thrown the government into opposition to his policy. There is truth in this: the Foreign Office had been suspicious of Russian intentions ever since the closing years of Catherine’s reign; and Castlereagh was acutely conscious of the long shadow of Russia’s armed strength across Europe that summer. But Alexander’s behaviour – and his sister’s indiscretions – hardened old prejudices which it should have been his intention to allay. Inevitably the Regent and Castlereagh drew close in sympathy to the Austrians, not least because of Metternich’s skill in finding appropriate words of flattery for every occasion. So marked was the distrust between the Allies that when Alexander asked for the Vienna Congress to be postponed from mid-August until late September so that he could return to Russia and settle outstanding domestic problems, the British and Austrians suspected he was planning a unilateral declaration on Polish affairs which would pre-judge much of the Congress’s work.69 They accordingly induced the Russians to undertake that nothing would be irrevocably decided before the opening of the Congress and that no armies would be set on the march without prior agreement of all the Allied Powers. It was an ominous prospect for the making of peace that the master of the largest army in Europe should be asked to give such a pledge.
* As printed in The Times of 22 April 1814 the offending passage ran: ‘It is to the counsels of Your Royal Highness, to this glorious country, and to the steadfastness of its inhabitants, that I attribute, after the will of Providence, the re-establishment of my House upon the throne of its ancestors.’ The Tsar received a copy of the message within a week and was furious at the apparent disregard by Louis XVIII of Russia’s military contribution to the overthrow of Napoleon. The King’s words also incensed him against the Prince Regent personally.
17
The Panorama of Europe
Preparing for the Vienna Congress in St Petersburg and at Pulawy
Alexander returned home to Russia in a sombre mood. He had entered Berlin, Dresden, Frankfurt and Paris in grand style and celebrated with the English all the revelry of Peace: now, on his personal instructions, there was no ceremonial welcome for him in St Petersburg. While still at Bruchsal he had received a deputation of high dignitaries from the Church and members of the Council of State who asked him to sanction the erection of a victory column in the centre of his capital and begged him to accept the agnomen of ‘Blessed’ in acknowledgement of his leadership of the nation in the struggle against the invader.1 But he was reluctant to be accorded any form of triumph; he refused to allow the monument to be constructed during his lifetime and, though he made no effort to prevent his subjects using the courtesy title which they sought to bestow on him, he let it be seen that he regarded himself as unworthy of such an honour. He slipped back into St Petersburg unheralded on 24 July. Although Marie Feodorovna insisted on giving a magnificent banquet at Pavlovsk, he forbade all other celebrations of his return. A Te Deum was sung in the Kazan Cathedral: the victory, he contended, came from the Grace of God, not from his own efforts. It seemed to him wrong to rejoice at the ending of the war while there was so much suffering and devastation in the Empire. Moreover he wished to remind his subjects of the need to attain victory in peace. Only when the final settlement was agreed and accepted by all the Allies would Russia’s tribulations be finally at an end. If foreign observers commented on the contrast between his quiet homecoming and the celebrations in London and Vienna, so much the better.
As if to emphasize the temporary character of his return to St Petersburg, he had already insisted that Elizabeth should remain at Bruchsal and come to join him in Vienna for the opening of the Congress rather than accompany him back to Russia.2 For most of the seven weeks which he spent in the capital he was busy with preparations for the Congress. There were two immediate tasks facing him: selection of a team of ministers and advisers who would participate in the negotiations at Vienna; and the establishment of a provisional administration for the Polish lands, which would show to the Allies his intention of consolidating Russia’s gains in the Vistulan basin without frightening them into taking drastic counter-measures. He had also to resolve at least one, and possibly more than one, family problem. His sister, Catherine, could only remarry with her mother’s consent, and Marie Feodorovna did not approve of her daughter’s preference for the Austrian Archduke Charles as a second husband. Alexander had therefore to discover whether the Dowager Empress was adamant in her opposition and, if so, how she would regard a marriage between Catherine and her nephew, William of Württemberg, whom the Grand Duchess had met during her visit to England. Moreover, the Tsar’s youngest sister, Anna Pavlovna, was still without a husband; and Alexander was anxious to sound out his mother on the possibilities of a marriage between her and the Prince of Orange, with whom Princess Charlotte had dramatically broken off her engagement in June.3 These domestic matters were of trivial importance compared to the political questions uppermost in Alexander’s mind; but it would appear as if they alone were responsible for the Tsar’s unexpected decision to go back to Russia before the opening of the Congress. He could have chosen his team for Vienna and arranged affairs in Poland without setting foot inside his Empire: marriage projects, however, needed discussion with the matriarch at Pavlovsk. Since every eligible princely bachelor in Europe outside the House of Hanover would be present in Vienna for the Congress, it was essential to run through the list of starters with Marie Feodorovna in person. The fact that she failed to give Alexander a clear decision over the prospects for either of her daughters did not make his subsequent task any easier.
Selecting a delegation for Vienna was, on the other hand, relatively straightforward. Technically foreign affairs were still the responsibility of Chancellor Rumiantsev, but he had been handling only minor chancellery matters for the past two years and, as his health was poor, he welcomed Alexander’s return as an opportunity to retire from all governmental posts. The Tsar thereupon named Nesselrode ‘State Secretary for Foreign Affairs’, although observers considered that by denying him full ministerial rank Alexander ‘was disclosing that he himself could control this department’.4 Of almost equal standing in the Russian delegation was Count Andrei Razumovsky, for many years ambassador in Vienna, and Alexander also ordered Adam Czartoryski to accompany him to the Congress as the chief spokesman of the Russian Poles. General Pozzo di Borgo, a Corsican who had been in Russian service since 1805, was invited to assist the Tsar as specialist on the affairs of France and the western Mediterranean lands in general.5 The surprise selection was the thirty-eight-year-old Corfiote aristocrat, John Capodistrias, who first threw in his lot with the Russians when Admiral Senyavin’s squadron occupied the Ionian Islands and who had recently been entrusted by Alexander with a delicate diplomatic mission in Switzerland. The Tsar himself described Capodistrias in a private letter to La Harpe as ‘a very commendable man by virtue of his enlightened and liberal views’; but his rapid advancement caused alarm in Britain and Austria, where it was assumed that the favours shown towards him were a sign of renewed Russian interest in the Eastern Question and in the fate of the Greeks within the Turkish Empire.6 Foreign chancelleries were also displeased at the extent to which the Tsar continued to depend for advice over German questions on Stein, although the delegation contained two other German specialists, Count Anstedt and Count Stackelberg. In the whole of Alexander’s suite there was only one major adviser of Russian parentage, Count Razumovsky, and even he prided himself on his cosmopolitan outlook to such an extent that he disdained ever to write a letter or an official document in his native language. Small wonder Metternich’s intelligence service reported that the old Russian families were incensed by the hold which foreigners were securing on their sovereign’s way of thought.7 What had once been condemned by simple patriots in the army now held good in the diplomatic service. There was not a single spokesman for the Tsar at the Congress
who regarded himself as a representative of the Muscovite traditions of Holy Russia.
Nor was this the only aspect of peacemaking which disturbed the conservative landowners. They were alarmed at the implications of Alexander’s policy towards Poland, fearing in particular the social effects on their estates in Lithuania and Byelo-Russia of incorporating into the Empire territories which had benefited from Napoleon’s reforms. It seemed clear to them that serfdom would have to go, for a start; and what would follow serf emancipation? They viewed Alexander’s provisional arrangements for the Polish lands with as much suspicion as did the statesmen abroad.8
Alexander knew well enough how he wished to solve the Polish Question: all the former territories of the Grand-Duchy of Warsaw would be annexed to Russia; to them would be added the province of Galicia, acquired, he hoped, by negotiation with Metternich and Emperor Francis; the Prussians would be compensated for the loss of Polish lands by the incorporation of Saxony in Frederick William’s kingdom, and the Austrians placated by Russian support for Metternich’s ambitions in Italy. Alexander would then proclaim the establishment of a Kingdom of Poland which would be technically independent of the other provinces of his Empire but united to them indissolubly through bonds of common allegiance to a joint sovereign. This was the future of Poland which he outlined to Czartoryski and other representatives of the great Polish families when he stopped at Pulawy once more on his way from St Petersburg to Vienna.9 He assured the Poles he envisaged a kingdom with some ten or eleven million inhabitants and he approved a draft set of constitutional principles, drawn up and read out by Czartoryski and designed to establish a bicameral parliamentary system. On paper these concessions looked far more generous than the Poles had anticipated: many of them had fought for Napoleon – Czartoryski’s brother, who was present at the Pulawy conferences, was actually decorated by the French for his bravery in the storming of Smolensk – and it seemed unbelievable that the Tsar would show such magnanimity. Was he, they wondered, promising more than he could give them?
Alexander was confident of success that autumn. He knew already he could count on Frederick William’s support, even if the Prussian politicians were uneasy at the loss of so much territory in the east; he thought he could win over Metternich, and he discounted the significance of opposition from Castlereagh or Talleyrand. His greatest worry was the reluctance of the old Senatorial party at home to back his efforts and he sought to counter their hostility by appointing his brother Constantine, whom no one could suspect of liberal sentiments, as commander of the Polish Military Commission in Warsaw. Czartoryski was uneasy at finding the Grand Duke permanently settled in the Citadel but realized it was a sound political move on the part of the Tsar. He was also disturbed to find civil executive responsibilities entrusted to a provisional Supreme Council of which the chairman was the Russian Senator, Count Vasilli Lanskoy, but he consoled himself with the thought that Lanskoy’s deputy was his friend and colleague from the old Secret Committee, Novosiltsov. None of the Poles doubted, then or later, that Alexander was perfectly sincere in the programme he outlined at Pulawy. He left them on 20 September full of hope for the immediate future.10
Alexander in Residence at the Hofburg
Five days later he made a grand ceremonial entry into the Austrian capital, the King of Prussia once more riding at his side. Emperor Francis placed at Alexander’s disposal a whole wing of the Hofburg, his palace in the centre of the city. Also accommodated in the Hofburg were Frederick William and the heads of three other reigning dynasties, together with their wives. Everything was done to make the sovereigns happy and comfortable, and indeed to please the members of all the royal and princely families who flocked to Vienna that autumn. By modern reckoning Francis spent the equivalent of more than £5 million sterling on entertaining his guests. So that they might ride in the chestnut avenues of the Prater or hunt in the wooded hills to the south and west of the city, he saw to it that the Imperial stables were expanded in order to house fourteen hundred horses, from which the sovereigns and the princes might take their choice any morning or afternoon. A ‘Festivals Committee’ of Court dignitaries ensured that there were endless diversions and entertainments, quite apart from the numerous balls, banquets and concerts given by the great families of central Europe. Even in small matters, Francis was an attentive host; for when Alexander was suffering from a recurrence of erysipelas of the leg, it was arranged that every morning a block of fresh ice should be brought to him in the Hofburg, since immersion of the leg in melting ice was held (rather oddly) to be a cure for inflammation of the skin.11
Such generous hospitality at the very summit of Society set the fashion for Vienna that winter. More than a hundred thousand foreign visitors came to the city during the Congress, all but the most primly austere among them entranced by its dazzling social life. Perhaps one in twenty of these visitors actually participated in the business of peacemaking at some moment of their stay in Vienna. The remainder were extravagant extras in what one of the numerous police spies aptly described as ‘the panorama of Europe’.12 Never before had the cosmopolitan aristocracy of the whole continent staged so flamboyant a gala occasion; nor was the opportunity for them to lose themselves in such luxuriant excess to recur again. There was something magnificently baroque in the whole style of the Congress, from its concern with prescribing formal conventions of diplomatic behaviour down to its meticulous planning of social evenings and drawing-room receptions. At times the entertainments had a frenetic artificiality intolerable to sensitive spirits but, given the place and the occasion, they were undoubtedly in a minority.
To someone like Alexander the peculiar character of the Congress was perplexing in the extreme.13 He always preferred to work his way painstakingly through memoranda and take his decision, or evade commitment, at leisure. This was impossible in Vienna. Although written documents were drawn up and presented, they tended to be mere statements of a position as often as not already invalidated by private conversation before the memoranda were circulated. He had assumed the actual task of peacemaking would be settled within six weeks and he would be back in St Petersburg – or, possibly, Warsaw – by the end of the year. To his dismay he found the representatives of the other Powers unaccommodating over his plans for Poland and distrustful of his intentions elsewhere in Europe. It was impossible for him to return home, leaving Nesselrode and Czartoryski to achieve the best settlement they could, for the delegation he had selected shared few principles in common and had no leader except himself. The Tsar was therefore forced to play an active political role in diplomatic gatherings which, because of their unusual form, he could never dominate. At the same time he had to appear, night after night, at ceremonial functions as sovereign of the most powerful State on the Eurasian land-mass. It was difficult for someone suffering from deafness and prone to erysipelas to preserve dignity and equanimity under such circumstances.
From the day of his arrival in Vienna Alexander was conscious of a particular cause of vexation. He knew he was surrounded by spies and informers who sent detailed reports to the Austrian Chief of Police, Baron Hager. At times the Tsar played an elaborate game of double bluff with them, carefully dropping astringent asides in private conversation which he dared not make publicly; but, he had no idea of the extent and efficiency of the Austrian intelligence service, nor of its skill in intercepting and copying other people’s private letters.14 As it was, he rapidly acquired a not undeserved reputation for amatory philandering on the grand scale, which was in striking contrast to the anguish and exultation of his spiritual life over the previous two years. Since there was such a close link in Vienna between the pattern of social behaviour and the serious tasks of the Congress, the revelations of Hager’s spies were of considerable value. They emphasized, and probably intensified, the differences between Alexander and that arch-manipulator of feminine intrigue, Prince Metternich. It was hard to decide if the frequent eruptions of Austro-Russian friction were a consequence of genuine political
doubts or ill-humour caused by the personal pique of rivals in the bed-chamber. Neither the Tsar nor Metternich wasted time during the Congress analysing the motives for their mutual antipathy: they accepted it as inevitable, and sought to counter each other’s influence in public and private affairs, not always seeing a distinction between the two.
It was indeed difficult for Alexander to escape the vigilance of Hager’s agents. Much of their work was fruitless. For example, at a display of horsemanship on the second Sunday of his visit to Vienna, Alexander was observed taking an interest in a young Viennese girl, the daughter of a petty official. By the following Wednesday morning Hager had the girl’s name and address on his files and assigned an agent to keep her under regular surveillance: there is no evidence that she had further contact with the Tsar or any other visitor to the Congress.15 It is less surprising to find Hager assigning a spy to watch No. 60 Paniglgasse, when Maria Naryshkin followed the Tsar to Vienna and took a lease of the house; the Austrians believed that, being Polish by birth, she was influencing Alexander’s policy towards her native land; and the spy was able to discover that the Tsar had called on her twice in the same week and sent one of his aides-de-camp to her with confidential notes.16 But the most rewarding place to re port on his movements was the Schenkenstrasse, a small road only a few hundred yards from the Hofburg. For, by accident, two of the leading political courtesans of the day, the Duchess Wilhelmine of Sagan and Princess Katharina Bagration, had leased opposite wings of the same building in the Schenkenstrasse, the Palais Palm.17 So much information reached Hager from the Schenkenstrasse that at times one feels everyone else in the road must have been a police spy: the only doubt remaining is in whose interest the two ladies themselves were working.
