BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
Very soon after mid-day on the same morning, Herr Carl Freudenberg was
the host at a small luncheon party given in a private room of the most
famous restaurant in the Bois. His morning attire was a model of
correctness, his eyes were clear, his manner blithe, almost joyous.
There was no possible indication in his appearance of his misspent
hours. He was at once a genial and courteous host. Monsieur Décheles
sat at his right hand; Monsieur Felix Brant on his left; Monsieur
Pelleman opposite to him. The three men had arrived in an automobile
together and had entered the restaurant by the private way, but that
they were guests of some distinction was obvious from their reception
by the manager himself.
The luncheon was worthy of the great reputation of the place. It was
swiftly and well served. With the coffee and liqueurs the waiters
withdrew. Herr Freudenberg, with a smile, rose up and tried the door.
Then he returned to his place, lit a cigarette, and leaned back in his
chair.
"My dear friends," he announced, "now we can talk."
Monsieur Pelleman smiled.
"Yes," he admitted, "we can talk. In this excellent brandy, Monsieur
Carl Freudenberg, I drink your very good health. Long may these little
visits of yours continue."
Herr Freudenberg smiled his thanks.
"Monsieur Pelleman," he said, "and you, too, my dear friends, let me
assure you that there is nothing in the world which I enjoy so much as
these brief visits of mine to your delightful capital. No more I think
of the pressures and cares of office. I let myself go, and on these
occasions, as you know, I speak to you not in the language of
diplomacy, but as good friends who meet together to enjoy an hour or
two of one another's company, and who, because there is no harm to be
done by it, but much good, open their hearts and speak true words with
one another."
Monsieur Décheles smiled.
"It is a pleasure which we all share," he declared. "It is more
agreeable, without a doubt, to take lunch with Monsieur Carl
Freudenberg, and to speak openly, than to exchange long-winded
interviews, the true meaning of which is too much concealed by
diplomatic verbiage, with the excellent gentleman to whose good offices
are intrusted the destinies of Herr Freudenberg's great nation."
"Monsieur," Herr Freudenberg said, "to-day shall be no exception.
To-day I speak to you, perhaps, more openly than ever before. To-day I
perhaps risk much--yet why not speak the things which are in my heart?"
Monsieur Felix Brant took a cigarette from the box by his elbow, but he
felt for it only. His eyes never left the face of his host. Of the
three men, he seemed the one least in sympathy with the state of
affairs to which Herr Freudenberg had alluded so cheerfully. He watched
the man at the head of the table all the time as though every energy of
which he was possessed was devoted to the task of reading underneath
that suave but impenetrable face.
"Gentlemen," Herr Freudenberg continued, "there have been many
misapprehensions between your country and mine. Ten years ago we seemed
indeed on the highroad to friendship. It was then--I speak frankly,
mind--that your country made the one fatal mistake of recent years.
Great Britain, isolated, left behind in the race for power, a weakened
and decaying nation, having searched the world over for allies, held
out the timorous hand of friendship to you. What evil genius was with
your statesmen that day! When the history of these times comes to be
written, it is my firm belief that it will be then acknowledged that
the genius of the man who reigned over Great Britain at that time was
alone responsible for the commencement of what has become a veritable
alliance."
Herr Freudenberg paused.
"There is no doubt," Monsieur Décheles asserted calmly, "that the
influence of the late king was immense among the people of France. He
appealed somehow to their imaginations, a great monarch who was also a
_bon viveur_, who had lived his days in Paris as the others."
Herr Freudenberg nodded thoughtfully.
"He is dead," he said, "and history will write him down as a great
king. Do you know that it is one of my theories that morals have
nothing to do with government? I doubt whether a more sagacious monarch
has ever reigned over that unfortunate country than the one we speak
of. So sagacious was he that he even saw the beginning of the end, he
saw the things that must come when he looked across the North Sea; and
notwithstanding his descent, notwithstanding all the ties which should
have allied him with Germany, he hated our people and he hated our
country with a prophetic hatred. But we gossip a little, gentlemen. Let
me proceed. I want you to realize that the policy of Germany for the
last five years has been wholly directed towards securing the
friendship of your country. I want you to realize that but for the
continual interference of Great Britain you would even now be in a far
more favorable position with us than you are to-day. Germany wants
nothing in Morocco. Germany's first and greatest wish is for a rich and
prosperous France. On the other hand, Germany is loyal to her
friendships, and fervent in her hatreds. The country whose humiliation
is a solemn charge upon my people is Great Britain and not France."
Monsieur Décheles leaned back in his chair. Monsieur Felix Brant never
moved.
"I want," Herr Freudenberg continued, "to have you think and consider
and weigh this matter. Why do you, a great and prosperous country, link
yourselves with a decaying power, against whom, before very long,
Germany is pledged to strike? These are the plainest words that have
ever been spoken by a citizen of one country to three citizens of
another. Herr Freudenberg, the maker of toys, speaks to his three
French friends as a thoughtful merchant of his country who has had
unusual facilities for imbibing the spirit of her politicians.
Gentlemen, you do not misunderstand me?"
"It is impossible, Herr Freudenberg," Monsieur Décheles said, "to
misunderstand you for a single moment. Your hand is too clear and your
methods too sagacious."
"Then let me repeat," Herr Freudenberg declared, "that before many
years are passed--perhaps, indeed, before many months--it is the
intention of my country either to inflict a scathing diplomatic
humiliation upon Great Britain, or to engage in this war the fear of
which has kept her in a state of panic for the last ten years. Keep
that in your minds, my friends. Friendship is a great thing, honor is a
great thing, generosity is a great thing, but I would speak to you
three citizens of France to-day as I would speak to her rulers had I
access to them, and I would say, 'Do you dare, for the sake of an
alliance out of which you have procured no single benefit, do you dare
to drag your country into unnecessary, fruitless and bloody war?' You
have nothing to gain by it, you have everything to lose. Let Germany
deal with her traditional enemy in her own way. And as for France, let
France believe what is, without doubt, the truth--that she has nothing
whatever to fear from Germany. I will not speak of the past, but the
greatest thinkers in Germany to-day regret nothing so much in the
history of her splendid rise as that unfortunate campaign of
Bismarck's. It is the one blot upon her magnificent history. Let that
go--let that go and be buried. I bring you timely warning. I come to
the city I love, for her own sake, for the sake of her people whom I
also love. I beg you to listen to these words of mine, to adjust your
policy so that little by little you weaken the joints which bind you to
England, so that when the time comes you yourself may not be dragged
into a hopeless and pitiless struggle."
There was a moment's silence. Then Monsieur Décheles spoke.
"Herr Freudenberg," he began, "what you have said we have been in some
measure prepared for. The more amicable tone of all the correspondence
between our two countries has been marked of late. Yet there have been
times, and not long ago, when your country has shown wonderful
readiness to treat with a rough hand the claims of France in many
quarters of the world. The more powerful your country, the greater she
is to be feared. Supposing France stood on one side while Great Britain
fell before your arms, what then would be the relations between France
and Germany?"
Monsieur Brant spoke for the first time.
"Herr Freudenberg, you remind me of the fable of the Persian who had
two men to fight, both as strong as himself. To the one he sent
ambassadors, with the key of his favorite gardens; the other he fought.
It is a great policy to deal with your enemies one at a time."
Herr Freudenberg stretched out his arms across the table.
"My friend," he pronounced, "without faith there is no genius. Without
genius there is no government. I only ask you to believe this one
thing. Germany is not and never has been the traditional enemy of
France. I ask you to study the whole question for but one single
half-hour, I ask you to read the commercial records of these days. Help
yourself to all the statistics that throw light upon this question, and
I swear that you will find that whereas Great Britain and Germany stand
opposed to one another under every condition and in every quarter of
the world, there is no single bone of contention anywhere between
France and Germany. Their aims are different, their destinies are
written. I ask you to apply only a reasonable measure of philosophy and
common sense, a reasonable measure of faith, to the things I say."
There was a cautious tap at the door, a whispered message. Monsieur
Pelleman rose.
"It is my secretary," he announced. "I fear, gentlemen, that we are due
elsewhere."
"Herr Freudenberg, your luncheon has been delightful," Monsieur
Décheles declared, holding out his hand. "You have given us, as usual,
something to think of. These informal meetings between citizens of two
great countries will do, I am sure, more than anything else in the
world, to ripen our budding friendship."
"Your words," Herr Freudenberg replied, grasping the hand which had
been offered to him, "are a happy augury. When we meet again, I shall
be able to prove the coming of the things of which I have spoken."
They left him on the threshold of the room. The giver of the feast was
alone. Very slowly he retraced his steps and stood for a moment with
folded arms, looking down on the table at which they had lunched. His
natural urbanity, the smile half persuasive, half humorous, which had
parted his lips, had gone. His face seemed to have resolved itself into
lines of iron. As he stood there, one seemed suddenly to realize the
presence of a great man--a greater, even, than Carl Freudenberg, maker
of toys!