CHAPTER IV.

P

METTERNICH AND ABSOLUTISM.

RINCE METTERNICH was for half a century one of the principal figures in the politics of Europe, and for over thirty years he probably exercised more influence in international affairs than any statesman among his contemporaries. First as Austrian Ambassador, later as Foreign Minister of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and lastly as Chancellor, he acquired an exceptionally large experience of diplomacy; he had an intimate acquaintance with the monarchs and ministers who directed the policies of states in this period; and during the whole of his long official career he held with undeviating tenacity to a perfectly rigid doctrine of government. "Metternichian" is as well established a word in politics as "Machiavellian," and what the former signifies is far more fairly attributable to the Austrian statesman than the common meaning of the latter is to the Florentine philosopher.

Born to great wealth and the bearer of a name of high repute in Austria, Metternich grew to maturity amidst the crash of the French Revolution. His tutor had been an intimate friend of Robespierre. He entered the diplomatic service after completing his studies at the University of Strasburg, and he married the grand-daughter and heiress of crotchety old Kaunitz, who had been the Chancellor and much-indulged friend of the Empress Maria Theresa. He possessed so many estates that there were some which he never had time even to visit. He mentions in his diary that, being told that a castle belonging to him overlooked an especially magnificent landscape, he determined to go and look at it. He arrived late at night. A courier followed him. with important official papers, which necessitated his leaving very early on the following morning; so he did not see the

view, and could not find time to visit the place on another occasion. The list of his honours and distinctions occupies sixteen large pages in the French edition of his Memoirs, and he had received more decorations than any human chest could have displayed all at once unless it had the spacial dimensions of Pantagruel's, or of an advertisement hoarding.

In private life Metternich was one of the most charming of men. His portraits show a face which might almost be called beautiful, well-modelled features, large eyes full of liveliness, a sensitive mouth; alertness is written all over it. His manners were exquisitely cultivated; his taste in art was fine; he was well read; and in conversation he was fascinating. This personal charm is certified by innumerable witnesses. An English woman of much experience of the world, Frances, Lady Shelley, who met him at Vienna in 1817, noted in her diary pleasing impressions of his "elegant address, courtly manners and deep politeness, joined to a fine person." "A sparkling wit which never wounds, an easy gaiety which inspires those who talk to him, and the gift of drawing out whatever is agreeable in those with whom he converses (thus making them pleased with themselves) may be used in the cabinet for political purposes; but it is in intimate society that these gifts inspire an attachment, often feigned but seldom felt, for an absolute minister. Prince Metternich is beloved to an extraordinary degree by all who do not smart under his diplomatic talents. He is universally admitted to be the most amiable man in Vienna."

These qualities masked a mind subtle and insinuating, cool, calculating and sharp. In very many passages in Metternich's private letters and diaries we are let into the secret of his methods, and see him dexterously twisting monarchs and statesmen round his fingers, looking into their faces with those luminous eyes of his, and leading them to do precisely what he wanted; and all the while laughing at them without betraying a sign that could disconcert them. "Good heavens!" he writes, after an interview with Count Capo d'Istria, the Greek who was for a while one of the Tzar Alexander's Ministers. "Good heavens! why is it that so many fools are thoroughly good men, as is the case with Capo d'Istria?" And again, after some negotiations with the same statesman, "Capo d'Istria

twists about like a devil in holy water, but he is in holy water, and can do nothing."

In one passage he expressed surprise that anyone should have thought him a man who disguised his real purposes. "I have never worn a mask, and those who have mistaken me must have very bad eyes." That is true enough as to his main political objects, but there is much evidence in Metternich's own political memoirs which exhibits his perfect self-control, and often his enjoyment of the art of manipulating people who had no perception that they were subject to the process. Thus, at the commencement of the Conference of Vienna of 1819, he wrote: "I am surrounded with people who are quite enchanted with their own force of will and yet there is not one among them who a few days ago knew what he wants or will want. This is the universal fate of such an assembly. It has been evident to me for a long time that among a certain number of persons only one is ever found who has clearly made out for himself what is the question in hand. I shall be victorious here as in Karlsbad: that is to say, all wish what I wish, and, since I only wish what is just, I believe I shall gain my victory. But what is most remarkable is that these men will go home in the firm persuasion that they have left Vienna with the same views with which they came."

His capacity for hiding his feelings was tested when his daughter Clementine, to whom he was deeply attached, died while the Conference was in session. (Her portrait by Lawrence shows a being of rare beauty.) "I have, happily," wrote Metternich in his diary, "the art of keeping my feelings to myself, even when my heart is half broken. The thirty men with whom I sit daily at the Conference table have certainly never guessed what I was going through while I talked there for three or fours hours and dictated hundreds of pages." One is irresistibly reminded of the English comedian who never clowned it better than on the night when he was in agony on account of a dying child, for in both instances, that of the statesman and that of the player, habitual professional demeanour overpowered the natural emotions of the man.

The Metternichian system of government, with which the name of this adroit statesman is associated, grew partly out of the eighteenth century benevolently-despotic idea that Maria Theresa and her son Joseph II. developed in

Austria; and partly it was a phase of shocked reaction against the flood of liberal thought let loose by the French Revolution. Austria was a strongly centralised state, and the early sovereigns of the House of Hapsburg-Lorraine cultivated a conscientious responsibility for the social and spiritual welfare of their people. Joseph went too far for his generation, and ended his reign with the uncomfortable feeling that it is easier to dream of a millennium than to create one. But the violence of the Revolution west of the Rhine, and the torrential career of Napoleon, threw all Europe into confusion, and when the great disturber was at length chained at St. Helena, Austria, with Metternich now appointed to direct her destinies, retained her intense centralisation, whilst her rulers cast aside all thought of meddling with such an explosive as reform. What was wanted was not change, but inflexible government. Metternich made it his proud boast that throughout his long period of rule, "Ich war ein Fels der Ordnung"-I was a bulwark of order; and at the end of his life he said, "I have proclaimed in the face of all the world the 'system of Metternich' in a few words. 'Force is law,' is a motto which I have chosen for myself and my descendants." It was the function of law, dictated by sovereigns, to ordain; it was the duty of subjects to obey and not criticise.

Metternich took his stand on the principle of Legitimacy. Existing governments, presided over by sovereigns who were members of long-established ruling families, were divinely appointed to rule over peoples, and any questioning of their authority was an offence against morals. As he himself wrote, "Providence has confided to princes the duty of preserving authority and saving the people from their follies."

That rulers might themselves commit follies was a contingency which was not beyond imagining; indeed, Metternich had rather a deprecating opinion of several sovereigns. The vanity and mysticism of Alexander of Russia offended him; he despised the King of Naples. But the errors of rulers could best be mitigated by the brotherly advice of other divinely appointed kings and their sagacious and friendly-critical statesmen. The remedy was not to admit anything like popular control; that was only to turn on the deluge. "From the time that men attempt to swerve from these bases to become rebels against the sovereign arbi