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.