After lunch I went to Bonnat. During the afternoon the telephone bell rang, and I was told that the President absolutely insisted that I should call on him soon without fail.... I am sure he must have been at the Elysee at the time, and I cannot see, therefore, how the President could have become suddenly ill at the house of a friend, that afternoon, and have been hurriedly driven back to the Elysee in a landau, as certain papers declared afterwards. At any rate, if Felix Faure went out that afternoon, he never told me, when I met him....

After the sitting I felt tired, and made up my mind not to go to the Elysee. Outside, however, I remembered the insistence of the President and drove to the Palace. I entered by the door in the Rue du Colisee. I saw the President standing at the open window near the little waiting-room. Blondel, his private secretary, was with him. I was very much struck by the President's pallor. It was not dark yet; it must have been about five o'clock.

As soon as I entered, he said to me, whilst Blondel politely withdrew: "There is something wrong with me. Ah! why have you not been around me all these days? I have lost control of myself.... I am so tired of all these intrigues and hopeless complications in the Dreyfus case. I have tried to forget my worries, and have been taking a great deal of that drug... which I ought never to touch. I have done so even this afternoon."

He seemed to conceal something from me, probably a visit which he dared not confess to me.

The blue _pet.i.t salon_, where he usually received me, and where we always wrote his memoirs, was in the hands of the decorators. So he took me to a room where I had never been before, close to M. Le Gall's study.

To my great surprise, M. Le Gall was not in, but the faithful Blondel was sitting in the study. The door leading to it was open, for the President complained that he could not breathe easily, and wanted as much air as possible. I was not too alarmed, for, though unusually pale, the President did not look worse than I had seen him look on other occasions, a few hours after he had been indulging in that favourite--and dangerous--drug of his.

"I really must look after my health," he said, "and give up this 'poison.'... And then, I must try to be fit for the great ball we are so soon to have here."

I asked him how he had used his time that day, and he told me that he had received a few important personages... and also a lady friend who had done her utmost to influence him in regard to the Dreyfus affair. I knew her well, and the President had told me more than once that this lady was most anxious that her husband should become a Minister.

Suddenly the President exclaimed: "I am stifling.... I feel dizzy." I called Blondel. After a while the President said: "It will be all right.... I shall be all right in a minute."

Blondel and I helped him to walk to the door of his study. The President looked a little better now. Turning to me he said: "The trouble is over; I am going to rest a little.... I'll take no more of that wretched drug, I promise you--I swear it.... Make yourself beautiful for the ball; I have sent you the tickets you asked for. I'll telephone to you to-morrow morning. Promise me to come to-morrow morning to the Bois with Marthe if the weather is as splendid as it is to-day." Then, seeing I was not carrying the bundle of doc.u.ments he had asked me to take home, he added: "Don't forget the parcel... _au revoir_...."

Thereupon he entered his study, una.s.sisted.

I walked to the little waiting-room with Blondel and took the parcel of papers. Blondel accompanied me to the door. But as I did not wish the President to remain alone on account of his ill-health, and because M.

Le Gall was not there, I said to Blondel: "Don't trouble to let me out.

I will leave the Elysee by the main door. Please hurry back to the President, for he seems far from well. It would be wise, perhaps, to send for a doctor...."

I left the Palace by the main gate in the Rue Saint Honore. As soon as I was outside I realised that I was being shadowed as I had been so often before. But my faithful "agent" was there. I walked along the Avenue Marigny, reached the Champs Elysee, and called a _fiacre_. It was about six o'clock when I reached the Impa.s.se Ronsin.

Towards midnight (I had been in bed for some time), I was awakened by the bell of the telephone in my room. It was M. Bordelongue, a director in the Ministry of _Postes et Telegraphes_, and an old friend.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

And then I heard the news, the dreadful news: "The President is dead."

I could not believe what I heard. "It's impossible," I exclaimed. "I saw him to-day. He was tired, weak, upset, but there seemed to be nothing particularly wrong with his health." I asked Bordelongue all kinds of questions, but he merely replied: "Nothing is known. They say the President died of an apoplectic stroke."

The next morning at six o'clock I was told that my faithful "agent"

wished to see me on a matter of importance. This "agent" did not belong to the _Surete_, or to the Ministry of the Interior, but was a private detective who had been specially selected and appointed by Felix Faure to keep guard over me wherever I went, and see that no harm befell me.

(It should be remembered that during the Dreyfus affair Paris was in such a state of blind excitement and mad pa.s.sion that in order to know the doings of certain persons, detectives were everywhere engaged.

Indeed, before Felix Faure's mysterious death, France lived in conditions which reminded one to some extent of those that prevailed in Venice in the dreaded days of the Council of Ten.)

I guessed what the man came about, so I hastily dressed and met him.

"Ah! Madame, I see you know the news.... There's some mystery in the President's death. They say he died of congestion of the brain, but I hear his agony lasted several hours. Madame Faure and her daughter only came at the last moment.... I am myself being shadowed, and it will be better if I do not call again.... But you know my address and if at any time I can be of some use to you I beseech you to apply to me."

The man was deeply moved, and so was I. I had lost my best friend; he had lost a good master.... I never saw him again except on one occasion.

That was ten years later, a few days after the murder of my husband and my mother. I was lying dangerously ill in bed at Count d'Arlon's house, when a card was brought to me with a name which I did not know, and I was about to refuse to see the person who had sent up the card when I recognised the handwriting of a few hastily scribbled words which begged me to receive the writer. The "agent" of Felix Faure's days entered my room, but I almost failed to recognise him, so cleverly had he disguised himself.

"Forgive me for intruding, Madame," he muttered, "but I thought it was my duty to tell you this. As soon as you are well enough to travel, leave Paris. Go anywhere in the country and try to forget the awful tragedy. At any rate, move not a finger, whatever happens. Somehow, I think the murderers will never be found. I daresay you will have no peace until they are arrested. But I beseech you to do nothing... for, whatever you may do, those who killed your mother and your husband will not be arrested. The death of M. Steinheil and Mme. j.a.py will remain as mysterious as that of President Faure."

CHAPTER IX

AFTER PRESIDENT FAURE'S DEATH: THE DOc.u.mENTS--THE NECKLACE

I had been seriously ill for six weeks and had only just recovered when the death of Felix Faure occurred. The shock caused a relapse, and I was unable to attend the President's funeral, which took place on Thursday, February 23rd.

I had lost a great friend, and France a great patriot. It was said that President Faure was a lighthearted optimist, that he had no control worth speaking of over the various political parties striving around him, and finally that he was a mere figure-head, a chief of State, but not a statesman--an ornamental President rather than a man of great ideas or a man of action.

It cannot be denied that Felix Faure was astoundingly fortunate and that when he saw that things always "went well" with him, he became almost irritatingly self-confident and was perhaps inclined to be fastidious in the performance of his Presidential duties. He loved pageantry, and he revelled in the pomp and circ.u.mstance of his office, especially when he came in close contest with a King or an Emperor. He looked the part of "The First Magistrate of the Country" to perfection, being tall, handsome, refined in manner, and dignified to the verge of aloofness.

But he had many worthy qualities: he was endowed with much common sense--a quality which too many lacked in France during the time of the _Affaire Dreyfus_--and he was an ardent--a zealous, patriot. He had a rare gift of sympathy, and there can be no doubt that he considerably increased the prestige of France during his Presidency, in spite of his inexplicable att.i.tude in the Dreyfus affair, in spite of the Fashoda humiliation, and in spite of Zola's letter, "I accuse," and the fierce attacks of Clemenceau, Reinach, Jaures, and many others. He had more enemies than any President ever had, including Decla.s.se, himself another staunch Dreyfusard, in whose talents as a diplomatist he had such confidence. Felix Faure had bitter enemies not only in the Cabinets which succeeded one another with such "eloquent" rapidity during his Presidency, but even in his own _entourage_ at the Elysee.

[Ill.u.s.tration: INVITATION TO THE FELIX FAURE "IN MEMORIAM" SERVICE]

He loved the army. He had fought bravely during the war with Germany; he believed in the absolute righteousness of the court-martial which tried Dreyfus, and he did his utmost to prevent a "Revision" of the trial. He was a downright honest and sincere man, and believed he was working for the greatness of the country he loved so ardently.

Human malignity knows no limit or pity. Less than twenty-four hours after the death of the President, a number of newspapers coolly suggested that Felix Faure had been poisoned by a certain Protestant friend of his, a Mme. S. Others said by an actress whose name began with S, and others by a Jewish lady. But they mostly pointed to me as the murderess of Felix Faure, although in very cautious and veiled terms, and without ever giving my name. I had called at the Elysee during the afternoon of February 16th. The whole tragedy seemed quite clear... to certain people. I had been appointed by some secret committee of Dreyfusards, on account of the President's sympathy for me, to "suppress" the man who was supposed to be the great stumbling block in the way of the "Revision." Being ill and worn, I had no inclination to read the newspapers during those days, and might always have ignored those shameless rumours, but hundreds of kind souls sent me the cuttings containing the venomous allusions, and at the same time, shoals of anonymous letters reached me, in which a.s.sa.s.sin, poisoner, Lucretia, and Brinvilliers were perhaps the least cruel and offensive epithets hurled at me. Certain writers declared that if I had not killed the President, at least I knew when he died and who had killed him, and that dire calamities would befall me unless I revealed the name. A few letters mentioned the papers of Felix Faure, and said that if I knew where they were and could obtain possession of them, I ought to publish them, because their publication would serve the purposes of the Anti-Dreyfusards to which party I no doubt belonged, since my great friend the President had never shown any sympathy with the champions of the "traitor." Other letters entreated me to serve the Dreyfusards by burning such doc.u.ments as might compromise their cause, whilst others, also originating from Dreyfusards, suggested that I should hand the papers to "So-and-so," who would examine them and decide which ought to be published.... And each letter ended with vile threats if I did not follow the anonymous writer's advice!...

In those painful hours, the trust and sympathy of a number of friends, Bonnat the chief amongst them, helped me to overcome the shame which oppressed me. I received tactful messages of sincere sympathy from hundreds of persons who had been revolted by this infamous press campaign. There also came a charming letter from Mlle. Lucie Faure, to whom I had sent my condolences on the death of her beloved father, at the same time promising to a.s.sist her, as in the past, in her charitable works, especially the "Fraternal Legion of the Children of France."

But all these messages of sympathy did not put an end to the insinuations in certain journals. The very horror of them gave me strength. I forgot my physical sufferings and went from one magistrate to another among my acquaintances. All told me that since my name was not mentioned it would be impossible to prosecute the offending papers, and that since the letters I received were anonymous, and written either in capitals or with the left hand, it would be most difficult to trace those who had sent them to me. True, one newspaper had mentioned the "wife of a painter," but there were scores of married painters whose name began with the letter S. The only wise policy was for me to ignore all insults and threats. The absurd rumours would soon die out, and the anonymous letters would soon cease to reach me. Besides it was, all of it, simply an indirect result of the Dreyfus agitation which aroused the worst pa.s.sions and caused some men to stop at nothing.

I consulted M. P., a "State Councillor," and an old friend of mine about the doc.u.ments. Should I keep them, send them to Mme. Faure, or destroy them?

M. P. hesitated, and at last replied: "If the papers were in my possession and had been entrusted to me by the late President, I do not think I should venture to destroy them. They might be useful.... But I should certainly hide them in a safe place at home.... By the way, who, besides me, knows that you wrote those memoirs with the President, and that they are in your possession?"

"It is difficult to answer. There are a few persons who saw Felix Faure writing with me at the Elysee, and on a few occasions I have been followed when leaving the Palace with a bundle of papers under my arm...."

"Evidently some indiscretion has been committed. But I should not take any notice. The President was perfectly free to write the more or less 'secret' story of the Third Republic, and with whomsoever he chose. He was at liberty to entrust those papers to your care or to give them to you, and you are fully ent.i.tled to keep them.... At any rate, I should keep them if I were you."

The next morning my valet came to say that M. Blondel (Felix Faure's private secretary) wished to see me. I had just received a further batch of anonymous letters and felt greatly depressed. M. Blondel, who had been so devoted to the President and so kind to me, tried to calm me, and then said: "Let me tell you what happened after your departure from the Elysee on the fatal day, and give the President's final message to you.... The President sat in his study and felt much better. I sent, however, as I had promised you, for a doctor.... There was one at the Elysee. He came, and found the President very weak, but not, he thought, in any danger. After the doctor had left the room, the President, to my intense surprise, said: 'If I feel worse, or if, as Dr. Potain has often warned me, I die suddenly, I want you to see that the talisman, which she gave me and which I always wear, be handed back to Mme.

Steinheil.' Shortly afterwards he began to feel bad again, and a priest was sent for. It was then about seven o'clock, I think. After he had received the priest he handed me the talisman and whispered: 'I think I am lost.... Let all those who cared for me forgive my enemies as I forgive them myself....' Other doctors came; then Mme. Faure and her daughters.... Forgive me if I give you no more details. It would be too painful for you--and for me."

I had designed the talisman myself at the request of Felix Faure. It was a gold locket bearing the initials F. F. upon a diamond anchor, and was set with tiny pearls, rubies and sapphires to recall the tricolour. The word engraved upon the anchor, a friendly term, was in Russian, because the President liked everything that recalled his visit to St. Petersburg and the Alliance with Russia.

Having placed the locket in a drawer, I returned to M. Blondel and said: "Tell me the truth. You know what tragic rumours were abroad in Paris like wild-fire, soon after the death of the President. How is it then, that, if there was any suspicion of foul play, there was no autopsy? The _Journal Officiel_ said: 'The President of the Republic died yesterday at 10 P.M., struck down with _apoplexie foudroyante_.' How could you reconcile that official statement of sudden death with what you have just told me; at seven o'clock the President already thought himself dying and sent for a priest. Why was there no autopsy?..."

"Because it was the wish of Mme. Faure, and the Premier himself agreed."

M. Blondel was deeply moved, and I shared his emotion. I realised that he could not say anything more, or had nothing more to say.... And we parted....

The mystery of Felix Faure's death thus remained unsolved. I have more than once tried to solve it, but in vain. My opinion, however, is this: The President, as he himself admitted on the last time I saw him, had taken, or was given, that afternoon, and long before my flying visit to him, a large dose of his dangerous "remedy." He had often been warned that it might one day prove fatal--and it did.

It is a terrible thing to have to say, but when, a few months after the murder of my husband and my mother, I was arrested and imprisoned, the infamous accusations against me concerning the President's death were again circulated. When my counsel told me so I insisted upon a full inquiry into the matter, and M. Albanel, the judge, was appointed.... He made the fullest possible investigations and, I need hardly add, I was completely exonerated.