diymy Chapter 768 The Slap in the Face of Frankfurt
Chapter 768 The Slap in the Face of Frankfurt
June 10, 1918
Location: Frankfurt City Hall, Germany
At seven o'clock in the morning, the square in front of Frankfurt City Hall was already full of people.
It wasn't a welcoming crowd, but heavily armed soldiers. German soldiers, dressed in brand-new gray uniforms, stood in a circle along the edge of the square, rifles at the ready. They were spaced ten steps apart, their backs to the town hall, facing the empty square. Their faces were expressionless; they stood there like statues.
The square was deserted. There were no citizens, no reporters, no carriages, not even a single pigeon. All the roads leading to the square were blocked off, and plainclothes police stood there, checking every passing vehicle. The entire city of Frankfurt was emptied out that day.
The City Hall is an ancient building with gray stone walls, pointed towers, and arched windows. It has witnessed countless wars and peace, the rise and fall of countless dynasties. Today, it will witness a negotiation that will determine the fate of Europe.
The windows of the second-floor conference room were open, and the white curtains fluttered gently in the morning breeze. Looking through the window, one could see a long table covered with a dark green velvet cloth, on which several neat rows of teacups and documents were arranged. At both ends of the table, five flags were displayed—the French tricolor, the British Union Jack, the American Stars and Stripes, the German tricolor (black, red, and gold), and the Lanfang Golden Dragon Flag.
The golden dragon flag was delivered last night. Chen Feng's representative—not Chen Feng himself, but a diplomat surnamed Lin—will attend today's negotiations as an observer. Lan Fang is not formally qualified to participate in the European armistice negotiations, but everyone knows that without Lan Fang's approval, these negotiations will not yield any results.
At 9:30 a.m., the first car drove into the square.
That was the French delegation's car, a black Renault with a small tricolor flag on the hood. The car stopped in front of the city hall, the door opened, and Clemenceau got out.
The 77-year-old French prime minister was dressed in a dark gray suit, his tie impeccably tied. His hair was completely white, and the wrinkles on his face were as deep as if etched by a knife, but his eyes—those eyes—were still bright, sharp as an eagle's. He glanced up at the city hall building, then at the open window, and strode toward the door.
Behind him followed his Foreign Minister Pixiong, along with several secretaries and entourage.
At 9:40, the second car drove into the square.
The British delegation's car was a black Rolls-Royce with a Union Jack on the hood. Asquith stepped out, his face bearing an indescribable expression—a mix of tension, anticipation, and a hint of anxiety. His eyes were slightly dark, indicating he hadn't slept well the night before. He straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and walked towards the door.
Behind him followed his Foreign Secretary, Gray, and several generals with serious expressions.
At 9:50 a.m., the third car drove into the square.
The car carrying the Mexican delegation was also black, but larger. Wilson stepped out, smiling, and glanced around. His smile was the standard politician's smile—just right, neither too warm nor too cold, impeccable yet revealing nothing of sincerity. He wore a sharp, dark blue suit with a small Mexican flag badge pinned to his chest.
He was followed by Secretary of State Lansing and several advisors.
At 10:00 AM sharp, the fourth car drove into the square.
The German delegation's car was a gray Mercedes, without a flag on the hood. Hindenburg stepped out, dressed in a field marshal's uniform, his chest adorned with medals. He stood ramrod straight, his face expressionless. He was seventy years old, but standing there, he was more upright than any young man. Behind him followed Tirpitz, also in military uniform, equally expressionless.
The fifth vehicle—the one belonging to the Lanfang delegation—was unmarked. A diplomat surnamed Lin stepped out; he was short, dressed in a dark gray Zhongshan suit, and wore a polite smile. He glanced around, then followed the delegation ahead into the city hall.
The representatives from the five countries were already seated in the meeting room.
At one side of the long table sat the French: Clemenceau in the center, Pichon to his left, and several secretaries in the back. On the other side sat the English: Asquith in the center, Gray to his right. At the top of the table sat Wilson, his slightly elevated position symbolizing his role as mediator. At the bottom of the table sat the Germans: Hindenburg and Tirpitz sat side-by-side, with two officers standing behind them.
Lanfang's representative sat in a row of chairs against the wall; those were the observers' seats.
The meeting room was eerily quiet. No one spoke; only the clock on the wall ticked away. Occasionally, the sound of soldiers' footsteps could be heard outside the window, very soft, and quickly faded away.
Wilson glanced at his watch; it was exactly ten o'clock. He stood up and cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen," his voice boomed, echoing through the conference room, "I hereby declare that the Frankfurt armistice negotiations shall now commence."
He paused, glancing around at everyone present. Clemenceau remained expressionless, Asquith stared at the table, Hindenburg stared straight ahead, and Tirpitz looked out the window at the sky.
Wilson continued, "This war has lasted four years and brought profound devastation to the world. More than 30 million people have been killed or wounded, countless cities have been destroyed, and countless families have been torn apart. We sit here today to end the war, not to perpetuate hatred. We seek peace, not to settle old scores."
He spoke slowly, each word clearly enunciated. But his words contained no substance. They were all polite formalities, mere pleasantries. Clemenceau listened, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. Asquith kept his head down, lost in thought. Hindenburg remained staring straight ahead, his expression unchanged.
Wilson spoke for twenty minutes. He spoke of the cruelty of war, the preciousness of peace, and how nations should put aside hatred and work together to build a new world. After he finished speaking, he sat down, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.
There was a three-second silence in the conference room.
Then Clemenceau stood up.
"Your Excellency speaks very well." His voice was hoarse, but every word was clear and powerful. "The war is over, and peace has come. But peace requires a foundation, it requires conditions."
He turned to Hindenburg and looked directly into those cloudy yet sharp eyes.
"Field Marshal Hindenburg, France's conditions are very simple—first, Germany must return Alsace and Lorraine. These two territories were seized from France during the Franco-Prussian War. Fifty years have passed, and the French people have never forgotten them."
Hindenburg didn't speak. He simply nodded.
Clemenceau continued: "Second, the size of the German army must be limited to 200,000. There can be no more General Staff, and no more large-scale conscription. Third, the Rhineland region must be demilitarized, and Germany cannot station troops on the left bank of the Rhine."
He finished speaking and sat down.
The meeting room fell silent again. Everyone looked at Hindenburg. Hindenburg remained expressionless, simply staring at Clemenceau, and remained silent for three seconds.
Then he spoke. His voice was hoarse, but steady.
"Prime Minister Clemenceau, Germany can accept France's conditions."