Black J. From Louis XIV to Napoleon The Fate of a Great Power

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and supporting that with Mysore, seemed a prospect. The Iman of Oman appeared interested

in the idea of joint action against Bombay.

British agents in Baghdad, Basra and Shiraz

warned in 1784–7 of French activity in Persia and the Gulf, including the arrival of French

ships at Basra and Muscat, and anticipated French designs on Bandar Rig and, in 1786,

Kharg. Two French frigates arrived at Basra in 1785 with arms and ammunition.

French commercial interests were active. Trade with India revived and in 1785 the French

East India Company was refounded.

The Turks refused to permit ships flying the French

flag into the Black Sea, but Marseille ships flying the flag of Russia were acceptable. In 1785

a French trading company was established at Kherson, at the mouth of the Dnieper. The

French government provided a credit of 100,000 livres for the purchase of naval stores and

a French master mastman organized inspections of timber in Poland and the Ukraine. The

route offered the prospect of France gaining a new source of supply for timber and other

naval stores from Poland and neighbouring states, and one that was not subject in wartime to

British naval control of the North Sea.

These commercial schemes were directly linked to plans for political advantage. To take

the Black Sea, in May 1783 Choiseul-Gouffier, who had travelled extensively in the Levant

in the late 1770s, submitted a memorandum proposing that France expand her influence

there by increasing trade. He argued that it would be possible both to preserve the Turkish

Empire and to develop trade with Russia via the Black Sea. In June 1784, by then ambassador

at Constantinople, he was given instructions to seek admission to the Black Sea for ships

flying the French flag. Louis XVI wrote to the sultan to the same end two months later.

Choiseul-Gouffier sailed to Constantinople in a warship under the command of Laurent-

Jean-François Truguet who was instructed to prepare charts of the Black Sea and the Nile

Delta, and train the Turks in naval warfare.

The sense that France could influence, if not manipulate, developments to her own

benefit and that of her allies, clashed with a fear that the Turkish position could not be

protected. By the 1780s France had achieved a dominant position in the foreign trade of the

Levant and eastern Mediterranean. For both political and commercial reasons, she was the

most influential foreign power in the Turkish Empire. In the mid-1780s, experts helped to

direct the construction of Turkish warships and of fortifications at the major Black Sea base

of Ochakov.

Yet this was challenged by the threat of Russian power. It was unclear whether it would

be more in France’s interest to join in any partition of the Turkish Empire. An anonymous

memorandum of July 1787 suggested that if France joined her ally Austria, and Russia,

against Turkey she could hope to acquire Crete and Egypt from the latter. The occupation of

Cyprus and Rhodes was also suggested, and the need to prevent Britain occupying Egypt

was emphasized.

The sense of competition with Britain lent urgency to the question of French policy

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outside Europe, while fear of impending war in the Balkans meant that it was necessary to

consider the choice between support for Turkey or her potential opponents, or the alternative

of French passivity and neglect of French interests by the combatants. Indeed, when war

broke out between Russia and the Turks in 1787, the Black Sea trade route was shattered.

Ships were seized, cargoes confiscated, and, in the end, the commercial facilities at Kherson

had to be closed and the trade suspended.

France appeared to have choices. In India she could seek to develop relations with

Hyderabad and Mysore and sustain an anti-British bloc. In the Indian Ocean she could ally

with the Dutch. In the Balkans she could seek to strengthen Turkey. Yet, in the first two,

France could also try to develop closer relations with Britain, building on the commercial

treaty, while in the last she apparently had the option of turning to Austria and Russia.

Policy re-assessed

Any judgement, of the extent to which French policymakers understood the situation and,

also, of the intelligence of their direction and management of policy, rests, in part, on the

questions of whether choices existed and, if so, of what they were. Was there, for example,

a series of stark options: accepting British dominance and/or Russian aggression, or resisting

both, possibly unsuccessfully? Or was the situation less clear-cut, and, if so, did French

mismanagement play a role in precipitating these options? Such questions can be raised

throughout the course of any state’s foreign policy, but in the case of France it is particularly

important to consider these counterfactual perspectives at this juncture, because of the

argument that diplomatic failures played a part in the background to the Revolution. Failure

to act in the Dutch crisis led to a general sense of weakness.

The most recent study of the period suggests that much of the pressure for war in 1787

was naïve and that it would have been financially disastrous. This is a valuable challenge to

claims that bold action then might have averted the Revolution. Murphy, in contrast, argues

that ‘Louis XVI and his secretaries of state for foreign affairs were harried statesmen in a

painful but necessary retreat from the devastating results of France’s overextended position

in Europe’.

In addition, despite the building of numerous warships, the treasurer of the

navy was unable to fund any sustained naval operational activity.

More generally, the decline in the size of the French army from its highpoint in the later

years of Louis XIV’s reign – in the context of the general peacefulness of Western Europe in

1763–92 – both limited military options and played a role in reducing the opportunities for

noble service in France, with arguably serious political consequences. The nature of French

public debate over policy suggested that there would be little tolerance of failure if France

had intervened militarily without success in the Dutch crisis, and much criticism of any such

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intervention. Royal iconography had shifted from the king as a martial leader to a stress on

pacific values.

Philosophe arguments, advanced, for example, by Condorcet, Diderot and

Mirabeau, that all people essentially sought peace, that national interests, if correctly

understood, were naturally compatible, and that war arose from irrational causes, such as

religion and the irresponsibility and self-indulgence of leaders, and from the secret and

manipulative nature of ancien régime diplomacy, had had an impact. The philosophes rejected

the claim that they were unpatriotic.

They were certainly not bellicose.

Nevertheless, as already suggested, mistaken policies, as well as structures, were at issue.

Despite their weaknesses, the French had been able to intervene in the War of American

Independence. In 1787 did Montmorin, for example, make too little effort to woo Prussia

because he was more interested in closer relations with Austria and Russia? It is too easy to

assume the sort of all-or-nothing approach that structural accounts can give rise to: either a

power is at the top or not. Instead, to use a modern phrase, it is helpful to consider the notion

of punching above one’s weight. That was as important for France as it was for other

powers.

Punching above one’s weight was largely dependent on the maintenance of peace and it

required the careful handling of alliances. If such handling was not displayed in 1787, the

French were faced by bellicose decision-makers in Constantinople and by Dutch Patriots

who were difficult to control. The inability to develop closer relations with Britain and

Russia reflected not so much a French failure of perception about European developments as

a more general resistance to a simplistic treatment of international relations in terms of

building blocks, easily assembled or dispensed with. Aside from suspicion of France – and

reluctance to ally with her – within Britain and Russia, there was an understandable concern

in France about the idea of discarding allies, however much this might be for present or future

advantage. This was not simply a matter of an anachronistic refusal to abandon the past; nor

simply an inability to endorse change comparable to the inability also discerned in French

domestic policy.

Instead, as in domestic politics, it is essential to confront the ambivalence of what was,

and is, understood by reform. In 1815 France was indeed to accept British maritime and

colonial dominance and a comparable Russian position in Eastern Europe, but there seemed

little need to face such a situation in 1787. Voronzov, the Russian envoy in London, claimed

in October 1789 that ‘only two empires really exist: Russia as a power on land and Britain

as a maritime power’.

Such a situation had seemed less apparent three years earlier, and a

protracted period of conflict that was likely to produce such a result did not appear obvious.

Nor did it appear strongly the case in 1787 that either Britain or Russia would accommodate

French interests. The possibility that France could benefit from a partition of the Turkish

Empire was discussed anew in the winter of 1787–8, but such a role would threaten to

destroy France’s commercial position in the eastern Mediterranean and would undermine

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any prospect of her benefiting from links with Poland, Sweden and Prussia. In the case of

Britain, there were no insurmountable obstacles to better relations in the Indian Ocean and

South Asia in 1787, but an abandonment of the Patriots by the French scarcely appeared

necessary. Similarly, it did not appear appropriate to satisfy Joseph II over the Scheldt crisis

and Bavaria in 1784–5.

With the benefit of hindsight, a more managed process of withdrawal from commitments

and plans might have been prudent, in order to lessen the shock of the 1787 crisis. However,

the aftermath of a successful war is not the best moment to argue weakness and preach

restraint. More generally, there was a serious failure to convince the public about the wisdom

of government policy, part of a wider crisis in which domestic problems increasingly limited

diplomatic options, in which divisions over the latter exacerbated political tensions, and

where both international and domestic issues were increasingly seen by the public as

interrelated.

The initiative passed from France, but it did so in a context in which unforeseen

developments challenged the calculations of all the major European powers.

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CHAPTER SIX

The impact of Revolution, 1787–1799

Policy and justice are two ideas that have for too long been separated,

but the Republic has firmly decided never to separate them.

Pierre Lebrun, foreign minister, November 1792.

M. de Maude made a long visit yesterday to the Grand Pensionary, and

uttered nothing but classical phrases, natural philosophy, and belles

lettres.

Lord Auckland, British envoy in The Hague,

about his French counterpart, June, 1792.

The path from the Dutch crisis of 1787 first to the outbreak of the French Revolution in

1789 and then to the beginning of the French Revolutionary Wars in 1792 might appear clear,

but this was no more the case in foreign policy and international relations than it was in

domestic developments. France’s prestige and alliance system were gravely weakened in

1787, but it was far from clear that the situation was irreversible, while the likely consequences

of the crises of that year, in both the short and the long term, were also obscure. It was, for

example, unclear, firstly, whether Britain and Prussia would ally, and, if so, to what end, and,

secondly, whether Austria would join Russia against the Turks. An upsurge in the volatility

of European power politics might create opportunities for France, or fresh problems.

1787–89

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The crisis of 1787 had revealed not that France was without forces, but that she was

unwilling to use them in the circumstances of September 1787. France was believed to seek

revenge, rumours about her plans circulated, and the likely extent and duration of the French

domestic crisis were unclear. The sense of flux that characterized eighteenth-century

international relations was accentuated in years of crisis. In the second half of 1787 there was

discussion about better relations between France and Prussia, or France and Britain, or

France vis-à-vis Austria and Russia. In the context of late 1787, each represented a new

departure. From August 1787 Montmorin sought to improve relations with Prussia, which

was seen as an unreliable power but one that prevented France from having to be dependent

on Austria.

This led to the dispatch of Groschlag to Berlin, but, in response to the Prussian

invasion of the United Provinces, he received less accommodating instructions.

Interest in better relations with Britain was also displayed. Via William Eden, the French

government proposed co-operation in protecting the balance of power and in preserving the

Turkish Empire from partition, by negotiating and then guaranteeing a peace on the basis of

the status quo ante bellum [the situation before the war].

Given that neither Britain nor

France was interested in territorial gains in Europe, it might be suggested that their failure to

develop a modus vivendi after the Dutch crisis, let alone the ‘solid system of friendship and

peace’ advocated by Eden – and certainly of some interest to the British Prime Minister,

William Pitt the younger – was a mistake. The failure obliged Britain to commit herself to

Prussia, in short to become involved in the aggressive schemes of the central and eastern

European powers.

Eden wanted ‘a full and permanent system’ with both France and Spain, while the British

envoy in Paris, the Duke of Dorset, proposed ‘a kind of friendly intercourse’ over the Balkan

crisis ‘especially as there is a disposition here to listen to anything that can tend to secure the

peace and tranquillity of, at least, Europe’. Colonial rivalry was a major obstacle. Just as the

War of American Independence had greatly increased British sensitivity about the strategic

situation in Asia, so the Dutch crisis had emphasized the possibility of war and focused

attention on naval strength. Colonial and maritime anxiety and competition with France

continued and made the British determined to tie the Dutch into their alliance system; while

French hopes of winning Dutch naval and colonial support, or, more realistically, of limiting

their assistance to Britain, continued.

Neither the Anglo-French convention on India signed

in August 1787 nor Montmorin’s assurances allayed British fears.

In practice, the French were cautious in South Asia and their relations with Indian rulers

were not such as to threaten Britain. In 1787 the evacuation of those French troops who

were of European origin from Pondicherry was ordered and in 1788 the French government

withdrew Residents from Indian courts and abandoned its Cochin China initiative. The

Marathas were suspicious of French policy,

while Haidar Ali’s successor, Tipu Sultan, was

less enthusiastic than his father about co-operation with the French.

The British were not

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aware of the tension in the relationship and when, in 1787, Tipu sent an embassy to France

in search of military assistance, the British responded with concern. Reaching Toulon in June

1788, the envoys were received by Louis XVI on 10 August 1788. Tipu offered commercial

benefits and payment in return for the use of 3,000 troops, but the envoys were sent back

with only promises of friendship, much to the displeasure of Tipu.

There were other factors inhibiting any agreement with Britain, reasons that throw light

on France’s general situation. Distrust was important, specifically the fear that approaches

might lead to embarrassing revelations at other courts. The French felt that they could not

rely on the British. Until October 1788 the government assumed, as a consequence of the

strength of British forces in the Indian Ocean and the West Indies, that conflict was possibly

imminent, and took precautions accordingly.

Furthermore, the content of any agreement

was likely to be unpalatable. There was no incentive for France to commit herself to passivity

in the Indian Ocean, as the British required, while Pitt’s interest in January 1788 in the idea

of France ceding Mauritius and her Indian trading stations, in return for acceptance of gains

from the Turks, lacked diplomatic momentum and, if acceptable, was more likely to be

furthered by co-operation with Austria and Russia.

Indeed, having failed to prevent Austria from joining Russia against the Turks,

in the

winter of 1787–8 there was an upsurge in talk about the possibility of a new quadruple

alliance – a union of the Franco-Spanish and Austro-Russian alliances, or, at least, a pact of

France, Austria and Russia. In a major reversal of policy, the French ministry was willing to

support the idea of Austrian and Russian gains, at the expense of their traditional ally

Turkey, as the price of an alliance. This was seen as necessary to counterbalance the new

Anglo-Prussian alignment, and Montmorin, who had earlier proclaimed France’s commitment

to the Turkish Empire,

now argued that if Austria and Russia made territorial gains it was

appropriate for France to do likewise, the thesis of equivalent acquisitions which was used

to justify the successive partitions of Poland.

There was speculation that France might

benefit by gains from the Turks in the Aegean, Crete and Egypt, and, also, that, far from the

alliance being restricted to the Balkans, the Bavarian exchange scheme might be revived.

The Russian government pressed France to gain advantages by joining in the Balkan

conflict. Montmorin argued that as the Turks had acted without consulting France, she was

free to do as she thought best, and was not therefore obliged to support a collapsing empire.

He and Ségur, the envoy in St Petersburg, feared that if France did not win the alliance of

Russia, Britain would. Ségur thought that an alliance of Austria, France and Russia would

create fear in Britain and Prussia, and be a brilliant revenge for the Dutch crisis.

Montmorin

anticipated that once Austria and Russia had beaten the Turks they would fall out, making

France a desirable partner. He argued that the possibility of Franco-Russian co-operation

would restrain Austria.

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The Spanish government, unhappy about Russian conquests at the expense of the Turks,

rejected the idea of the alliance, while the French were unwilling to guarantee the existing

status of Russian-dominated Poland. Montmorin was also concerned about the French

commercial stake in the Turkish Empire.

With a reminder of the uncertainty of international

relations, Noailles suggested that, if the Turks defeated the Russians, Catherine II could be

dethroned and an alliance negotiated between Russia and Prussia.

This did not deter

Montmorin, not least because he did not believe in assessing the policy of others in terms

that were overly complex, profound and reflective,

but it underlined the extent to which the

outbreak of war increased the sense of international flux and new opportunities.

Unable to join Austria and Russia against the Turks, France could not gain compensating

advantage elsewhere. Prussia allied with Britain in August 1788, and Sweden, a traditional

French ally, followed an independent line, beginning a war with Russia in July 1788. This

conflict both posed problems for France and revealed its increasing weakness, for it was

Britain and Prussia, not France, that persuaded the Danes to agree that October to end their

invasion of Sweden. That November, even Karl Eugen, Duke of Württemberg, was ready to

abandon his connections with France and Austria and to approach Britain for an alliance. The

French government was increasingly unable to influence European diplomacy. Still hoping

that relations with Austria and Russia could be improved, Montmorin was not interested in

the idea of co-operating with the British in seeking to mediate a settlement in the Balkans.

The very linkage of Austria and Russia was a sign of French failure, and led some French

diplomats to regard Prussia with greater favour.

Despite what he saw as hostile Prussian

policies, Montmorin stressed France’s interest in her preservation,

a view that reflected

ministerial attitudes during the Seven Years’ War, when there had been concern that an

overly-weakened Prussia would make Austria a difficult ally. In the mid-1780s it was unclear

whether Joseph would prefer his Russian ally or the ‘alliance of 1756’; in 1787 the decision

was clearly taken and it reflected the greater importance of Joseph’s alliance with Russia

over that with France. This also repeated the situation during the Seven Years’ War.

In part, such developments can be seen as a continuation of the general slackening of

French diplomatic influence that, to a certain extent, had characterized international relations

since the 1680s, and, more markedly, since the mid-1750s. They also reflected the particular

dynamics of the international system in 1787–8. French domestic problems were seen as

crucial in affecting French policy by many commentators,

as well as providing an apparently

obvious indication of French strength to foreign observers.

Such a stress on domestic circumstances was traditional. The French Revolution, in its

early or ‘pre-revolutionary’ stages, was seen not as a new development, a product of spreading

radicalism, but, rather, as a conventional political crisis, in which a ruler faced serious

domestic problems, primarily aristocratic factionalism and financial difficulties. These

appeared to affect France’s international capability, her ability to wage war or sustain a

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military confrontation, and her stability as an ally. Thus, for example, in the spring of 1757

one London newspaper reported that the French government needed peace because of the

strength of domestic opposition,

while it was then believed in diplomatic circles in Turin

that the government would have to yield in its disputes with the Parlement of Paris.

France did indeed seem weaker in the late 1780s. In terms of the percentage of the French

budget spent on the military in the period 1712–88, 1788 was the low point. Post-war

demobilization in the army from 1783 was followed by a fresh reduction, and morale was

affected badly.

In August 1788 payments from the heavily indebted Treasury were suspended

and Brienne resigned. The pay of dockyard workers was seriously in arrears. In March 1789

domestic circumstances prevented France from fulfilling plans to send a squadron of

observation to sea that would manoeuvre jointly with that of Spain. The Spanish first

minister, Count Floridablanca, was very disappointed, as he had hoped that the planned

joint manoeuvres would impress the rest of Europe, indicating the continued strength of the

alliance. Montmorin could only express the hope that it would be possible to stage joint

manoeuvres in 1790.

Such problems were not novel in type, and did not, therefore, necessarily appear

insuperable, or likely to provoke a change in the French political system, and it was possible

to envisage a revival in French strength. This was to come, eventually, through revolutionary

change, but in 1788 and early 1789 it appeared, instead, that a revival, producing a more

effective monarchy, would come, either through a solution to the political crisis achieved by

traditional means, or thanks to institutional reform and constitutional revival focusing on a

new partnership of crown and nation, the path sought by the government and the political

nation, and anticipated by Montmorin.

In 1782 Frederick II had suggested that a bankruptcy

of the French government might permit a process of financial regeneration that left the

government with more abundant resources.

Furthermore, in early 1789 France did not appear to be in as poor shape relative to other

powers as she had been in early 1788. Joseph II and Catherine II, especially the former, were

beset by problems, while Britain was affected by the regency crisis stemming from George

III’s poor health. France seemed more stable in early 1789 than she had been in the summer

and autumn of 1788. The possibility that the Estates General, last called in 1614 and

formally summoned on 24 January 1789, would bring renewed vigour to France was credible.

It might be able to produce political and fiscal solutions that could offer a guarantee for the

national debt. The Count of Aranda, formerly Spanish envoy in Paris, could suggest to

Montmorin in January 1789 that the Third Estate would support the crown, in order not to

be crushed by the other two estates [clergy and nobility], and that the crown could therefore

benefit from a powerful constituency of support.

Gustavus III had had considerable

success in Sweden in seeking the support of the Third Estate against aristocratic opponents.

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The start of the Revolution

After elections in early 1789, the Estates General convened at Versailles on 5 May. Louis

XVI’s opening speech was interrupted by repeated cries of ‘Vive le Roi’. In the opening

session Necker pressed the case for reform; but division – over the issue of common voting,

a measure that would lessen aristocratic influence, or separate voting, by estate – was serious

from the outset. The Third Estate refused to accept the system of orders. Heady oratory,

pressure of circumstances and a growing sense of crisis led the Third Estate to declare

themselves the National Assembly and to claim a measure of sovereignty on 17 June. The

government countered by planning a ‘Royal Session’ to reassert the authority of Louis XVI.

The preparatory prohibition of any meetings by the Estates, however, led the angry deputies,

wrongly concluding that a dissolution was intended, to assemble on 20 June in an indoor

tennis-court and to pledge themselves not to disperse until reform was complete and France

had a new constitution. Eventually held on 23 June 1789, the Royal Session was a failure.

Louis XVI’s proffered reforms were no longer sufficient, and the Third Estate refused to

disperse. Louis backed down, while public order collapsed in Paris. On 27 June the king

bowed to the crisis and instructed the clerical and noble orders to join the National Assembly.

In the face of the crisis, Louis XVI was pressed to consider a counter-revolution. On 11

July Necker and his ally Montmorin were dismissed. Whether Louis and the new chief

minister, Breteuil, intended to reassert royal authority by force or sought negotiations with

the National Assembly, the situation was changed by a popular uprising in Paris.

Anger at

the Royal Session combined with anxiety about the troops massing near Paris. On 14 July

the price of grain peaked in Paris, and the Bastille was seized in an outburst of popular

action. Louis was advised that he could not rely on his troops to suppress the Parisians, who

had rallied to the support of the National Assembly. Necker was recalled and on 17 July

Louis’s brother, the Count of Artois, later Charles X, the leading opponent of reform, left

Versailles for the frontier.

The return of Necker did not bring stability. The ‘October Days’ made it clear that the

Revolution was not over. Louis’s reluctance to accept reform, and rumours of preparations

for a counter-revolution, led on 5 October to a march on Versailles by a Parisian crowd,

including many women, determined to bring Louis to Paris. After the queen’s apartments

were stormed by a section of the crowd, the king, under pressure, went to the Tuileries

palace in Paris next day. Versailles was abandoned, and the volatile metropolis became even

more the centre of power and politics. Montmorin sought to put the best gloss he could on

the October Days,

but diplomats and other commentators saw royal power as exploded

and, as yet, no solid alternative to it.

France was weak, but it was also volatile, and that ensured that diplomatic interest was

more sustained than in 1788. This was accentuated by widespread opposition to Joseph II

in the Austrian Netherlands that led to revolution there. Indeed, the prospect of a French role