Guard. It appears that it had originally been derived from certain members of the Red Cross Society, who, when it became necessary to bury the dead and tend the wounded after an encounter in the environs of Paris, often came in contact with the Germans. The report was, of course, limited to the statement that Bazaine was negotiating a surrender, not that he had actually capitulated. The Government’s denial of it can only be described as a quibble–of the kind to which at times even British Governments stoop when faced by inconvenient questions in the House of Commons–and, as we shall soon see, the gentlemen of the National Defence spent a _très mauvais quart d’heure_ as a result of the _suppressio veri_ of which they were guilty. Similar “bad quarters of an hour” have fallen upon politicians in other countries, including our own, under somewhat similar circumstances.
On October 30, Thiers, after travelling all over Europe, pleading his country’s cause at every great Court, arrived in Paris with a safe-conduct from Bismarck, in order to lay before the Government certain proposals for an armistice, which Russia, Great Britain, Austria, and Italy were prepared to support. And alas! he also brought with him the news that Metz had actually fallen–having capitulated, indeed, on October 27, the very day on which Pyat had issued his announcement. There was consternation at the Hôtel-de-Ville when this became known, and the gentlemen of the Government deeply but vainly regretted the futile tactics to which they had so foolishly stooped. To make matters worse, we received in the evening intelligence that the Germans had driven Carré de Bellemare’s men out of Le Bourget after some brief but desperate fighting. Trochu declared that he had no need of the Bourget position, that it had never entered into his scheme of defence, and that Bellemare had been unduly zealous in attacking and taking it from the Germans. If that were the case, however, why had not the Governor of Paris ordered Le Bourget to be evacuated immediately after its capture, without waiting for the Germans to re-take it at the bayonet’s point? Under the circumstances, the Parisians were naturally exasperated. Tumultuous were the scenes on the Boulevards that evening, and vehement and threatening were the speeches at the clubs.
When the Parisians quitted their homes on the morning of Monday, the 31st, they found the city placarded with two official notices, one respecting the arrival of Thiers and the proposals for an armistice, and the second acknowledging the disaster of Metz. A hurricane of indignation at once swept through the city. Le Bourget lost! Metz taken! Proposals for an armistice with the detested Prussians entertained! Could Trochu’s plan and Bazaine’s plan be synonymous, then? The one word “Treachery!” was on every lip. When noon arrived the Place de l’Hôtel-de-Ville was crowded with indignant people. Deputations, composed chiefly of officers of the National Guard, interviewed the Government, and were by no means satisfied with the replies which they received from Jules Ferry and others. Meantime, the crowd on the square was increasing in numbers. Several members of the Government attempted to prevail on it to disperse; but no heed was paid to them.
At last a free corps commanded by Tibaldi, an Italian conspirator of Imperial days, effected an entrance into the Hotel-de-Ville, followed by a good many of the mob. In the throne-room they were met by Jules Favre, whose attempts to address them failed, the shouts of “La Commune! La Commune!” speedily drowning his voice. Meantime, two shots were fired by somebody on the square, a window was broken, and the cry of the invaders became “To arms! to arms! Our brothers are being butchered!” In vain did Trochu and Rochefort endeavour to stem the tide of invasion. In vain, also, did the Government, assembled in the council-room, offer to submit itself to the suffrages of the citizens, to grant the election of municipal councillors, and to promise that no armistice should be signed without consulting the population. The mob pressed on through one room after another, smashing tables, desks, and windows on their way, and all at once the very apartment where the Government were deliberating was, in its turn, invaded, several officers of the National Guard, subsequently prominent at the time of the Commune, heading the intruders and demanding the election of a Commune and the appointment of a new administration under the presidency of Dorian, the popular Minister of Public Works.
Amidst the ensuing confusion, M. Ernest Picard, a very corpulent, jovial-looking advocate, who was at the head of the department of Finances, contrived to escape; but all his colleagues were surrounded, insulted by the invaders, and summoned to resign their posts. They refused to do so, and the wrangle was still at its height when Gustave Flourens and his Belleville sharpshooters reached the Place de l’Hôtel-de-Ville. Flourens entered the building, which at this moment was occupied by some seven or eight thousand men, and proposed that the Commune should be elected by acclamation. This was agreed upon; Dorian’s name–though, by the way, he was a wealthy ironmaster, and in no sense a Communard–being put at the head of the list. This included Flourens himself, Victor Hugo, Louis Blanc, Raspail, Mottu, Delescluze, Blanqui, Ledru-Rollin, Rochefort, Félix Pyat, Ranvier, and Avrial. Then Flourens, in his turn, entered the council-room, climbed on to the table, and summoned the captive members of the Government to resign; Again they refused to do so, and were therefore placed under arrest. Jules Ferry and Emmanuel Arago managed to escape, however, and some friendly National Guards succeeded in entering the building and carrying off General Trochu. Ernest Picard, meanwhile, had been very active in devising plans for the recapture of the Hôtel-de-Ville and providing for the safety of various Government departments. Thus, when Flourens sent a lieutenant to the treasury demanding the immediate payment of _£600,000(!)_ the request was refused, and the messenger placed under arrest. Nevertheless, the insurgents made themselves masters of several district town-halls.
But Jules Ferry was collecting the loyal National Guards together, and at half-past eleven o’clock that night they and some Mobiles marched on the Hôtel-de-Ville. The military force which had been left there by the insurgents was not large. A parley ensued, and while it was still in progress, an entire battalion of Mobiles effected an entry by a subterranean passage leading from an adjacent barracks. Delescluze and Flourens then tried to arrange terms with Dorian, but Jules Ferry would accept no conditions. The imprisoned members of the Government were released, and the insurgent leaders compelled to retire. About this time Trochu and Ducrot arrived on the scene, and between three and four o’clock in the morning I saw them pass the Government forces in review on the square.
On the following day, all the alleged conventions between M. Dorian and the Red Republican leaders were disavowed. There was, however, a conflict of opinion as to whether those leaders should be arrested or not, some members of the Government admitting that they had promised Delescluze and others that they should not be prosecuted. In consequence of this dispute, several officials, including Edmond Adam, Keratry’s successor as Prefect of Police, resigned their functions. A few days later, twenty-one of the insurgent leaders were arrested, Pyat being among them, though nothing was done in regard to Flourens and Blanqui, both of whom had figured prominently in the affair.
On November 3 we had a plebiscitum, the question put to the Parisians being: “Does the population of Paris, yes or no, maintain the powers of the Government of National Defence?” So far as the civilian element–which included the National Guards–was concerned, the ballot resulted as follows: Voting “Yes,” 321,373 citizens; voting “No,” 53,585 citizens. The vote of the army, inclusive of the Mobile Guard, was even more pronounced: “Yes,” 236,623; “No,” 9063, Thus the general result was 557,996 votes in favour of the Government, and 62,638 against it–the proportion being 9 to 1 for the entire male population of the invested circle. This naturally rendered the authorities jubilant.
But the affair of October 31 had deplorable consequences with regard to the armistice negotiations. This explosion of sedition alarmed the German authorities. They lost confidence in the power of the National Defence to carry out such terms as might be stipulated, and, finally, Bismarck refused to allow Paris to be revictualled during the period requisite for the election of a legislative assembly–which was to have decided the question of peace or war–unless one fort, and possibly more than one, were surrendered to him. Thiers and Favre could not accept such a condition, and thus the negotiations were broken off. Before Thiers quitted Bismarck, however, the latter significantly told him that the terms of peace at that juncture would be the cession of Alsace to Germany, and the payment of three milliards of francs as an indemnity; but that after the fall of Paris the terms would be the cession of both Alsace and Lorraine, and a payment of five milliards.
In the earlier days of the siege there was no rationing of provisions, though the price of meat was fixed by Government decree. At the end of September, however, the authorities decided to limit the supply to a maximum of 500 oxen and 4000 sheep per diem. It was decided also that the butchers’ shops should only open on every fourth day, when four days’ meat should be distributed at the official prices. During the earlier period the daily ration ranged from 80 to 100 grammes, that is, about 2-2/3 oz. to 3-1/3 oz. in weight, one-fifth part of it being bone in the case of beef, though, with respect to mutton, the butchers were forbidden to make up the weight with any bones which did not adhere to the meat. At the outset of the siege only twenty or thirty horses were slaughtered each day; but on September 30 the number had risen to 275. A week later there were nearly thirty shops in Paris where horseflesh was exclusively sold, and scarcely a day elapsed without an increase in their number. Eventually horseflesh became virtually the only meat procurable by all classes of the besieged, but in the earlier period it was patronized chiefly by the poorer folk, the prices fixed for it by authority being naturally lower than those edicted for beef and mutton.
With regard to the arrangements made by my father and myself respecting food, they were, in the earlier days of the siege, very simple. We were keeping no servant at our flat in the Rue de Miromesnil. The concierge of the house, and his wife, did all such work as we required. This concierge, whose name was Saby, had been a Zouave, and had acted as orderly to his captain in Algeria. He was personally expert in the art of preparing “couscoussou” and other Algerian dishes, and his wife was a thoroughly good cook _à la française_. Directly meat was rationed, Saby said to me: “The allowance is very small; you and Monsieur votre père will be able to eat a good deal more than that. Now, some of the poorer folk cannot afford to pay for butchers’ meat, they are contented with horseflesh, which is not yet rationed, and are willing to sell their ration cards. You can well afford to buy one or two of them, and in that manner secure extra allowances of beef or mutton.”
That plan was adopted, and for a time everything went on satisfactorily. On a few occasions I joined the queue outside our butcher’s in the Rue de Penthièvre, and waited an hour or two to secure our share of meat, We were not over-crowded in that part of Paris. A great many members of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie, who usually dwelt there, had left the city with their families and servants prior to the investment; and thus the queues and the waits were not so long as in the poorer and more densely populated districts. Saby, however, often procured our meat himself or employed somebody else to do so, for women were heartily glad of the opportunity to earn half a franc or so by acting as deputy for other people.
We had secured a small supply of tinned provisions, and would have increased it if the prices had not gone up by leaps and bounds, in such wise that a tin of corned beef or something similar, which one saw priced in the morning at about 5 francs, was labelled 20 francs a few hours later. Dry beans and peas were still easily procurable, but fresh vegetables at once became both rare and costly. Potatoes failed us at an early date. On the other hand, jam and preserved fruit could be readily obtained at the grocer’s at the corner of our street. The bread slowly deteriorated in quality, but was still very fair down to the date of my departure from Paris (November 8 [See the following chapter.]). Milk and butter, however, became rare–the former being reserved for the hospitals, the ambulances, the mothers of infants, and so forth–whilst one sighed in vain for a bit of Gruyère, Roquefort, Port-Salut, Brie, or indeed any other cheese.
Saby, who was a very shrewd fellow, had conceived a brilliant idea before the siege actually began. The Chateaubriands having quitted the house and removed their horses from the stables, he took possession of the latter, purchased some rabbits–several does and a couple of bucks–laid in a supply of food for them, and resolved to make his fortune by rabbit-breeding. He did not quite effect his purpose, but rabbits are so prolific that he was repaid many times over for the trouble which he took in rearing them. For some time he kept the affair quite secret. More than once I saw him going in and out of the stables, without guessing the reason; but one morning, having occasion to speak to him, I followed him and discovered the truth. He certainly bred several scores of rabbits during the course of the siege, merely ceasing to do so when he found it impossible to continue feeding the animals. On two or three occasions we paid him ten francs or so for a rabbit, and that was certainly “most-favoured-nation treatment;” for, at the same period, he was charging twenty and twenty-five francs to other people. Cooks, with whom he communicated, came to him from mansions both near and far. He sold quite a number of rabbits to Baron Alphonse de Rothschild’s _chef_ at the rate of £2 apiece, and others to Count Pillet-Will at about the same price, so that, so far as his pockets were concerned, he in no wise suffered by the siege of Paris.
We were blessed with an abundance of charcoal for cooking purposes, and of coals and wood for ordinary fires, having at our disposal not only the store in our own cellars, but that which the Chateaubriand family had left behind. The cold weather set in very soon, and firing was speedily in great demand. Our artist Jules Pelcoq, who lived in the Rue Lepic at Montmartre, found himself reduced to great straits in this respect, nothing being procurable at the dealers’ excepting virtually green wood which had been felled a short time previously in the Bois de Boulogne and Bois de Vincennes. On a couple of occasions Pelcoq and I carried some coals in bags to his flat, and my father, being anxious for his comfort, wished to provide him with a larger supply. Saby was therefore requisitioned to procure a man who would undertake to convey some coals in a handcart to Montmartre. The man was found, and paid for his services in advance. But alas! the coals never reached poor Pelcoq. When we next saw the man who had been engaged, he told us that he had been intercepted on his way by some National Guards, who had asked him what his load was, and, on discovering that it consisted of coals, had promptly confiscated them and the barrow also, dragging the latter to some bivouac on the ramparts. I have always doubted that story, however, and incline to the opinion that our improvised porter had simply sold the coals and pocketed the proceeds.
One day, early in November, when our allowance of beef or mutton was growing small by degrees and beautifully less and infrequent–horseflesh becoming more and more _en évidence_ at the butchers’ shops, [Only 1-1/2 oz. of beef or mutton was now allowed per diem, but in lieu thereof you could obtain 1/4 lb. of horseflesh.] I had occasion to call on one of our artists, Blanchard, who lived in the Faubourg Saint Germain. When we had finished our business he said to me: “Ernest, it is my _fête_ day. I am going to have a superb dinner. My brother-in-law, who is an official of the Eastern Railway Line, is giving it in my honour. Come with me; I invite you.” We thereupon went to his brother-in-law’s flat, where I was most cordially received, and before long we sat down at table in a warm and well-lighted dining-room, the company consisting of two ladies and three men, myself included.
The soup, I think, had been prepared from horseflesh with the addition of a little Liebig’s extract of meat; but it was followed by a beautiful leg of mutton, with beans a la Bretonne and–potatoes! I had not tasted a potato for weeks past, for in vain had the ingenious Saby endeavoured to procure some. But the crowning triumph of the evening was the appearance of a huge piece of Gruyère cheese, which at that time was not to be seen in a single shop in Paris. Even Chevet, that renowned purveyor of dainties, had declared that he had none.
My surprise in presence of the cheese and the potatoes being evident, Blanchard’s brother-in-law blandly informed me that he had stolen them. “There is no doubt,” said he, “that many tradespeople hold secret stores of one thing and another, but wish prices to rise still higher than they are before they produce them. I did not, however, take those potatoes or that cheese from any shopkeeper’s cellar. But, in the store-places of the railway company to which I belong, there are tons and tons of provisions, including both cheese and potatoes, for which the consignees never apply, preferring, as they do, to leave them there until famine prices are reached. Well, I have helped myself to just a few things, so as to give Blanchard a good dinner this evening. As for the leg of mutton, I bribed the butcher–not with money, he might have refused it–but with cheese and potatoes, and it was fair exchange.” When I returned home that evening I carried in my pockets more than half a pound of Gruyère and two or three pounds of potatoes, which my father heartily welcomed. The truth about the provisions which were still stored at some of the railway dépôts was soon afterwards revealed to the authorities.
Although my father was then only fifty years of age and had plenty of nervous energy, his health was at least momentarily failing him. He had led an extremely strenuous life ever since his twentieth year, when my grandfather’s death had cast great responsibilities on him. He had also suffered from illnesses which required that he should have an ample supply of nourishing food. So long as a fair amount of ordinary butcher’s meat could be procured, he did not complain; but when it came to eating horseflesh two or three times a week he could not undertake it, although, only a year or two previously, he had attended a great _banquet hippophagique_ given in Paris, and had then even written favourably of _viande de cheval_ in an article he prepared on the subject. For my own part, being a mere lad, I had a lad’s appetite and stomach, and I did not find horseflesh so much amiss, particularly as prepared with garlic and other savouries by Mme. Saby’s expert hands. But, after a day or two, my father refused to touch it. For three days, I remember, he tried to live on bread, jam, and preserved fruit; but the sweetness of such a diet became nauseous to him–even as it became nauseous to our soldiers when the authorities bombarded them with jam in South Africa. It was very difficult to provide something to my father’s taste; there was no poultry and there were no eggs. It was at this time that Saby sold us a few rabbits, but, again, _toujours lapin_ was not satisfactory.
People were now beginning to partake of sundry strange things. Bats were certainly eaten before the siege ended, though by no means in such quantities as some have asserted. However, there were already places where dogs and cats, skinned and prepared for cooking, were openly displayed for sale. Labouchere related, also, that on going one day into a restaurant and seeing _cochon de lait_, otherwise sucking-pig, mentioned in the menu, he summoned the waiter and cross-questioned him on the subject, as he greatly doubted whether there were any sucking-pigs in all Paris. “Is it sucking-pig?” he asked the waiter. “Yes, monsieur,” the man replied. But Labby was not convinced. “Is it a little pig?” he inquired. “Yes, monsieur, quite a little one.” “Is it a young pig?” pursued Labby, who was still dubious. The waiter hesitated, and at last replied, “Well, I cannot be sure, monsieur, if it is quite young.” “But it must be young if it is little, as you say. Come, what is it, tell me?” “Monsieur, it is a guinea-pig!” Labby bounded from his chair, took his hat, and fled. He did not feel equal to guinea-pig, although he was very hungry.
Perhaps, however, Labouchere’s best story of those days was that of the old couple who, all other resources failing them, were at last compelled to sacrifice their little pet dog. It came up to table nicely roasted, and they both looked at it for a moment with a sigh. Then Monsieur summoned up his courage and helped Madame to the tender viand. She heaved another sigh, but, making a virtue of necessity, began to eat, and whilst she was doing so she every now and then deposited a little bone on the edge of her plate. There was quite a collection of little bones there by the time she had finished, and as she leant back in her chair and contemplated them she suddenly exclaimed: “Poor little Toto! If he had only been alive what a fine treat he would have had!”
To return, however, to my father and myself, I must mention that there was a little English tavern and eating-house in the Rue de Miromesnil, kept by a man named Lark, with whom I had some acquaintance. We occasionally procured English ale from him, and one day, late in October, when I was passing his establishment, he said to me: “How is your father? He seems to be looking poorly. Aren’t you going to leave with the others?” I inquired of Lark what he meant by his last question; whereupon he told me that if I went to the Embassy I should see a notice in the consular office respecting the departure of British subjects, arrangements having been made to enable all who desired to quit Paris to do so. I took the hint and read the notice, which ran as Lark had stated, with this addendum: “The Embassy _cannot_, however, charge itself with the expense of assisting British subjects to leave Paris.” Forthwith I returned home and imparted the information I had obtained to my father.
Beyond setting up that notice in the Consul’s office, the Embassy took no steps to acquaint British subjects generally with the opportunity which was offered them to escape bombardment and famine. It is true that it was in touch with the British Charitable Fund and that the latter made the matter known to sundry applicants for assistance. But the British colony still numbered 1000 people, hundreds of whom would have availed themselves of this opportunity had it only come to their knowledge. My father speedily made up his mind to quit the city, and during the next few days arrangements were made with our artists and others so that the interests of the _Illustrated London News_ might in no degree suffer by his absence. Our system had long been perfected, and everything worked well after our departure. I may add here, because it will explain something which follows, that my father distributed all the money he could possibly spare among those whom he left behind, in such wise that on quitting Paris we had comparatively little, and–as the sequel showed–insufficient money with us. But it was thought that we should be able to secure whatever we might require on arriving at Versailles.
VII
FROM PARIS TO VERSAILLES
I leave Paris with my Father–Jules Favre, Wodehouse, and Washburne– Through Charenton to Créteil–At the Outposts–First Glimpses of the Germans–A Subscription to shoot the King of Prussia–The Road to Brie-Comte-Robert–Billets for the Night–Chats with German Soldiers–The Difficulty with the Poorer Refugees–Mr. Wodehouse and my Father–On the Way to Corbeil–A Franco-German Flirtation–Affairs at Corbeil–On the Road in the Rain–Longjumeau–A Snow-storm–The Peasant of Champlan– Arrival at Versailles.
Since Lord Lyons’s departure from Paris, the Embassy had remained in the charge of the second Secretary, Mr. Wodehouse, and the Vice-Consul. In response to the notice set up in the latter’s office, and circulated also among a tithe of the community by the British Charitable Fund, it was arranged that sixty or seventy persons should accompany the Secretary and Vice-Consul out of the city, the military attacheé, Colonel Claremont, alone remaining there. The provision which the Charitable Fund made for the poorer folk consisted of a donation of £4 to each person, together with some three pounds of biscuits and a few ounces of chocolate to munch on the way. No means of transport, however, were provided for these people, though it was known that we should have to proceed to Versailles–where the German headquarters were installed–by a very circuitous route, and that the railway lines were out.
We were to have left on November 2, at the same time as a number of Americans, Russians, and others, and it had been arranged that everybody should meet at an early hour that morning at the Charenton gate on the south-east side of Paris. On arriving there, however, all the English who joined the gathering were ordered to turn back, as information had been received that permission to leave the city was refused them. This caused no little consternation among the party, but the order naturally had to be obeyed, and half angrily and half disconsolately many a disappointed Briton returned to his recent quarters. We afterwards learnt that Jules Favre, the Foreign Minister, had in the first instance absolutely refused to listen to the applications of Mr. Wodehouse, possibly because Great Britain had not recognized the French Republic; though if such were indeed the reason, it was difficult to understand why the Russians received very different treatment, as the Czar, like the Queen, had so far abstained from any official recognition of the National Defence. On the other hand, Favre may, perhaps, have shared the opinion of Bismarck, who about this time tersely expressed his opinion of ourselves in the words: “England no longer counts”–so low, to his thinking, had we fallen in the comity of nations under our Gladstone _cum_ Granville administration.
Mr. Wodehouse, however, in his unpleasant predicament, sought the assistance of his colleague, Mr. Washburne, the United States Minister, and the latter, who possessed more influence in Paris than any other foreign representative, promptly put his foot down, declaring that he himself would leave the city if the British subjects were still refused permission to depart. Favre then ungraciously gave way; but no sooner had his assent been obtained than it was discovered that the British Foreign Office had neglected to apply to Bismarck for permission for the English leaving Paris to pass through the German lines. Thus delay ensued, and it was only on the morning of November 8 that the English departed at the same time as a number of Swiss citizens and Austrian subjects.
The Charenton gate was again the appointed meeting-place. On our way thither, between six and seven o’clock in the morning, we passed many a long queue waiting outside butchers’ shops for pittances of meat, and outside certain municipal dépôts where after prolonged waiting a few thimblesful of milk were doled out to those who could prove that they had young children. Near the Porte de Charenton a considerable detachment of the National Guard was drawn up as if to impart a kind of solemnity to the approaching exodus of foreigners. A couple of young staff-officers were also in attendance, with a mounted trumpeter and another trooper carrying the usual white flag on a lance.
The better-circumstanced of our party were in vehicles purchased for the occasion, a few also being mounted on valuable horses, which it was desired to save from the fate which eventually overtook most of the animals that remained in Paris. Others were in hired cabs, which were not allowed, however, to proceed farther than the outposts; while a good many of the poorer members of the party were in specially engaged omnibuses, which also had to turn back before we were handed over to a German escort; the result being that their occupants were left to trudge a good many miles on foot before other means of transport were procured. In that respect the Swiss and the Austrians were far better cared-for than the English. Although the weather was bitterly cold, Mr. Wodehouse, my father, myself, a couple of Mr. Wodehouse’s servants, and a young fellow who had been connected, I think, with a Paris banking-house, travelled in an open pair-horse break. The Vice-Consul and his wife, who were also accompanying us, occupied a small private omnibus.
Before passing out of Paris we were all mustered and our _laisser-passers_ were examined. Those held by British subjects emanated invariably from the United States Embassy, being duly signed by Mr. Washburne, so that we quitted the city virtually as American citizens. At last the procession was formed, the English preceding the Swiss and the Austrians, whilst in the rear, strangely enough, came several ambulance vans flaunting the red cross of Geneva. Nobody could account for their presence with us, but as the Germans were accused of occasionally firing on flags of truce, they were sent, perhaps, so as to be of service in the event of any mishap occurring. All being ready, we crossed the massive drawbridge of the Porte de Charenton, and wound in and out of the covered way which an advanced redoubt protected. A small detachment of light cavalry then joined us, and we speedily crossed the devastated track known as the “military zone,” where every tree had been felled at the moment of the investment. Immediately afterwards we found ourselves in the narrow winding streets of Charenton, which had been almost entirely deserted by their inhabitants, but were crowded with soldiers who stood at doors and windows, watching our curious caravan. The bridge across the Marne was mined, but still intact, and defended at the farther end by an entrenched and loopholed redoubt, faced by some very intricate and artistic chevaux-de-frise. Once across the river, we wound round to the left, through the village of Alfort, where all the villas and river-side restaurants had been turned into military posts; and on looking back we saw the huge Charenton madhouse surmounting a wooded height and flying a large black flag. At the outset of the siege it had been suggested that the more harmless inmates should be released rather than remain exposed to harm from chance German shells; but the director of the establishment declared that in many instances insanity intensified patriotic feeling, and that if his patients were set at liberty they would at least desire to become members of the Government. So they were suffered to remain in their exposed position.
We went on, skirting the estate of Charentonneau, where the park wall had been blown down and many of the trees felled. On our right was the fort of Charenton, armed with big black naval guns. All the garden walls on our line of route had been razed or loopholed. The road was at times barricaded with trees, or intersected by trenches, and it was not without difficulty that we surmounted those impediments. At Petit Créteil we were astonished to see a number of market-gardeners working as unconcernedly as in times of peace. It is true that the village was covered by the fire of the Charenton fort, and that the Germans would have incurred great risk in making a serious attack on it. Nevertheless, small parties of them occasionally crept down and exchanged shots with the Mobiles who were stationed there, having their headquarters at a deserted inn, on reaching which we made our first halt.
The hired vehicles were now sent back to Paris, and after a brief interval we went on again, passing through an aperture in a formidable-looking barricade. We then readied Créteil proper, and there the first serious traces of the havoc of war were offered to our view. The once pleasant village was lifeless. Every house had been broken into and plundered, every door and every window smashed. Smaller articles of furniture, and so forth, had been removed, larger ones reduced to fragments. An infernal spirit of destruction had swept through the place; and yet, mark this, we were still within the French lines.
Our progress along the main street being suddenly checked by another huge barricade, we wound round to the right, and at last reached a house where less than a score of Mobiles were gathered, protected from sudden assault by a flimsy barrier of planks, casks, stools, and broken chairs. This was the most advanced French outpost in the direction we were following. We passed it, crossing some open fields where a solitary man was calmly digging potatoes, risking his life at every turn of his spade, but knowing that every pound of the precious tuber that he might succeed in taking into Paris would there fetch perhaps as much as ten francs.
Again we halted, and the trumpeter and the trooper with the white flag rode on to the farther part of the somewhat scattered village. Suddenly the trumpet’s call rang out through the sharp, frosty air, and then we again moved on, passing down another village street where several gaunt starving cats attempted to follow us, with desperate strides and piteous mews. Before long, we perceived, standing in the middle of the road before us, a couple of German soldiers in long great-coats and boots reaching to the shins. One of them was carrying a white flag. A brief conversation ensued with them, for they both spoke French, and one of them knew English also. Soon afterwards, from behind a stout barricade which we saw ahead, three or four of their officers arrived, and somewhat stiff and ceremonious salutes were exchanged between them and the French officers in charge of our party.
Our arrival had probably been anticipated. At all events, a big and very welcome fire of logs and branches was blazing near by, and whilst one or two officers on either side, together with Colonel Claremont and some officials of the British Charitable Fund, were attending to the safe-conducts of her then Majesty’s subjects, the other French and German officers engaged in conversation round the fire I have mentioned. The latter were probably Saxons; at all events, they belonged to the forces of the Crown Prince, afterwards King, of Saxony, who commanded this part of the investing lines, and with whom the principal English war-correspondent was Archibald Forbes, freshly arrived from the siege of Metz. The recent fall of that stronghold and the conduct of Marshal Bazaine supplied the chief subject of the conversation carried on at the Créteil outposts between the officers of the contending nations. Now and then, too, came a reference to Sedan and the overthrow of the Bonapartist Empire. The entire conversation was in French–I doubt, indeed, if our French custodians could speak German–and the greatest courtesy prevailed; though the French steadily declined the Hamburg cigars which their adversaries offered them.
I listened awhile to the conversation, but when the safe-conduct for my father and myself had been examined, I crossed to the other side of the road in order to scan the expanse of fields lying in that direction. All at once I saw a German officer, mounted on a powerful-looking horse, galloping over the rough ground in our direction. He came straight towards me. He was a well-built, middle-aged man of some rank–possibly a colonel. Reining in his mount, he addressed me in French, asking several questions. When, however, I had told him who we were, he continued the conversation in English and inquired if I had brought any newspapers out of Paris. Now, we were all pledged not to give any information of value to the enemy, but I had in my pockets copies of two of the most violent prints then appearing in the city–that is to say, _La Patrie en Danger_, inspired by Blanqui, and _Le Combat_, edited by Felix Pyat. The first-named was all sound and fury, and the second contained a subscription list for a pecuniary reward and rifle of honour to be presented to the Frenchman who might fortunately succeed in killing the King of Prussia. As the German officer was so anxious to ascertain what the popular feeling in Paris might be, and whether it favoured further resistance, it occurred to me, in a spirit of devilment as it were, to present him with the aforesaid journals, for which he expressed his heartfelt thanks, and then galloped away.
As I never met him again, I cannot say how he took the invectives and the “murder-subscription.” Perhaps it was not quite right of me to foist on him, as examples of genuine Parisian opinion, two such papers as those I gave him; but, then, all is fair not merely in love but in war also, and in regard to the contentions of France and Germany, my sympathies were entirely on the side of France.
We had not yet been transferred to the German escort which was waiting for us, when all at once we heard several shots fired from the bank of the Marne, whereupon a couple of German dragoons galloped off in that direction. The firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and then, everything being in readiness so far as we were concerned, Colonel Claremont, the Charitable Fund people, the French officers and cavalry, and the ambulance waggons retraced their way to Paris, whilst our caravan went on in the charge of a detachment of German dragoons. Not for long, however, for the instructions received respecting us were evidently imperfect. The reader will have noticed that we left Paris on its southeastern side, although our destination was Versailles, which lies south-west of the capital, being in that direction only some eleven miles distant. Further, on quitting Créteil, instead of taking a direct route to the city of Louis Quatorze, we made, as the reader will presently see, an immense _détour,_ so that our journey to Versailles lasted three full days. This occurred because the Germans wished to prevent us from seeing anything of the nearer lines of investment and the preparations which had already begun for the bombardment of Paris.
On our departure from Créteil, however, our route was not yet positively fixed, so we presently halted, and an officer of our escort rode off to take further instructions, whilst we remained near a German outpost, where we could not help noticing how healthy-looking, stalwart, and well-clad the men were. Orders respecting our movements having arrived, we set out again at a walking pace, perhaps because so many of our party were on foot. Troops were posted near every side-road that we passed. Officers constantly cantered up, inquiring for news respecting the position of affairs in Paris, wishing to know, in particular, if the National Defence ministers were still prisoners of the populace, and whether there was now a Red Republic with Blanqui at its head. What astounded them most was to hear that, although Paris was taking more and more to horseflesh, it was, as yet, by no means starving, and that, so far as famine might be concerned, it would be able to continue resisting for some months longer. In point of fact, this was on November 8, and the city did not surrender until January 28. But the German officers would not believe what we said respecting the resources of the besieged; they repeated the same questions again and again, and still looked incredulous, as if, indeed, they thought that we were fooling them.
At Boissy-Saint Léger we halted whilst the British, Austrian, and Swiss representatives interviewed the general in command there. He was installed in a trim little, château, in front of which was the quaintest sentry-box I have ever seen, for it was fashioned of planks, logs, and all sorts of scraps of furniture, whilst beside it lay a doll’s perambulator and a little boy’s toy-cart. But we again set out, encountering near Gros-Bois a long line of heavily-laden German provision-wagons; and presently, without addressing a word to any of us, the officer of our escort gave a command, his troopers wheeled round and galloped away, leaving us to ourselves.
By this time evening was approaching, and the vehicles of our party drove on at a smart trot, leaving the unfortunate pedestrians a long way in the rear. Nobody seemed to know exactly where we were, but some passing peasants informed us that we were on the road to Basle, and that the nearest locality was Brie-Comte-Robert. The horses drawing the conveyances of the Swiss and Austrian representatives were superior to those harnessed to Mr. Wodehouse’s break, so we were distanced on the road, and on reaching Brie found that all the accommodation of the two inns–I can scarcely call them hotels–had been allotted to the first arrivals. Mr. Wodehouse’s party secured a lodging in a superior-looking private house, whilst my father, myself, and about thirty others repaired to the _mairie_ for billets.
A striking scene met my eyes there. By this time night had fallen. In a room which was almost bare of furniture, the mayor was seated at a little table on which two candles were burning. On either side of him stood a German infantryman with rifle and fixed bayonet. Here and there, too, were several German hussars, together with ten or a dozen peasants of the locality. And the unfortunate mayor, in a state of semi-arrest, was striving to comply with the enemy’s requisitions of food, forage, wine, horses, and vehicles, the peasants meanwhile protesting that they had already been despoiled of everything, and had nothing whatever left. “So you want me to be shot?” said the mayor to them, at last. “You know very well that the things must be found. Go and get them together. Do the best you can. We will see afterwards.”
When–acting as usual as my father’s interpreter–I asked the mayor for billets, he raised his arms to the ceiling. “I have no beds,” said he. “Every bit of available bedding, excepting at the inns, has been requisitioned for the Prussian ambulances. I might find some straw, and there are outhouses and empty rooms. But there are so many of you, and I do not know how I can accommodate you all.”
It was not, however, the duty of my father or myself to attend to the requirements of the whole party. That was the duty rather of the Embassy officials, so I again pressed the mayor to give me at least a couple of decent billets. He thought for a moment, then handed me a paper bearing a name and address, whereupon we, my father and myself, went off. But it was pitch-dark, and as we could not find the place indicated, we returned to the _mairie_, where, after no little trouble, a second paper was given me. By this time the poorer members of the party had been sent to sheds and so forth, where they found some straw to lie upon. The address on my second paper was that of a basket-maker, whose house was pointed out to us. We were very cordially received there, and taken to a room containing a bed provided with a _sommier élastique_. But there was no mattress, no sheet, no blanket, no bolster, no pillow–everything of that kind having been requisitioned for the German ambulances; and I recollect that two or three hours later, when my father and myself retired to rest in that icy chamber, the window of which was badly broken, we were glad to lay our heads on a couple of hard baskets, having left our bags in Mr. Wodehouse’s charge.
Before trying to sleep, however, we required food; for during the day we had consumed every particle of a cold rabbit and some siege-bread which we had brought out of Paris. The innkeepers proved to be extremely independent and irritable, and we could obtain very little from them. Fortunately, we discovered a butcher’s, secured some meat from him, and prevailed on the wife of our host, the basket-maker, to cook it for us. We then went out again, and found some cafés and wine-shops which were crowded with German soldiery. Wine and black coffee were obtainable there, and whilst we refreshed ourselves, more than one German soldier, knowing either French or English, engaged us in conversation. My own German was at that time very limited, for I had not taken kindly to the study of the language, and had secured, moreover, but few opportunities to attempt to converse in it. However, I well remember some of the German soldiers declaring that they were heartily sick of the siege, and expressing a hope that the Parisians would speedily surrender, so that they, the Germans, might return to the Fatherland in ample time to get their Christmas trees ready. A good-looking and apparently very genial Uhlan also talked to me about the Parisian balloons, relating that, directly any ascent was observed, news of it was telegraphed along all the investing lines, that every man had orders to fire if the aerial craft came approximately within range, and that he and his comrades often tried to ride a balloon down.
After a wretched night, we washed at the pump in the basket-maker’s yard, and breakfasted off bread and _café noir_. Milk, by the way, was as scarce at Brie as in Paris itself, the Germans, it was said, having carried off all the cows that had previously supplied France with the far-famed Brie cheese. We now discovered that, in order to reach Versailles, we should have to proceed in the first instance to Corbeil, some fifteen miles distant, when we should be within thirty miles of the German headquarters. That was pleasant news, indeed! We had already made a journey of over twenty miles, and now another of some five-and-forty miles lay before us. And yet, had we only been allowed to take the proper route, we should have reached Versailles after travelling merely eleven miles beyond Paris!
Under the circumstances, the position of the unfortunate pedestrians was a very unpleasant one, and my father undertook to speak on their behalf to Mr. Wodehouse, pointing out to him that it was unfair to let these unfortunate people trudge all the way to Versailles.
“But what am I to do?” Mr. Wodehouse replied. “I am afraid that no vehicles can be obtained here.”
“The German authorities will perhaps help you in the matter,” urged my father.
“I doubt it. But please remember that everybody was warned before leaving Paris that he would do so at his own risk and peril, and that the Embassy could not charge itself with the expense.”
“That is exactly what surprised me,” said my father. “I know that the Charitable Fund has done something, but I thought that the Embassy would have done more.”
“I had no instructions,” replied Mr. Wodehouse.
“But, surely, at such a time as this, a man initiates his own instructions.”
“Perhaps so; but I had no money.”
On hearing this, my father, for a moment, almost lost his temper. “Surely, Mr. Wodehouse,” said he, “you need only have gone to Baron de Rothschild–he would have let you have whatever money you required.” [I have reconstructed the above dialogue from my diary, which I posted up on reaching Versailles.]
Mr. Wodehouse looked worried. He was certainly a most amiable man, but he was not, I think, quite the man for the situation. Moreover, like my father, he was in very poor health at this time. Still, he realized that he must try to effect something, and eventually, with the assistance of the mayor and the German authorities, a few farm-carts were procured for the accommodation of the poorer British subjects. During the long interval which had elapsed, however, a good many men had gone off of their own accord, tired of waiting, and resolving to try their luck in one and another direction. Thus our procession was a somewhat smaller one when we at last quitted Brie-Comte-Robert for Corbeil.
We met many German soldiers on our way–at times large detachments of them–and we scarcely ever covered a mile of ground without being questioned respecting the state of affairs in Paris and the probable duration of its resistance, our replies invariably disappointing the questioners, so anxious were they to see the war come to an end. This was particularly the case with a young non-commissioned officer who jumped on the step of Mr. Wodehouse’s break, and engaged us in conversation whilst we continued on our way. Before leaving us he remarked, I remember, that he would very much like to pay a visit to England; whereupon my father answered that he would be very much pleased to see him there, provided, however, that he would come by himself and not with half a million of armed comrades.
While the German soldiers were numerous, the peasants whom we met on the road were few and far between. On reaching the little village of Lieusaint, however, a number of people rushed to the doors of their houses and gazed at us in bewilderment, for during the past two months the only strangers they had seen had been German soldiers, and they could not understand the meaning of our civilian caravan of carriages and carts. At last we entered Corbeil, and followed the main street towards the old stone bridge by which we hoped to cross the Seine, but we speedily discovered that it had been blown up, and that we could only get to the other side of the river by a pontoon-bridge lower down. This having been effected, we drove to the principal hotel, intending to put up there for the night, as it had become evident that we should be unable to reach Versailles at a reasonable hour.
However, the entire hotel was in the possession of German officers, several of whom we found flirting with the landlady’s good-looking daughter–who, as she wore a wedding ring, was, I presume, married. I well recollect that she made some reference to the ladies of Berlin, whereupon one of the lieutenants who were ogling her, gallantly replied that they were not half so charming as the ladies of Corbeil. The young woman appeared to appreciate the compliment, for, on the lieutenant rising to take leave of her, she graciously gave him her hand, and said to him with a smile: “Au plaisir de vous revoir, monsieur.”
But matters were very different with the old lady, her mother, who, directly the coast was clear, began to inveigh against the Germans in good set terms, describing them, I remember, as semi-savages who destroyed whatever they did not steal. She was particularly irate with them for not allowing M. Darblay, the wealthy magnate of the grain and flour trade, and at the same time mayor of Corbeil, to retain a single carriage or a single horse for his own use. Yet he had already surrendered four carriages and eight horses to them, and only wished to keep a little gig and a cob.
We obtained a meal at the hotel, but found it impossible to secure a bed there, so we sallied forth into the town on an exploring expedition. On all sides we observed notices indicating the rate of exchange of French and German money, and the place seemed to be full of tobacconists’ shops, which were invariably occupied by German Jews trading in Hamburg cigars. On inquiring at a café respecting accommodation, we were told that we should only obtain it with difficulty, as the town was full of troops, including more than a thousand sick and wounded, fifteen or twenty of whom died every day. At last we crossed the river again, and found quarters at an inferior hotel, the top-floor of which had been badly damaged by some falling blocks of stone at the time when the French blew up the town bridge. However, our beds were fairly comfortable, and we had a good night’s rest.
Black coffee was again the only available beverage in the morning. No milk was to be had, nor was there even a scrap of sugar. In these respects Corbeil was even worse off than Paris. The weather had now changed, and rain was falling steadily. We plainly had a nasty day before us. Nevertheless, another set of carts was obtained for the poorer folk of our party, on mustering which one man was found to be missing. He had fallen ill, we were told, and could not continue the journey. Presently, moreover, the case was discovered to be one of smallpox, which disease had lately broken out in Paris. Leaving the sufferer to be treated at the already crowded local hospital, we set out, and, on emerging from the town, passed a drove of a couple of hundred oxen, and some three hundred sheep, in the charge of German soldiers. We had scarcely journeyed another mile when, near Essonnes, noted for its paper-mills, one of our carts broke down, which was scarcely surprising, the country being hilly, the roads heavy, and the horses spavined. Again, the rain was now pouring in torrents, to the very great discomfort of the occupants of the carts, as well as that of Mr. Wodehouse’s party in the break. But there was no help for it, and so on we drove mile after mile, until we were at last absolutely soaked.
The rain had turned to sleet by the time we reached Longjumeau, famous for its handsome and amorous postilion. Two-thirds of the shops there were closed, and the inns were crowded with German soldiers, so we drove on in the direction of Palaiseau. But we had covered only about half the distance when a snow-storm overtook us, and we had to seek shelter at Champlan. A German officer there assisted in placing our vehicles under cover, but the few peasants whom we saw eyeing us inquisitively from the doors of their houses declared that the only thing they could let us have to eat was dry bread, there being no meat, no eggs, no butter, no cheese, in the whole village. Further, they averred that they had not even a pint of wine to place at our disposal. “The Germans have taken everything,” they said; “we have 800 of them in and around the village, and there are not more than a dozen of us left here, all the rest having fled to Paris when the siege began.”
The outlook seemed bad, but Mr. Wodehouse’s valet, a shrewd and energetic man of thirty or thereabouts, named Frost, said to me, “I don’t believe all this. I dare say that if some money is produced we shall be able to get something.” Accordingly we jointly tackled a disconsolate-looking fellow, who, if I remember rightly, was either the village wheelwright or blacksmith; and, momentarily leaving the question of food on one side, we asked him if he had not at least a fire in his house at which we might warm ourselves. Our party included a lady, the Vice-Consul’s wife, and although she was making the journey in a closed private omnibus, she was suffering from the cold. This was explained to the man whom we addressed, and when he had satisfied himself that we were not Germans in disguise, he told us that we might come into his house and warm ourselves until the storm abated. Some nine or ten of us, including the lady I have mentioned, availed ourselves of this permission, and the man led us upstairs to a first-floor room, where a big wood-fire was blazing. Before it sat his wife and his daughter, both of them good specimens of French rustic beauty. With great good-nature, they at once made room for us, and added more fuel to the fire.
Half the battle was won, and presently we were regaled with all that they could offer us in the way of food–that is, bread and baked pears, which proved very acceptable. Eventually, after looking out of the window in order to make quite sure that no Germans were loitering near the house, our host locked the door of the room, and turning towards a big pile of straw, fire-wood, and household utensils, proceeded to demolish it, until he disclosed to view a small cask–a half hogshead, I think–which, said he, in a whisper, contained wine. It was all that he had been able to secrete. On the arrival of the enemy in the district a party of officers had come to his house and ordered their men to remove the rest of his wine, together with nearly all his bedding, and every fowl and every pig that he possessed. “They have done the same all over the district,” the man added, “and you should see some of the châteaux–they have been absolutely stripped of their contents.”
His face brightened when we told him that Paris seemed resolved on no surrender, and that, according to official reports, she would have a sufficiency of bread to continue resisting until the ensuing month of February. In common with most of his countrymen, our host of Champlan held that, whatever else might happen, the honour of the nation would at least be saved if the Germans could only be kept out of Paris; and thus he was right glad to hear that the city’s defence would be prolonged.
He was well remunerated for his hospitality, and on the weather slightly improving we resumed our journey to Versailles, following the main road by way of Palaiseau and Jouy-en-Josas, and urging the horses to their quickest pace whilst the light declined and the evening shadows gathered around us.
VIII
FROM VERSAILLES TO BRITTANY
War-correspondents at Versailles–Dr. Russell–Lord Adare–David Dunglas Home and his Extraordinary Career–His _Séances_ at Versallies–An Amusing Interview with Colonel Beauchamp Walker–Parliament’s Grant for British Refugees–Generals Duff and Hazen, U.S.A.–American Help–Glimpses of King William and Bismarck–Our Safe-Conducts–From Versailles to Saint Germain-en-Laye–Trouble at Mantes–The German Devil of Destructiveness– From the German to the French Lines–A Train at Last–Through Normandy and Maine–Saint Servan and its English Colony–I resolve to go to the Front.
It was dark when we at last entered Versailles by the Avenue de Choisy. We saw some sentries, but they did not challenge us, and we went on until we struck the Avenue de Paris, where we passed the Prefecture, every one of whose windows was a blaze of light. King, later Emperor, William had his quarters there; Bismarck, however, residing at a house in the Rue de Provence belonging to the French General de Jessé. Winding round the Place d’Armes, we noticed that one wing of Louis XIV’s famous palace had its windows lighted, being appropriated to hospital purposes, and that four batteries of artillery were drawn up on the square, perhaps as a hint to the Versaillese to be on their best behaviour. However, we drove on, and a few moments later we pulled up outside the famous Hôtel des Réservoirs.
There was no possibility of obtaining accommodation there. From its ground-floor to its garrets the hotel was packed with German princes, dukes, dukelets, and their suites, together with a certain number of English, American, and other war-correspondents. Close by, however– indeed, if I remember rightly, on the other side of the way–there was a café, whither my father and myself directed our steps. We found it crowded with officers and newspaper men, and through one or other of the latter we succeeded in obtaining comfortable lodgings in a private house. The _Illustrated London News_ artist with the German staff was Landells, son of the engraver of that name, and we speedily discovered his whereabouts. He was sharing rooms with Hilary Skinner, the _Daily News_ representative at Versailles; and they both gave us a cordial greeting.
The chief correspondent at the German headquarters was William Howard Russell of the _Times_, respecting whom–perhaps because he kept himself somewhat aloof from his colleagues–a variety of scarcely good-natured stories were related; mostly designed to show that he somewhat over-estimated his own importance. One yarn was to the effect that whenever the Doctor mounted his horse, it was customary for the Crown Prince of Prussia–afterwards the Emperor Frederick–to hold his stirrup leather for him. Personally, I can only say that, on my father calling with me on Russell, he received us very cordially indeed (he had previously met my father, and had well known my uncle Frank), and that when we quitted Versailles, as I shall presently relate, he placed his courier and his private omnibus at our disposal, in after years one of my cousins, the late Montague Vizetelly, accompanied Russell to South America. I still have some letters which the latter wrote me respecting Zola’s novel “La Débâcle,” in which he took a great interest.
Another war-correspondent at Versailles was the present Earl of Dunraven, then not quite thirty years of age, and known by the courtesy title of Lord Adare. He had previously acted as the _Daily Telegraph’s_ representative with Napier’s expedition against Theodore of Abyssinia, and was now staying at Versailles, on behalf, I think, of the same journal. His rooms at the Hôtel des Réservoirs were shared by Daniel Dunglas Home, the medium, with whom my father and myself speedily became acquainted. Very tall and slim, with blue eyes and an abundance of yellowish hair, Home, at this time about thirty-seven years of age, came of the old stock of the Earls of Home, whose name figures so often in Scottish history. His father was an illegitimate son of the tenth earl, and his mother belonged to a family which claimed to possess the gift of “second sight.” Home himself–according to his own account–began to see visions and receive mysterious warnings at the period of his mother’s death, and as time elapsed his many visitations from the other world so greatly upset the aunt with whom he was living–a Mrs. McNeill Cook of Greeneville, Connecticut [He had been taken from Scotland to America when he was about nine years old.]–that she ended by turning him out-of-doors. Other people, however, took an unhealthy delight in seeing their furniture move about without human agency, and in receiving more or less ridiculous messages from spirit-land; and in folk of this description Home found some useful friends.
He came to London in the spring of 1855, and on giving a _séance_ at Cox’s Hotel, in Jermyn Street, he contrived to deceive Sir David Brewster (then seventy-four years old), but was less successful with another septuagenarian, Lord Brougham. Later, he captured the imaginative Sir Edward Bulwer (subsequently Lord Lytton), who as author of “Zanoni” was perhaps fated to believe in him, and he also impressed Mrs. Browning, but not Browning himself The latter, indeed, depicted Home as “Sludge, the Medium.” Going to Italy for a time, the already notorious adventurer gave _séances_ in a haunted villa near Florence, but on becoming converted to the Catholic faith in 1856 he was received in private audience by that handsome, urbane, but by no means satisfactory pontiff, Pio Nono, who, however, eight years later caused him to be summarily expelled from Rome as a sorcerer in league with the Devil.
Meantime, Home had ingratiated himself with a number of crowned heads– Napoleon III and the Empress Eugénie, in whose presence he gave _séances_ at the Tuileries, Fontainebleau, and Biarritz; the King of Prussia, by whom he was received at Baden-Baden; and Queen Sophia of Holland, who gave him hospitality at the Hague. On marrying a Russian lady, the daughter of General Count de Kroll, he was favoured with presents by the Czar Alexander II, and after returning to England became one of the “attractions” of Milner-Gibson’s drawing-room–Mrs. Gibson, a daughter of the Rev. Sir Thomas Gery Cullum, being one of the early English patronesses of so-called spiritualism, to a faith in which she was “converted” by Home, whom she first met whilst travelling on the Continent. I remember hearing no little talk about him in my younger days. Thackeray’s friend, Robert Bell, wrote an article about him in _The Cornhill_, which was the subject of considerable discussion. Bell, I think, was also mixed up in the affair of the “Davenport Brothers,” one of whose performances I remember witnessing. They were afterwards effectively shown up in Paris by Vicomte Alfred de Caston. Home, for his part, was scarcely taken seriously by the Parisians, and when, at a _séance_ given in presence of the Empress Eugénie, he blundered grossly and repeatedly about her father, the Count of Montijo, he received an intimation that his presence at Court could be dispensed with. He then consoled himself by going to Peterhof and exhibiting his powers to the Czar.
Certain Scotch and English scientists, such as Dr. Lockhart Robertson, Dr. Robert Chambers, and Dr. James Manby Gully–the apostle of hydropathy, who came to grief in the notorious Bravo case–warmly supported Home. So did Samuel Carter Hall and his wife, William Howitt, and Gerald Massey; and he ended by establishing a so-called “Spiritual Athenaeum” in Sloane Street. A wealthy widow of advanced years, a Mrs. Jane Lyon, became a subscriber to that institution, and, growing infatuated with Home, made him a present of some £30,000, and settled on him a similar amount to be paid at her death. But after a year or two she repented of her infatuation, and took legal proceedings to recover her money. She failed to substantiate some of her charges, but Vice-Chancellor Giffard, who heard the case, decided it in her favour, in his judgment describing Home as a needy and designing man. Home, I should add, was at this time a widower and at loggerheads with his late wife’s relations in Russia, in respect to her property.
Among the arts ascribed to Home was that called levitation, in practising which he was raised in the air by an unseen and unknown force, and remained suspended there; this being, so to say, the first step towards human flying without the assistance of any biplane, monoplane, or other mechanical contrivance. The first occasion on which Home is said to have displayed this power was in the late fifties, when he was at a château near Bordeaux as the guest of the widow of Théodore Ducos, the nephew of Bonaparte’s colleague in the Consulate. In the works put forward on Home’s behalf–one of them, called “Incidents in my Life,” was chiefly written, it appears, by his friend and solicitor, a Mr. W.M. Wilkinson–it is also asserted that his power of levitation was attested in later years by Lord Lindsay, subsequently Earl of Crawford and Balcarres, and by the present Earl of Dunraven. We are told, indeed, that on one occasion the last-named actually saw Home float out of a room by one window, and into it again by another one. I do not know whether Home also favoured Professor Crookes with any exhibition of this kind, but the latter certainly expressed an opinion that some of Home’s feats were genuine.
When my father and I first met him at Versailles he was constantly in the company of Lord Adare. He claimed to be acting as the correspondent of a Californian journal, but his chief occupation appeared to be the giving of _séances_ for the entertainment of all the German princes and princelets staying at the Hôtel des Réservoirs. Most of these highnesses and mightinesses formed part of what the Germans themselves sarcastically called their “Ornamental Staff,” and as Moltke seldom allowed them any real share in the military operations, they doubtless found in Home’s performances some relief from the _taedium vitae_ which overtook them during their long wait for the capitulation of Paris. Now that Metz had fallen, that was the chief question which occupied the minds of all the Germans assembled at Versailles, [Note] and Home was called upon to foretell when it would take place. On certain occasions, I believe, he evoked the spirits of Frederick the Great, Napoleon, Blücher, and others, in order to obtain from them an accurate forecast. At another time he endeavoured to peer into the future by means of crystal-gazing, in which he required the help of a little child. “My experiments have not succeeded,” he said one day, while we were sitting with him at the café near the Hôtel des Réservoirs; “but that is not my fault. I need an absolutely pure-minded child, and can find none here, for this French race is corrupt from its very infancy.” He was fasting at this time, taking apparently nothing but a little _eau sucrée_ for several days at a stretch. “The spirits will not move me unless I do this,” he said. “To bring them to me, I have to contend against the material part of my nature.”
[Note: The Germans regarded it as the more urgent at the time of my arrival at Versailles, as only a few data previously (November 9), the new French Army of the Loire under D’Aurelle de Paladines had defeated the Bavarians at Coulmiers, and thereby again secured possession of Orleans.]
A couple of years later, after another visit to St. Petersburg, where, it seems, he was again well received by the Czar and again married a lady of the Russian nobility, Home’s health began to fail him, perhaps on account of the semi-starvation to which at intervals he subjected himself. I saw him occasionally during his last years, when, living at Auteuil, he was almost a neighbour of mine. He died there in 1886, being then about fifty-three years old. Personally, I never placed faith in him. I regarded him at the outset with great curiosity, but some time before the war I had read a good deal about Cagliostro, Saint Germain, Mesmer, and other charlatans, also attending a lecture about them at the Salle des Conferences; and all that, combined with the exposure of the Davenport Brothers and other spiritualists and illusionists, helped to prejudice me against such a man as Home. At the same time, this so-called “wizard of the nineteenth century” was certainly a curious personality, possessed, I presume, of considerable suggestive powers, which at times enabled him to make others believe as he desired. We ought to have had Charcot’s opinion of his case.
As it had taken my father and myself three days to reach Versailles from Paris, and we could not tell what other unpleasant experiences the future might hold in store for us, our pecuniary position gave rise to some concern. I mentioned previously that we quitted the capital with comparatively little money, and it now seemed as if our journey might become a long and somewhat costly affair, particularly as the German staff wished to send us off through Northern France and thence by way of Belgium. On consulting Landells, Skinner, and some other correspondents, it appeared that several days might elapse before we could obtain remittances from England. On the other hand, every correspondent clung to such money as he had in his possession, for living was very expensive at Versailles, and at any moment some emergency might arise necessitating an unexpected outlay. It was suggested, however, that we should apply to Colonel Beauchamp Walker, who was the official British representative with the German headquarters’ staff, for, we were told, Parliament, in its generosity, had voted a sum of £4000 to assist any needy British subjects who might come out of Paris, and Colonel Walker had the handling of the money in question.
Naturally enough, my father began by demurring to this suggestion, saying that he could not apply _in formâ pauperis_ for charity. But it was pointed out that he need do no such thing. “Go to Walker,” it was said, “explain your difficulty, and offer him a note of hand or a draft on the _Illustrated_, and if desired half a dozen of us will back it.” Some such plan having been decided on, we called upon Colonel Walker on the second or third day of our stay at Versailles.
His full name was Charles Pyndar Beauchamp Walker. Born in 1817, he had seen no little service. He had acted as an _aide-de-camp_ to Lord Lucan in the Crimea, afterwards becoming Lieutenant-Colonel of the 2nd Dragoon Guards. He was in India during the final operations for the suppression of the Mutiny, and subsequently in China during the Franco-British expedition to that country. During the Austro-Prussian war of 1866 he was attached as British Commissioner to the forces of the Crown Prince of Prussia, and witnessed the battle of Königgratz. He served in the same capacity during the Franco-German War, when he was at Weissenburg, Wörth, and Sedan. In later years he became a major-general, a lieutenant-general, a K.C.B., and Colonel of the 2nd Dragoon Guards; and from 1878 until his retirement in 1884 he acted as Inspector General of military education. I have set out those facts because I have no desire to minimise Walker’s services and abilities. But I cannot help smiling at a sentence which I found in the account of him given in the “Dictionary of National Biography.” It refers to his duties during the Franco-German War, and runs as follows: “The irritation of the Germans against England, and the number of roving Englishmen, made his duty not an easy one, but he was well qualified for it by his tact and geniality, and his action met with the full approval of the Government.”
The Government in question would have approved anything. But let that pass. We called on the colonel at about half-past eleven in the morning, and were shown into a large and comfortably furnished room, where decanters and cigars were prominently displayed on a central table. In ten minutes’ time the colonel appeared, arrayed in a beautiful figured dressing-gown with a tasselled girdle. I knew that the British officer was fond of discarding his uniform, and I was well aware that French officers also did so when on furlough in Paris, but it gave my young mind quite a shock to see her Majesty’s military representative with King William arrayed in a gaudy dressing-gown in the middle of the day. He seated himself, and querulously inquired of my father what his business was. It was told him very briefly. He frowned, hummed, hawed, threw himself back in his armchair, and curtly exclaimed, “I am not a money-lender!”
The fact that the _Illustrated London News_ was the world’s premier journal of its class went for nothing. The offers of the other correspondents of the English Press to back my father’s signature were dismissed with disdain. When the colonel was reminded that he held a considerable amount of money voted by Parliament, he retorted: “That is for necessitous persons! But you ask me to _lend_ you money!” “Quite so,” my father replied; “I do not wish to be a charge on the Treasury. I simply want a loan, as I have a difficult and perhaps an expensive journey before me.” “How much do you want?” snapped the colonel. “Well,” said my father, “I should feel more comfortable if I had a thousand francs (£40) in my pocket.” “Forty pounds!” cried Colonel Walker, as if lost in amazement. And getting up from his chair he went on, in the most theatrical manner possible: “Why, do you know, sir, that if I were to let you have forty pounds, I might find myself in the greatest possible difficulty. To-morrow–perhaps, even to-night–there might be hundreds of our suffering fellow-countrymen outside the gates of Versailles, and I unable to relieve them!” “But,” said my father quietly, “you would still be holding £3960, Colonel Walker.” The colonel glared, and my father, not caring to prolong such an interview, walked out of the room, followed by myself.
A good many of the poorer people who quitted Paris with us never repaired to Versailles at all, but left us at Corbeil or elsewhere to make their way across France as best they could. Another party, about one hundred strong, was, however, subsequently sent out of the capital with the assistance of Mr. Washburne, and in their case Colonel Walker had to expend some money. But every grant was a very niggardly one, and it would not surprise me to learn that the bulk of the money voted by Parliament was ultimately returned to the Treasury–which circumstance would probably account for the “full approval” which the Government bestowed on the colonel’s conduct at this period. He died early in 1894, and soon afterwards some of his correspondence was published in a volume entitled “Days of a Soldier’s Life.” On reading a review of that work in one of the leading literary journals, I was struck by a passage in which Walker was described as a disappointed and embittered man, who always felt that his merits were not sufficiently recognized, although he was given a knighthood and retired with the honorary rank of general. I presume that his ambition was at least a viscounty, if not an earldom, and a field-marshal’s _bâton_.
On leaving the gentleman whose “tact and geniality” are commemorated in the “Dictionary of National Biography,” we repaired–my father and I–to the café where most of the English newspaper men met. Several were there, and my father was at once assailed with inquiries respecting his interview with Colonel Walker. His account of it led to some laughter and a variety of comments, which would scarcely have improved the colonel’s temper. I remember, however, that Captain, afterwards Colonel Sir, Henry Hozier, the author of “The Seven Weeks’ War,” smiled quietly, but otherwise kept his own counsel. At last my father was asked what he intended to do under the circumstances, and he replied that he meant to communicate with England as speedily as possible, and remain in the interval at Versailles, although he particularly wished to get away.
Now, it happened that among the customers at the café there were two American officers, one being Brigadier-General Duff, a brother of Andrew Halliday, the dramatic author and essayist, whose real patronymic was also Duff. My father knew Halliday through their mutual friends Henry Mayhew and the Broughs. The other American officer was Major-General William Babcook Hazen, whose name will be found occasionally mentioned in that popular record of President Garfield’s career, “From Log Cabin to White House.” During the Civil War in the United States he had commanded a division in Sherman’s march to the sea. He also introduced the cold-wave signal system into the American army, and in 1870-71 he was following the operations of the Germans on behalf of his Government.
I do not remember whether General Duff (who, I have been told, is still alive) was also at Versailles in an official capacity, but in the course of conversation he heard of my father’s interview with Colonel Walker, and spoke to General Hazen on the subject. Hazen did not hesitate, but came to my father, had a brief chat with him, unbuttoned his uniform, produced a case containing bank-notes, and asked my father how much he wanted, telling him not to pinch himself. The whole transaction was completed in a few minutes. My father was unwilling to take quite as much as he had asked of Colonel Walker, but General Hazen handed him some £20 or £30 in notes, one or two of which were afterwards changed, for a handsome consideration, by one of the German Jews who then infested Versailles and profited by the scarcity of gold. We were indebted, then, on two occasions to the representatives of the United States. The _laisser-passer_ enabling us to leave Paris had been supplied by Mr. Washburne, and the means of continuing our journey in comfort were furnished by General Hazen. I raise my hat to the memory of both those gentlemen.
During the few days that we remained at Versailles, we caught glimpses of King William and Bismarck, both of whom we had previously seen in Paris in 1867, when they were the guests of Napoleon III. I find in my diary a memorandum, dictated perhaps by my father: “Bismarck much fatter and bloated.” We saw him one day leaving the Prefecture, where the King had his quarters. He stood for a moment outside, chatting and laughing noisily with some other German personages, then strode away with a companion. He was only fifty-five years old, and was full of vigour at that time, even though he might have put on flesh during recent years, and therefore have renounced dancing–his last partner in the waltz having been Mme. Carette, the Empress Eugénie’s reader, whom he led out at one of the ’67 balls at the Tuileries. Very hale and hearty, too, looked the King whom Bismarck was about to turn into an Emperor. Yet the victor of Sedan was already seventy-three years old. I only saw him on horseback during my stay at Versailles. My recollections of him, Bismarck, and Moltke, belong more particularly to the year 1872, when I was in Berlin in connexion with the famous meeting of the three Emperors.
My father and myself had kept in touch with Mr. Wodehouse, from whom we learnt that we should have to apply to the German General commanding at Versailles with respect to any further safe-conducts. At first we were informed that there could be no departure from the plan of sending us out of France by way of Epernay, Reims, and Sedan, and this by no means coincided with the desires of most of the Englishmen who had come out of Paris, they wishing to proceed westward, and secure a passage across the Channel from Le Hâvre or Dieppe. My father and myself also wanted to go westward, but in order to make our way into Brittany, my stepmother and her children being at Saint Servan, near Saint Malo. At last the German authorities decided to give us the alternative routes of Mantes and Dreux, the first-named being the preferable one for those people who were bound for England. It was chosen also by my father, as the Dreux route would have led us into a region where hostilities were in progress, and where we might suddenly have found ourselves “held up.”
The entire party of British refugees was now limited to fifteen or sixteen persons, some, tired of waiting, having taken themselves off by the Sedan route, whilst a few others–such as coachmen and grooms–on securing employment from German princes and generals, resolved to stay at Versailles. Mr. Wodehouse also remained there for a short time. Previously in poor health, he had further contracted a chill during our three days’ drive in an open vehicle. As most of those who were going on to England at once now found themselves almost insolvent, it was arranged to pay their expenses through the German lines, and to give each of them a sum of fifty shillings, so that they might make their way Channelwards when they had reached an uninvaded part of France. Colonel Walker, of course, parted with as little money as possible.
At Versailles it was absolutely impossible to hire vehicles to take us as far as Mantes, but we were assured that conveyances might be procured at Saint Germain-en-Laye; and it was thus that Dr. Russell lent my father his little omnibus for the journey to the last-named town, at the same time sending his courier to assist in making further arrangements. I do not recollect that courier’s nationality, but he spoke English, French, and German, and his services were extremely useful. We drove to Saint Germain by way of Rocquencourt, where we found a number of country-folk gathered by the roadside with little stalls, at which they sold wine and fruit to the German soldiers. This part of the environs of Paris seemed to have suffered less than the eastern and southern districts. So far, there had been only one sortie on this side–that made by Ducrot in the direction of La Malmaison. It had, however, momentarily alarmed the investing forces, and whilst we were at Versailles I learnt that, on the day in question, everything had been got ready for King William’s removal to Saint Germain in the event of the French achieving a real success. But it proved to be a small affair, Ducrot’s force being altogether incommensurate with the effort required of it.
At Saint Germain, Dr. Russell’s courier assisted in obtaining conveyances for the whole of our party, and we were soon rolling away in the direction of Mantes-la-Jolie, famous as the town where William the Conqueror, whilst bent on pillage and destruction, received the injuries which caused his death. Here we had to report ourselves to the German Commander, who, to the general consternation, began by refusing its permission to proceed. He did so because most of the safe-conducts delivered to us at Versailles, had, in the first instance, only stated that we were to travel by way of Sedan; the words “or Mantes or Dreux” being afterwards added between the lines. That interlineation was irregular, said the General at Mantes; it might even be a forgery; at all events, he could not recognize it, so we must go back whence we had come, and quickly, too–indeed, he gave us just half an hour to quit the town! But it fortunately happened that in a few of the safe-conducts there was no interlineation whatever, the words “Sedan or Mantes or Dreux” being duly set down in the body of the document, and on this being pointed out, the General came to the conclusion that we were not trying to impose on him. He thereupon cancelled his previous order, and decided that, as dusk was already falling, we might remain at Mantes that night, and resume our journey on the morrow at 5.45 a.m., in the charge of a cavalry escort.
Having secured a couple of beds, and ordered some dinner at one of the inns, my father and I strolled about the town, which was full of Uhlans and Hussars. The old stone bridge across the Seine had been blown up by the French before their evacuation of the town, and a part of the railway line had also been destroyed by them. But the Germans were responsible for the awful appearance of the railway-station. Never since have I seen anything resembling it. A thousand panes of glass belonging to windows or roofing had been shivered to atoms. Every mirror in either waiting or refreshment-rooms had been pounded to pieces; every gilt frame broken into little bits. The clocks lay about in small fragments; account-books and printed forms had been torn to scraps; partitions, chairs, tables, benches, boxes, nests of drawers, had been hacked, split, broken, reduced to mere strips of wood. The large stoves were overturned and broken, and the marble refreshment counter–some thirty feet long, and previously one of the features of the station–now strewed the floor in particles, suggesting gravel. It was, indeed, an amazing sight, the more amazing as no such work of destruction could have been accomplished without extreme labour. When we returned to the inn for dinner, I asked some questions. “Who did it?” “The first German troops that came here,” was the answer. “Why did they do it?–was it because your men had cut the telegraph wires and destroyed some of the permanent way?” “Oh no! They expected to find something to drink in the refreshment-room, and when they discovered that everything had been taken away, they set about breaking the fixtures!” Dear, nice, placid German soldiers, baulked, for a few minutes, of some of the wine of France!
In the morning we left Mantes by moonlight at the appointed hour, unaccompanied, however, by any escort. Either the Commandant had forgotten the matter, or his men had overslept themselves. In the outskirts, we were stopped by a sentry, who carried our pass to a guard-house, where a noncommissioned officer inspected it by the light of a lantern. Then on we went again for another furlong or so, when we were once more challenged, this time by the German advanced-post. As we resumed our journey, we perceived, in the rear, a small party of Hussars, who did not follow us, but wheeled suddenly to the left, bent, no doubt, on some reconnoitering expedition. We were now beyond the German lines, and the dawn was breaking. Yonder was the Seine, with several islands lying on its bosom, and some wooded heights rising beyond it. Drawing nearer to the river, we passed through the village of Rolleboise, which gives its name to the chief tunnel on the Western Line, and drove across the debatable ground where French Francstireurs were constantly on the prowl for venturesome Uhlans. At last we got to Bonnières, a little place of some seven or eight hundred inhabitants, on the limits of Seine-et-Oise; and there we had to alight, for the vehicles, which had brought us from Saint Germain, could proceed no further.
Fortunately, we secured others, and went on towards the village of Jeufosse, where the nearest French outposts were established. We were displaying the white flag, but the first French sentries we met, young fellows of the Mobile Guard, refused for a little while to let us pass. Eventually they referred the matter to an officer, who, on discovering that we were English and had come from Paris, began to chat with us in a very friendly manner, asking all the usual questions about the state of affairs in the capital, and expressing the usual satisfaction that the city could still hold out. When we took leave, he cordially wished us _bon voyage_, and on we hastened, still following the course of the Seine, to the little town of Vernon. Its inquisitive inhabitants at once surrounded us, eager to know who we were, whence we had come, and whither we were going. But we did not tarry many minutes, for we suddenly learnt that the railway communication with Rouen only began at Gaillon, several leagues further on, and that there was only one train a day. The question which immediately arose was–could we catch it?
On we went, then, once more, this time up, over, and down a succession of steep hills, until at last we reached Gaillon station, and found to our delight that the train would not start for another twenty minutes. All our companions took tickets for Rouen, whence they intended to proceed to Dieppe or Le Hâvre. But my father and I branched off before reaching the Norman capital, and, after, arriving at Elbeuf, travelled through the departments of the Eure and the Orne, passing Alençon on our way to Le Mans. On two or three occasions we had to change from one train to another. The travelling was extremely slow, and there were innumerable stoppages. The lines were constantly encumbered with vans laden with military supplies, and the stations were full of troops going in one and another direction. In the waiting-rooms one found crowds of officers lying on the couches, the chairs, and the tables, and striving to snatch a few hours’ sleep; whilst all over the floors and the platforms soldiers had stretched themselves for the same purpose. Very seldom could any food be obtained, but I luckily secured a loaf, some cheese, and a bottle of wine at Alençon. It must have been about one o’clock in the morning when we at last reached Le Mans, and found that there would be no train going to Rennes for another four or five hours.
The big railway-station of Le Mans was full of reinforcements for the Army of the Loire. After strolling about for a few minutes, my father and I sat down on the platform with our backs against a wall, for not a bench or a stool was available. Every now and again some train prepared to start, men were hastily mustered, and then climbed into all sorts of carriages and vans. A belated general rushed along, accompanied by eager _aides-de-camp_. Now and again a rifle slipped from the hand of some Mobile Guard who had been imbibing too freely, and fell with a clatter on the platform. Then stores were bundled into trucks, whistles sounded, engines puffed, and meanwhile, although men were constantly departing, the station seemed to be as crowded as ever. When at last I got up to stretch myself, I noticed, affixed to the wall against which I had been leaning, a proclamation of Gambetta’s respecting D’Aurelle de Paladines’ victory over Von der Tann at Orleans. In another part of the station were lithographed notices emanating from the Prefect of the department, and reciting a variety of recent Government decrees and items of war news, skirmishes, reconnaissances, and so forth. At last, however, our train came in. It was composed almost entirely of third-class carriages with wooden seats, and we had to be content with that accommodation.
Another long and wearisome journey then began. Again we travelled slowly, again there were innumerable stoppages, again we passed trains crowded with soldiers, or crammed full of military stores. At some place where we stopped there was a train conveying some scores of horses, mostly poor, miserable old creatures. I looked and wondered at the sight of them. “They have come from England,” said a fellow-passenger; “every boat from Southampton to Saint Malo brings over quite a number.” It was unpleasant to think that such sorry-looking beasts had been shipped by one’s own countrymen. However, we reached Rennes at last, and were there able to get a good square meal, and also to send a telegram to my stepmother, notifying her of our early arrival. It was, however, at a late hour that we arrived at Saint Malo, whence we drove to La Petite Amelia at Saint Servan.
The latter town then contained a considerable colony of English people, among whom the military element predominated. Quite a number of half-pay or retired officers had come to live there with their families, finding Jersey overcrowded and desiring to practise economy. The colony also included several Irish landlords in reduced circumstances, who had quitted the restless isle to escape assassination at the hands of “Rory of the Hills” and folk of his stamp. In addition, there were several maiden ladies of divers ages, but all of slender means; one or two courtesy lords of high descent, but burdened with numerous offspring; together with a riding-master who wrote novels, and an elderly clergyman appointed by the Bishop of Gibraltar. I dare say there may have been a few black sheep in the colony; but the picture which Mrs. Annie Edwardes gave of it in her novel, “Susan Fielding,” was exaggerated, though there was truth in the incidents which she introduced into another of her works, “Ought We to Visit Her?” On the whole, the Saint Servan colony was a very respectable one, even if it was not possessed of any great means. Going there during my holidays, I met many young fellows of my own age or thereabouts, and mostly belonging to military families. There were also several charming girls, both English and Irish. With the young fellows I boated, with the young ladies I played croquet.
Now, whilst my father and I had been shut up in Paris, we had frequently written to my stepmother by balloon-post, and on some of our letters being shown to the clergyman of the colony, he requested permission to read them to his congregation–which he frequently did, omitting, of course, the more private passages, but giving all the items of news and comments on the situation which the letters contained. As a matter of fact, this helped the reverend gentleman out of a difficulty. He was an excellent man, but, like many others of his cloth, he did not know how to preach. In fact, a year or two later, I myself wrote one or two sermons for him, working into them certain matters of interest to the colony. During the earlier part of the siege of Paris, however, the reading of my father’s letters and my own from the pulpit at the close of the usual service saved the colony’s pastor from the trouble of composing a bad sermon, or of picking out an indifferent one from some forgotten theological work. My father, on arriving at Saint Servan, secluded himself as far as possible, so as to rest awhile before proceeding to England; but I went about much as usual; and my letters read from the pulpit, and sundry other matters, having made me a kind of “public character,” I was at once pounced upon in the streets, carried off to the club and to private houses, and there questioned and cross-questioned by a dozen or twenty Crimean and Indian veteran officers who were following the progress of the war with a passionate interest.
A year or two previously, moreover, my stepmother had formed a close friendship with one of the chief French families of the town. The father, a retired officer of the French naval service, was to have commanded a local Marching Battalion, but he unfortunately sickened and died, leaving his wife with one daughter, a beautiful girl who was of about my own age. Now, this family had been joined by the wife’s parents, an elderly couple, who, on the approach of the Germans to Paris, had quitted the suburb where they resided. I was often with these friends at Saint Servan, and on arriving there from Paris, our conversation naturally turned on the war. As the old gentleman’s house in the environs of the capital was well within the French lines, he had not much reason to fear for its safety, and, moreover, he had taken the precaution to remove his valuables into the city. But he was sorely perturbed by all the conflicting news respecting the military operations in the provinces, the reported victories which turned out to be defeats, the adverse rumours concerning the condition of the French forces, the alleged scandal of the Camp of Conlie, where the more recent Breton levies were said to be dying off like rotten sheep, and many other matters besides. Every evening when I called on these friends the conversation was the same. The ladies, the grandmother, the daughter, and the granddaughter, sat there making garments for the soldiers or preparing lint for the wounded–those being the constant occupations of the women of Brittany during all the hours they could spare from their household duties–and meanwhile the old gentleman discussed with me both the true and the spurious news of the day. The result of those conversations was that, as soon as my father had betaken himself to England, I resolved to go to the front myself, ascertain as much of the truth as I could, and become, indeed, a war-correspondent on “my own.” In forming that decision I was influenced, moreover, by one of those youthful dreams which life seldom, if ever, fulfils.
IX
THE WAR IN THE PROVINCES
First Efforts of the National Defence Delegates–La Motte-Rouge and his Dyed Hair–The German Advance South of Paris–Moltke and King William– Bourges, the German Objective–Characteristics of Beauce, Perche, and Sologne–French Evacuation of Orleans–Gambetta arrives at Tours–His Coadjutor, Charles Louis de Saulces de Freycinet–Total Forces of the National Defence on Gambetta’s Arrival–D’Aurelle de Paladines supersedes La Motte-Rouge–The Affair of Châteaudun–Cambriels–Garibaldi–Jessie White Mario–Edward Vizetelly–Catholic Hatred of Garibaldi–The Germans at Dijon–The projected Relief of Paris–Trochu’s Errors and Ducrot’s Schemes–The French Victory of Coulmiers–Change of Plan in Paris–My Newspaper Work–My Brother Adrian Vizetelly–The General Position.
When I reached Brittany, coming from Paris, early in the second fortnight of November, the Provincial Delegation of the Government of National Defence was able to meet the Germans with very considerable forces. But such had not been the case immediately after Sedan. As I pointed out previously–quite apart from the flower of the old Imperial Army, which was beleaguered around Metz–a force far too large for mere purposes of defence was confined within the lines with which the Germans invested Paris. In the provinces, the number of troops ready to take the field was very small indeed. Old Crémieux, the Minister of Justice, was sent out of Paris already on September 12, and took with him a certain General Lefort, who was to attend to matters of military organization in the provinces. But little or no confidence was placed in the resources there. The military members of the National Defence Government–General Trochu, its President, and General Le Flò, its Minister of War, had not the slightest idea that provincial France might be capable of a great effort. They relied chiefly on the imprisoned army of Paris, as is shown by all their despatches and subsequent apologies. However, Glais-Bizoin followed Crémieux to Tours, where it had been arranged that the Government Delegation should instal itself, and he was accompanied by Admiral Fourichon, the Minister of Marine. On reaching the Loire region, the new authorities found a few battalions of Mobile Guards, ill-armed and ill-equipped, a battalion of sharpshooters previously brought from Algeria, one or two batteries of artillery, and a cavalry division of four regiments commanded by General Reyau. This division had been gathered together in the final days of the Empire, and was to have been sent to Mezieres, to assist MacMahon in his effort to succour Bazaine; but on failing to get there, it had made just a few vain attempts to check the Germans in their advance on Paris, and had then fallen back to the south of the capital.
General Lefort’s first task was to collect the necessary elements for an additional army corps–the 15th–and he summoned to his assistance the veteran General de la Motte-Rouge, previously a very capable officer, but now almost a septuagenarian, whose particular fad it was to dye his hair, and thereby endeavour to make himself look no more than fifty. No doubt, hi the seventeenth century, the famous Prince de Condé with the eagle glance took a score of wigs with him when he started on a campaign; but even such a practice as that is not suited to modern conditions of warfare, though be it admitted that it takes less time to change one’s wig than to have one’s hair dyed. The latter practice may, of course, help a man to cut a fine figure on parade, but it is of no utility in the field. In a controversy which arose after the publication of Zola’s novel “La Débâole,” there was a conflict of evidence as to whether the cheeks of Napoleon III were or were not rouged in order to conceal his ghastly pallor on the fatal day of Sedan. That may always remain a moot point; but it is, I think, certain that during the last two years of his rule his moustache and “imperial” were dyed.
But let me return to the National Defence. Paris, as I formerly mentioned, was invested on September 19. On the 22nd a Bavarian force occupied the village of Longjumeau, referred to in my account of my journey to Versailles. A couple of days later, the Fourth Division of German cavalry, commanded by Prince Albert (the elder) of Prussia, started southward through the departments of Eure-et-Loir and Loiret, going towards Artenay in the direction of Orleans. This division, which met at first with little opposition, belonged to a force which was detached from the main army of the Crown Prince of Prussia, and placed under the command of the Grand-Duke Frederick Francis of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. Near this “Armée-Abtheilung,” as the Germans called it, was the first Bavarian army corps, which had fought at Bazeilles on the day of Sedan. It was commanded by General von und zu der Tann-Rathsamhausen, commonly called Von der Tann, _tout court_.
As Prince Albert of Prussia, on drawing near to Artenay, found a good many French soldiers, both regulars and irregulars, that is Francs-tireurs, located in the district, he deemed it best to retire on Toury and Pithiviers. But his appearance so far south had sufficed to alarm the French commander at Orleans, General de Polhès, who at once, ordered his men to evacuate the city and retire, partly on Blois, and partly on La Motte-Beuvron. This pusillanimity incensed the Delegates of the National Defence, and Polhès was momentarily superseded by General Reyau, and later (October 5) by La Motte-Rouge.
It is known, nowadays, that the Germans were at first perplexed as to the best course to pursue after they had completed the investment of Paris. Moltke had not anticipated a long siege of the French capital. He had imagined that the city would speedily surrender, and that the war would then come to an end. Fully acquainted with the tract of country lying between the Rhine and Paris, he had much less knowledge of other parts of France; and, moreover, although he had long known how many men could be placed in the field by the military organisation of the Empire, he undoubtedly underestimated the further resources of the French, and did not anticipate any vigorous provincial resistance. His sovereign, King William, formed a more correct estimate respecting the prolongation of the struggle, and, as was mentioned by me in my previous book–“Republican France”–he more than once rectified the mistakes which were made by the great German strategist.
The invader’s objective with respect to central France was Bourges, the old capital of Berry, renowned for its ordnance and ammunition works, and, in the days when the troops of our Henry V overran France, the scene of Charles VII’s retirement, before he was inspirited either by Agnes Sorel or by Joan of Arc. To enable an army coming from the direction of Paris to seize Bourges, it is in the first instance necessary–as a reference to any map of France will show–to secure possession of Orleans, which is situated at the most northern point, the apex, so to say, of the course of the Loire, and is only about sixty-eight miles from Paris. At the same time it is advisable that any advance upon Orleans should be covered, westward, by a corresponding advance on Chartres, and thence on Châteaudun. This became the German plan, and whilst a force under General von Wittich marched on Chartres, Von der Tann’s men approached Orleans through the Beauce region.
From the forest of Dourdan on the north to the Loire on the south, and from the Chartres region on the west to the Gatinais on the east, this great grain-growing plateau (the scene of Zola’s famous novel “La Terre”) is almost level. Although its soil is very fertile there are few watercourses in Beauce, none of them, moreover, being of a nature to impede the march of an army. The roads are lined with stunted elms, and here and there a small copse, a straggling farm, a little village, may be seen, together with many a row of stacks, the whole forming in late autumn and in winter–when hurricanes, rain, and snow-storms sweep across the great expanse–as dreary a picture as the most melancholy-minded individual could desire. Whilst there is no natural obstacle to impede the advance of an invader, there is also no cover for purposes of defence. All the way from Chartres to Orleans the high-road is not once intersected by a river. Nearly all of the few streams which exist thereabouts run from south to north, and they supply no means of defence against an army coming from the direction of Paris. The region is one better suited for the employment of cavalry and artillery than for that of foot-soldiers.
The Chartres country is better watered than Beaude. Westward, in both of the districts of Perche, going either towards Mortagne or towards Nogent-le-Rotrou, the country is more hilly and more wooded; and hedges, ditches, and dingle paths abound there. In such districts infantry can well be employed for defensive purposes. Beyond the Loir–not the Loire– S.S.W. of Chartres, is the Pays Dunois, that is the district of Châteaudun, a little town protected on the north and the west by the Loir and the Conie, and by the hills between which those rivers flow, but open to any attack on the east, from which direction, indeed, the Germans naturally approached it.
Beyond the Loire, to the south-east of Beauce and Orleans, lies the sheep-breeding region called Sologne, which the Germans would have had to cross had they prosecuted their intended march on Bourges. Here cavalry and artillery are of little use, the country abounding in streams, ponds, and marshes. Quite apart, however, from natural obstacles, no advance on Bourges could well be prosecuted so long as the French held Orleans; and even when that city had fallen into the hands of the Germans, the presence of large French forces on the west compelled the invaders to carry hostilities in that direction and abandon their projected march southward. Thus the campaign in which I became interested was carried on principally in the departments of Eure-et-Loir, Loiret, Loir-et-Cher, and Sarthe, to terminate, at last, in Mayenne.
Great indiscipline prevailed among the troops whom La Motte-Rouge had under his orders. An attack by Von der Tann to the north of Orleans on October 10, led to the retreat of a part of the French forces. On the following day, when the French had from 12,000 to 13,000 men engaged, they were badly defeated, some 1800 of their men being put _hors de combat_, and as many being taken prisoners. This reverse, which was due partly to some mistakes made by La Motte-Rouge, and partly to the inferior quality of his troops, led to the immediate evacuation of Orleans. Now, it was precisely at this moment that Gambetta appeared upon the scene. He had left Paris, it will be remembered, on October 7; on the 8th he was at Rouen, on the 9th he joined the other Government delegates at Tours, and on the 10th–the eve of La Motte-Rouge’s defeat–he became Minister of War as well as Minister of the Interior.
Previously the portfolio for war had been held in the provinces by Admiral Fourichon, with General Lefort as his assistant; but Fourichon had resigned in connexion with a Communalist rising which had taken place at Lyons towards the end of September, when the Prefect, Challemel-Lacour, was momentarily made a prisoner by the insurgents, but was afterwards released by some loyal National Guards. [See my book, “The Anarchists: Their Faith and their Record,” John Lane, 1911.] Complaining that General Mazure, commander of the garrison, had not done his duty on this occasion, Challemel-Lacour caused him to be arrested, and Fourichon, siding with the general, thereupon resigned the War Ministry, Crémieux taking it over until Gambetta’s arrival. It may well be asked how one could expect the military affairs of France to prosper when they were subordinated to such wretched squabbles.
Among the men whom Gambetta found at Tours, was an engineer, who, after the Revolution of September 4, had been appointed Prefect of Tarn-et-Garonne, but who, coming into conflict with the extremists of Montauban, much as Challemel-Lacour had come into conflict with those of Lyons, had promptly resigned his functions. His name was Charles Louis de Saulces de Freycinet, and, though he was born at Foix near the Pyrenees, he belonged to an ancient family of Dauphiné. At this period (October, 1870), Freycinet had nearly completed his forty-second year. After qualifying as an engineer at the Ecole Polytechnique, he had held various posts at Mont-de-Marsan, Chartres, and Bordeaux, before securing in 1864 the position of traffic-manager to the Chemin de Fer du Midi. Subsequently he was entrusted with various missions abroad, and in 1869 the Institute of France crowned a little work of his on the employment of women and children in English factories. Mining engineering was his speciality, but he was extremely versatile and resourceful, and immediately attracted the notice of Gambetta. Let it be said to the latter’s credit that in that hour of crisis he cast all prejudices aside. He cared nothing for the antecedents of any man who was willing to cooperate in the defence of France; and thus, although Freycinet came of an ancient-aristocratic house, and had made his way under the Empire, which had created him first a chevalier and then an officer of the Legion of Honour, Gambetta at once selected him to act as his chef-de-cabinet, and delegate in military affairs.
At this moment the National Defence had in or ready for the field only 40,000 regular infantry, a like number of Mobile Guards, from 5000 to 6000 cavalry, and about 100 guns, some of antiquated models and with very few men to serve them. There were certainly a good many men at various regimental dépôts, together with Mobile Guards and National Guards in all the uninvaded provinces of France; but all these had to be drilled, equipped, and armed. That was the first part of the great task which lay before Gambetta and Freycinet. Within a month, however–leaving aside what was done in other parts of the country–France had on the Loire alone an army of 100,000 men, who for a moment, at all events, turned the tide of war. At the same time I would add that, before Gambetta’s arrival on the scene, the National Defence Delegates had begun to concentrate some small bodies of troops both in Normandy and in Picardy and Artois, the latter forming the first nucleus of the Army of the North which Faidherbe afterwards commanded. Further, in the east of France there was a force under General Cambriels, whose object was to cut the German communications in the Vosges.
Von der Tann, having defeated La Motte-Rouge, occupied Orleans, whilst the French withdrew across the Loire to La Motte-Beuvron and Gien, south and south-east of their former position. Gambetta had to take action immediately. He did so by removing La Motte-Rouge from his command, which he gave to D’Aurelle de Paladines. The latter, a general on the reserve list, with a distinguished record, was in his sixty-sixth year, having been born at Languedoc in 1804. He had abilities as an organiser, and was known to be a disciplinarian, but he was growing old, and looked confidence both in himself and in his men. At the moment of D’Aurelle’s appointment, Von der Tann wished to advance on Bourges, in accordance with Moltke’s instructions, and, in doing so, he proposed to evacuate Orleans; but this was forbidden by King William and the Crown Prince, and in the result the Bavarian general suffered a repulse at Salbris, which checked his advance southward. Still covering Bourges and Vierzon, D’Aurelle soon had 60,000 men under his orders, thanks to the efforts of Gambetta and Freyeinet. But the enemy were now making progress to the west of Orleans, in which direction the tragic affair of Châteaudun occurred on October 18. The German column operating on that side under General von Wittich, consisted of 6000 infantry, four batteries, and a cavalry regiment, which advanced on Châteaudun from the east, and, on being resisted by the villagers of Varize and Civry, shot them down without mercy, and set all their houses (about 130 in number) on fire. Nevertheless, that punishment did not deter the National Guards of Châteaudun, and the Francs-tireurs who had joined them, from offering the most strenuous opposition to the invaders, though the latter’s numerical superiority alone was as seven to one. The fierce fight was followed by terrible scenes. Most of the Francs-tireurs, who had not fallen in the engagement, effected a retreat, and on discovering this, the infuriated Germans, to whom the mere name of Franc-tireur was as a red rag to a bull, did not scruple to shoot down a number of non-combatants, including women and children.
I remember the excitement which the news of the Châteaudun affair occasioned in besieged Paris; and when I left the capital a few weeks later I heard it constantly spoken of. In vain did the Germans strive to gloss over the truth. The proofs were too numerous and the reality was too dreadful. Two hundred and thirty-five of the devoted little town’s houses were committed to the flames. For the first time in the whole course of the war women were deliberately assaulted, and a couple of German Princes disgraced their exalted station in a drunken and incendiary orgie.
Meantime, in the east of France, Cambriels had failed in his attempt to cut the German communications, and had been compelled to beat a retreat. It must be said for him that his troops were a very sorry lot, who could not be depended upon. Not only were they badly disciplined and addicted to drunkenness, but they took to marauding and pillage, and were in no degree a match for the men whom the German General von Werder led against them. Garibaldi, the Italian Liberator, had offered his sword to France, soon after the fall of the Second Empire. On October 8–that is, a day before Gambetta–he arrived at Tours, to arrange for a command, like that of Cambriels, in the east of France. The little Army of the Vosges, which was eventually constituted under his orders, was made up of very heterogeneous elements. Italians, Switzers, Poles, Hungarians, Englishmen, as well as Frenchmen, were to be found in its ranks. The general could not be called a very old man, being indeed only sixty-three years of age, but he had led an eventful and arduous life; and, as will be remembered, ever since the affair of Aspromonte in 1862, he had been lame, and had gradually become more and more infirm. He had with him, however, two of his sons, Menotti and Ricoiotti (the second a more competent soldier than the first), and several, able men, such as his compatriot Lobbia, and the Pole, Bosak-Hauké. His chief of staff, Bordone, previously a navy doctor, was, however, a very fussy individual who imagined himself to be a military genius. Among the Englishmen with Garibaldi were Robert Middleton and my brother Edward Vizetelly; and there was an Englishwoman, Jessie White Mario, daughter of White the boat-builder of Cowes, and widow of Mario, Garibaldi’s companion in arms in the glorious Liberation days. My brother often told me that Mme. Mario was equally at home in an ambulance or in a charge, for she was an excellent nurse and an admirable horsewoman as well as a good shot. She is one of the women of whom I think when I hear or read that the members of the completing sex cannot fight. But that of course is merely the opinion of some medical and newspaper men.
Mme. Mario contributed a certain number of articles to the _Daily News_. So did my brother–it was indeed as _Daily News_ correspondent that he first joined Garibaldi’s forces–but he speedily became an orderly to the general, and later a captain on the staff. He was at the battles of Dijon and Autun, and served under Lobbia in the relief of Langres. Some French historians of these later days have written so slightingly of the little Army of the Vosges, that I am sorry my brother did not leave any permanent record of his experiences. Garibaldi’s task was no easy one. In the first instance, the National Defence hesitated to employ him; secondly, they wished to subordinate him to Cambriels, and he declined to take any such position; not that he objected to serve under any superior commander who would treat him fairly, but because he, Garibaldi, was a freethinker, and knew that he was bitterly detested by the fervently Catholic generals, such as Cambriels. As it happened, he secured an independent command. But in exercising it he had to co-operate with Cambriels in various ways, and in later years my brother told me how shamefully Cambriels acted more than once towards the Garibaldian force. It was indeed a repetition of what had occurred at the very outset of the war, when such intense jealousy had existed among certain marshals and generals that one had preferred to let another be defeated rather than march “at the sound of the guns” to his assistance.
I also remember my brother telling me that when Langres (which is in the Haute Marne, west of the Aube and the Côte d’Or) was relieved by Lobbia’s column, the commander of the garrison refused at first to let the Garibaldians enter the town. He was prepared to surrender to the Germans, if necessary; but the thought that he, a devout Catholic, should owe any assistance to such a band of unbelieving brigands as the Garibaldian enemies of the Pope was absolutely odious to him. Fortunately, this kind of feeling did not show itself in western France. There was, at one moment, some little difficulty respecting the position of Cathélineau, the descendant of the famous Vendéen leader, but, on the whole, Catholics, Royalists, and Republicans loyally supported one another, fired by a common patriotism.
The failure of Cambriel’s attempts to cut the German communications, and the relatively small importance of the Garibaldian force, inspired Gambetta with the idea of forming a large Army of the East which, with Langres, Belfort, and Besançon as its bases, would vigorously assume the offensive in that part of France. Moltke, however, had already sent General von Werder orders to pursue the retreating Cambriels. Various engagements, late in October, were followed by a German march on Dijon. There were at this time 12,000 or 13,000 Mobile Guards in the Côte d’Or, but no general in command of them. Authority was exercised by a civilian, Dr. Lavalle. The forces assembled at Dijon and Beaune amounted, inclusive of regulars and National Guards, to about 20,000 men, but they were very badly equipped and armed, and their officers were few in number and of very indifferent ability. Werder came down on Dijon in a somewhat hesitating way, like a man who is not sure of his ground or of the strength of the enemy in front of him. But the French were alarmed by his approach, and on October 30 Dijon was evacuated, and soon afterwards occupied by Werder with two brigades.
Three days previously Metz had surrendered, and France was reeling under the unexpected blow in spite of all the ardent proclamations with which Gambetta strove to impart hope and stimulate patriotism. Bazaine’s capitulation naturally implied the release of the forces under Prince Frederick Charles, by which he had been invested, and their transfer to other parts of France for a more vigorous prosecution of the invasion. Werder, after occupying Dijon, was to have gone westward through the Nivernais in order to assist other forces in the designs on Bourges. But some days before Metz actually fell, Moltke sent him different instructions, setting forth that he was to take no further account of Bourges, but to hold Dijon, and concentrate at Vesoul, keeping a watch on Langres and Besançon. For a moment, however, 3600 French under an officer named Fauconnet suddenly recaptured Dijon, though there were more than 10,000 Badeners installed there under General von Beyer. Unfortunately Fauconnet was killed in the affair, a fresh evacuation of the Burgundian capital ensued, and the Germans then remained in possession of the city for more than a couple of months.
In the west the army of the Loire was being steadily increased and consolidated, thanks to the untiring efforts of Gambetta, Freycinet, and D’Aurelle, the last of whom certainly contributed largely to the organization of the force, though he was little inclined to quit his lines and assume the offensive. It was undoubtedly on this army that Gambetta based his principal hopes. The task assigned to it was greater than those allotted to any of the other armies which were gradually assuming shape–being, indeed, the relief of beleaguered Paris.
Trochu’s own memoirs show that at the outset of the siege his one thought was to remain on the defensive. In this connexion it is held, nowadays, that he misjudged the German temperament, that remembering the vigorous attempts of the Allies on Sebastopol–he was, as we know, in the Crimea, at the time–he imagined that the Germans would make similarly vigorous attempts on Paris. He did not expect a long and so to say passive siege, a mere blockade during which the investing army would simply content itself with repulsing the efforts of the besieged to break through its lines. He knew that the Germans had behaved differently in the case of Strasbourg and some other eastern strongholds, and anticipated a similar line of action with respect to the French capital. But the Germans preferred to follow a waiting policy towards both Metz and Paris. It has been said that this was less the idea of Moltke than that of Bismarck, whose famous phrase about letting the Parisians stew in their own juice will be remembered. But one should also recollect that both Metz and Paris were defended by great forces, and that there was little likelihood of any _coup de main_ succeeding; whilst, as for bombardment, though it might have some moral, it would probably have very little material effect. Metz was not really bombarded, and the attempt to bombard Paris was deferred for several months. When it at last took place a certain number of buildings were damaged, 100 persons were killed and 200 persons wounded–a material effect which can only be described as absolutely trivial in the case of so great and so populous a city.
Trochu’s idea to remain merely on the defensive did not appeal to his coadjutor General Ducrot. The latter had wished to break through the German lines on the day of Sedan, and he now wished to break through them round Paris. Various schemes occurred to him. One was to make a sortie in the direction of Le Bourget and the plain of Saint Denis, but it seemed useless to attempt to break out on the north, as the Germans held Laon, Soissons, La Fère, and Amiens. There was also an idea of making an attempt on the south, in the direction of Villejuif, but everything seemed to indicate that the Germans were extremely strong on this side of the city and occupied no little of the surrounding country. The question of a sortie on the east, across the Marne, was also mooted and dismissed for various reasons; the idea finally adopted being to break out by way of the Gennevilliers peninsula formed by the course of the Seine on the north-west, and then (the heights of Cormeil having been secured) to cross the Oise, and afterwards march on Rouen, where it would be possible to victual the army. Moreover, instructions were to be sent into the provinces in order that both the forces on the Loire and those in the north might bear towards Normandy, and there join the army from Paris, in such wise that there would be a quarter of a million men between Dieppe, Rouen, and Caen. Trochu ended by agreeing to this scheme, and even entertained a hope that he might be able to revictual Paris by way of the Seine, for which purpose a flotilla of boats was prepared. Ducrot and he expected to be ready by November 15 or 20, but it is said that they were hampered in their preparations by the objections raised by Guiod and Chabaud-Latour, the former an engineer, and the latter an artillery general. Moreover, the course of events in the provinces suddenly caused a complete reversal of Ducrot’s plans.
On November 9, D’Aurelle de Paladines defeated Von der Tann at Coulmiers, west of Orleans. The young French troops behaved extremely well, but the victory not being followed up with sufficient vigour by D’Aurelle, remained somewhat incomplete, though it constrained the Germans to evacuate Orleans. On the whole this was the first considerable success achieved by the French since the beginning of the war, and it did much to revive the spirits which had been drooping since the fall of Metz. Another of its results was to change Ducrot’s plans respecting the Paris sortie. He and Trochu had hitherto taken little account of the provincial armies, and the success of Coulmiers came to them as a surprise and a revelation. There really was an army of the Loire, then, and it was advancing on Paris from Orleans. The Parisian forces must therefore break out on the south-east and join hands with this army of relief in or near the forest of Fontainebleau. Thus, all the preparations for a sortie by way of Gennevilliers were abandoned, and followed by others for an attempt in the direction of Champigny.
Such was roughly the position at the time when I reached Brittany and conceived the idea of joining the French forces on the Loire and forwarding some account of their operations to England. During my stay in Paris with my father I had assisted him in preparing several articles, and had written others on my own account. My eldest brother, Adrian Vizetelly, was at this time assistant-secretary at the Institution of Naval Architects. He had been a student at the Royal School of Naval Architecture with the Whites, Elgars, Yarrows, Turnbulls, and other famous shipbuilders, and on quitting it had taken the assistant-secretaryship in question as an occupation pending some suitable vacancy in the Government service or some large private yard. The famous naval constructor, E. J. Reed, had started in life in precisely the same post, and it was, indeed, at his personal suggestion that my brother took it. A year or two later he and his friend Dr. Francis Elgar, subsequently Director of Dockyards and one of the heads of the Fairfield Shipbuilding Company, were assisting