The plenipotentiaries looked at one another. Germany took the floor first to say that the French request seemed just to him. He was followed by the unanimity of the members of the tribunal, save for the envoy from Tierra de Fuego, whose consultation was renounced in view of the difficulties of communication occasioned by his mother tongue.
An interlocutory injunction was therefore drafted, which called for the nomination of expert chemists, physicians, naturalists and physicists of all nations, with a mission to examine the martial equipment of Haricot VII in situ. A subsequent article ordered Captain Sylphe to maintain the state of provisional death until the pronunciation of a definitive sentence.
XI
In Paris, news spreads with a rapidity akin to instantaneity. From the place where it is produced, the slightest fact runs along the streets, follows the sidewalks, traverses the public squares and the gardens, climbs the stairways, hangs on to the narrowest balconies, traveling from mouth to mouth, and arrives immediately in the remotest corners in the depths of the most obscure outlying districts.
As often as not, that hectic course exaggerates it or diminishes it, always transforming it and causing it to appear under very different aspects.
Thus, in certain quarters, the decision of the arbitration tribunal was proclaimed as having restored all of Captain Sylphe’s rights, while in some others, the rumor ran around that he had just been murdered.
It was scarcely two hours later when Herman Coffre, installed in Henri Verbuis’ study, learned the news, which was communicated to him before the official statement had even been drafted. It caused him a veritable crisis of rage, and after having proffered terrible threats, he had himself driven home.
He took an enormous revolver from his desk and, without having himself announced, headed for his wife’s apartment.
As he expected, he found Captain Sylphe there. Madame Coffre was at his knees. The disorder in their respective clothing indicated well enough the siesta à deux in which they had just been engaged.
Madame Coffre got up in order to gain a height advantage over her husband. “What is the meaning of this loutish behavior, Monsieur? Since when have you had the right to penetrate my rooms without asking me whether I will receive you? Leave me alone, please!”
Hermann Coffre carefully took out the revolver that he had placed in the pocket of his frock-coat, aimed the barrel at Captain Sylphe, and said, coldly: “Get dressed.”
“But…,” the captain stammered.
“You’re behaving like a bandit!” snapped the tender Emma.
“Get dressed!” repeated Hermann Coffre, his finger on the trigger of his weapon.
The captain put on his boots, adjusted his braces and put on his dolman, which he buttoned slowly, attached his saber to his side and, with a movement of provocative dignity, put on his kepi, not forgetting to pay attention to the position of the Saumur label.
He took a step toward the armchair on which his dust-cover was lying. Hermann Coffre stopped him: “Leave it there!”
“But that’s my dust-cover, my garment of provisional death,” Alexandre Sylphe explained.
“I know,” said Herman Coffre. “You’re going out without it.”
“You want to make me violate the treaties? That’s a casus belli against France.”
“I know. Go on! Get out! I’ll follow you, and I advise you to do as I say. At the slightest sign of disobedience, I’ll blow your brains out!”
Emma attempted to intervene, but, confronted by her husband’s inflexible attitude, she limited herself to bursting into tears.
Captain Sylphe walked ahead of Hermann Coffre, who followed in his footsteps with a tranquil expression, with his right hand, holding the revolver, hidden under his frock-coat.
The concierge bowed so respectfully that he did not even notice Captain Sylphe’s costume.
In the Place Vendôme, Monsieur Coffre hailed a fiacre, opened the door himself and got into it with Alexandre Sylphe, after having said to the coachman: “To the Ministry of Foreign Affairs! Stop at the main gate.”
In the carriage, the revolver still threatening, Herman Coffre did not say a word.
The vehicle went alone the Rue de Rivoli, traversed the Place and Pont de la Concorde and came to a halt at the sidewalk on which a numerous crowd was standing, attracted by the desire to see the emergence of the diplomats.
In the middle of one group, Louis Méripal was talking, with animated gestures.
Without knowing what his furious guide wanted, Alexandre Sylphe got ready to get out.
“No, not yet,” said Hermann Coffre.
“But what do you want of me?” demanded the captain, with a slight tremor in his voice.
“To obey,” said the banker, laconically.
Half an hour went by. The idlers were still cluttering the sidewalk; the group in the middle of which Méripal was perorating had drawn closer to the carriage.
Suddenly, there was a stir in the crowd, whose members turned toward the gate. A few cries were uttered here and there. Policemen formed a hedge to protect the exit of the diplomats.
“Get out!” ordered Hermann Coffre, dryly.
The immediate proximity of a loaded revolver produced an effect on Captain Sylphe as powerful as it was disagreeable; the order did not have to be repeated. Jumping out of the vehicle, he collided violently with Louis Méripal, while Herman Coffre ordered his coachman to drive away at top sped.
The sight of a military uniform was to the revolutionary socialist député what the color red is to a bull. Believing at first that it was an attack, he struck the officer a formidable blow with his fist.
“Please! Please!” was the unfortunate man’s only riposte. “I’m Captain Sylphe!”
“Captain Sylphe? The provisional dead man?” queried Méripal, recoiling instinctively.
Repeated by hundreds of mouths, that name and those words greeted the members of the arbitration tribunal as they appeared on the perron. Surprised, they stopped, searching for the meaning of that unusual manifestation.
In the crowd, two opposed currents had instantly formed, one in favor of Captain Sylphe, the other against him. His partisans, thinking that the challenge that he had come in person to throw down to the judges who had condemned him was very brave, took hold of him in order to carry him in triumph. His adversaries, with Méripal at the head, felt it their duty to abuse him loudly.
The diplomats went back into the conference room to deliberate on the action to take in the face of such an assault on human rights. They appointed a delegation who went to Henri Verbuis in order to obtain official information regarding the identity of the captain of cuirassiers whose name the crowd was howling all along the quay.
The Minister of Foreign Affairs did not want to submit France to the humiliation of an excessively dilatory response. He simply asked the representatives of the foreign Powers to wait for an hour or two, the time materially indispensable to obtain exact information.
That evening, after having telegraphed their respective governments of the forfeiture committed by France in the person of Captain Sylphe, who had not hesitated to show himself devoid of his uniform of a provisional dead man, not only in public but in the midst of a provocative demonstration, the ambassadors officially quit Paris.
XII
From the twelfth day of November onwards, to the great detriment of people afflicted with rheumatism who persist in wanting to get up early, the sun becomes extremely idle. It hesitates for a long time before passing the portal that the rosy fingers of dawn open up to it. Doubtless fearing to shed light events as frightful as those that were about to have France as a theater, it did not show itself to Paris on the day after the departure of the ordinary and extraordinary ambassadors.
The indescribable action of Captain Sylphe was equivalent, in fact, to a universal declaration of war, a manifest violation of treaties that could not leave any nation indifferent.
At eight o’clock the following morning, after half a da
y of perfectly understandable panic, the Government, holding in its elbows around the table presided over by Petitpaon, considered the situation.
The unanimity of the Council was in accord to declare that France was in a peril that necessitated the mass enlistment of all valid men.
“We’ll enlist them all in a single corps,” the assembly of ministers concluded, as they quit their seats.
“France is counting on you!” declared Bernard Petitpaon, standing up in his turn.
General Croppeton and Admiral Théhyx nearly came to blows in wanting to prove the superiority of the land army over the naval forces and the superiority of the naval forces over the land army.
Henri Verbuis put the question of allies on the table and recalled that war is only the opportunity sought by every country to cause its politics to triumph. The reasons of an economic order capable on ensuring the fidelity of engagements made by certain nations in respect of France were carefully weighed.
“Russia will march with us,” explained the Minister of Finance, “because if we were defeated, the debt of fifteen billion that they owe us would pass into other hands, and the Russians know how difficult it would be for them to find people as amiable to their debtors as the French.”
“The Tsar has always shown his gratitude for our good offices,” declared Henri Verbuis.
“We’re going to test the value of his amity!” snapped Phosphène.
“The sympathy of England in our regard won’t be belied at this moment, when we enjoy several linked concerns,” Henri Verbuis continued.
“I like those people, who don’t get carried away and act immutably in their own best interests,” Phosphène added. “As those interests are always easy to determine, with the English, one always knows exactly how things stand.”
“In sum, which are the nations that will have the honor of finding themselves face to face with France?” asked Bernard Petitpaon.
“The big cheese is obviously Germany,” declared General Croppeton. “All the bigger because she won’t be alone.”
“I fear, in fact, to see Austria at her side!” Henri Verbuis opined.
“And Italy? And Spain? And Greece?” queried Pierre Phosphène, making a list of States that did credit to his geographico-political knowledge.
“It’s very difficult to say,” explained the Minister of Foreign Affairs. “Everything depends on what happens at the beginning of the campaign. Many nations resemble, in fact, those individuals who put themselves, by definition and with a perfect regularity, on the stronger side.”
“We’ll begin by striking a great blow!” affirmed Croppeton.
“We ought to wait for the declaration of war,” counseled Charles Miraudel.
“There’s no need,” Croppeton went on. “We’ve violated the faith of the treaties. That justifies any attacks directed against us by our enemies.”
“Captain Sylphe’s action was an act of madness. A madman isn’t responsible for his actions,” Miraudel objected.
“That’s the very reason that renders France responsible instead of the Captain,” Admirable Théhyx put on.
“Captain Sylphe has been apprehended, naturally. After having interrogated him myself, I’ve had him locked up in a military prison,” said General Croppeton. “A decision will be made in his regard later. Thus far, he hasn’t said what motive drove him to behave in that fashion. We’re lost in conjectures...”
He would have continued if Bernard Petitpaon had not cut him off. “There’s no point in discussing facts of which we have no knowledge! It’s a matter of defending ourselves, not philosophizing. I think it would be useful to study the coefficients attributed to each country and calculate the number of soldiers they can put into the field...”
General Croppeton took a large sheet of paper covered with figures out of his portfolio. He reminded them that the coefficient varied between zero and ten, and then read out, commencing with the land armies:
“France and Germany, ten for the dead and also for the wounded.
“England, Austria-Hungary, Russia, the United States and Japan, eight and a half for the dead and seven for the wounded.
“Italy and Spain, five for the dead and six and a half for the wounded.
“Greece, four and a third for the dead, five and a half for the wounded.
“Turkey, Sweden and Holland, four for the dead and three for the wounded.”
The coefficient descended toward zero, passing through the South American republics, Bulgaria, China, Serbia, the principality of Monaco and the sovereign states of Central Africa. The kingdom of Haricot VII occupied one of the last places, with one nine-hundredth for the dead and one two-hundredths for the wounded.
At sea, England occupied the top place with ten all along the line; then came, on a footing of complete equality, Germany and France. After that there were the United States, Italy and Japan, followed by Russia, after which followed, successively, Spain, Turkey, Holland and Greece. Several powers, not possessing any ship capable of transforming its commercial habits into more bellicose operations, were absent from the list.
The calculations to which the general staffs of the Ministries of War and Marine had devoted themselves established that France, supported by Russia and England, could battle on fairly equal terms against a coalition formed by Germany, Austro-Hungary and two second order Powers selected at random from the world map.
That observation extracted from the depths of Bernard Petitpaon’s lungs a “Vive la France!” of such beautiful sonority that the chorus of ministers, in repeating it, seemed no more than a dissonant echo.
The President of the Republic announced that, given the gravity of the situation, he had thought it his duty to draft a Message. He handed one copy to General Croppeton and another to Arthème Flopinte, those being the two ministers by means of whose mouths the document would be communicated to the Chambre des Députés and the Senate. And, sticking out his chest and holding his shoulders back, Bernard Petitpaon gave a model reading of his Message.
In rhythmic, almost musical prose, visibly written to give full value to the voice, the President asked of the patriotism of all citizens the deployment of the most energetic zeal.
He recalled that France would not have lived though the days that had put an unbreakable crown of glory on her head had she not found herself face to face with Europe.
He promised the heroes harvests of laurels—the laurels blooming in the fields of Bellona, which, thanks to him, Bernard Petitpaon, returned eternally green under the total exemption of spilled blood.
After an ultimate plea to everyone’s civil and military duties. Bernard Petitpaon had added a final full stop, preceded by his autograph signature.
Multiple and patriotic handshakes were exchanged. The ministers divided into two groups. One, which had General Croppeton at its head, headed for the Chambre des Députés; the other, under the command of the Garde des Sceaux, Arthème Flopinte, supported by Admiral Théhyx, went to the Senate.
The two Assemblies, their members in formal dress, all girdled by their sashes, were awaiting events in a state of nervousness near to overexcitement.
Either because their average age was younger, or because they were determined to pronounce, during the four years of their legislature, as many words as the senators in the nine years that their own lasted, or because their greater number incited them to noisier competition, the députés brought an unprecedented din to the Palais Bourbon, even in proportion to the Luxembourg.
Bernard Petitpaon’s Message was welcomed by the Upper Assembly with a deference full of nobility and dignity.
A specialist in military questions asked Admiral Théhyx for a few clarifications of a technical nature.
The Admiral, after having deplored the fact that France was not ranked at the summit of the scale of naval Powers, explained the probable consequences of various foreign military stocks. As one senator did not understand the mechanism of coefficients, the Grandmaster of the Marine rendered it m
ore palpable by taking examples; he asked his interlocutor to stand in, momentarily and successively, for representative of the most relevant nationalities, while he would retain the identity of the French himself.
“If you’re German, we meet, in ordinary conditions and equivalent positions; there are equal numbers of dead and wounded on either side. But if you’re English, Austro-Hungarian, Russian, Japanese or North American, there has to be ten of you to kill eight and a half Frenchmen or to wound seven of them.”
“I get it,” said the senator, following the table. “And if I were Italian or Spanish, there would need to be two of me to kill you and ten of me to wound six and a half Frenchmen.”
“Exactly,” approved Admiral Théhyx, to the applause of the Assembly.
“But what about the fractions?” asked the curious senator. “There was one of those in the war against Haricot VII, and it caused insoluble difficulties...”
“Insoluble? No! Nothing is insoluble in international matters. I would only ask the Senate not to forget that the addition of fractions always ends up forming a unity and that, in any case, if there are any at the end of a campaign, there can never be more than one fractionally dead or wounded man.”
These explanations, followed by a few patriotic words, were deemed more than satisfactory by the near-unanimity of the Upper Assembly, which declared itself permanently is session in order to follow the menacing march of events step by step.
In the Chambre, the cries, invectives and thumbing of lecterns were in full flow when General Croppeton made his entrance to the hemicycle. The gestures commenced were not concluded; the most vehement insults died in the ardent throats of those proffering them.
In the midst of the sudden silence, before the immobility of députés changed into statues, General Croppeton climbed the steps of the podium, opened his portfolio and, by way of collecting himself, introduced his beard and moustache into his mouth several times. Having definitively spat them out again, he announced the reading of the Presidential Message.
The sentences cleverly orchestrated by Bernard Petitpaon lost their ring and their color; there was a formless sequence of words that only arrived very vaguely at the ears of those for whom they were intended. Nevertheless, the representatives of the people suspected the beauties hidden in the Presidential Message and applauded as if to break their hands.
The Petitpaon Era Page 14