various English people who, having delayed their departure until it was
too late, found themselves shut up in the city, and were particularly
anxious to depart from it. The British Embassy gave them no help in the
matter. Having issued its paltry notice in _Galignani's Messenger_, it
considered that there was no occasion for it to do anything further.
Moreover, Great Britain had not recognized the French Republic, so that
the position of Mr. Wodehouse was a somewhat difficult one. However, a few
"imprisoned" Englishmen endeavoured to escape from the city by devices of
their own. Two of them who set out together, fully expecting to get
through the German lines and then reach a convenient railway station,
followed the course of the Seine for several miles without being able to
cross it, and in spite of their waving pocket-handkerchiefs (otherwise
flags of truce) and their constant shouts of "English! Friends!" and so
forth, were repeatedly fired at by both French and German outposts. At
last they reached Rueil, where the villagers, on noticing how bad their
French was, took them to be Prussian spies, and nearly lynched them.
Fortunately, the local commissary of police believed their story, and they
were sent back to Paris to face the horseflesh and the many other
hardships which they had particularly desired to avoid.
I also remember the representative of a Birmingham small-arms factory
telling me of his unsuccessful attempt to escape. He had lingered in Paris
in the hope of concluding a contract with the new Republican Government.
Not having sufficient money to charter a balloon, and the Embassy, as
usual at that time, refusing any help (O shades of Palmerston!), he set
out as on a walking-tour with a knapsack strapped to his shoulders and an
umbrella in his hand. His hope was to cross the Seine by the bridge of
Saint Cloud or that of Suresnes, but he failed in both attempts, and was
repeatedly fired upon by vigilant French outposts. After losing his way in
the Bois de Boulogne, awakening both the cattle and the sheep there in the
course of his nightly ramble, he at last found one of the little huts
erected to shelter the gardeners and wood-cutters, and remained there
until daybreak, when he was able to take his bearings and proceed towards
the Auteuil gate of the ramparts. As he did not wish to be fired upon
again, he deemed it expedient to hoist his pocket handkerchief at the end
of his umbrella as a sign of his pacific intentions, and finding the gate
open and the drawbridge down, he attempted to enter the city, but was
immediately challenged by the National Guards on duty. These vigilant
patriots observed his muddy condition--the previous day had been a wet
one--and suspiciously inquired where he had come from at that early hour.
His answer being given in broken French and in a very embarrassed manner,
he was at once regarded as a Prussian spy, and dragged off to the
guard-room. There he was carefully searched, and everything in his pockets
having been taken from him, including a small bottle which the sergeant on
duty regarded with grave suspicion, he was told that his after-fate would
be decided when the commanding officer of that particular _secteur_ of the
ramparts made his rounds.
When this officer arrived he closely questioned the prisoner, who tried to
explain his circumstances, and protested that his innocence was shown by
the British passport and other papers which had been taken from him. "Oh!
papers prove nothing!" was the prompt retort. "Spies are always provided
with papers. But, come, I have proof that you are an unmitigated villain!"
So saying, the officer produced the small bottle which had been taken from
the unfortunate traveller, and added: "You see this? You had it in your
pocket. Now, don't attempt to deceive me, for I know very well what is the
nature of the green liquid which it contains--it is a combustible fluid
with which you wanted to set fire to our _chevaux-de-frise!_"
Denials and protests were in vain. The officer refused to listen to his
prisoner until the latter at last offered to drink some of the terrible
fluid in order to prove that it was not at all what it was supposed to be.
With a little difficulty the tight-fitting cork was removed from the
flask, and on the latter being handed to the prisoner he proceeded to
imbibe some of its contents, the officer, meanwhile, retiring to a short
distance, as if he imagined that the alleged "spy" would suddenly explode.
Nothing of that kind happened, however. Indeed, the prisoner drank the
terrible stuff with relish, smacked his lips, and even prepared to take a
second draught, when the officer, feeling reassured, again drew near to
him and expressed his willingness to sample the suspected fluid himself.
He did so, and at once discovered that it was purely and simply some
authentic Chartreuse verte! It did not take the pair of them long to
exhaust this supply of the _liqueur_ of St. Bruno, and as soon as this was
done, the prisoner was set at liberty with profuse apologies.
Now and again some of those who attempted to leave the beleaguered city
succeeded in their attempt. In one instance a party of four or five
Englishmen ran the blockade in the traditional carriage and pair. They had
been staying at the Grand Hotel, where another seven or eight visitors,
including Labouchere, still remained, together with about the same number
of servants to wait upon them; the famous caravanserai--then undoubtedly
the largest in Paris--being otherwise quite untenanted. The carriage in
which the party I have mentioned took their departure was driven by an old
English jockey named Tommy Webb, who had been in France for nearly half a
century, and had ridden the winners of some of the very first races
started by the French Jockey Club. Misfortune had overtaken him, however,
in his declining years, and he had become a mere Parisian "cabby." The
party sallied forth from the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, taking with it
several huge hampers of provisions and a quantity of other luggage; and
all the participants in the attempt seemed to be quite confident of
success. But a few hours later they returned in sore disappointment,
having been stopped near Neuilly by the French outposts, as they were
unprovided with any official _laisser-passer_. A document of that
description having been obtained, however, from General Trochu on the
morrow, a second attempt was made, and this time the party speedily
passed through the French lines. But in trying to penetrate those of the
enemy, some melodramatic adventures occurred. It became necessary, indeed,
to dodge both the bullets of the Germans and those of the French
Francs-tireurs, who paid not the slightest respect either to the Union
Jack or to the large white flag which were displayed on either side of
Tommy Webb's box-seat. At last, after a variety of mishaps, the party
succeeded in parleying with a German cavalry officer, and after they had
addressed a written appeal to the Crown Prince of Prussia (who was pleased
to grant it), they were taken, blindfolded, to Versailles, where
Blumenthal, the Crown Prince's Chief of Staff, asked them for information
respecting the actual state of Paris, and then allowed them to proceed on
their way.
Captain Johnson, the Queen's Messenger of whom I have already spoken, also
contrived to quit Paris again; but the Germans placed him under strict
surveillance, and Blumenthal told him that no more Queen's Messengers
would be allowed to pass through the German lines. About this same time,
however, the English man-servant of one of Trochu's aides-de-camp
contrived, not only to reach Saint Germain-en-Laye, where his master's
family was residing, but also to return to Paris with messages. This young
fellow had cleverly disguised himself as a French peasant, and on the
Prefect of Police hearing of his adventures, he sent out several
detectives in similar disguises, with instructions to ascertain all they
could about the enemy, and report the same to him. Meantime, the Paris
Post Office was endeavouring to send out couriers. One of them, named
Létoile, managed to get as far as Evreux, in Normandy, and to return to
the beleaguered city with a couple of hundred letters. Success also
repeatedly attended the efforts of two shrewd fellows named Gême and
Brare, who made several journeys to Saint Germain, Triel, and even
Orleans. On one occasion they brought as many as seven hundred letters
with them on their return to Paris; but between twenty and thirty other
couriers failed to get through the German lines; whilst several others
fell into the hands of the enemy, who at once confiscated the
correspondence they carried, but did not otherwise molest them.
The difficulty in sending letters out of Paris and in obtaining news from
relatives and friends in other parts of France led to all sorts of
schemes. The founder and editor of that well-known journal _Le Figaro_,
Hippolyte de Villemessant, as he called himself, though I believe that his
real Christian name was Auguste, declared in his paper that he would
willingly allow his veins to be opened in return for a few lines from his
beloved and absent wife. Conjugal affection could scarcely have gone
further. Villemessant, however, followed up his touching declaration by
announcing that a thousand francs (£40) a week was to be earned by a
capable man willing to act as letter-carrier between Paris and the
provinces. All who felt qualified for the post were invited to present
themselves at the office of _Le Figaro_, which in those days was
appropriately located in the Rue Rossini, named, of course, after the
illustrious composer who wrote such sprightly music round the theme of
Beaumarchais' comedy. As a result of Villemessant's announcement, the
street was blocked during the next forty-eight hours by men of all
classes, who were all the more eager to earn the aforesaid £40 a week as
nearly every kind of work was at a standstill, and the daily stipend of a
National Guard amounted only to 1_s._ 2-1/2_d._
It was difficult to choose from among so many candidates, but we were
eventually assured that the right man had been found in the person of a
retired poacher who knew so well how to circumvent both rural guards and
forest guards, that during a career of twenty years or so he had never
once been caught _in flagrante delicto_. Expert, moreover, in tracking
game, he would also well know how to detect--and to avoid--the tracks of
the Prussians. We were therefore invited to confide our correspondence to
this sagacious individual, who would undertake to carry it through the
German lines and to return with the answers in a week or ten days. The
charge for each letter, which was to be of very small weight and
dimensions, was fixed at five francs, and it was estimated that the
ex-poacher would be able to carry about 200 letters on each journey.
Many people were anxious to try the scheme, but rival newspapers denounced
it as being a means of acquainting the Prussians with everything which was
occurring in Paris--Villemessant, who they declared had taken bribes from
the fallen Empire, being probably one of Bismarck's paid agents. Thus the
enterprise speedily collapsed without even being put to the proof.
However, the public was successfully exploited by various individuals who
attempted to improve on Villemessant's idea, undertaking to send letters
out of Paris for a fixed charge, half of which was to be returned to the
sender if his letter were not delivered. As none of the letters handed in
on these conditions was even entrusted to a messenger, the ingenious
authors of this scheme made a handsome profit, politely returning half of
the money which they received, but retaining the balance without making
the slightest effort to carry out their contract.
Dr. Rampont, a very clever man, who was now our postmaster-general, had
already issued a circular bidding us to use the very thinnest paper and
the smallest envelopes procurable. There being so many failures among the
messengers whom he sent out of Paris with correspondence, the idea of a
balloon postal service occurred to him. Although ninety years or so had
elapsed since the days of the brothers Montgolfier, aeronautics had really
made very little progress. There were no dirigible balloons at all. Dupuy
de Lôme's first experiments only dated from the siege days, and Renard's
dirigible was not devised until the early eighties. We only had the
ordinary type of balloon at our disposal; and at the outset of the
investment there were certainly not more than half a dozen balloons within
our lines. A great city like Paris, however, is not without resources.
Everything needed for the construction of balloons could be found there.
Gas also was procurable, and we had amongst us quite a number of men
expert in the science of ballooning, such as it then was. There was Nadar,
there was Tissandier, there were the Godard brothers, Yon, Dartois, and a
good many others. Both the Godards and Nadar established balloon
factories, which were generally located in our large disused railway
stations, such as the Gare du Nord, the Gare d'Orléans, and the Gare
Montparnasse; but I also remember visiting one which Nadar installed in
the dancing hall called the Elysée Montmartre. Each of these factories
provided work for a good many people, and I recollect being particularly
struck by the number of women who were employed in balloon-making. Such
work was very helpful to them, and Nadar used to say to me that it grieved
him to have to turn away so many applicants for employment, for every day
ten, twenty, and thirty women would come to implore him to "take them on."
Nearly all their usual workrooms were closed; some were reduced to live on
charity and only very small allowances, from fivepence to sevenpence a
day, were made to the wives and families of National Guards.
But to return to the balloon postal-service which the Government
organized, it was at once realized by my father and myself that it could
be of little use to us so far as the work for the _Illustrated London
News_ was concerned, on account of the restrictions which were imposed in
regard to the size and weight of each letter that might be posted.
The weight, indeed, was fixed at no more than three grammes! Now, there
were a number of artists working for the _Illustrated_ in Paris, first
and foremost among them being M. Jules Pelcoq, who must personally have
supplied two-thirds of the sketches by which the British public was kept
acquainted with the many incidents of Parisian siege-life. The weekly
diary which I helped my father to compile could be drawn up in small
handwriting on very thin, almost transparent paper, and despatched in
the ordinary way. But how were we to circumvent the authorities in regard
to our sketches, which were often of considerable size, and were always
made on fairly substantial paper, the great majority of them being
wash-drawings? Further, though I could prepare two or three drafts of our
diary or our other "copy" for despatch by successive balloons--to provide
for the contingency of one of the latter falling into the hands of the
enemy--it seemed absurd that our artists should have to recopy every
sketch they made. Fortunately, there was photography, the thought of which
brought about a solution of the other difficulty in which we were placed.
I was sent to interview Nadar on the Place Saint Pierre at Montmartre,
above which his captive balloon the "Neptune" was oscillating in the
September breeze. He was much the same man as I had seen at the Crystal
Palace a few years previously, tall, red-haired, and red-shirted. He had
begun life as a caricaturist and humorous writer, but by way of buttering
his bread had set up in business as a photographer, his establishment on
the Boulevard de la Madeleine soon becoming very favourably known. There
was still a little "portrait-taking" in Paris during those early siege
days. Photographs of the celebrities or notorieties of the hour sold
fairly well, and every now and again some National Guard with means was
anxious to be photographed in his uniform. But, naturally enough, the
business generally had declined. Thus, Nadar was only too pleased to
entertain the proposal which I made to him on my father's behalf, this
being that every sketch for the _Illustrated_ should be taken to his
establishment and there photographed, so that we might be able to send out
copies in at least three successive balloons.
When I broached to Nadar the subject of the postal regulations in regard
to the weight and size of letters, he genially replied: "Leave that to me.
Your packets need not go through the ordinary post at all--at least, here
in Paris. Have them stamped, however, bring them whenever a balloon is
about to sail, and I will see that the aeronaut takes them in his pocket.
Wherever he alights they will be posted, like the letters in the official
bags."
That plan was carried out, and although several balloons were lost or fell
within the German lines, only one small packet of sketches, which, on
account of urgency, had not been photographed, remained subsequently
unaccounted for. In all other instances either the original drawing or one
of the photographic copies of it reached London safely.
The very first balloon to leave Paris (in the early days of October) was
precisely Nadar's "Neptune," which had originally been intended for
purposes of military observation. One day when I was with Nadar on the
Place Saint Pierre, he took me up in it. I found the experience a novel
but not a pleasing one, for all my life I have had a tendency to vertigo
when ascending to any unusual height. I remember that it was a clear day,
and that we had a fine bird's-eye view of Paris on the one hand and of the
plain of Saint Denis on the other, but I confess that I felt out of-my
element, and was glad to set foot on _terra firma_ once more.
From that day I was quite content to view the ascent of one and another
balloon, without feeling any desire to get out of Paris by its aerial
transport service. I must have witnessed the departure of practically all
the balloons which left Paris until I myself quitted the city in November.
The arrangements made with Nadar were perfected, and something very
similar was contrived with the Godard brothers, the upshot being that we
were always forewarned whenever it was proposed to send off a balloon.
Sometimes we received by messenger, in the evening, an intimation that a
balloon would start at daybreak on the morrow. Sometimes we were roused in
the small hours of the morning, when everything intended for despatch had
to be hastily got together and carried at once to the starting-place,
such, for instance, as the Northern or the Orleans railway terminus, both
being at a considerable distance from our flat in the Rue de Miromesnil.
Those were by no means agreeable walks, especially when the cold weather
had set in, as it did early that autumn; and every now and again at the
end of the journey one found that it had been made in vain, for, the wind
having shifted at the last moment, the departure of the balloon had been
postponed. Of course, the only thing to be done was to trudge back home
again. There was no omnibus service, all the horses having been
requisitioned, and in the latter part of October there were not more than
a couple of dozen cabs (drawn by decrepit animals) still plying for hire
in all Paris. Thus Shanks's pony was the only means of locomotion.
In the earlier days my father accompanied me on a few of those
expeditions, but he soon grew tired of them, particularly as his health
became affected by the siege diet. We were together, however, when
Gambetta took his departure on October 7, ascending from the Place Saint
Pierre in a balloon constructed by Nadar. It had been arranged that he
should leave for the provinces, in order to reinforce the three Government
delegates who had been despatched thither prior to the investment. Jules
Favre, the Foreign Minister, had been previously urged to join those
delegates, but would not trust himself to a balloon, and it was thereupon
proposed to Gambetta that he should do so. He willingly assented to the
suggestion, particularly as he feared that the rest of the country was
being overlooked, owing to the prevailing opinion that Paris would suffice
to deliver both herself and all the rest of France from the presence of
the enemy. Born in April, 1838, he was at this time in his thirty-third
year, and full of vigour, as the sequel showed. The delegates whom he was
going to join were, as I previously mentioned, very old men, well meaning,
no doubt, but incapable of making the great effort which was made by
Gambetta in conjunction with Charles de Freycinet, who was just in his
prime, being the young Dictator's senior by some ten years.
I can still picture Gambetta's departure, and particularly his appearance
on the occasion--his fur cap and his fur coat, which made him look
somewhat like a Polish Jew. He had with him his secretary, the devoted
Spuller. I cannot recall the name of the aeronaut who was in charge of the
balloon, but, if my memory serves me rightly, it was precisely to him that
Nadar handed the packet of sketches which failed to reach the _Illustrated
London News_. They must have been lost in the confusion of the aerial
voyage, which was marked by several dramatic incidents. Some accounts say
that Gambetta evinced no little anxiety during the preparations for the
ascent, but to me he appeared to be in a remarkably good humour, as if,
indeed, in pleasurable anticipation of what he was about to experience.
When, in response to the call of "Lachez tout!" the seamen released the
last cables which had hitherto prevented the balloon from rising, and the
crowd burst into shouts of "Vive la Republique!" and "Vive Gambetta!" the
"youthful statesman," as he was then called, leant over the side of the
car and waved his cap in response to the plaudits. [Another balloon, the
"George Sand," ascended at the same time, having in its car various
officials who were to negotiate the purchase of fire-arms in the United
States.]
The journey was eventful, for the Germans repeatedly fired at the balloon.
A first attempt at descent had to be abandoned when the car was at an
altitude of no more than 200 feet, for at that moment some German soldiers
were seen almost immediately beneath it. They fired, and before the
balloon could rise again a bullet grazed Gambetta's head. At four o'clock
in the afternoon, however, the descent was renewed near Roye in the Somme,
when the balloon was caught in an oak-tree, Gambetta at one moment hanging
on to the ropes of the car, with his head downward. Some countryfolk came
up in great anger, taking the party to be Prussians; but, on learning the
truth, they rendered all possible assistance, and Gambetta and his
companions repaired to the house of the mayor of the neighbouring village
of Tricot. Alluding in after days to his experiences on this journey, the
great man said that the earth, as seen by him from the car of the balloon,
looked like a huge carpet woven chance-wise with different coloured wools.
It did not impress him at all, he added, as it was really nothing but "une
vilaine chinoiserie." It was from Rouen, where he arrived on the following
day, that he issued the famous proclamation in which he called on France
to make a compact with victory or death. On October 9, he joined the other
delegates at Tours and took over the post of Minister of War as well as
that of Minister of the Interior.
His departure from the capital was celebrated by that clever versifier of
the period, Albert Millaud, who contributed to _Le Figaro_ an amusing
effusion, the first verse of which was to this effect:
"Gambetta, pale and gloomy,
Much wished to go to Tours,
But two hundred thousand Prussians
In his project made him pause.
To aid the youthful statesman
Came the aeronaut Nadar,
Who sent up the 'Armand Barbes'
With Gambetta in its car."
Further on came the following lines, supposed to be spoken by Gambetta
himself whilst he was gazing at the German lines beneath him--
"See how the plain is glistening
With their helmets in a mass!
Impalement would be dreadful
On those spikes of polished brass!"
Millaud, who was a Jew, the son, I think--or, at all events, a near
relation--of the famous founder of _Le Petit Journal_, the advent of which
constituted a great landmark in the history of the French Press--set
himself, during several years of his career, to prove the truth of the
axiom that in France "tout finit par des chansons." During those anxious
siege days he was for ever striving to sound a gay note, something which,
for a moment, at all events, might drive dull care away. Here is an
English version of some verses which he wrote on Nadar:
What a strange fellow is Nadar,
Photographer and aeronaut!
He is as clever as Godard.
What a strange fellow is Nadar,
Although, between ourselves, as far
As art's concerned he knoweth naught.
What a strange fellow is Nadar,
Photographer and aeronaut!
To guide the course of a balloon
His mind conceived the wondrous screw.
Some day he hopes unto the moon
To guide the course of a balloon.
Of 'airy navies' admiral soon,
We'll see him 'grappling in the blue'--
To guide the course of a balloon
His mind conceived the wondrous screw.