1899-1908
M. Émile Loubet, President of the Senate, followed Félix Faure as
President of the Republic on February 18th, 1899. As every one knows,
stones were showered upon the new President as he passed on his way from
Versailles, where the "Congress" had elected him, to the station where
he entrained for Paris. He was called "Panama the First"--though he had
had nothing to do with the Panama frauds--insulted and besmirched as few
men have been. I was only a few yards from M. Loubet at the Auteuil
Steeplechase Meeting (June), when young Baron Christiani smashed the top
hat of the President and almost hit with his stick the wife of the
Italian Ambassador, Countess Tornielli. But M. Loubet never flinched,
and he weathered the storm till it abated. Some have called this
cowardice; I would rather call it heroism--of a kind.
Besides the highly important and final developments in the Dreyfus
affair--which have been summed up in another chapter--and its truly
amazing epilogue, that is, the complete and rapid way in which France
recovered from the terrible crisis and emerged serene and vigorous,
there happened little worth referring to during the year 1899. There
were, however, a few amazing interludes. The poet Déroulède seized the
bridle of the horse of General Roget, a staunch Anti-Dreyfusard, on the
day of President Faure's funeral, and ordered him to march with his
troops on to the Elysée--another _coup_ that failed. Déroulède was
arrested, but the Court of Assize acquitted him on May 31st. There were
many comical conspiracies and many comical trials of conspirators; there
were constant riots in Paris and elsewhere, all more noisy than
alarming; there were thousands of Socialists with red button-holes in
search of Royalists with white button-holes... and they never met. And
there was the farce of the "Fort" Chabrol (a house in the Rue Chabrol,
where the Anti-Semitic League had offices), which garrisoned by Jules
Guérin, the secretary of the League, and a few friends, held five
thousand soldiers at bay for nearly two months. Guérin and other heroes
of the fort, and also Déroulède, were tried by the Senate transformed
into "High Court," and were sentenced to ten years' banishment....
Afterwards things gradually quieted down. Dupuy had fallen and
Waldeck-Rousseau had succeeded him as Premier. He was an able barrister
and authoritive statesman who had held office in the strenuous days of
Gambetta and Jules Ferry.
In May 1900, however, there was one more amusing incident. At the Paris
Municipal Elections a huge majority of Nationalists and "Anti-Semites"
were returned.... But then Paris was ever "in the opposition" and
Parisians have ever been _frondeurs_.
The 1900 Exhibition brilliantly terminated the century. La Belle France,
who was thoroughly tired of riots, "leagues," and agitations, had once
more become quite peaceful and "respectable," as befitted a lady who was
about to receive a number of sovereigns (including the Czar and his
Empress, who came in 1901).
France is logical, although fond of Paradox--and practical--although,
hasty, violent, quixotic, and ever in search of the truth.... And France
respects Authority, although she tries to call herself socialistic,
whereas she is merely democratic.
* * * * *
King Edward VII. came to France at the beginning of May 1908, that is,
not quite a year after the end of the Boer War, and he was greeted in
such a way that he might have been entitled to say: "I am the most
popular man in France."
This was partly due to his almost abnormal gift of sympathy and partly
to the well-known French readiness to swing round to a new opinion. Boer
victories had been hailed with shouts of mad exultation, and English
successes with groans of agony and fury, but the French became
pro-English the instant King Edward landed in France. There was a dinner
at the British Embassy, and President Loubet and several celebrities,
including my friend Bonnat, attended. The Entente Cordiale was already
talked of.
King Edward came to France exactly two years later, in May 1905, and for
the first time there were cries in Paris of "Vive l'Angleterre" and
"Vive le Roi." To shout "Long live the King" is just the sort of thing
that Republicans of France love to do!
In March 1906 King Edward came once more to France, incognito this time,
and travelling as the Duke of Lancaster. Fallières had then succeeded
Loubet as President of the Republic. That year Paris received visits
from a number of Members of Parliament, from members of the London
County Council, and from the Lord Mayor, whose gilded coach and portly
coachman took the Parisians by storm.... And the Entente Cordiale
gradually increased in vitality and sincerity until it became an
important factor in the equilibrium of Europe.
During those years the "separation" of Church and State was carried out
and afterwards Anti-Clericalism subsided. A mention must also be made of
the "Confédération Générale du Travail"--a kind of federation of trade
unions--born in January 1908. This C.G.T., a child of Socialism, very
soon broke from the parent, cultivated strikes, and showed from the
first that its aim is social revolution, though it is not clear what the
C.G.T. dictators would do after the social revolution had taken place.
Syndicalism, so far, can hardly be called "popular."
In January 1906 M. Fallières--simple, solid, and safe--succeeded Loubet
as President of the Republic, and the same year Clémenceau, unscrupulous
but extremely able and so intensely picturesque, became Prime Minister.
Whatever may be thought of him as a statesman, he, at any rate, did one
great thing. He gave France confidence in herself at a critical moment.
That was in November 1908. In 1905 Declassé had had to go because the
German Emperor wished it. That was after the "Imperial" landing in
Morocco. In November 1908 Clémenceau refused to obey Germany, who had
asked for an apology in regard to the Casablanca incident. Ever since
that France has seemed to be once more sure of her strength, and,
without embarking upon any very great adventure, has shown much firmness
and purpose in her foreign policy.
* * * * *
As soon as I was well enough after my illness and shock I threw open the
doors of my salon.
I went through a difficult time. The great majority of my acquaintances
had read what the papers said, and knowing that my husband and I
frequently went to the Elysée, they had no difficulty in guessing who
was meant by "Madame S.," or "the wife of the well-known painter."...
Not one of them, of course, was so tactless as to refer to the matter...
but my friends had friends who insisted upon being introduced to me. And
so to my receptions there came scores of amiable persons of both sexes,
who gazed at me, looked me up and down, and studied me as if I were an
object of great curiosity. I had the courage to take no notice whatever
of this, and I faced it unflinchingly, although the ordeal was painful;
for I knew well enough that these good people had not come with any
goodwill towards me in their hearts, but rather to see one whom they
looked upon as the latest "fatal woman," as a Delilah or Judith
up-to-date. I smiled on them all, as I had in the past, and sang and
played to them in the old way.
The ordeal was worse when I went to other houses. When I entered a
crowded drawing-room all eyes were turned on me and a sudden hush fell,
wrapping me as in my cloak. Then, as host and hostess greeted me, a
strange murmur arose and went up and down the room in little gusts, that
broke now from this brilliant group of men and women and now from that,
and I felt that all this whispering was about me. There were many
healthy-minded women and honest men who took my part and defended me,
but I soon realised that it was beyond them to convince my enemies, and
still less the sceptics and the cynics.... In Paris scepticism and
cynicism are a fashionable pose, under which people too often hide the
noble principles and generous thoughts which would more truly express
their nature and true characters. I, therefore, determined to conquer
one by one, not only my enemies, but also those in whose eyes I could
read a poor opinion of me. It was an ardent, almost a titanic task, but
in time I succeeded. And many of those who had spoken lightly of me, or
had thought me a "fatal" person, became my most devoted friends.... It
was a trying time, but I lived through it and won in the end--thanks, of
course, to the fact that not a word of those calumnies was true, and
also to my mother's devotion and to my little Marthe's tender love. My
mother looked after me in that pretty way that children often have; and,
on the other hand, my little daughter, now a tiny mite of eight, was
almost maternal in her solicitude for me.
Why was I so anxious to return to my old position among the men and
women of Paris?... Because my reputation was at stake. Whether I liked
it or not, whether the task was feasible or almost impossible, I had to
battle and conquer. And I did conquer. Calumny, the most elusive and
dangerous enemy that woman may have to face, was routed... and some six
months after the death of President Faure my receptions were more
largely attended than ever. I had tested all those who claimed to be my
friends, and found they were sincere. In official circles my influence
had not waned, and I was able to render service to many as in the past.
My mother had settled down for good in her pretty châlet at Beaucourt,
but she frequently came to Paris and stayed either at the house of my
younger sister, or with me in the Impasse Ronsin.
My relations with my husband were what they had been for years. We were
good comrades, and I did my utmost to make his life a pleasant and
comfortable one. I spent much of my time in the studio. He felt much
older than his fifty years and needed much coaxing and encouraging to
work. His technique as a painter had marvellously improved, but more and
more he lacked imagination, and time after time I suggested to him
subjects for his pictures, and advised him in matters of "composition"
and "grouping," of backgrounds and atmosphere. Our life, after all, was
not abnormal. There are thousands of married couples in Paris who live
apart, and yet remain the best of partners and friends....
From 1899 to 1908 my husband painted many portraits--delicate miniatures
in oils which were not only works of art, but subtle, psychological
studies; although I believe he never realised this himself. Several
persons came from Germany to visit the studios and buy pictures, and my
husband told me they had been sent by the mysterious foreigner.
But they always came when I was not at home. The pictures disappeared
from the studio, however, and I know that my husband had received
payment for them. He obviously did not care to talk about these clients,
and I was not in the least anxious to find out details about them. I had
for many months spared no effort in attempting to solve the mystery of
the pearl necklace, and of the "German," but my efforts had been in
vain.
In 1906 I hired a villa at Bellevue, a delightful wooded village
overlooking the Seine, near Paris. It was M. Ch., my great friend, who
had discovered this charming summer residence nestling under the heavy
foliage of beautiful old trees....
We are now nearing the tragic time of my life, but before I go into that
long story of horror and agony--the murder of my husband and my mother,
my struggles to find the murderers, the terrifying scenes at the Impasse
Ronsin, my arrest, my life in prison, and my trial--I should like to
recall a pretty incident which occurred at Bellevue.... There is nothing
wonderful or unusually amusing about it, but perhaps the reader will
welcome it as a sustaining draught of pure and fragrant air, before
being plunged into the dark abyss of grief and terror where I suffered
and struggled for so long.
[Illustration: A LETTER SENT ME BY MASSENET IN 1907, AND SIGNED
"... Your Devoted, Faithful, Obedient, Respectful and Punctual
Accompanist"]
"Vert-Logis" (green cottage), my Bellevue villa, stood at a short
distance from the Meudon Observatory, the director of which was M.
Janssen, the famous astronomer. The observatory was surrounded by a vast
and splendid park, everywhere enclosed off. Through the bars of one of
the gates Marthe and I saw, one fine summer's day, a large field that
was one mass of marguerites. Marthe was longing to gather great bunches
of them. We hailed a keeper, who was passing by, and asked him whether
he would pick some of the flowers for us and pass them through the
gate.... Or perhaps he would open the gate to us for a few minutes?
"Oh! Madame, all that is strictly forbidden," said the man.
"What a pity!"
I must have looked very disappointed, for hesitatingly he said: "Well,
perhaps you might come in the morning, say at eight, before there are
people about. I'll open the gate and you can gather a few flowers."
The next day Marthe and I returned from the observatory garden with so
many flowers that we could hardly carry them.
The old keeper scratched his head, and remarked: "I thought you only
wanted a few! You must be really fond of flowers, Madame."
Soon afterwards I met M. Janssen. We had many friends in common, and the
savant gave orders that the gates of the park should always be opened to
me and allowed me to gather as many of the flowers as I pleased. Then,
with a typical courtesy, the aged astronomer--he was then over eighty
years old--said to me: "Madame, since you love flowers so well, would
you care to see the flowers of heaven?"
I accepted, of course, and one clear night I experienced the unique joy
of watching a star through a powerful telescope. With a feeling of
rapture and enchantment that was wholly new to me, I saw the star
scintillate, change colour, and shine forth in all the exquisite hues of
the rainbow.... And thoughts of the Infinite whirled through my dazzled
brain.... I would go to clutch that star, I longed to grasp it; I wanted
to know, to understand, the meaning of space and matter, of Eternity and
the Infinite--and of Life.... And on my way home, as I looked up
towards the star-studded sky, I was thrilled as I had never been before,
and forgetting what the old savant had told me about the endless and
intricate calculations which are the chief occupations of the star-gazer
("a living algebraical machine") I felt that the astronomer, who
constantly watches mysterious and unconceivably distant worlds in the
depths of space, is devoting his life to the grandest, the most sublime
and lofty science of all. And I thought of my father, who so often, at
Beaucourt, had talked to me about the stars, the moon-world, the comets,
the milky way.... And I recalled those words of Kant, which he more than
once quoted to me: "There are two things which ever fill me with new and
growing admiration: the moral law within me, and the starry heavens
above me."