The Son of Clemenceau, A Novel of Modern Love and LifeDumas, Alexandre
General
The Son of Clemenceau, A Novel of Modern Love and Life
Dumas, Alexandre
Fiction
"I do not use them myself," remarked Clemenceau, dryly.
"But he adds--look here!" continued the worthy Man from Marseilles,
regretfully, "that what you managed to perform with your model and
material, specially prepared by yourself, could not be attained on the
proper scale in a war campaign. He goes on to say that the scientific
world await the explanation of the means to obtain such power as,
heretofore, the pressure of liquefied gases has been but some five
hundred pounds to the square inch, about a tenth of that of explosives
now used. It is admitted, however, that there may be something in your
increase of effectiveness by reiterated emissions--" He began to
stammer, as if he were speaking too glibly, but his auditor took no
alarm. "He continues that, up to this day, gases have failed as
propelling powers from their instantaneous explosions."
"The writer is correct," said Clemenceau, a little warmed, "or, rather,
he had foundation for his criticism when he wrote. The powerful agent
was not perfectly controllable at the period of my last official
experiments, but that is not the case at present. This enormous, almost
incalculable power is so perfectly under my thumb, monsieur, that not
only is it manageable in the largest cannon, but it is suitable for a
parlor pistol, which a child might play with."
"Wonderful!" ejaculated Cantagnac, with undoubted sincerity, for his
eyes gleamed.
"In solving that last enigma, I found the power became more strong when
curbed. Consequently, the gun that would before have carried fifteen
miles, may send twenty, and the ball, if not explosible, might ricochet
three."
"Wonderful!" cried the Marseillais again, who displayed very deep
interest in the abstruse subject for a retired notary.
"The bullet, or shell, or ball--all the projectiles are perfected now!"
went on Clemenceau, triumphantly, "and were I surrounded by a million of
men, or had I an impregnable fortress before me, a battery of my cannon
would finish the struggle in not more than four hours."
"Why, this is a force of nature, not man's work," said Cantagnac,
through his grating teeth, as though the admiration were extracted from
him. "I do not see how any army or any fort could resist such
instruments."
"No, monsieur, not one."
"Would not all the other nations unite against your country?"
"What would that matter, when, I repeat, the number of adversaries would
not affect the question?"
"What a dreadful thing! I beg your pardon, but I go to church and I have
had 'Love one another!' dinned into my ears. What is to become of that
precept, eh?"
"It is what I should diffuse by my cannon," returned Clemenceau.
"By scattering the limbs of thousands of men, ha, ha!" but his laugh
sounded very hollow, indeed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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