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My Days of Adventure

E >> Ernest Alfred Vizetelly >> My Days of Adventure




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.

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