CHAPTER XXIII

TWO PRESIDENTS

From a constitutionally Republican point of view, M. Sadi Carnot, about whom already I have said a few words, made an admirable Head of the State--honest, dignified, strictly observant of his duties; of unfailing tact, and with neither slur nor blemish either in his political or in his private life. He knew how to hold himself in public, was moreover a fair speaker and a very well-read man. But he had nothing about him capable of provoking enthusiasm among the masses. His cold attitude, indeed, which drew on him the nickname of “the President with a wooden head,” did not appeal to the nation. He was generally respected and esteemed, he was even liked, but he never became popular, and the impression he produced on outsiders, and those who only saw him performing his functions, otherwise never being brought into contact with him, can be summed up in the remark made by a little schoolgirl who, on one of his provincial _tournées_, had presented him with a bouquet of flowers, and whom he had kissed: “Il ressemble à la poupée de cire du Musée Grévin, que l’on m’a montrée à Paris, seulement il est moins joli” (“He is like the wax doll of the Grévin Museum I was taken to see in Paris, only he is not so handsome”)

In spite of this drawback M. Carnot would very probably have been re-elected had his career not been cut short by the knife of Caserio. By a strange irony of fate, this Republican, whose ancestors had helped to overthrow royalty in France, died the death of a King. The odiousness of this crime is still remembered. It was a crime for which even the most rabid anarchists could not find excuse. With the murder of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, it remains one of the most inexplicable crimes of modern times, and even political hatreds cannot justify it. M. Carnot was universally regretted, even by those who did not sympathise with him.

His sudden death left the field open for a race to the Presidential chair, which probably would not have been so fierce had the election of the Head of the State taken place under normal conditions, or had he even succumbed to illness or natural causes. No one had any thought of the possibility of a Presidential election, and neither Radical, nor Republican, nor the Monarchist parties had a candidate ready to step into the place left so suddenly vacant. When the Congress assembled at Versailles no one had the least idea who, among the eligible politicians of the moment, held most chances to succeed the murdered President, and the election of M. Casimir Périer was due, perhaps, more to the lack of any suitable competitors than to his own merits.

M. Casimir Périer was a remarkable man in his way. He came from a good bourgeois stock, such as had played an important part in political life at the beginning of the great revolution of 1789. It was in the castle of his grandfather, Vizille, near Grenoble, that the first revolutionary assembly of provincial states had taken place. Later on, his grandfather had been head of the Cabinet under Louis Philippe, and for more than a century the Périers had been conspicuous in France. Casimir, moreover, was extremely rich, which fact gave him an independence such as very few political men of his generation could boast. He had been born and bred in a most refined atmosphere, and always moved in the very best society, so that he found himself at his ease when he entered the Elysée.

His wife also was a most distinguished woman, who bore herself like a queen, and who had dispensed not only a semi-regal hospitality in her own house, long before she was called upon to continue doing so as the first lady in the land, but who, all her life, had also understood the duties towards the disinherited of this earth which a great fortune carries along with it. She was universally respected on account of her private virtues and blameless life, and she brought to the Elysée an atmosphere of elegance and refinement greater even than existed during the days when the Duchesse de Magenta had presided over its destinies.

The advent of the Casimir Périers did away with the reputation for meanness and dullness that had clung to the receptions of the Head of the State ever since the days of M. Grévy and his estimable but commonplace wife. Once more people belonging to the upper classes returned to the Presidency. M. and Mme. Casimir Périer visited a great deal, accepted invitations to Embassies and to the houses of members of the Cabinet; they received frequently too, and made themselves extremely well liked in fashionable Paris.

In spite of this, however, the new President did not find his position pleasant or easy. He had an authoritative character, and liked to have his own way, and also to discuss with his ministers the decisions which they submitted to his signature. He had been reared under strictly constitutional principles, but he was also very well aware of his rights under the Constitution of France, and had not the least intention of forgoing them, or of abandoning one single iota of his prerogatives. He was determined from the outset not to allow himself to become a mere figurehead in the government, but to make use of his privilege to be put _au courant_ of everything that was being done around him. His was essentially a fighting temperament, and it was bound to bring him into conflict with his ministers, who had been accustomed to the resignation with which both M. Jules Grévy and M. Sadi Carnot had acquiesced in everything that had been proposed to them.

Much has been said concerning the resignation of M. Casimir Périer, and for a long time it was believed even among people who ought to have known better that he had retired owing to threats which the German Ambassador, Count Munster, had uttered at the time of the first Dreyfus affair. I have strong reasons to believe that it was nothing of the kind which influenced him. The legend of Captain Dreyfus having been a German spy exploded long ago, and Count Munster never found himself under the least necessity of resorting to threats, though with a certain amount of justice he may have felt disgusted at the way the person of his Sovereign was dragged into the disreputable affair.

The sole reason of M. Casimir Périer’s retirement lay in the sincere conviction that very soon got hold of him, that he would not be allowed to do what he liked, or even to attempt to resist the rising tide of Radicalism which he would have preferred to keep down. He was rich, independent, and of an easy and lazy temperament, which made him impatient of the resistance which his best intentions met from the very people who ought to have appreciated them.

He soon realised that if he clung to position he would be overturned as were his predecessors, Marshal MacMahon and M. Thiers, and rather than be told to go away he preferred to take leave of uncongenial colleagues, and to retire with all the honours of war. He had made many friends during his short tenure of office, but had also contrived to acquire many enemies, and somehow the fact of the existence of these last jarred upon his nerves, influencing him perhaps more than it should, because those in high places have no right to be too sensitive. One cannot change one’s character, however, and that of M. Casimir Périer could not brook the thorns which were entwined with the roses that strewed his path. He showed, on his retirement, an obstinacy with which he has been very bitterly reproached by his personal friends, for he did so in spite of the supplications of all who composed his immediate entourage. He declared he should go away, and go away he did.

He had been on very good terms with all the foreign Ambassadors and diplomats accredited at the Elysée, and these, one and all, bitterly regretted his departure. M. Casimir Périer had tact and great knowledge of the world, a quality that his predecessors more or less lacked. Perhaps it was from this cause that during the few short months of his Presidency the relations of the French Government with the German Embassy had become more cordial than had been the case since the war.

Talking of the German Embassy, I have already mentioned Count Munster. He was a great friend of mine, and perhaps one of the ablest men, under his lazy indolent manner, that the German diplomatic service has ever possessed. His wife having been English, he liked England better than any other nation, not excepting his own, in certain cases. He looked like an Englishman, too, and nothing pleased him more than to be taken for one. Essentially a grand seigneur of the old school, he was incapable of meanness, and even in his diplomatic relations he always avoided saying anything that he did not really think or believe to be the truth. Placed in a very delicate position in Paris, where German diplomats were strenuously avoided by all those who were not obliged to receive them, he contrived even there to make a position for himself, still better, perhaps, than Prince Hohenlohe, notwithstanding the fact that the latter had relatives among the society of the Faubourg St. Germain, where he had been warmly welcomed before the war, but which gave him the cold shoulder when he returned to Paris in an official capacity after the disasters of 1870. And yet Prince Hohenlohe had far more conciliatory manners than Count Munster, and was a far pleasanter man in social relations; also, perhaps, he had more shrewdness than the latter, and certainly was more amenable to compromise if the necessity for such occurred. But the Count made himself respected wherever he appeared, I mean respected in the sense that he conveyed the impression that he would never allow himself to be trifled with, whilst always ready to meet his opponents in everything except in yielding to them.

This digression has led me far away from M. Casimir Périer and his retirement from public life, and I must return in order to relate the circumstances which followed upon his resignation. To say the least of it, his action considerably embarrassed not only his ministers, but also the leaders of the different parties in both Chambers.

For the second time within one year the country was called upon to elect a President of the Republic, and for the second time the event came as a total surprise upon France and upon its politicians. Once more candidates made themselves heard, and once again, in presence of those who pretended that they had the best right not to be passed by in this political Derby, an outsider won the prize, and M. Félix Faure, about whom no one had thought, was elected to the Presidency of the French Republic.

M. Félix Faure was chiefly known because he had been vice-president of the famous Ligue des Patriotes, the president of which was then, and till his death in the early months of 1914, the ardent Paul Déroulède. This fact alone would have been sufficient to excite the apprehensions of Germany, and M. Faure understood this so well that he at once made up his mind to pose outright as a partisan of the Russian alliance, that dream of all French political men ever since the establishment of the Third Republic.

M. Félix Faure was far from being a stupid man: he had his points of ridicule which perhaps did him more harm than real defects would have done. He had vanity to an inordinate degree, loved luxury and splendour, and enjoyed the external advantages of his new position with an almost childish joy. He fondly imagined that he had been born to the purple which had been thrown upon his shoulders, and without the instincts of a parvenu he yet behaved like one.

He had, however, a far greater knowledge of politics than he has ever been given credit for, and he was a sincere patriot, though his patriotism was an essentially selfish one. It is to be doubted whether he ever would have reconciled himself to a return to the life of an ordinary citizen, and perhaps the greatest luck of a life which was very lucky, when all is said and done, was his death when still in the enjoyment of the privileges of a position he had grown to love.

But I repeat it again, he was no mean politician. It was under his tenure of office that the Russian alliance was established, and he certainly showed keen perspicacity in the way in which he contrived to bring it about, as well as by the perseverance he displayed on this occasion.

It was M. Faure who first thought of sending the French fleet to Cronstadt, and it was he who insisted on the great reception that was awarded to the Russians when their fleet came to Toulon. It was he, also, who first tried to win over the Russian Ambassador, M. de Mohrenheim, to his views on the subject, and who did not hesitate to resort to all kinds of diplomatic arguments in order to win his interest.

Later on M. Mohrenheim gave himself all the credit for the result of the conferences which took place at that particular time between him and M. Faure, conferences about which the world heard nothing, and suspected even less. But though Russian diplomacy prided herself upon having hit on this brilliant idea of a _rapprochement_ with France, as a safeguard against the ambitions of the Triple Alliance, the fact remains, and is well known to all those who have been behind the scenes of what was going on in Europe at that particular time, that it was in France that the idea originated, and that this idea had been carefully entertained and impressed upon the French nation by none other than M. Félix Faure.

Apart from any statesmanlike leanings and aspirations which did exist in him, he was drawn towards it by his own personal vanity, and the desire to be able to welcome in Paris as his guests, first the representatives of the most autocratic Sovereign in the world, and later on that Sovereign himself, by whom he, the son of a Havre tanner, would be treated as an equal. That would be a triumph indeed, and in order to obtain it he used every effort to break through all the barriers which existed between the realisation of his dream and the hard reality.

Huge sums of money were spent at that time both in France and in Russia in order to prepare the public mind, through the press, for this extraordinary turn in the politics of both countries. The campaign was engineered with consummate skill, and very few people saw through it. It very quickly brought about the wished-for results, and might have done so even more quickly had it not been for various indiscretions committed by M. Mohrenheim, whose personal wants were sometimes ahead of the march of events, and who allowed himself upon one or two occasions to let his impatience take the upper hand of his prudence, and in order to satisfy those for whom he worked to attack with violence certain French politicians whom he feared might prove rebellious against the efforts which were being made. He tried, therefore, to oblige them to walk in the path mapped out for them.

One of these two occasions arose when M. Clemenceau, who already at that time had made for himself an eminent position in the ranks of the Radical party, whose leader he was supposed to be, uttered some doubts as to whether the French Government was not going too far in its advances to Russia, and was compromising the dignity of France without feeling sure that its conduct would be reciprocated on the banks of the Neva. Alexander III. was reigning still, and it was very well known he had no sympathies for Republics in general, and many people believed, together with Clemenceau, that though the Marseillaise had been played at the State dinner which was given at Peterhof in honour of the French naval squadron anchored at Cronstadt, things would not go further, and the Tsar would hesitate a very long time before he would condescend to admit Marianne in his intimacy, and to walk hand in hand with her, amidst the crowned heads of Europe, whilst they stood aghast at the unexpected spectacle.

Furious to discover that the doubts uttered by M. Clemenceau had found an echo among many prudent French political circles, Baron Mohrenheim, in his impatience, unburdened his outraged feelings to the Marquis de Morès, that fierce adversary of everything that had to do with the Republic and its partisans. Morès did not hesitate to say openly that it was the Radical party in France that was doing its best to prevent an alliance with Russia, for which the latter country was yearning. Upon this Clemenceau, indignant and never behindhand on occasions when he could attack someone, took up his best Toledo pen and wrote to the Russian Ambassador the following letter, which certainly deserves not to fall into oblivion, where it has remained these long years:

“_Paris, September 7th, 1892._

“MONSIEUR L’AMBASSADEUR,--In a letter that has been made public, the Marquis de Morès declares quite positively that you have exchanged with him the following remarks: ‘We do not know in Russia with whom we can treat here. The greater number of public functionaries and officials and the whole of the press is in the hands of the Jews, or of England. I have not sufficient money to be able to fight them, whilst England is prodigal with hers. Clemenceau is openly attacking, in the corridors of the Chamber, the alliance with Russia; I am getting very uneasy, the more so that I do not see upon whom I could eventually lean in case of necessity.’

“I only desire to notice in these words of yours the part which refers to myself.

“I cannot allow you, by reason of your official position as Ambassador, to attribute to me publicly language of that kind without declaring to you that you have been misinformed.

“When the Tsar stood up to listen to the Marseillaise, I was, as all Frenchmen were too, justly proud at this public homage rendered to my country. Before the whole of Europe, looking attentively at what was taking place on that day, the French nation put her hand loyally into the hand that had stretched itself towards her.

“It is not my place to discuss with you, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur, the consequences of the events which have taken place at Cronstadt; all that I can say is that no one desires more ardently than I do that these might prove beneficial for both nations, and also for the whole of Europe.

“Any excesses of zeal connected with such a noble cause find most certainly their excuse in that cause itself. It is only to be regretted that they also might harm it. It is for that very reason, I do not doubt, that by thinking the thing over you have already convinced yourself that the ancient precept of ‘_Ne quid nimis_,’ especially when such important interests are at stake, is an excellent safeguard.

“As concerns myself, I put it into practice to-day. You are our honoured guest, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur; allow me not to forget it, and to beg of you to accept the assurance of my most respectful feelings.

RIGHT “(Signed) GEORGES CLEMENCEAU.”

This letter considerably embarrassed Baron Mohrenheim, the more so because he did not reply to it immediately: after it had been published by the Agence Havas, the papers took it up, and different reporters called upon the Russian Ambassador to ask him for explanations. He gave them but lamely, thus making himself more ridiculous. For instance, he declared that he had been away from Paris when it had been brought to his secretary, Baron Korff, and that the latter had forgotten to deliver it to him immediately upon his return, so that he had only learned its contents through the press. In fact, he made many groundless excuses and only added to the embarrassment of the position. At last on the 12th of September the Agence Havas published the following reply from the Russian Ambassador to the leader of the Radical party in the Chamber:

“_Paris, September 12th, 1892._

“MONSIEUR LE DÉPUTÉ,--The Agence Havas publishes a letter which you have been kind enough to address to me on the seventh of the present month. On that day I was at Aix-les-Bains, which I left on the next day, Thursday, to return to Paris only yesterday, Sunday.

“I hasten to inform you that your letter has not yet reached me to-day, otherwise you may rest assured that I would have eagerly taken this opportunity to express to you my most sincere thanks for it.

“Nothing could have afforded me greater satisfaction than to be able to convince myself thus of the real and frank feelings of sympathy which you express to me for my country, and to read about the good wishes which you add in it towards the prosperity of a cause common to us both and dear to us both, thus doing away with misunderstandings, and making them henceforward impossible. As you express yourself, Monsieur le Député, ‘_Ne quid nimis_’ ought to be the motto of us both, and as you may well believe, I have had more than one opportunity to remember it in many circumstances which I have witnessed during the long years of my public life, a life that has always been devoted to the different tasks I have been entrusted with.

“Will you kindly receive, Monsieur le Député, the assurance of my distinguished and devoted consideration.

RIGHT “(Signed) BARON DE MOHRENHEIM.”

In publishing this reply of the Russian Ambassador, the Agence Havas added that M. Clemenceau had hastened to inform it that his letter had been handed over to the secretary of the Baron, M. de Korff, on September 8th, who had given an undertaking that he should deliver it personally to the Ambassador immediately upon the latter’s return to Paris. In spite of the frantic efforts made by the Russian and French Governments to minimise the impression produced by this correspondence, the prestige of M. de Mohrenheim suffered considerably from its publication, and he had perforce to become more careful in the future.

But he was not removed from his post. Indeed, it very rarely happens that a Russian official is obliged to retire into private life by reason of his public mistakes. The Russians are an enduring people. The Baron was to witness many other triumphs, especially that of being able to welcome Nicholas II. and his consort in Paris, which event considerably added to his personal prestige, and also to his personal advantages.

To return to M. Félix Faure, he went on quietly pursuing the course he had embarked upon, and preparing the ground for the great things which he felt himself called upon to perform in the near future. He was so sure of the ultimate success of his plans that he began to make ready the Elysée for the glories that awaited it. He drew largely on the credits put at his disposal for the upkeep of the palace, he tried to give to his household the appearance of a real Court in miniature, to train not only the officers and civilians attached to his person to perform their duties according to the old etiquette that had prevailed during the Monarchy, but also to put his servants, his stables, his kitchens, and the maintenance of the state with which he liked to surround himself on the footing he considered to be necessary to the Chief Magistrate of the Republic. He also--and this effort is perhaps the most meritorious of all those he made at the time--did his best to assimilate the habits and customs prevailing in the higher classes of society, and he succeeded admirably in doing so, helped as he was by the numerous fair ladies at whose shrine he worshipped.

But where he showed the greatest tact was in avoiding incidents like the one which we have just related concerning M. de Mohrenheim. Had he been President of the Republic at the time it occurred, he would certainly have been made aware of the possibility, or rather the likelihood of its happening, and taken measures to avoid its reaching public knowledge. The alliance with Russia, which was in the air when he was elected to the Presidency, and which during the term of M. Carnot had been started in a preliminary manner by certain influential people, was in part his personal work. I have said that it was he who had first thought of sending the French fleet to Cronstadt. He was at that time only a minister, and did not dream of ever becoming Head of the State, but he saw already looming in the distance the great things which were bound to follow for France in the event of the public recognition of its Republican Government by the most powerful Monarch of Europe, and he felt that something of the glory of such an event was bound to cling to his own humble person, which might, thanks to this circumstance, come forward more brilliantly than he could have hoped for when he first entered public life.

He was to reap his reward, and he must have realised it on that lovely autumn day when he went to receive Nicholas II. and his Consort at the railway station of the Bois de Boulogne in Paris. As he drove along, sitting opposite to them in the Daumont with outriders, in which they made their State entry into the French capital, he may well be pardoned if he forgot the beginnings of his political career, and the modest villa where his early days had been spent at Havre. Can one wonder if he lost his head a little, in the presence of that unhoped for success, and that, having such an opportunity to be on equal footing with a real Sovereign, he forgot sometimes that he was not one himself?