Karl Marx

The War Prospects in France

Written around 11 March 1859.

From the English.

[“New-York Daily Tribune” No. 5598, 31 March 1859]

Paris, 9 March 1859

At the time when war fears had gripped all the bourses of Europe, I wrote that Bonaparte was far from really wanting war, but that, whatever his true intentions might be, control of the situation would probably slip from his hands. At the present moment, when the greater part of the European press seems inclined to believe in peace, I am convinced that there will be war unless some favourable circumstance leads to a sudden overthrow of the usurper and his dynasty. The most superficial observer will have to admit that the peace prospects rest only on talk, whereas the war prospects rest on facts. In France and Austria war preparations are proceeding on a scale never before seen; and when one considers the desperate state of the two imperial treasuries, no lengthy chain of proof is needed for the conclusion that there will be a showdown, and that very soon. I would point out that Austria is pursued by a pitiless fate, the threads of which lead us perhaps as far as St Petersburg and which, as soon as its finances appear to have recovered, throws the country back into an abyss of financial distress just as surely as the treacherous boulder that Sisyphus had rolled up the mountain with much effort was thrust back by invisible hands as soon as the damned man approached the summit. Thus Austria, after years of uninterrupted exertions, had succeeded in nearing the point, in 1845, where revenue and expenditure balanced, when the Cracow revolution broke out and demanded an extra expenditure from it, leading to the catastrophe of 1848. In 1858 Austria once again announced to the world the resumption of cash payments by the Bank of Vienna, when, quite suddenly, the New Year’s congratulation from Paris brutally wrecked all plans for thrift and forced it to squander state funds and exhaust reserve funds, with the result that even in the eyes of the soberest Austrian statesman war appears as the last chance of salvation.

Of all the newspapers that can boast more than merely local influence, the *Tribune* is perhaps the only one that has never stooped to chime in with the common tone—by which I do not mean praising Louis Napoleon’s character, for that would have been too gross, but presenting him as a genius and a man of surpassing will-power. The *Tribune* analysed his political, military and financial exploits and, in my view, clearly proved that his success, which appears so baffling to the multitude, is due to a concatenation of circumstances for which he himself was not responsible and in the exploitation of which he never rose above the skill of a mediocre professional gambler, gifted with a connoisseur’s eye for subterfuges, surprises and *coups de main*, but always remaining the humble servant of chance and anxiously intent on concealing a gutta-percha soul beneath a mask of iron. All the great powers of Europe arrived, tacitly and independently of each other, at the same opinion of the *grand saltimbanque*, as Russian diplomats called him, from the very beginning. When they perceived that he was becoming dangerous because he had placed himself in a dangerous situation, they agreed to let him play the successor of Napoleon on the express though unspoken condition that he should always content himself with the mere semblance of influence and never cross the boundaries that separate the actor from the hero he portrays. This game went on well for a while, but the diplomats, as usual, overlooked one important factor in their wise calculations—the people. When Orsini’s bombs exploded, the hero of Satory pretended to dictate to England, and the British government was perfectly willing to allow him to do so; but the protest of the people exerted such heavy pressure on Parliament that not only was Palmerston overthrown, but an anti-Bonapartist policy became the essential prerequisite for remaining in Downing Street. Bonaparte gave way, and from that moment his foreign policy has proved to be an unbroken chain of blunders, humiliations and failures. I need only recall his scheme of free negro immigration and his Portuguese adventures. Meanwhile, Orsini’s attempted assassination had led to a revival of despotism within France, while the economic crisis, transformed by bungling quackery from an acute fever into a chronic disease, removed from the parvenu’s throne the only firm foundation—material prosperity. Signs of discontent made themselves felt in the ranks of the army; signals of mutiny became audible in the camp of the bourgeoisie; threats of personal revenge on the part of Orsini’s countrymen poisoned the usurper’s sleep. In this situation he suddenly tried to create a new state of affairs by repeating, *mutatis mutandis*, Napoleon’s coarse speech addressed to the English envoy after the Peace of Lunéville, and throwing down the gauntlet to Austria in the name of Italy. It was not of his own free will, but on account of compelling circumstances, that he, personified restraint, the master of subterfuges, the hero of nocturnal surprises, undertook such a desperately reckless step.

He was undoubtedly urged on by false friends. Palmerston, who had flattered him at Compiègne with the sympathies of the English Liberals, turned demonstratively against him at the opening of Parliament. Russia, which had goaded him with secret notes and public newspaper articles, was quite obviously opening diplomatic *pourparlers* with its Austrian neighbour. But the die was cast, the war fanfares had sounded, and Europe was, so to speak, compelled to occupy itself once again with the past, present and future of the successful swindler, who had now arrived at the Italian campaign with which his uncle had begun his career. In the days of December he had restored Napoleonism in France; now he seemed determined to restore it throughout Europe by means of an Italian campaign. What he aimed at, however, was not an Italian war, but a humiliation of Austria without war. The successes which his namesake had fought for with cannon he hoped to win with the help of the fear of revolution. That he wanted no war, but only a *succès d’estime*, is clear. Otherwise he would have begun with diplomatic negotiations and ended with war, instead of taking the opposite course. He would have prepared for war before he started making warlike declarations. In short, he would not have put the cart before the horse.

But he had grossly deceived himself as to the power with which he was seeking a quarrel. England, Russia and the United States can make a great many apparent concessions without losing the least bit of their actual influence; but Austria cannot—especially with regard to Italy—deviate from her path without endangering her whole empire. Hence the only answers Bonaparte received from Austria were war preparations, which forced him to take the same course. Quite independently of his will and quite contrary to his expectations, the feigned quarrel gradually assumed the dimensions of a deadly conflict. Moreover, everything else went wrong. In France he met with passive but stubborn resistance, and the anxious efforts of his most interested friends to prevent him from causing mischief left no doubt that they distrusted his Napoleonic capacities. In England the Liberal party gave him the cold shoulder and mocked his presumption in treating liberty as a French article of export. In Germany a unanimous cry of derision proved to him that—whatever the simple-minded French peasantry may have seen in him in 1848—on the other side of the Rhine the firm conviction prevailed that he was merely a spurious Napoleon, that the respect shown to him by the rulers there had been a pure formality, in short, that he was just as much a Napoleon “by courtesy” as the younger sons of English dukes are “Lords by courtesy”.

Do you seriously believe that the compelling circumstances which, in January 1859, induced Louis Bonaparte to sharpen his relations with Austria can be removed by a ridiculous and disgraceful *reculade*, or that the hero of Satory himself thinks he has improved his hopeless position through the greatest and most unequivocal defeat he has ever suffered? He knows that the French officers do not even attempt to conceal their desperate fury at his ridiculous lies, which the *Moniteur* published in connection with the present war preparations; he knows that the Paris shopkeeper is already beginning to draw parallels between Louis-Philippe’s retreat before a European coalition in the

1840 and Louis Bonaparte’s *grande retirade* (great retreat) of 1859. He knows that the bourgeoisie is seized with an open, though suppressed, fury at being subjected to an adventurer who turns out to be a coward. He knows that an undisguised contempt prevails towards him in Germany and that a few more such steps in the same direction would make him the laughing-stock of the whole world. “N’est pas monstre qui veut” (Not everyone can be a monster), said Victor Hugo; but the Dutch adventurer needs the glory of being a terrible Quasimodo and not a mere Quasimodo. The circumstances on which he builds, if war really breaks out – and he knows that he must begin it – are the following: Austria will make not the slightest concession during the still pending diplomatic negotiations, thus providing him with a good pretext for taking up arms. Prussia was very reserved in its reply to the Austrian note of 22 February, and the antagonism between these two German powers is likely to intensify further. England’s foreign policy will fall into the hands of Lord Palmerston after the collapse of the Derby cabinet. Russia will revenge itself on Austria without risking a single man or a single rouble, and above all it will create European entanglements which will enable it to derive advantage from the snares it has set for the Sublime Porte in the Danubian Principalities, in Serbia and Montenegro. Finally, Italy will flare up while the diplomatic smoke envelops the conferences in Paris, and the peoples of Europe will grant to Italy as it rises what they have denied to him who has arrogated to himself the role of its protector. These are the circumstances by which Louis Bonaparte hopes that the ship of his destiny will once again be steered into favourable waters. The states of anxiety from which he is now suffering may be inferred from the single fact that recently, at a meeting of the council of ministers, he suffered a severe fit of vomiting. The fear of Italian revenge is not the least of the motives driving him to war at any price. Three weeks ago he again discovered that the judges of the Italian Vehmgericht are watching him. In the garden of the Tuileries a man was apprehended and searched, and it turned out that he was carrying a revolver and two or three hand grenades with fuses similar to those used by Orsini. He was naturally arrested and thrown into prison. He gave an Italian name and spoke with an Italian accent. He said he could give the police a great deal of information, as he was connected with a secret society. For two or three days, however, he remained very reticent; finally he asked for a cellmate and said that he could not and would not make any statements as long as he was kept in solitary confinement. He was given a cellmate, a prison employee, a kind of archivist or librarian. The Italian then revealed many things, or seemed to reveal them. But after a day or two the investigating officers came again and informed him that an examination had shown that all his statements were not in accordance with the facts and that he must resolve to be truthful. He said he would do so the next day. He was left to himself for the night. At about 4 o’clock in the morning he got up, borrowed the razor from his cellmate, and cut his throat. The doctor who was called in found that the cut had been made with such force that it resulted in immediate death.