France from Behind the Veil: Fifty Years of Social and Political Life

by Princess Catherine Radziwill

One of the curious features of this lamentable Panama affair lies in the fact that the company’s money went into the coffers of people who absolutely could do nothing for it, and who got into the habit of turning to it whenever they found themselves in want of ready cash for their necessities or even for their pleasures. It has been sweepingly asserted that scarcely one politician in the whole of France, no matter to what party he belonged, but had had recourse to it in order to replenish his exchequer. There were found some deputies who, whenever they required money, managed to whisper in the ear of one or other of the many intermediaries through whom the business of corruption was going on that they were forced to make an interpellation in the Chamber concerning the management of the concern, which, of course, might bring along unpleasant consequences or revelations as to certain facts. Such an one was sure the next day of finding a cheque in one of his morning letters. Or it was a friend of some influential personage who declared that he had heard that such and such a measure was under consideration, which might prove harmful to the development of the company, or put some stumbling-block or other in its way, and that this had to be prevented at all costs. Of course he would not take anything for this, but he had to have recourse to a friend able to ward off the impending blow, and naturally that friend required to be remunerated for his work. Or again there was some necessary expense to be incurred in regard to the national defence, or to pay for some secret political services which the government in its incapacity and carelessness as to what were the real interests of France refused to undertake, partly also because it could not, without imperilling national safety, give to the Chambers the necessary explanations as to the reasons which rendered such expenses indispensable. The self-sacrifice of the company in taking upon itself such an outlay would entitle it to any reward it might care to ask in exchange, and so forth. Looking backward, it is difficult to understand the extreme naïveté which presided over every aspect of this singular adventure, and the credulity with which serious people like Charles de Lesseps, and his colleagues of the board, believed and were intimidated by all the old women’s tales that were constantly being brought to them.

It would be hard to find a name among all those which were prominent in political life at that particular moment of French history which was not mixed up somehow in the Panama scandal. At least one President and a foreign Ambassador were contaminated by the general infection that prevailed everywhere.

M. Rouvier, too, that strong character, was not free from suspicions of having looked into the coffers of the Panama Company. And what gives, to a certain extent, a shade of likelihood to the reproach which was hurled at him is the following fact, which I believe has never before been made public.

M. Rouvier had amongst his many enemies M. Flourens, then Minister for Foreign Affairs, an able, intelligent, and highly cultured man. M. Flourens did not care at all for M. Rouvier, in whom he saw a future rival, and recognised a powerful opponent. When some rumours reached his ears that things detrimental to the latter might be put forward in connection with the dealings of the Panama Company, he declared to a few personal friends that if such was the case he would not hesitate to make use of the knowledge, and to do his best to bring the delinquent to justice. The words were repeated to Rouvier, who smiled and said nothing. But somehow, a few days later, during a conversation with the same friend, to whom he had expressed his determination of being merciless in regard to his enemy, M. Flourens changed his attitude, and merely remarked that it was a great pity that sometimes outward circumstances, over which man had no control, obliged him to tolerate things that were repugnant to him, and to look through his fingers on facts which he could not disclose without harming superior interests. He then added that he had received a letter from M. Rouvier. When further questioned as to what its contents might be, he shrugged his shoulders, and replied: “C’est une lettre qui m’a désarmé, et qui aurait désarmé bien d’autres que moi.” Months later, General Tchérévine, head of the Tsar’s secret police, received anonymously the original of this very letter, and never could discover, in spite of strenuous efforts, who had sent it to him. It was a short but expressive missive, and merely declared that in case Flourens did not hush up the rumours which accused M. Rouvier of having profited by the circumstances in which the Panama Company had found itself involved, he would speak publicly concerning the bribes that had been offered to and accepted by a certain Ambassador in Paris, and state their amount.

I have reason to believe that this letter was subsequently put under the eyes of Alexander III. by Count Voronzov, at that time Minister of the Imperial Household.

This mere fact that it became possible for the Ambassador of a Foreign Power to find himself mixed up in the sordid intrigues which gave such a special colouring to the Panama affair proves how wide were its ramifications, and how it had entwined itself around every element that constituted modern France. But though many had allowed themselves to be compromised in one way or another in this disgraceful story, it would never have attained the proportions to which it ultimately rose had not the Extreme Right party done its best to fan the general indignation, and to draw public attention to every incident even of the smallest kind connected with it. The leaders of this party did not hesitate an instant before the grave responsibility of exhibiting their national disgrace in the presence of an attentive and disgusted Europe, so great was their desire of ruining their opponents and overthrowing the Republic. But in the end the Panama scandal brought more disgrace to the people who had done their best to expose it than to those who had been its immediate cause.

I was talking about it some years later with a friend of mine, a Frenchman of remarkable acuteness and singular clearness of judgment, who had been in Paris during the whole time the affair lasted, and had followed it very carefully, though not a politician himself. I asked him what impression it had really produced upon the saner elements of the French nation, who had looked upon it from the distance.

“It has consolidated the Republic,” was his prompt reply.

“How is that possible?” I inquired.

“It is easy enough to understand,” he explained to me. “Popular sympathy generally goes to the victims of a cause rather than to those who have brought them to the scaffold, be it that of public opinion or any other. In this case it was the Republic which happened to be the victim, and the so-called Monarchist or Right party who were the denouncers. They both benefited in their respective positions, but the people, who generally judge of things according to their own standards, asked themselves what was the object that was sought by the disclosures.