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My Days of Adventure

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




In attempting to carry out this scheme (September 19) Ducrot took with him
most of Vinoy's corps, that is four divisions of infantry, some cavalry,
and no little artillery, having indeed, according to his own account,
seventy-two guns with him. The action was fought on the plateau of
Châtillon (south of Paris), where the French had been constructing a
redoubt, which was still, however, in a very unfinished state. At daybreak
that morning all the districts of Paris lying on the left bank of the
Seine were roused by the loud booming of guns. The noise was at times
almost deafening, and it is certain that the French fired a vast number of
projectiles, though, assuredly, the number--25,000--given in a copy of the
official report which I have before me must be a clerical error. In any
case, the Germans replied with an even more terrific fire than that of the
French, and, as had previously happened at Sedan and elsewhere, the French
ordnance proved to be no match for that emanating from Krupp's renowned
workshops. The French defeat was, however, precipitated by a sudden panic
which arose among a provisional regiment of Zouaves, who suddenly turned
tail and fled. Panic is often, if not always, contagious, and so it proved
to be on this occasion. Though some of the Gardes Mobiles, notably the
Bretons of Ile-et-Vilaine, fought well, thanks to the support of the
artillery (which is so essential in the case of untried troops), other men
weakened, and imitated the example of the Zouaves. Duorot soon realized
that it was useless to prolong the encounter, and after spiking the guns
set up in the Châtillon redoubt, he retired under the protection of the
Forts of Vanves and Montrouge.

My father and I had hastened to the southern side of Paris as soon as the
cannonade apprised us that an engagement was going on. Pitiful was the
spectacle presented by the disbanded soldiers as they rushed down the
Chaussée du Maine. Many had flung away their weapons. Some went on
dejectedly; others burst into wine-shops, demanded drink with threats, and
presently emerged swearing, cursing and shouting, "Nous sommes trahis!"
Riderless horses went by, instinctively following the men, and here and
there one saw a bewildered and indignant officer, whose orders were
scouted with jeers. The whole scene was of evil augury for the defence of
Paris.

At a later hour, when we reached the Boulevards, we found the wildest
rumours in circulation there. Nobody knew exactly what had happened, but
there was talk of 20,000 French troops having been annihilated by five
times that number of Germans. At last a proclamation emanating from
Gambetta was posted up and eagerly perused. It supplied no details of the
fighting, but urged the Parisians to give way neither to excitement nor to
despondency, and reminded them that a court-martial had been instituted to
deal with cowards and deserters. Thereupon the excitement seemed to
subside, and people went to dinner. An hour afterwards the Boulevards were
as gay as ever, thronged once more with promenaders, among whom were many
officers of the Garde Mobile and the usual regiment of painted women.
Cynicism and frivolity were once more the order of the day. But in the
midst of it there came an unexpected incident. Some of the National Guards
of the district were not unnaturally disgusted by the spectacle which the
Boulevards presented only a few hours after misfortune had fallen on the
French arms. Forming, therefore, into a body, they marched along, loudly
calling upon the cafés to close. Particularly were they indignant when, on
reaching Brébant's Restaurant at the corner of the Faubourg Montmartre,
they heard somebody playing a lively Offenbachian air on a piano there. A
party of heedless _viveurs_ and _demoiselles_ of the half-world were
enjoying themselves together as in the palmy imperial days. But the piano
was soon silenced, the cafés and restaurants were compelled to close, and
the Boulevardian world went home in a slightly chastened mood. The Siege
of Paris had begun.



V

BESIEGED

The Surrender of Versailles--Captain Johnson, Queen's Messenger--No more
Paris Fashions!--Prussians versus Germans--Bismarck's Hard Terms for
Peace--Attempts to pass through the German Lines--Chartreuse Verte as an
Explosive!--Tommy Webb's Party and the Germans--Couriers and Early
Balloons--Our Arrangements with Nadar--Gambetta's Departure and Balloon
Journey--The Amusing Verses of Albert Millaud--Siege Jokes and Satire--The
Spy and Signal Craze--Amazons to the Rescue!


It was at one o'clock on the afternoon of September 19 that the telegraph
wires between Paris and Versailles, the last which linked us to the
outside world, were suddenly cut by the enemy; the town so closely
associated with the Grand Monarque and his magnificence having then
surrendered to a very small force of Germans, although it had a couple of
thousand men--Mobile and National Guards--to defend it. The capitulation
which was arranged between the mayor and the enemy was flagrantly violated
by the latter almost as soon as it had been concluded, tins being only one
of many such instances which occurred during the war. Versailles was
required to provide the invader with a number of oxen, to be slaughtered
for food, numerous casks of wine, the purpose of which was obvious, and a
large supply of forage valued at £12,000. After all, however, that was a
mere trifle in comparison with what the present Kaiser's forces would
probably demand on landing at Hull or Grimsby or Harwich, should they some
day do so. By the terms of the surrender of Versailles, however, the local
National Guards were to have remained armed and entrusted with the
internal police of the town, and, moreover, there were to have been no
further requisitions. But Bismarck and Moltke pooh-poohed all such
stipulations, and the Versaillese had to submit to many indignities.

In Paris that day the National Defence Government was busy in various
ways, first in imposing fines, according to an ascending scale, on all
absentees who ought to have remained in the city and taken their share of
military duty; and, secondly, in decreeing that nobody with any money
lodged in the Savings Bank should be entitled to draw out more than fifty
francs, otherwise two pounds, leaving the entire balance of his or her
deposit at the Government's disposal. This measure provoked no little
dissatisfaction. It was also on September 19, the first day of the siege,
that the last diplomatic courier entered Paris. I well remember the
incident. Whilst I was walking along the Faubourg Saint Honoré I suddenly
perceived an open _calèche_, drawn by a pair of horses, bestriding one of
which was a postillion arrayed in the traditional costume--hair à la
Catogan, jacket with scarlet facings, gold-banded hat, huge boots, and all
the other appurtenances which one saw during long years on the stage in
Adolphe Adam's sprightly but "impossible" opéra-comique "Le Postillon de
Longjumeau." For an instant, indeed, I felt inclined to hum the famous
refrain, "Oh, oh, oh, oh, qu'il était beau"--but many National Guards and
others regarded the equipage with great suspicion, particularly as it was
occupied by on individual in semi-military attire. Quite a number of
people decided in their own minds that this personage must be a Prussian
spy, and therefore desired to stop his carriage and march him off to
prison. As a matter of fact, however, he was a British officer, Captain
Johnson, discharging the duties of a Queen's Messenger; and as he
repeatedly flourished a cane in a very menacing manner, and the
door-porter of the British Embassy--a German, I believe--energetically
came to his assistance, he escaped actual molestation, and drove in
triumph into the courtyard of the ambassadorial mansion.

At this time a great shock was awaiting the Parisians. During the same
week the Vicomtesse de Renneville issued an announcement stating that in
presence of the events which were occurring she was constrained to suspend
the publication of her renowned journal of fashions, _La Gazette Rose_.
This was a tragic blow both for the Parisians themselves and for all the
world beyond them. There would be no more Paris fashions! To what despair
would not millions of women be reduced? How would they dress, even
supposing that they should contrive to dress at all? The thought was
appalling; and as one and another great _couturier_ closed his doors,
Paris began to realize that her prestige was indeed in jeopardy.

A day or two after the investment the city became very restless on account
of Thiers's mission to foreign Courts and Jules Favre's visit to the
German headquarters, it being reported by the extremists that the
Government did not intend to be a Government of National Defence but one
of Capitulation. In reply to those rumours the authorities issued the
famous proclamation in which they said;

"The Government's policy is that formulated in these terms:
Not an Inch of our Territory.
Not a Stone of our Fortresses.
The Government will maintain it to the end."

On the morrow, September 21, Gambetta personally reminded us that it was
the seventy-eighth anniversary of the foundation of the first French
Republic, and, after recalling to the Parisians what their fathers had
then accomplished, he exhorted them to follow that illustrious example,
and to "secure victory by confronting death." That same evening the clubs
decided that a great demonstration should be made on the morrow by way of
insisting that no treaty should be discussed until the Germans had been
driven out of France, that no territory, fort, vessel, or treasure should
be surrendered, that all elections should be adjourned, and that a _levée
en masse_ should be decreed. Jules Favre responded that he and his
colleagues personified Defence and not Surrender, and Rochefort--poor
Rochefort!--solemnly promised that the barricades of Paris should be begun
that very night. That undertaking mightily pleased the agitators, though
the use of the said barricades was not apparent; and the demonstrators
dispersed with the usual shouts of "Vive la République! Mort aux
Prussiens!"

In connexion with that last cry it was a curious circumstance that from
the beginning to the end of the war the French persistently ignored the
presence of Saxons, Würtembergers, Hessians, Badeners, and so forth in the
invading armies. Moreover, on only one or two occasions (such as the
Bazeilles episode of the battle of Sedan) did they evince any particular
animosity against the Bavarians. I must have heard "Death to the
Prussians!" shouted at least a thousand times; but most certainly I never
once heard a single cry of "Death to the Germans!" Still in the same
connexion, let me mention that it was in Paris, during the siege, that the
eminent naturalist and biologist Quatrefages de Bréau wrote that curious
little book of his, "La Race Prussienne," in which he contended that the
Prussians were not Germans at all. There was at least some measure of
truth in the views which he enunciated.

As I previously indicated, Jules Favre, the Foreign Minister of the
National Defence, had gone to the German headquarters in order to discuss
the position with Prince (then Count) Bismarck. He met him twice, first at
the Comte de Rillac's Château de la Haute Maison, and secondly at Baron de
Rothschild's Château de Ferrières--the German staff usually installing
itself in the lordly "pleasure-houses" of the French noble or financial
aristocracy, and leaving them as dirty as possible, and, naturally, bereft
of their timepieces. Baron Alphonse de Rothschild told me in later years
that sixteen clocks were carried off from Ferrières whilst King
(afterwards the Emperor) William and Bismarck were staying there. I
presume that they now decorate some of the salons of the schloss at
Berlin, or possibly those of Varzin and Friedrichsruhe. Bismarck
personally had an inordinate passion for clocks, as all who ever visited
his quarters in the Wilhelmstrasse, when he was German Chancellor, will
well remember.

But he was not content with the clocks of Ferrières. He told Jules Favre
that if France desired peace she must surrender the two departments of the
Upper and the Lower Rhine, a part of the department of the Moselle,
together with Metz, Chateau Salins, and Soissons; and he would only grant
an armistice (to allow of the election of a French National Assembly to
decide the question of War or Peace) on condition that the Germans should
occupy Strasbourg, Toul, and Phalsburg, together with a fortress, such as
Mont Valerien, commanding the city of Paris. Such conditions naturally
stiffened the backs of the French, and for a time there was no more talk
of negotiating.

During the earlier days of the Siege of Paris I came into contact with
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.

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