November 16, 1813
Inside the Palace of Westminster
The mood inside the chamber was volatile long before the Speaker struck his gavel. Word had spread through every corridor and cloakroom—an Austrian dispatch had arrived. Its contents were now before Parliament, and the reaction was immediate.
The benches were packed, coats still damp from the London rain as MPs argued over one another. Clerks struggled to keep pace with the noise, scribbling notes as the uproar grew.
At the center of the storm lay a single sheet of paper:
Austria's communication regarding Napoleon's interest in reopening negotiations under the Frankfurt Proposal.
A veteran MP slammed the document on his desk.
"France keeps her natural borders? The Rhine? The Alps? After twenty years of war, this is the settlement?"
A wave of voices roared back.
"We have bled too much for this!"
"We spent hundreds of thousands of pounds funding these coalitions!"
"And now Metternich suggests preserving Bonaparte's throne?"
"Is this a joke?"
"Who the hell signed that proposal?"
"That would be Lord Aberdeen," one MP shouted over the din. "Our envoy in Vienna. He endorsed the framework Austria drafted."
"Then he has lost his senses!" another barked. "Aberdeen should be recalled at once!"
"That proposal rewards Napoleon for every crime he has committed against Europe!"
Voices clashed in every corner of the chamber. The Speaker tried to restore order, but the uproar swallowed his attempts whole.
Lord Castlereagh rose again.
The noise simmered down—not from respect, but from expectation. Everyone wanted to hear how the government would explain this insult.
Castlereagh kept his hands clasped behind his back.
"Let it be understood," he began, "Lord Aberdeen acted on Austria's assurances that the coalition would negotiate from a position of strength. But Britain did not authorize any agreement that leaves Bonaparte in possession of the Rhine."
A rumble of approval swept across the benches.
"He should have known better!"
"A blunder of the highest order!"
"Recall him! At once!"
Castlereagh continued, ignoring the scattered cries.
"The proposal reflects the Austrian hope that Napoleon can be contained by 'natural borders.' But gentlemen, Britain has spent two decades proving that Napoleon ignores every border when it suits him."
"Exactly!" an MP from Liverpool called. "He crossed the Alps, he crossed the Danube, he crossed half of Europe. And now we should let him keep the Rhine? Madness!"
"Metternich is either naive or desperate. Austria fears Russia growing too strong. Austria fears Prussian ambition. So now we must accept the French Empire intact for the sake of Austrian balance? No. Britain will not shoulder the cost of Europe's cowardice."
A roar of approval followed.
Castlereagh lifted the paper.
"And yet, let us not ignore the most concerning detail of all."
Silence spread—slow but absolute.
He set the dispatch down on the table.
"Napoleon is actually considering it."
A low murmur rippled through the chamber. Even the loudest critics paused.
"If he accepts these terms," Castlereagh continued, "he stabilizes his position. He retains Paris, Lyon, Bordeaux, Marseille. He retains the resources of a vast population. And with time—years, perhaps a decade—he will rebuild his armies."
He leaned forward.
"The war will begin anew."
The MPs responded instantly.
"No!"
"We must finish this now!"
"Force his abdication!"
"No peace until France is reduced to her old frontiers!"
A tall, broad-shouldered MP from Kent stepped forward, voice booming.
"Let us be plain, gentlemen. We have finally gained the advantage. France reels from defeat in Germany. Her army bleeds. Her coffers drain. If we agree to peace now—before the final blow—we will have fought twenty years for nothing."
He slammed his palm against the bench.
"Nothing!"
Thunderous approval exploded around him.
"This is not justice," another MP shouted. "This is surrender."
Castlereagh raised both hands, the chamber gradually settling.
"Britain must send a clear message to Vienna," he said. "And to Paris."
He took a breath.
"The Frankfurt Proposal is unacceptable. Napoleon must not remain on the throne of a France that still commands half the continent. If Austria desires true balance, the only acceptable outcome is one that guarantees stability."
Someone yelled from the far end of the hall:
"Restore the Bourbons!"
"Tell the coalitions that they shouldn't make peace of Napoleon, and that they must destroy him now!"
***
Five days later, at the allied headquarters in Frankfurt
A cold wind pushed across the German plain as the banners of the coalition snapped against the overcast sky. Inside the large timber hall the allies had requisitioned for negotiations, the mood was far more strained than the weather outside.
Prussian officers in dark blue uniforms stood near the hearth. Russian aides hovered by the windows, whispering among themselves. Austrian diplomats clustered around a wide table covered in maps and dispatches. And in the corner stood Lord Aberdeen, Britain's representative.
Metternich entered first, dignified and composed, despite the fatigue visible around his eyes.
"Gentlemen," he said, smoothing his gloves, "we must begin."
General von Blücher didn't wait for permission.
He stepped forward, boots striking the wooden floor with a heavy thud.
"So. The ogre of Corsica wants peace," Blücher growled. "After he ravaged half of Europe, now he suddenly remembers diplomacy?"
Prussian foreign minister Hardenberg raised a hand, calmer but equally skeptical.
"Metternich, are we certain Napoleon is sincere?"
"His envoy Caulaincourt is," Metternich answered. "And Napoleon's acceptance of the Frankfurt conditions is… unprecedented."
"A sign of weakness," Blücher cut in. "Nothing more."
Metternich didn't flinch. "Weakness or not, it is an opportunity to end the war."
A murmur spread across the table. Many heads nodded—especially among the Austrians, who were desperate to prevent further Russian expansion.
Aberdeen finally stepped forward.
He unfolded a sealed letter, the one Castlereagh sent from London, and placed it on the table.
"Before we proceed," Aberdeen said carefully, "I must relay instructions from His Majesty's government."
The hall fell into stillness.
Metternich's expression tightened, he knew already this would not be good.
Aberdeen cleared his throat.
"Britain cannot support a peace that leaves Napoleon in possession of the Rhine, Antwerp, and his Alpine frontier. The government firmly rejects the Frankfurt Proposal."
A shock went through the room.
Russia's Chancellor Nesselrode blinked, incredulous.
"You reject it?" he said. "This war drains our treasury and our people. The Tsar lost thousands crossing into Germany. Our supply lines stretch for hundreds of miles. Winter comes. We must end this."
Aberdeen pressed his lips together. "London believes any peace that preserves Bonaparte's strength invites another war."
"Another war?" Metternich snapped, losing his composure for the first time. "Europe is barely standing after this one!"
Russia's envoy stepped forward, voice rising.
"Britain sends us gold but no blood. Your coffers remain intact while our armies freeze in the field. And now you demand we continue fighting until France is destroyed? This is not reasonable."
Blücher slammed his fist on the table.
"I WANT to continue the war!" he roared. "We owe Napoleon humiliation. He must be crushed. Smashed. Hunted! I will not rest until I march into Paris!"
Many Prussian officers shouted in agreement.
But Hardenberg raised his hand again, forcing silence.
"Blücher speaks for our soldiers," he said. "They thirst for revenge. For Jena. For Auerstedt. For eighteen years of humiliation."
"And yet," he added, voice quieter, "Prussia is exhausted. Our fields are empty, our treasury hollowed out. We cannot sustain another year of total war without risking collapse."
Metternich nodded sharply.
"Austria shares that concern. Our empire is stretched thin. Our internal stability wavers. We cannot—we will not—fight indefinitely because Britain refuses a compromise."
Aberdeen stiffened.
"With respect, Prince Metternich, Britain funds this war. Without our subsidies—"
Russia cut him off immediately.
"Without our armies, your gold is worthless," Nesselrode barked. "We are the ones who bleed for Europe. Not your Parliament."
There was a tense silence.
Aberdeen swallowed, then continued with a more measured tone.
"Britain simply believes that peace with Napoleon intact is temporary. Dangerous. We have reason to expect he will break the treaty the moment he rebuilds."
"And if we reject him now," Metternich countered, "he will fight until France is rubble. And what if in a miracle, they defeated us? Remember, Napoleon is a genius, it's the reason why French became dominant for the last 20 years."
Aberdeen said nothing.
But the hesitation in his eyes was enough.
Russia's Tsar Alexander, who had been silent until now, rose from his chair.
"Gentlemen…" Alexander began slowly. "We are tired. Our soldiers march on empty stomachs. Our horses die on the roads. Moscow still smolders from Napoleon's invasion; I know too well the cost of pride. But if the French Emperor accepts a reasonable peace, we would be fools to reject it."
He turned to Metternich.
"Austria wants peace. Russia wants peace. Even Prussia—despite General Blücher's fury—knows her limits."
Blücher snorted but did not interrupt.
Alexander faced Aberdeen last.
"Britain's demands are impossible at this moment. If you insist on Napoleon's downfall, then you fight him yourself. Which, I think, is impossible for reasons we all understand."
Aberdeen's jaw tightened. He did not dispute it.
Metternich closed the discussion with a firm sweep of his hand across the table.
"Enough. The coalition will send its reply. Peace talks will proceed. The Frankfurt terms will be presented to France."