Part 5

A way was cleared for the advancing cohort as if by magic. The ladder, still supporting the painter, was drawn up lengthwise before the statue, and the workman knelt to his task. At first it was impossible for him to work, for the bearers of the ladder were jigging to the tune they sang; but by and by they were persuaded to quiet, and a very striking and impressive silence fell upon the crowd. The man, with great deliberation, and with a much firmer hand than he might have been supposed to own at a time of such excitement, drew the outline of the figures 9 and 2 in white chalk, at as great a size as the space of the placard admitted. His movements were watched with an actually breathless interest, and when, after the completion of his drawing, he rose and clasped the knees of the statue in his arms with a joyful and affectionate cry, two or three people in my neighbourhood sobbed aloud. The man knelt down again and filled in with red paint the outline he had drawn. One grim personage, with a squint and a pock-marked face, who held a short, well-blacked clay between his teeth, shouldered me at this moment, and said, ‘_C’est le sang de la France, ça_.’ He thought so well of this that he moved away among the crowd repeating it, nudging his neighbours to call attention to the saying, and pointing a dirty forefinger at the red paint of the figures to indicate its meaning. I was waiting for an outburst of enthusiasm when the figures were completed, but to my amazement the mob accepted the proclamation they conveyed with a grave silence, as if it had been in some way authentic and official, and as if for the first time they recognised the terrible significance of the hour. Their quiet did not endure long, for one of their number, having contrived to scramble on to the ladder, clambered up the statue, and amid great cheers tore from it the ragged emblems of mourning which have so long disfigured it.

Then came an episode, the like of which would be possible nowhere but in Paris. The whole thing might have been arranged for scenic effect, and the distinguished artist who made the _coup_ had never, brilliant as his triumphs have been, arrived on the stage at so opportune a moment, or encountered so overwhelming a reception. The new-comer was no other than M. Jean de Reszke, who was on his way to dine with a friend before appearing as Faust in Gounod’s masterpiece this evening. His coachman was slowly making way along the crowded road when the great singer was recognised. He was greeted with a roar of applause, and a dozen members of the crowd threw open the closed landau he sat in, while a thousand voices clamoured for the _Marseillaise_. The statue had, at that instant, been denuded of its last rag of mourning, and M. de Reszke, who had risen bareheaded in the carriage, was whipped out of it in a trice, and borne, _nolens volens_, to the figure, and placed aloft on the pedestal. His companion, a lady attired with much distinction, was at first evidently alarmed, but soon gathered the peaceful intention of the crowd, and seizing the meaning of the moment, she stripped from her own shoulders a handsome scarlet cloak, and threw it towards M. de Reszke. It was immediately passed on to him, and he, with considerable difficulty, and at the risk of a tumble on the heads of the people below him, succeeded in casting the cloak over the shoulders of the statue. At this, all the previous noises which cleft the air of Paris this afternoon seemed as nothing. The cheering was simply deafening and maddening, and lasted for full three minutes. At length perfect silence was restored, and M. de Reszke began to sing the _Marseillaise_. He was pale at first, and obviously unstrung at the spectacle of this prodigious audience, and for the first few notes his voice was broken and ineffective. He gathered confidence, however, before he had completed the singing of the first line, and gave the rest of the song with an inspiring vigour and _élan_.

From the beginning of the whole extraordinary scene people had been flocking in from every quarter, and I believe that I am well within bounds when I say that the singer had an audience of a hundred and twenty thousand. The chorus was one of the most stupendous and moving things which can ever have been heard by human ears. It rose from the densely-packed mass of humanity in one amazing roll and roar of sound, and its echoes came straggling faintly from the Rue de Rivoli and the Tuileries Gardens, from the Avénue des Champs Elysées, from the Rue Royale, from the Pont de la Concorde, and the embankment on the further side of the river. When the whole song was finished it was redemanded, and was sung through again with undiminished relish both by the soloist and the chorus. Finally, the singer was permitted to descend from the pedestal, and was escorted to his carriage. The crowd had taken out the horses, and M. de Reszke and his companion were drawn away by some hundreds of volunteers. The great singer’s nationality has made him the idol of Paris during all the late days of strained expectation. Every night the Opera-house has been thronged, and every song from his lips has been received with literal thunders of applause.

THE PRESIDENT SPEAKS—‘A BERLIN!’

LATER.

The crowd had already begun to thin when the news passed round that the Ministers were in conclave at the Elysée. I acted immediately on the first hint I received, and with great difficulty made my way across the Place. I found myself almost at once wedged in anew, this time in a streaming current which set steadily towards the Elysée. The crowd grew vaster every moment, for by this time all Paris seemed to have been drawn to that quarter of the town. For a long time there was silence, or what seemed like it after the torrent of noise which had roared so long in all ears, but at last the babble of excited tongues began again, and was intermixed with occasional cries of impatience. These grew in a steady crescendo, until no single voice was audible. But before things reached that point I had heard a hundred excited conjectures as to the course which would be adopted by England at this crisis. By seven o’clock the patience of the mob was quite outworn. The building, so far as could be seen from the outside, was in complete darkness, and the rumour of the meeting of the Ministers seemed likely to be practically denied. At length, however, a sudden swell in the storm of sound greeted the appearance of light at three windows, and certain ill-defined shadows were seen moving on the blinds. One profile was distinct and stationary for a moment, and there was a roar of ‘Ribot!’ A minute later the blind of the centre window was drawn up, the window itself was thrown open, and the figure of M. Ribot, Minister of Foreign Affairs, was seen. This apparition was the signal for a new outburst in which only the name of the President of the Republic could be distinguished. The air rang with shouts of ‘Carnot! Carnot!’ and M. Ribot having braved this incredible tempest for a few seconds only, bowed and retired. A minute later the President himself appeared. From where I stood his features were invisible, but his attitude was erect, and he stretched out his right hand with an impressive gesture to command silence. It was some time before this injunction was obeyed, but when he was allowed to speak his voice was firm and unusually clear. His words were few and to the point. ‘Citizens! Germany has declared war upon the ally of France. Those gentlemen whom you have appointed as the guardians of the national honour have debated the serious intelligence which has to-day awakened the heart of Paris. It is my duty to tell you that there is no dissentient voice amongst them. France will fulfil her pledges!’ At this point M. Carnot was interrupted by a unanimous outburst of applause, which made speech impossible for a space of at least five minutes. Again and again, when it seemed about to quiet down, it was taken up from distant quarters, and came rolling along like a wave, again to subside and again to be renewed. When order was once more restored the President continued: ‘France speaks to-night, and demands of her neighbour that the menace against her ally shall be withdrawn. She couples with that a demand for the surrender of those provinces which were torn from her twenty years ago!’

There was at this more cheering, and yet more. The President retired, and a great deluge of rain which had been threatening to fall all day speedily cleared the streets. The latest and most important of the day’s events is yet hardly an hour old, but we seem now to be living in a city of the dumb. Everybody is hoarse with four hours’ almost continuous shouting, but the popular excitement is as great as ever.

The house of M. Ferry has been guarded by the military, and only the _entente cordiale_ existing between the troops and the populace has saved it from attack. At the moment of writing the Boulevards are again crowded. The reply of Germany is, of course, a foregone conclusion, but it is awaited with intense eagerness.

DECLARATION OF WAR BY FRANCE.

DRAMATIC RECEPTION OF THE NEWS BY THE GERMAN EMPEROR.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

THORN, _May 1_.

For this morning the Emperor had ordered a review of all the troops, amounting to about 60,000 men concentrated hereabouts—the scene of the parade being a long sweep of meadow-land, not unlike the Champ de Mars at Paris, on the right bank of the Vistula. His Majesty and his Staff took their stand on a convenient knoll commanding all the ground, and scarcely had the serried battalions of the 3d Corps, with their bristling bayonets glittering in the bright sun, begun to stride along in all their martial and magnificent array, when the march past was interrupted by a most dramatic and thrilling incident.

I was standing on the outside fringe of the brilliant circle of His Majesty’s suite, quietly chatting to Dr. von Leuthold, the Emperor’s body physician, when suddenly we saw an orderly officer dash up to his Majesty and deliver a message, which we could discern from the colour of the envelope to be a telegram. The Emperor tore it open, glanced through the contents, then looked up, and let his eye wander all round the circle of his suite, as if to note the impression produced upon their minds by the news which His Majesty felt had already been intuitively divined by those about him. ‘_Ja, meine Herren_,’ he at last said; ‘it is just as we all expected. This is a telegram from General von Caprivi; France has declared war against us’ (_Frankreich hat Uns den Krieg erklärt_.) There was a moment’s pause, each man looking at his neighbour to study the effect of this terrible announcement, and then all eyes were again turned on the Emperor, who looked a shade paler than before, but not a whit less calm and resolute.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said at last, ‘this is a serious moment for us all, but the news dismays just as little as it surprises us. Yet I must now leave you, for the danger to the Fatherland is much greater on its western than on its eastern frontier; and where the danger to the Fatherland is greatest, there also must Germany’s Kaiser be.

‘_Meine Herren_, my place as Commander-in-Chief of our armies here will now be taken by that tried and gallant soldier, my dear friend and brother, the King of Saxony, who will, I am sure, bring honour and victory to our arms. One foe at a time is quite enough, and the sooner we can help our allies to dispose of their invader, the sooner shall we be able to concentrate all our forces and inflict a crushing blow on our hereditary enemy (_Erbfeind_), who has again, in the most wanton manner, broken loose against us.

‘Gentlemen, this is no time for words, when the call to action is tingling through all our veins, so I will only invoke the blessing of God upon the course of our arms in this quarter, and hasten myself to where the peril of our Fatherland is sorest. Adieu, and may each and all of us do his duty throughout the coming period of grievous trial and tribulation!’

So saying, the Emperor put spurs to his steed and, accompanied only by his immediate suite, galloped off back to Thorn, receiving as he went three enthusiastic ‘hochs.’

Just as I am closing this despatch information reaches us from Berlin of a naval engagement in the Baltic between our fleet and some Russian ships; but you, in London, will probably hear all the details before they reach us here.

WITH THE GERMAN FLEET IN THE BALTIC.

We have been favoured with the following letter, under date April 30, from Rear-Admiral Philip Colomb, who has been an eye-witness of the naval operations in the Baltic:—

I was at Kiel with my yacht when the news of the attempt on Prince Ferdinand’s life reached us. The successive telegrams and published news created the greatest excitement among all classes, but especially amongst those connected with the navy. Simultaneously with the news that Russia had crossed the Austrian frontier, several German cruisers went to sea, and in a day or two a regular fleet began to assemble in the port. I don’t understand German, but my wife does, and she told me whenever we met an eager crowd discussing, that it was all about whether the fleet would not be kept to defend the place, and the danger of an attack by the Russian Fleet if the German Fleet did not remain.

I thought I had better get out of it, as if such an attack were made it might be awkward for me. I think my wife was so excited about it that she wanted to stay where we were and see it all; but I thought we might see all there was to be seen in greater safety from the seaside. And then from the conversation of some German naval officers which my wife overheard, I gathered that the navy, at least, believe that it would try to carry war into the enemy’s country. There were, however, great discussions about some German coast defence vessels that had not coal supply enough to go up the Baltic, and great arguments as to what ships would go and what would stay. As every day more heavy ships arrived and stayed, while only small ones came and went, I began to think that after all it was most likely that the Germans would not stay quiet to let the Russians ravage their coasts. Then, by the time that nine or ten large turret-ships and others, besides several smaller ones, had assembled, I understood that the German armies were about attacking Russia by way of Königsberg, as well as to the south. I thereupon made sure that the German fleet would go up in support, even if they were not ready to do more.

So the end of it was that I waited till ten big ships and five or six smaller ones got under way, and then I did ditto, and steamed out with them. I was afraid I might be left behind, as my coal supply did not allow me to go at any speed; but I found the Germans, after putting their big ships into two lines a good distance apart, with some of the smaller ones close at hand on each side, and two or three others a long way in front, steamed quite slowly along, not more than five or six knots. I went inshore of them, and kept them in sight a couple of miles off.

We passed close to Rügen Island the afternoon succeeding our departure, and the south end of Bornholm in the night. I made out that we were steering straight, for Libau, which is about 450 miles from Kiel. We scarcely had seen anything in the shape of a ship except a couple of homeward-bound English trading steamers; but on the second morning at daybreak I noticed all the German ships had been stoking up, and were making an immense amount of smoke. There was a good deal of signalling going on between the German flagships—there were two of these yesterday, one at the head of each line—and one or two of the cruisers, which sped away nearly out of sight, and then came slowly back, signalling as they came. The same sort of thing went on on the third morning, when we had got beyond Dantzig, with the difference that two German cruisers were seen steaming up, one from the southward, and one from the south-westward. The fleet stopped, and a boat from each of these went to the flagship and returned, after which there was more signalling, and a boat from every ship went on board the flagship. I suppose the other Admiral and the captains were in them, but I was too far off to make certain.

After a couple of hours we all went on again slowly as before, but electric and other lights were flashing about all night, so that we were very excited, and made sure that something was in the wind. As a consequence, long before daylight on the fourth morning we were on deck looking out in all directions, and with a good head of steam so as to get out of the way in case of accidents. Sure enough at daybreak there was a great bank of smoke to the northward, and presently I could make out a mast or two sticking up. The two German cruisers, which were five or six miles in front, at once became very busy with their signals, and soon afterwards the whole fleet formed into a single line and turned to the westward, not steaming any faster, but making such clouds of black smoke that they almost hid themselves from me. It did not seem that the Russian Fleet—I was not sure whether it was or not—was closing much, but one or two ships appeared to draw more in front as if to close the two German cruisers. Presently the other cruisers that had kept closer to the fleet also drew out in front, but none of them seemed more inclined to close the strangers than the strangers were to close them.

I could not make it out at all. I had always understood that in a modern naval battle, everybody would immediately run at everybody else, and this looked so little like the sort of thing that I was inclined to think that what I saw was only an advance guard of the Russian Fleet. Yet it looked too large a mass for that, and my doubts were presently set at rest.

Signals were made to one of the German cruisers that had come to us the day before, and she presently turned and slowly steamed to the southward. She passed us so very close that I took heart of grace to call out—

‘Is that the Russian Fleet?’

And the answer came back—

‘Oh! ye-es, zat is ze Russians—ve sall fight zem! So!’ and the steamer went on her way.

I began to have some sort of an idea that, perhaps, neither fleet was able to make out the force of the other, and was, therefore, not in a hurry to bring it to action. And this might easily be so. Though the sky was clear overhead and the water quite smooth, it was misty round the horizon, and so far as the Russian Fleet was concerned, it seemed to me very likely that even the advanced German cruisers were not able to discover more than I could, between the mist and the smoke.

But as I puzzled myself over this, I also thought that, perhaps, as the main attack of Germany was going on by land, it might be her game merely to watch the Russian Fleet. For if the Germans were badly beaten at sea, Russia might be left free to land and cut their communications. I had never thought of this kind of thing before, and I quite woke up with a new sort of idea, for I saw quite well that the Russian Fleet could not do anything unless they first thoroughly beat the Germans.

ENGAGEMENT OFF DANTZIG—SINKING OF A RUSSIAN TORPEDO-BOAT.

I was so keen on my new ideas that I wanted to know more about it, and so steamed well to the N.E. to see what the Russian Fleet was like. Just as I did so, I saw a very small Russian steaming away to the south-eastward as if to get the look at the German Fleet which I was going to get at the Russian. She was stoking up tremendously, and evidently going at great speed. Two of the German cruisers in front immediately turned to the eastward to cut her off, but the plucky little Russian did not seem to mind; they closed one another very rapidly, and some puffs of smoke, followed by distant bangs, showed a little game of long balls. The Russian had evidently much greater speed than the others, and was drawing them astern, but quite away from her own fleet or supports of any kind. All of a sudden I saw she was blowing off steam furiously, and that her speed had slackened, if not dropped altogether. She began to fire more rapidly, and so did the Germans. All three were hidden by the cloud of smoke they raised. My engineer was frightfully excited; he said, ‘It was one of them new boilers a-priming,’ and that it was all up with the Russian. Sure enough it was, for all three ships presently came out of the smoke, the little Russian with the German flag flying over her own.

I had got far enough now to see that the Russian Fleet was much more numerous than the German, but I could only make out six or seven really big ships. But there were a crowd of small ones, and behind, eight or nine little things like those we had seen taking the _Excellent’s_ men for training. I thought it might be dangerous to get mixed up with such a crowd, so I returned to the southward and eastward of the German Fleet. I had noticed that the Russians were steering slowly parallel to the position of the Germans, and night closed, leaving all things in this position. Both sides never left off flashing their electric lights up into the sky and all over the sea, and it really seemed to me as if they must all be a good deal confused by such things.

So matters went on till eleven o’clock, when I made my wife go below, while I lay down for a sleep on deck. I was awoke at one o’clock by such a row as never was, the whole German Fleet was a blaze and a roar of artillery. I supposed, of course, a Russian torpedo-boat attack, but it was impossible to tell what had happened,—all one knew was that an attack of some kind had been made. After a very few minutes the fire began to slacken, and some of it I noticed, with an unpleasant sensation, was coming my way. But that, too, soon came to an end. My wife was at that moment beside me again, and she suddenly cried out, ‘Hark! what’s that?’ I could hear a rushing and a panting sound drawing close to us, and then the ball of white foam that I had seen one night from a torpedo boat. The panting suddenly stopped, and the rushing became fainter and fainter until out of the dark came a torpedo-boat evidently making for the yacht, but very slowly. Just as she was coming alongside there was a sort of wild cry, and I saw she had suddenly gone to the bottom. Our little boat was down in an instant, and I got hold of somebody floating at once, while the men helped in two Russian sailors. I found I had hold of a Russian officer, but he was evidently unable to help himself. I could not get him in but we drew him alongside and the men carried him up. I then saw that the poor chap was badly wounded in the shoulder. No one on board could speak Russian, but we laid him down on the deck, and my wife threw herself down beside him with her scissors and began to cut away his dress, while she cried to her maid to bring her water and linen. It was of no use, however. The poor fellow was quite unconscious and bleeding to death. It was all over in ten minutes, and we could do nothing but reverently commit the body to the deep. Our other two Russians were unwounded, but could not make us understand anything. We put them next day into an English vessel bound to Revel.