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.