exhibition which offends good taste, and even an Englishman can see
that it may become ludicrous. It is the marble figure representing the
"_Republique Française pendant la guerre_," now placed at the head of
the Tuileries Gardens. It is Madame France wearing a _poilu's_ helmet.
There is a look of triumph in her upturned face. France in her has
become younger. Most figures of France are Diana-like, but here
apparently is one the tender contour of whose limbs is not official but
intimate. A policeman is in charge, but it verges on the indiscreet to
ask him any questions. One dare be certain that Paris will not accept
this statue, for though it expresses something of the new spirit of
France, it is not in perfect taste, it is not quite dignified.
There is something very characteristic of France in the thousands of
seeming-widows whom you see clad in becoming weeds. The widow's veil
raises the dignity of the Frenchwoman and confirms her piety so that
she feels like a Madonna when her husband is dead, and loves to walk
like one. Some wear this attire without being widowed--it conforms so
well to a secret desire. The demure widow so dressed has much charm.
There is, however, another and a better type, and that is the Joan of
Arc type of young Frenchwoman so often overlooked in a survey of French
reality. The new, bright, white marble figure of Joan in the cathedral
of Notre-Dame is worth a prayer for France. One has met Joan in life,
she is generally sixteen or seventeen, ardent, heroic, romantic, with
the poetry of Corneille and Racine upon her lips. She is full of
effervescent devotion, impetuous and entirely "pure." What happens to
her in modern France it would be difficult to say. The English do not
come and burn her for a witch; but English people do not like the type,
do not understand it, and generally prefer the insincere Madonnas or
the Madame Bovarys of France. But to understand France one must take
cognizance of this feminine crusading spirit. Much that is genuine and
worth while in France can be associated with the type of Joan. Even in
the midst of modern politics one should look for Joan. French
aspirations has a grand turn. We think of the French as realists, but
they are romanticists. They look back and then look forward. They see
events with long black shadows as at sunset. They harangue themselves.
In the English people humour comes to chase the romantic away and it
will not let us get into a heroic vein. But not so with the French.
Their humour is weak. So at school, in books, in inscriptions on
statues, in public speeches, you will constantly come upon the heroic,
romantic strain, and you will find adjurations to the French people:
"_Français, élevez vos âmes et vos résolutions à la hauteur des périls
qui fondent sur la patrie. Il dépend encore de vous de montrer à
l'univers ce qu'est un peuple qui ne veut pas périr_," as it says on
the Gambetta monument.
This splendid spirit is betrayed by the sordidness of modern life. The
exchange for romantic idealism is cynicism and soullessness. Joan does
not remain Joan all her life--if she 'scapes burning she is quickly
destroyed by the world. The philosophy of _Voila tout_ soon possesses
her. I always remember the end of Octave Feuillet's "_Histoire d'une
jeune Parisienne_"--
Dans l'ordre moral, il ne nait point de monstres: Dieu n'en fait pas;
mais les hommes en font beaucoup. C'est ce que les mères ne doivent
pas oublier.
In France's plan for Europe there is both the idealistic romantic and
the cynical materialistic. If England really understood the spirit of
France she would strengthen the former. And France might really take
England into her confidence. England, and indeed most other nations,
see in France a selfish, narrow, matter-of-fact power, and in seeing
these things they help to make France so.
If France took Britain into her confidence she would possibly explain
her policy in this way--"The great war which has just passed was first
and foremost a war between Germany and France. The Germans do not
understand us; they loathe and despise our civilization. They have
been entirely wrong, but they had the big battalions on their side.
Once they beat us in the field and they took away and subjugated two of
our provinces, almost killing the French spirit there and Germanizing
to the utmost of their ability. A second war has taken place and we,
thanks to the help of allies, have won. We have gained an overwhelming
victory. The Germans have made a complete surrender. President Wilson
deceived them into thinking that they might arrange an easy peace, and
they surrendered their weapons. France was glad to see her vain enemy
fooled and despoiled of her means of continuing the strife. France,
however, never accepted Wilsonian idealism. Why should she? America
has never bled as France has bled. She has never lived in the danger
in which France has lived. She does not understand Europe. But France
owed America a great deal of money and could not afford to offend her.
She had the mortifying and difficult rôle to play second to Wilson at
the peace-table though first in sacrifice and first in danger.
France's object has been and is to place Germany completely _hors de
combat_. Her mortal enemy is in her power. France's first desire is
not money or territory, but just security. France does not fear
Germany in her present spiritless, unarmed state. France does not fear
Germany at all. But the fruit of victory which she desires is that she
should put it entirely out of the power of Germany to return to the
struggle. The League of Nations is being arranged to stop warfare
among all races. France does not believe that that is practicable,
human nature being what it is. But France does see that one war of the
future can be eliminated, and that is another Franco-German struggle.
With that in view France has embarked on a real policy embodied in the
following programme:--
(1) The complete demilitarization of the German people. We will not
allow her to have an army or a navy.
(2) The dismantling of the German Empire. We would undo what Bismarck
accomplished; for in destroying the unity of Germany we should destroy
most of its power to reorganize after defeat. The dismantling of
modern Germany implies for us:
(a) Alsace and Lorraine for France.
(b) Upper Silesia for Poland.
(c) A separate State of Bavaria.
(d) A separate State of Westphalia.
(e) A Polish corridor to Dantzig, separating East and West Prussia.
(f) No union between Austria and Germany.
"France is not in favour of plebiscites, as the war was won not by a
plebiscite but by a superior number of cannon. The plebiscite was a
Wilson invention and France regards it passively. If plebiscites stand
in the way of a real policy in Europe they ought to be disregarded. As
regards questions such as that of the Ruhr Valley occupation France is
ready to take any avenue which leads to a furtherance of her
fundamental policy. The saddling of Germany with an immense indemnity
is primarily necessary in order to pay off the war debts of France and
Britain to the United States. For the rest, the indemnity debt can be
used as a check on Germany so that we can watch her."
Such is in any case France's policy. She pursues it in subterranean
ways and through intrigue and by all the old tricks of secret
diplomacy, evidently trusting no one but herself. It is unfortunate.
Much could be gained both in England and America by a clear, frank
statement.
With regard to Russia there is little of the idealistic spirit in
French policy. Her attitude towards Russia has little to do with her
attitude towards Europe as a whole. France does fear that Poland may
come to nothing, and that Germany and Russia may come into vital
contact. Otherwise Russia is a place apart. Russia is a place where
many millions of French francs have been lost. France does not
understand Russia, does not want to. France is quite sufficient for
France. But she has received a terrible blow in a most sensitive part.
France's vice as we have said is avarice. She does not expect to lose
money. France is not like America where one loses a fortune to-day and
makes one to-morrow. In France when you make a fortune you keep it.
The Russia which confiscated foreign holdings and ceased to pay
dividends is a thief of portentous guilt to France. France, therefore,
steadfastly opposes that Russia, and she has as steadfastly supported
the other Russia which says she will recognize these old debts and pay
them back plus dividends. France disapproved of the original
revolution, but is said to have been persuaded to it by England.
France thought the March '17 conspiracy very risky. And she soon
realized that she had been right. Revolution meant repudiation of
debt. And Russia will never pay back her debts now unless in the form
of "rights of exploitation."
France backed Koltchak and Yudenitch and Denikin and Wrangel and the
Polish War--all for the sake of her money. Not because she was sorry
for the Russians or for the rights of humanity, or because she was
scandalized by Communism. Her plan generally has been to persuade
England to supply the outfit and pay for the expense, but she has also
paid somewhat and has thrown good money after bad--the thief gone with
so much and so much to find the thief! Russia is a sore point, an
aggravated loss. And now that the counter-revolutionaries have failed,
France is almost as much out of sympathy with the Russian refugees as
she is with the Bolsheviks themselves.
Paris, however, remains the capital of Russia in exile. There are more
distinguished Russians there than in any other capital of Europe, and
Russian world-policy is organized from there. It is General Wrangel's
civil headquarters. During the last days I was in Paris the Russian
National Congress constituted itself a "National Union of Russia,"
dedicated to the task of liberating Russia from the Third International
and at the same time excluding partisans of a Tsaristic restoration.
It rejoiced in glowing terms in a Russian army which though now
vanishing was still the hope of Russia. It pronounced against the
trade treaties made by Great Britain and other powers with Soviet
Russia, and it passed a resolution recognizing Russia's old debts and
commercial obligations as contracted under the Tsardom.
A national committee of seventy-four members was elected, from Paris,
Constantinople, London, Belgrade, Berlin, Finland, Poland, Switzerland,
Sofia, Vienna, Athens, Riga, the United States, and amongst those
elected were the following well-known Russian personalities--Burtsef,
Struve, Kartashef, Bunin, Kuprin, Roditchef, Savitch, Tyrkova, Dioneo.
This powerful organization is likely enough to go back to Russia if
Lenin and Trotsky fall. The latter are doing their utmost to safeguard
themselves, but they are weaker than the Tsar was. The Tsardom had
most of the brains and abilities of the Russians at its disposal, but
Lenin has driven nearly all the educated and trained minds out of the
country. Russia as an internationalist State is a failure; as a
peasant Communist State she has not succeeded in straightening out the
comparatively simple problems of her economic subsistence.
Of course, there are many abstentions from the Russian National Union,
and among the most notable is Milyukof who characterizes their actions
as "words without force." Milyukof and Burtsef have quarrelled.
Burtsef stood for backing General Wrangel, but Milyukof has taken a
strong line on that matter. He does not believe that Wrangel can do
anything, or that force applied externally can bring Bolshevism down.
He believes in the renovation of Russia from within. Milyukof's
contention is undoubtedly sound, but it has resulted in a wordy warfare
in the columns of Burtsef's "Obshy Delo" and Milyukof's "Posledny
Novosti," both Paris daily papers in Russian which keep up a malevolent
cross-fire on one another.
One of the happiest evenings spent in Paris was at Babief's toy
theatre--"The Flittermouse," where I saw again a programme rendered in
Moscow in 1914. Russians in themselves are the most unmechanical
people, the most emotional and unexpected in their ways. It is,
therefore, curious that they should shine so much when they pretend
that they are dolls, when they take on extra human limitations. In the
Russian Ballet it is the doll-stories of "Petrouchka" and "Boutique
Fantasque" which charm most, and so it is in the programme of the
Flittermouse Theatre, "The Parade of the Wooden Soldiers" and the
toy-box story of "Katinka" are the favourites every night.
I was touched, however, by one of their lesser successes, that was
called "Minuet," which seemed to have a national pathos in it.
A young man is sitting on a seat in the garden of Versailles or some
such place of formal grandeur. It is after the revolution and the
death of the King--one evening at twilight time--
"How I love to come here and dream a little," says the young man.
"This is a beautiful place. And sometimes one sees strange people, the
old courtiers of the King come walking as they used to walk."
Presently an aged man in Court attire appears with a tall, gilded stick
in his hand. "The King gave me this," says he in a quavering voice.
And then an aged dame appears. They will not explain themselves to the
young man, for he cannot understand. How can youth understand those
who are old?
The two old courtiers are bent and stiff. But they dance in the late
dusk a minuet again. You fear all the time their stiffness and age
will prevent them, but they dance it, not for the young man, but for
themselves and for their King. How poignant it was, how terrible!
Like ghosts at Ekaterinburg.
End of Project Gutenberg's Europe--Whither Bound?, by Stephen Graham