FRANCE AND HER PEOPLE.
My call upon President Loubet was the most interesting incident
of my visit to France. It was arranged by General Horace Porter,
American ambassador to France, who conducted us to the Elysee
palace, which is the White House of the French republic.
President Loubet is probably the most democratic executive that
France has ever had. He reminded me of our former president,
Benjamin Harrison, and of another of our distinguished citizens,
Andrew Carnegie--not exactly like either, but resembling both--the
former in appearance, the latter in manner as well as appearance.
President Loubet is below the medium height, even of Frenchmen.
His shoulders are broad and his frame indicative of great physical
strength. His hair is snow white, as are also his beard and
mustache. He wears his beard cut square at the chin.
His eyes are dark blue, suggesting that his hair and beard were
blonde before the years bleached them. His voice is soft, and he
speaks with great vivacity, emphasizing his words by expressive
gestures.
He received us in his working room, a beautiful semi-oval apartment,
whose large windows open into the beautiful gardens attached to the
Elysee palace. The oval end of the room bore great priceless Gobelin
tapestry, depicting abundance. On a pedestal under the tapestry was
a marble bust of the Minerva-like head of the Goddess of Liberty of
the French republic.
The president's desk is a long, flat table, eminently business
looking, covered with papers and lighted by two desk lamps and green
shades. A huge electrolier dependent from the frescoed ceiling
filled the room with light.
The president wore a frock coat, the tri-colored button of the
Legion of Honor adorning the lapel.
President Loubet is a very cordial man, and takes pride in the fact
that, like most of our American presidents, he has worked his way up
from the ranks of the common people. His father was a farmer near
the village of Montelimar.
Young Loubet studied law, and then public affairs. He has held
nearly every office in the gift of the people. He began as mayor of
Montelimar, where his aged mother still lives in the old farmhouse.
He was elected a deputy in 1876, and in 1886 was elected to the
senate. He was minister of public works in 1887, and minister of the
interior in 1892. In 1895 he was elected president of the senate,
and in 1899 he was elected president of the republic.
[Illustration: NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.]
He talked freely on various questions that came up for
consideration, and showed himself to be thoroughly informed upon the
economic as well as the political questions with which France has
to deal. His personal popularity and strong good sense have been of
inestimable value to his country in the trying times caused by the
Dreyfus case.
President Loubet has been prominently connected with the bimetallic
movement, and shows himself familiar with the principles upon which
bimetallists rely in their defense of that system of finance.
The president, like all the Frenchmen whom I met, feels very
friendly toward the United States, and it goes without saying that
France under his administration is not likely to do anything at
which our country can take just offense.
It was gratifying to me to hear him express so much good will, for
it was evidence of the attachment which the French people feel
toward those republican principles of government which they have
established by so much struggle and sacrifice.
Municipal ownership has not made as much progress in France as in
England, although most of the cities now own their water works,
and some of them their lighting plants. The railroads are nearly
all owned by private corporations, but they operate under charters
running about 100 years, half of which time has now elapsed.
According to the charters, the government guaranteed a certain rate
of interest on the investment, besides a certain contribution to the
sinking fund, and at the end of the charter the roads become the
property of the state.
Although it is nearly fifty years before the charters expire, the
course to be adopted by the government is already being discussed,
some insisting that the government should take over the roads and
operate them--others favoring an arrangement that will continue
private operation, although the government will be the owner of the
property. The same difference of opinion to be found in our country
is to be found here, and some of the high officials are strongly
opposed to the government entering upon the operation of the roads.
President Loubet spoke with evident gratification of the general
diffusion of wealth in France. He said that they had few men of
large fortunes, but a great many men of moderate means, and he felt
that the republic was to be congratulated upon the fact that the
resources of the country are so largely in the hands of the people.
He explained that the government loans were taken by the people
in small amounts and subscribed many times over. Very few of the
bonds representing the French debt are held outside of France. The
debt furnishes a sort of savings bank for the citizens, and their
eagerness to invest in "rentes" (the government bonds) is proof of
their patriotism as well as of their thrift.
I heard so much of the French peasant, that I devoted one day to
a visit into the country. Going out some fifty miles from Paris I
found a village of about eighty families. Selecting a representative
peasant, I questioned him about the present condition and prospects
of the French farmer. I found that about three-fourths of the
peasants of that village owned their homes, but that only about
one-fourth owned the farms they tilled.
I should explain that the French peasants do not as a rule live upon
the farms, as is the custom in the United States. With us, whether a
farmer owns forty acres or a quarter section, he usually lives upon
the land, and the houses are therefore scattered at intervals over
the country.
The French peasants, on the contrary, are inclined to gather in
villages, most of them owning their houses and gardens, but going
out into the country to cultivate their fields. Sometimes a peasant
will have a vineyard in one direction from his home, a pasture in
another, and a wheat field or beet field in yet another direction.
These fields are sometimes owned, but more often are rented. The
landlord aims to get about 4 per cent annually on his investment.
The tenant, however, pays the taxes, which sometimes amount to 1 or
2 per cent more.
The peasants complain that the horses which they need to cultivate
their crops are made more expensive by the increased consumption of
horse flesh as food, the demand having raised the price of horses.
The same cause has operated, so I was informed, to reduce the price
of cattle. The widespread use of automobiles has lessened the price
of straw in Paris, and this has been felt by the wheat growers.
I found the peasant with whom I talked to be an ardent
protectionist. He spoke as if the farmers were driven to it as a
last resort. As I was leaving he assured me that he was glad to
speak to a "republican" and said he would not have talked to me at
all if I had not been one.
This was an evidence of his loyalty to the existing régime in France
and also gave additional proof of the fact that the republican party
in the United States has an advantage in appealing to newly-arrived
immigrants merely by reason of its name.
Foreigners are much better acquainted with the word "republic" than
with the word "democracy," and I find that republican speakers have
taken advantage of this fact and represented the republican party as
the only exponent of the doctrines of a republic.
The New York _Independent_ about a year ago printed the
autobiography of a foreign born citizen, who presented the same idea
and told of a republican speech in which this argument was made by
the orator.
[Illustration: NAPOLEON BONAPARTE CROWNING JOSEPHINE]
The birth rate in France scarcely exceeds the death rate, and to my
surprise I found that the increase in the country was even less than
in Paris, in proportion to the population. One Frenchman, apparently
well informed, told me that there were small villages in which it
was difficult to find a child.
In the village which I visited I was told that the families average
two or three children. To show, however, that the small family was
not the universal rule, attention was called to one family there in
which there were eleven children.
The French peasant is a very industrious man, and cultivates his
land with great care, and as soon as he saves a little money he
tries to add to the area of his farm. The wife is usually an
efficient helper, whether in the city or in the country. In the city
she is often copartner with her husband in the store, and assists
him to save.
Whether the tendency of the peasants to gather in villages, rather
than to live each on his own farm, is due to their sociability or is
a relic of the feudal system, I cannot say--both reasons were given.
The French peasant has reason to feel the burden of militarism, but
the recollection of the last war with Germany is so fresh in his
mind that he is not likely to make any vigorous protest as long
as he believes a large army necessary for the protection of the
republic.
The sentiment of the French people on this subject is shown by the
fact that the figure representing Alsace-Lorraine in the group of
statues in the beautiful Place de la Concorde is always covered with
mourning wreaths.
I visited the Bank of France, where I was received by the governor,
M. Georges Pallain. The bank's capital stock is about $40,000,000,
and it pays a dividend of about 12 per cent, equal to about 4 per
cent on the present market value of the stock. The deposits are
much smaller in proportion to the capital than are the deposits of
our large American banks. This is true of the Bank of England, and
likewise of the banks of Mexico.
This smaller proportion between the deposits and the capital stock
arrested my attention, because in the United States the proportion
is sometimes so great as to leave little margin for shrinkage in the
event of industrial disturbance. If a bank has loans amounting to
ten times its capital stock, a shrinkage of one-tenth in the value
of its assets would wipe out the capital.
The Bank of France, the Bank of England, and the leading banks of
Mexico seem to be conducted on a more conservative basis. The Bank
of England and the Bank of France differ largely in their note
issues. The former has the right to issue uncovered notes to the
extent of the bank's loan to the English government. Upon this loan
the bank receives no interest, the note issue being considered an
equivalent, as no reserve is required to be kept against these
notes. The bank can also issue notes in addition to these, but I
found to my surprise that this note issue is not profitable to
the bank, since these notes are virtually gold certificates, the
bank being required to keep on hand an equal amount of gold as a
redemption fund.
[Illustration: AVENUE CHAMPS-ELYSEES--PARIS]
The Bank of France has outstanding nearly $900,000,000 in notes,
which is the paper money of the country. The bank has the option of
redeeming these notes either in gold or silver, and it exercises
that option by refusing to pay gold when gold becomes scarce, or
when it seems undesirable to furnish gold for export.
It has recently refused gold, and those desiring to export that
metal have had to purchase it at a slight premium.
The "gold contract," which has become so common in the United
States, and which was used to terrorize the public in 1896, seems
to be unknown in France; or at least I could find no one who knew
anything about such contracts. They are regarded as contrary to
public policy.
The president of the Bank of France is appointed by the government,
so that the bank stands in a different attitude toward the
government from the national banks of our country.
I had the pleasure of meeting a number of prominent Frenchmen during
my visit to Paris, among them Senator Combes, the prime minister,
who is just now a most conspicuous figure in the contest between the
government and the various religious orders; Senator Clemenceau, one
of the ablest editors in Paris, and a brilliant conversationalist;
Baron d'Estonelles de Constant, a man of high ideals and leader of
the peace movement in France; the Rev. Albert Kohler, author of "The
Religion of Effort," and the Rev. Charles Wagner, whose book, "The
Simple Life," has had such a large circulation in the United States.
The Rev. Mr. Wagner is just such a looking man as you would expect
to write such a book--strong, rugged and earnest. He impresses
one as a man with a mission, and although young in years, he has
already made an impress upon the thought of the world. His book is a
protest against the materialism which is making man the slave of his
possessions.
The influence which Mr. Wagner has already exerted shows the power
of a great thought, even when it must cross the boundaries of
nations and pass through translation into many different tongues.
I shall remember my communion with this apostle of simplicity as
one remembers a visit to a refreshing spring.
[Illustration: TOMB OF NAPOLEON.]
Dr. Max Nordau, the famous author of "Degeneracy," although a
German, lives in Paris. I enjoyed my call upon him very much.
One quickly recognizes the alertness of his mind, his brilliant
powers of generalization and his aptness in epigram. I also had
the pleasure of meeting Senator Fougeirol, a noted advocate of
bimetallism.
The visitor to Paris is immediately impressed by the magnificence
of the city's boulevards, parks and public squares. There is an
elegant spaciousness about the boulevards and squares that surpasses
anything I have seen elsewhere.
Parisians assert that the Avenue des Champs Elysees is the finest in
the world, and so far as my observation goes I am not prepared to
dispute the claim. The beauty of Paris deserves all the adjectives
that have been lavished upon it.
One might dwell at length upon the almost endless array of brilliant
shop windows where jewelry, bric-a-brac, hats, gowns and mantles
are displayed (and I am not surprised that Paris is the Mecca for
women), but I desire to refer briefly to the more permanent beauty
of Paris--the beauty of its architecture, sculpture and paintings.
Paris' public buildings, ancient and modern, combine solidity with
beauty. The statues, columns and arches that adorn the parks and
boulevards bespeak the skill of the artists and the appreciation of
the public which pays for their maintenance.
Paris' many picture galleries, chief of which are the Louvre and
the Luxembourg, contain, as all the world knows, extraordinary
collections of treasures of art. The encouragement given by the
government to every form of art has made Paris the abode of students
from the four corners of the earth.
The huge palaces at Versailles and Fontainebleau are interesting
relics of the monarchical period, and they are instructive, also,
in that they draw a contrast between the days of the empire and
the present time. The extremes of society have been drawn closely
together by the growth of democracy, and the officials chosen by
the people and governing by authority of the people are much nearer
to the people who pay the taxes and support the government than the
kings who lived in gorgeous palaces and claimed to rule by right
divine.
I have left to the last those reminders of earlier France which
are connected with the reigns of Napoleon. You cannot visit Paris
without being made familiar with the face of the "Little Corsican,"
for it stares at you from the shop windows and looks down at you
from the walls of palaces and galleries.
You see the figure of "the man of destiny" in marble and bronze,
sometimes on a level with the eye, sometimes piercing the sky, as
it does in the Place Vendome, where it is perched on top of a lofty
column, whose pedestal and sides are covered with panels in relief
made from cannon captured by Napoleon in battle.
The gigantic Arch of Triumph on the Champs Elysees, commenced by
Napoleon, in commemoration of his successes, testifies to the
splendor of his conceptions.
But overshadowing all other Napoleonic monuments is his tomb on
the banks of the Seine, adjoining the Invalides. Its gilded dome
attracts attention from afar, and on nearer approach one is charmed
with the strength of its walls and the symmetry of its proportions.
At the door the guard cautions the thoughtless to enter with
uncovered head, but the admonition is seldom necessary, for an air
of solemnity pervades the place.
In the center of the rotunda, beneath the frescoed vault of the
great dome, is a circular crypt. Leaning over the heavy marble
balustrade I gazed on the massive sarcophagus below which contains
all that was mortal of that marvelous combination of intellect and
will.
The sarcophagus is made of dark red porphyry, a fitly chosen stone
that might have been colored by the mingling of the intoxicating
wine of ambition with the blood spilled to satisfy it.
Looking down upon the sarcophagus and the stands of tattered battle
flags that surround it, I reviewed the tragic career of this grand
master of the art of slaughter, and weighed, as best I could,
the claims made for him by his friends. And then I found myself
wondering what the harvest might have been had Napoleon's genius led
him along peaceful paths, had the soil of Europe been stirred by the
plowshare rather than by his trenchant blade, and the reaping done
by implements less destructive than his shot and shell.
Just beyond and above the entombed emperor stands a cross upon
which hangs a life-size figure of the Christ, flooded by a mellow
lemon-colored light, which pours through the stained glass windows
of the chapel.
I know not whether it was by accident or design that this god of war
thus sleeps, as it were, at the very feet of the Prince of Peace.
Whether so intended or not, it will, to those who accept the
teachings of the Sermon on the Mount, symbolize love's final victory
over force and the triumph of that philosophy which finds happiness
in helpful service and glory in doing good.