The _Affaire Dreyfus_ was used by all parties to achieve their particular aims. Some used it to wage war against Semitism, some war against the Republic, others against Socialism, others against the Army, and yet others against Clericalism.... Hundreds of men found in it a way of achieving notoriety, or of satisfying their private ambitions.

Thousands fished in troubled waters. The Duke of Orleans, heir to King Louis-Philippe, inundated the country with manifestoes, and Prince Victor Napoleon, with the faithful Marquis de Girardin, tried to work up some Bonapartist enthusiasm. Perhaps the strangest phenomenon of all in that strange time was the Anti-Dreyfusard att.i.tude of the Jewish _elite_.... As for President Faure, it can only be said that he was absolutely sincere in his conviction of Dreyfus's guilt, in his belief that the court-martial which condemned the Captain had pa.s.sed judgment according to their conscience, and had not exceeded their rights, and finally that France would be much worse for a "Revision" of the case.

Events proved that he was wrong and that France is able to recover from blows and agitation which would cripple other nations less endowed with vitality, elasticity, and idealism.

The Dreyfus affair was President Faure's "nightmare," the Fashoda incident his "shattered dream." Before closing this chapter, the only one in the book dealing with politics, I must mention the treaty with Lord Salisbury wherein were defined the English and the French "sphere of influence" in the Niger region, and in which France gave up the Nile (March 1899).

And now, as I have reviewed the chief episodes of the Fashoda affair, a few words may be deemed necessary about the man who piloted the vessel of French Foreign Policy during that dangerous crisis, and who since then has revealed himself, on many other occasions, as a very able diplomatist and organiser.

Delca.s.se was Minister for Foreign Affairs for seven years, from 1898 till 1905--a momentous period in the history of modern France. In the most difficult and dangerous circ.u.mstances, Delca.s.se was always cool and collected, and no one could ever "read" this little dark, round-eyed man, with a moustache bristling out on either side like a cat's whiskers, who makes few gestures, never loses his temper, forces his interrogators to ask their question twice, and speaks only when he chooses... which is seldom. Felix Faure, who fully appreciated his great merits, used to say: "He is too trenchant and too secretive for my taste. His coolness is highly provoking. I cordially dislike him, and I am aware that he is not very fond of me; but I have the utmost confidence in his judgment, although this man of mystery is too much of an autocratic ruler. When he speaks in the Chamber, the deputies listen to him in religious silence, and he is the Minister who is questioned least. He has succeeded in making it generally understood that he does the right thing, in his own way, and that he must be left alone. He guides the destiny of the country, and he is--almost--the only one to know when France is on the brink of war.... But I cannot deny that he is a born diplomatist. Had Talleyrand or Metternich brought him up he would no doubt be rather more refined in manner and method, and have learned a little more subtlety, but I do not think he would have acquired much more authority or ability."

When, in 1905, he fell, because the German Emperor, who had just been dazzling Tangiers with Imperial pomp, and making France uneasy about the Moroccan problem, demanded the resignation of the one man whom he feared in France--the one man who did not fear him--no insult was spared Delca.s.se, who had rendered so many services to the country, had worked for the development of our colonies and the improvement of our navy, and had restored France to her rightful place in European diplomacy.

Delca.s.se was now considered as a bellicose maniac who had twice humiliated the nation, at Fashoda, and in Morocco.

When, however, Delca.s.se became Minister of the Navy, his return to power was hailed with as much satisfaction as his fall. His pleasure at being back in office must have been heightened by his sense of humour, which is great.

CHAPTER VIII

THE MYSTERIOUS PEARL NECKLACE--THE DEATH OF FeLIX FAURE

President Faure, during the summer of 1898, presented me with a pearl necklace, which afterwards played such a strange part in my life that I will relate the story of the gift and of what followed, with as many details as my memory can recall, for probably the necklace, as well as the President's papers, had something to do with the mysterious tragedy of the Impa.s.se Ronsin.

On several occasions the President expressed the wish that I should accept a token of his warm friendship. He had already given me a brooch, made by Lalique, in the three French colours--a cornflower, a marguerite, and a poppy--and a comb by Lalique, which was a work of art, but so heavy that I seldom wore it. Felix Faure said one day: "Since that comb is of no use to you, you must allow me to offer you some pearls. I know a certain pearl necklace which is unique, and by purchasing it I shall be rendering a friend a very great service. You must promise to accept it, if only for that reason!"

The President gave me no further information about the necklace or his friend. Two or three days afterwards I was dining at the Elysee. Bonnat was among the President's guests, also M. Le Gall, "general secretary of the Elysee," and Major Lamy, a distinguished officer who was about to start on a dangerous mission in Africa. After dinner, I sang a number of songs, accompanying myself at the piano. Whilst turning the pages of the music, Felix Faure again mentioned the "surprise" he had in store for me. The next day, Major Lamy, whom I knew well, and who had often called on me, came to bid me good-bye. He was leaving France.... He carried a large bouquet, which he said the President begged me to accept. I undid the white wrapper, and found, amongst the orchids, a green jewel-case lined with white satin, and containing a large gold box. I had some trouble in unfastening the lid, and when at last it came open, the "surprise" fell on the floor; it was a marvellous necklace of five rows of pearls.

After Lamy had gone I wrote to the President that I could on no account accept such a sumptuous gift, and although the next day, when I called on him at the Elysee, he beseeched me with almost painful insistence to keep the pearls, I said I would return the necklace on my next visit to the Elysee.

Two days later the President sent for me. He was pale and perturbed, and restlessly paced his study.... It was clear that he had something of the highest importance to tell me, but could not make up his mind to speak.

At last he began: "I am more distressed than you can imagine,...

Something dreadful has happened.... It is about that necklace. I bought it from a friend, a man of the highest rank. I wished to help him out of a difficulty, and now I hear that, against my will, I am mixed up in a scandal which, if it were disclosed, would utterly ruin me.... I should have instantly to resign and even to leave the country. It is a most complicated and unheard-of affair. And yet, I bought the pearls to oblige that friend, who, of course, was no more aware than myself of the sudden complications which have arisen. He has been deceived... and I am lost if anything leaks out. I can tell you nothing more. I have not the right to discuss this terrible affair. No one must even know of it.... I entreat you to keep the necklace in your house. No one can ever suspect that you possess it. But you must not wear it at present, or show it to any one.... Has any of your friends or a member of your family seen it?"

"No... for as you know, I decided to return it to you; I could not wear it; it is too valuable. People would wonder where it came from....

Besides, there are not many such necklaces in the world. The pearls are so perfect and large...."

"Has any one asked you any questions?"

"Yes.... After a dinner yesterday, M. B., the Attorney-General, asked me casually if it were true that 'I had been presented with a 20,000 necklace.'... The figure startled me, also the fact that M. B. should have heard about the pearls. But I replied that I was not young enough to listen to fairy tales, and the Attorney-General remarked: 'I thought the tale was not true.'... And now," I added, "I shall drive home and return the pearls to you. I intended to do so in any case, but after what you have just told me, it is impossible for me to keep them an hour longer. I only wish I had brought them with me."

Felix Faure turned ghastly pale: "Do you wish to ruin me? Must I be dragged into a scandal that may lead to calamities such as I cannot even bear to think of? I beseech you to keep them. You risk absolutely nothing. When I am no longer President things may alter in time, and I may find a way out of the difficulty.... The pearls are yours, keep them, but if you ever wish to get rid of them, sell them one by one...."

"You frighten me.... Can I not know the story of the necklace?"

"It is impossible. Don't ask me any questions...."

I was angry. I longed to know the truth. I wanted to know who had laid a trap for the President and his friend "of the highest rank." I suggested that the necklace had belonged to some lady, who, in need of a large sum of money, had sold it, and that her husband, an important personage, noticing the disappearance of the pearls had threatened to make a scandal....

The President smiled bitterly...: "Would that that were the truth! For in that case, I should have at once told you everything, asked you for the pearls, and returned them to the lady.... And you would have allowed me to replace the necklace by some other jewel.... No, alas, it is not that. The friend in question is a man.... And the secret is his more than it is mine."

"Perhaps," I went on, "the necklace was stolen! The important personage, your friend, acquired it without knowing that. Then he gambled, lost heavily, and sold the pearls to you? Perhaps they are blackmailing him...!"

"No, no.... In that case, too, the simplest thing would be to hand back the pearls...."

"Is it a royal jewel?" I asked. "Would the scandal be a diplomatic one?..."

Felix Faure replied: "You are utterly wrong, and I swear that I cannot, must not, tell you the truth.... I am a man of the world and ever since I discovered what I did, I have been looking for a way out of this unspeakable catastrophe that threatens my friend, myself, and... others, perhaps others, if the story of the necklace becomes known. There is but one way of avoiding all trouble, you must keep these pearls."

"And if I refuse?"

The President looked me straight in the eyes. His lips were trembling and his face was distorted. "For G.o.d's sake, don't do that!" he said.

His distress was so evident that I ceased to question him. For an hour I tried to forget the necklace, and I sorted various papers that might be useful for the "Memoirs." Before leaving the Elysee, however, I could not refrain from talking once more about the pearls.

"I cannot solve this problem, and it irritates me beyond expression. I know you are incapable of anything dishonest, and I am sure you would never drag me into anything that might harm me. Still, why could you not entrust the necklace to some one else?"

"Because I trust no one else as much as I do you."

"Why not hide it here?"

"It might be found."

"Why not destroy it, bury it, throw it in the Seine?"...

"I might be seen. Any one doing such a thing might be seen. Besides, why throw away a small fortune, when in a few months' time the storm may have blown over, matters may have been adjusted in some miraculous way, and you can wear the necklace, or sell it. I have paid for it; it is yours now. There is nothing irregular.... Only, it so happened that there would be a great scandal--even something worse than scandal--if it were known that I, President of the Republic, and the 'personage' I have told you of, were concerned in this necklace affair, though only in a perfectly innocent manner. And now, I beg you, do please let the pearls rest in safety in your house, and if you can, never mention them to me again until I am able to tell you that all danger is over."

All this was spoken with such earnestness and gravity that I gave up trying to solve the mystery... that day.

Many and many a time afterwards, I asked the President if he would take the necklace from me. I told him what anxiety it caused me, not so much on account of its value as because of the mystery attached to it.... But his reply was ever the same: "Forget that necklace. It is yours. If you have any friendship for me, don't speak to me about it.... You run no risks whatever.... All will soon be well...."

Shortly after the President's death I found out that that was not so.

During the morning of February 16th, 1899, M. Le Gall, "general secretary" at the Elysee, telephoned to me to say that the President was most anxious to see me. I replied that I would call the next day, because I was not very well, and, besides, I had promised Bonnat to sit for my portrait, during the afternoon. Bonnat had given up all his appointments in order to get on with the portrait which, owing to my illness, had not been touched for many weeks. I did not intend to call at the Elysee afterwards, because sitting to a painter is rather fatiguing, especially when one has only just recovered from a serious illness.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GOLD BOX IN WHICH PRESIDENT FAURE SENT ME THE PEARL NECKLACE]

I lunched at home. Just as I was about to sit at the table the telephone bell rang, and I was told that the President himself wished to speak to me. Would I kindly hang on? A few seconds after I heard the voice of Felix Faure: "I must see you at all costs to-day; I wish to hand you something.... I don't feel quite myself.... By the way, I have noticed, these past few days, that you were quite right in your suspicions. Some one has been rummaging amongst my private papers. It is essential that you should fetch those I have had to write without you lately."

He stopped to catch his breath, and then continued: "I thought you looked very pale when you last came here.... But if you can manage to sit for your portrait at Bonnat's, you ought to try to give me a few minutes."

I replied: "If I don't feel too tired I will come, just for a moment, to take the papers you talk about and to beseech you to look more seriously after your health. You, too, looked quite out of sorts at the Elysee...."

His voice was different from his usual voice; it was weak, lacked clearness. I told him so, and he remarked: "You are right; this _affaire_ is killing me. I have more enemies than ever before, and then, during your absence, I have lived too well, perhaps...."

He seemed to hesitate, and finally repeated: "Do come this afternoon, I entreat you...."