THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
IN MEMORY OF
MRS. VIRGINIA B. SPORER
NOVELS BY EMILE ZOLA.
Crown 8vo. cloth extra. 3*. 6d. each.
VOLUMES OF THE 'ROUGON-MACQUART' SERIES.
THE FAT AND THE THIN ('LE VENTRE DE PARIS')
Translated by ERNEST ALFRED VIZETELLY.
' A very satisfactory rendering, which has preserved the passion, the humour, and the
terrlb'e insight of the original. Zola has never drawn a picture more pitilessly faithful
to the lower side of our common humanity than this is. ... A drama which reads like a
page torn out of the book of life itself.' — SPEAKER.
' The characters are drawn with a master hand, and the two rival beauties will
bear comparison with any of the portraits in the author's literary gallery.'— GLASGOW
HERALD.
THE DRAM-SHOP ('L'AssoMMOiR'). With a Preface by
E. A. VIZETELLY.
' After reading " L'Assommoir " and Zola's other books, it seems as if in the work of
all other novelists there were a veil between the reader and the things described ; and
there is present to our minds the same difference as exists between a human face as
represented on canvas and the same face as reflected in a mirror. It is like finding truth
for the first time.' — SIGNOR EDMONDO DE AMICIS.
MONEY ('L'ARGENT'). Translated by E. A. VIZETELLY.
' No one will be able to read " Money" without a deep sense of its absolute truth.
. . . Everything in the novel is on a grand scale. ... A vast panorama of national
viciousness. . . . An overpowering presentation of the disasters wrought by the unbridled
race for wealth.'— MORNING LEADER.
' Suffice it to say of this boo_k, one of Zola's masterpieces, that never has his brilliant
Een been used with such realistic, life-like force. . . . The figure of Sacard is a terrible,
iscinatine creation. His love of money, his love of women (an altogether secondary
impulse), his fixed hatred of the Jews, become more real than reality itself.' — VANITY
FAIR.
HIS EXCELLENCY ('SON EXCELLENCE EUGENE ROUGON').
With a Preface by E. A. VIZETELLY.
"The book is one of the most remarkable of the monumental series which its author
built up to depict the social history of a family under the Second Empire. It follows
the career of an adventurous statesman who rose to power under Napoleon III., and
whose ambitious and unscrupulous nature, whose intrigues at Court, whose fortunes in
affairs of the heart, and whose following of varied hangers-on, ambitious like himself,
are all depicted as from the life. The book itself warrants its fidelity to fact by compelling
belief instinctively.'— SCOTSMAN.
THE DREAM ('LE RKVE'). Translated by ELIZA E.
CHASE. With 8 Full-page Illustrations by GEORGES JEANNIOT.
1 M. Zola has sought in this charming story to prove to the world that he too can
write for the virgin, and that he can paint the better side of human nature in colours as
tender and true as those employed by any of his contemporaries. ... It is a beautiful
story admirably told.'— SPEAKER.
THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS. Edited by
E. A. VIZETELLY.
' Full of a rather sombre humour, ricli satire, and unsparing social analysis. To the
reader who takes an interest in the personality of Zola, "The Fortune of the Rougons"
has a unique value, for in its pages the author has drawn upon the recollections of his
youih. . . . Should you be consumed with a desire to pluck the heart out of Zola's
'' koueon-Macquart " volume*, it will be necessary to read the lir-l and the last of lh<-
series, " The Fortunes of the Rougons" and " Dr. Pascal."'— MOKNINC; LEADER.
NOVELS BY EMILE ZOLA.
THE ABBE MOURET'S TRANSGRESSION. Edited by
ERNEST A. VIZETELLY. [Shortly.
THE DOWNFALL (' LA DEBACLE '). Translated by E. A.
VIZETELLY. With 2 Plans of the Battle of Sedan.
' It would probably be no exaggeration to say that; taken as a whole, " La Deb&cle "
is the most wonderfully faithful reproduction of an historical drama ever committed to
writing. " La DgbScle" is an appalling record of long-drawn-out misery, profligacy, and
military and official incapacity, unbroken by any ray of hope or sunshine." — SPECTATOR.
* It is only when you have come to the end of " The Downfall " that you appreciate
the feverish hurry in which you have read page after page, and that you know the
splendid art with which M. Zola has concealed the fervour, the pity, the agony, and the
inspiration with which he has told the tale.' — SUNDAY SUN.
DOCTOR PASCAL. Translated by E. A. VIZETELLY. With
an Etched Portrait of the Author.
'This book, the crown and conclusion of the Rougon-Macquart volumes, strikes us
as being in some respects the most powerful, the most dramatic, and the most pathetic.'
TIMES.
' Dr. Pascal Rougon, the skilled physician, and the only member of his family that
has escaped the fatal taint of vice, here sits in judgment upon his relatives and compatriots,
and explains the causes of their moral decline and fall. The work further deals with many
of the great problems of the time, and incidentally with the much-debated question, " Is
Christianity Played Out?" Artistically blended, however, with this controversial matter,
and the deeply interesting researches of the hero, is an absorbing love-story, the scene of
which is laid under the burning sky of Provence, which fires the human heart with passion
and maddens it to crime.' — ECHO.
THE 'THREE CITIES' SERIES.
LOURDES. Translated by E. A. VIZETELLY.
1 A great and notable book. . . . The glory of the book is the inexhaustible, over-
flowing human sympathy which transfuses it from end to end. . . . As you read, the heart is
set beating. . . . Instead of a mere name, " Lourdes" will always be something of a
reality to every reader of Zola's admirable pages. ... In almost every respect a signal
triumph — a book to be read and to be thankful for.' — NATIONAL OBSERVER.
'The most perfect specimen of literary art yet produced by M. Zola. . . . Beyond
question his best-written book, a model of powerful and poetic narrative, brilliant in style,
in form, and in colour.' — GRAPHIC.
ROME. Translated by E. A. VIZETELLY.
1 A very great book. . . We judge it as a work of art, and as such we must accord it
very high praise. Every part, great or small, fits perfectly into the whole . . . The Pope,
the Cardinals, and all the lesser dignitaries of the Church against which the writer brings
his great indictment are so painted that neither such greatness as is in themselves, nor
the greatness of the cause which they represent, shall be forgotten in the littleness of some
of the methods to which they stoop.'— GUARDIAN.
PARIS. Translated by E. A. VIZETELLY.
' These pictures of Parisian life are worthy of M. Zola at his best. The author's
passionate love of the poor, his intolerance of their sufferings, his intense hatred of all
social wrongs, and longing for reform have never been declared with more sincerity,
more eloquence, and more ability. "Paris" will bring him new admirers and new
friends, for it shows him to be not only a great writer but a man of noble aspirations and
splendid courage.'— PALL MALL GAZETTE.
London : CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, W.C.
KMILE ZOLA IN HIS ENGLISH GARDEN
(Sept. 1898)
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
A STORY OF EXILE
TOLD BY
ERNEST ALFRED VIZETELLY
WITH FOUR PORTRAITS
LONDON
CHATTO & W INDUS
1899
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
College
Library
TO
VIOLETTE AND TO VICTOR
TO DORA AND TO BOTH MARIES
DEAR WIFE AND ROMPING DAUGHTER
I LOVINGLY INSCRIBE
THIS LITTLE BOOK
He begged for Light ! . . Lo, Darkness fell,
And round him cast its stifling pall !
In vain he clamoured ! Ev'ry Hell
Poured forth its fumes to drown his call.
He cried for Truth ! . . Lo, Falsehood came,
In robes of Impudence array'd,
Polluting Patriotism's name,
Degrading Honour to a trade.
He asked for Justice ! . . Lo, between
Him and the judgment-seat there rose
The Sword of Menace, ever keen
To smite the braggart War- Wolfs foes !
Light, Truth, and Justice all denied,
He struggled on 'mid threat and blow —
A brave Voice battling by his side —
Till Error's minions struck him low.
Yet is his faith not dead, nor mine :
O'er deepest gloom, o'er worst distress,
Ever the mighty Sun doth shine
Aglow with Truth and Righteousness.
The blackest clouds are rent at last ;
And the divine resistless flame
Through all, some morn, its blaze shall cast,
The Wrong disclose, the Right proclaim !
E. A. V.
February 23, 1898.
{.Printed in ' The Star' on Hit morrow of M. Zola's condemnation in Paris}
PREFACE
ALL that I claim for this little book, reprinted
from the columns of ' The Evening News,' is the
quality of frankness. I do not desire to check or
disarm criticism, but I have a right to point out
that I have performed my work rapidly and have
largely subordinated certain literary considera-
tions to a desire to write my story naturally and
simply, in much the same way as I should have
told it in conversation with a friend. Very rarely,
I think, have I departed from this rule.
The book supplies an accurate account of
Emile Zola's exile in this country ; but some
matters I have treated briefly because he himself
proposes to give the world — probably in diary
form — some impressions of his sojourn in England
with a record of his feelings day by day whilst
v
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
the great campaign in favour of the unfortunate
Alfred Dreyfus was in progress.
First, however, M. Zola intends to collect in
a volume all his published declarations, articles
and letters on the Affair. Secondly, he will
recount in another volume his trials at Paris and
Versailles ; and only in a third volume will he be
able to deal with his English experiences. The
last work can scarcely be ready before the end of
1900, and possibly it may not appear until the
following year. And this is one of the reasons
which have induced me to offer to all who are
interested in the great French writer this present
narrative of mine. Should the master's promised
record duly appear, my own will sink into
oblivion ; but if, for one or a other reason, M.
Zola is prevented from carrying out his plans,
here, then, will at least be found some account o
one of the most curious passages in his life. And
then, perchance, my narrative may attain to the
rank of memoire pour servir.
I have said that I claim for my book the
vi
PREFACE
quality of frankness. In this connection I may
point out that I have made in it a full confession
of certain delinquencies which were forced on me
by circumstances. I trust, however, that my
brother-journalists will forgive me if I occasionally
led them astray with regard to M. Zola's presence
in England ; for I did so purely and simply in
the interests of the illustrious friend who had
placed himself in my hands.
That M. Zola should have applied to me
directly he arrived in London will surprise none
of those who are aware of the confidence he has
for several years reposed in me. A newspaper
referring to our connection recently called the
great novelist ' my employer.' But there has
never been any question of employer or employed
between M. Zola and me. I should certainly
never think of accepting remuneration for any
little service I might be able to render him ; nor
would he dream of hurting my feelings by offering
it. No. The simple truth is that for some years
now I have translated M. Zola's novels into
vii
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
English, and that I have taken my share of the
proceeds of the translations. For the rest our
intercourse has been purely and simply that of
friends.
It is because, I believe, I know and understand
Emile Zola so well, that 1 never once lost confi-
dence in him throughout the events which led
to his exile in England. That exile, curiously
enough, I foreshadowed in a letter addressed to
the ' Star ' some months before it actually began.
When, however, one has been intimate with the
French for thirty years or so it is not, to my
thinking, so very difficult to tell what is likely to
happen in a given French crisis. The unexpected
has to be reckoned with, of course ; and much
depends on ability to estimate the form which
the unexpected may take. Here experience,
familiarity with details of contemporary French
history, and personal knowledge of the men
concerned in the issue, become indispensable.
On January 16, 1898, three days after M.
Zola's famous ' J'accuse ' letter appeared in
viii
PREFACE
' L'Aurore,' and two days before the French
Government instructed the Public Prosecutor to
proceed against its author, I wrote to the ' West-
minster Gazette' a long letter dealing with M.
Zola's position. In this letter, which appeared in
the issue of the I9th, I began by establishing a
comparison between Zola and Voltaire, whose action
with regard to the memory of Jean Galas I briefly
epitomised. Curiously enough at that moment
M. Zola, as I afterwards learnt, was telling the
Paris correspondent of the ' Daily Chronicle ' that
the opposition offered to his advocacy of the cause
of Alfred Dreyfus was identical with that en-
countered by Voltaire in his championship of
Galas. This was a curious little coincidence, for
I wrote my letter without having any communica-
tion with M. Zola respecting it. It contained
some passages which I here venture to quote. In
a book dealing with the great novelist these
passages may not be out of place, as they serve
to illustrate his general attitude towards the
Dreyfus case.
ix
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
' Truth,' I wrote, ' has been the one passion of
Emile Zola's life.1 " May all be revealed so that
all may be cured " has been his sole motto in
dealing with social problems. " Light, more
light ! " — the last words gasped by Goethe on his
death-bed — has ever been his cry. Holding the
views he holds, he could not do otherwise than
come forward at this crisis in French history as
the champion of truth and justice. Silence on his
part would have been a denial of all his principles,
all his past life. . . . Against him are marshalled
all the Powers of Darkness, all the energy of those
who prefer concealment to light, all the enmity of
the military hierarchy which has never forgotten
" LaDe"bacle," all the hatred of the Roman hierarchy
which will never forgive " Lourdes " and " Rome."
And the fetish of Patriotism is brandished hither
and thither, rallying even free-thinkers to the
cause of concealment, while each and every appeal
1 He himself wrote these very words seventeen months later
in his article 'Justice,' published in Paris on his return from
exile.
X
PREFACE
for light and truth is met by the clamorous cry :
" Down with the dirty Jews ! "
' For even as Jean Galas was guilty of being a
Protestant so is Alfred Dreyfus guilty of being a
Jew, and at the present hour unhappily there are
millions of French people who can no more believe
in a Jew's innocence than their forerunners could
believe a Protestant to be guiltless. Zola, for his
part, is no Jew, nor can he even be called a friend
of the Jews — in several of his books he has
attacked them somewhat violently for certain
tendencies shown by some of their number —
but most assuredly he does regard them as fellow-
men and not as loathsome animals. In the same
way Voltaire wrote pungent pages against the
narrow practices of Calvinism and yet espoused
the causes of Calas and Sirven, even as Zola has
espoused that of Dreyfus. The only remain-
ing question is whether Zola will prove as
successful as his famous forerunner. [Nearly
the whole of the European press was at that
stage expressing doubt on this point] In
xi
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
this connection I may say that I regard Zola
as a man of very calm, methodical, judicial
mind. He is no ranter, no lover of words for
words' sake, no fiery enthusiast. Each of his
books is a most laborious, painstaking piece of
work. If he ever brings forward a theory he bases
it on a mountain of evidence, and he invariably
subordinates his feelings to his reason. I therefore
venture to say that if he has come forward so
prominently in this Dreyfus case it is not because
he feels that wrong has been done, but because he
is absolutely convinced of it. Doubtless many of
the expressions in his recent letter to President
Faure have come from his heart, but they were in
the first place dictated by his reason. It is not
for me here and at the present hour to speak of
proofs, however great may be public curiosity ;
but most certainly Zola has not taken up this case
without what he considers to be abundant proof.
I do not say that he will be able to prove each
and every item of his great indictment, but when
you wish to bring everything to light it is often
xii
PREFACE
necessary to cast your net so wide that none shall
escape it, none linger in concealment with their
actions unexplained. And I take it that whatever
be the verdict of Zola's countrymen, whether or
not Alfred Dreyfus be again and this time
absolutely proved guilty . . . Zola himself will
have done good work in striving to bring the
whole truth to light so that it shall be as evident
to one and all as the very sun itself. And this,
when all is said, is really Zola's one great object
in this terrible business.
' I may add that he is risking far more than his
great predecessor risked in favour of Galas. Vol-
taire pleaded from his retirement on the Swiss
frontier ; Zola pleads the cause he has adopted on
the very spot, on the very scene of all the agitation.
Anonymous assassins threaten him with death in
letters and postcards. Fanatical Jew-baiters march
through the streets anxious for an opportunity to
wreck his house and murder not only himself but
his wife also in the sacred name of Patriotism.1
1 There is not the slightest doubt that M. Zola incurred the
xiii
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Should their menaces be escaped there remains the
Assize Court with a jury that will need to be brave
indeed if it is to resist all the pressure of a
deliberately organised " terror." At the end pos-
sibly lie imprisonment, fine, disgrace, ruin. How
jubilantly some are already rubbing their hands in
the bishops' palaces, the parsonages, the sacristies
of France ! Ah ! no stone will be kept unturned
to secure a conviction ! But Emile Zola does not
waver. It may be that the truth, the whole truth
will only be known to the world in some distant
century ; but he, anxious to hasten its advent and
prevent the irreparable, courageously stakes all that
he has, person, position, fame, affections, and friend-
ships. . . . And this he does for no personal object
whatsoever, but in the sole cause of truth and justice,
ever repeating the cry common to both Goethe
and himself: " Light, more light ! "
' Ah ! to all the true hearts that have followed
greatest personal danger between January and April 1 898. M. Ranc,
the old and tried Republican, who knows what danger is, has
lately pointed this out in forcible terms in the Paris journal Le
Matin.
xiv
PREFACE
and loved him through years of mingled blame and
praise, hard-earned victory and unmerited reviling, '<•
he is at this hour dearer even than he was before ;
for he has now put the seal upon his principles, and
to the force of precept has added that of the most
courageous personal example.'
This then is what I wrote immediately after the
publication of Zola's letter ' J'accuse,' basing myself
simply on my knowledge of the master's character,
of the passions let loose in France, and of a few
matters connected with the Dreyfus case, then kept
secret but now public property. And had I to write
anything of the kind at the present time, I should,
I think, have but few words to alter beyond sub-
stituting the past for the present or future tense.
In one respect I was mistaken. I did not imagine
the truth to be quite so near at hand. Since
January 1898, however, nine-tenths of it have been
revealed and the rest must now soon follow. And
I hold, as all hold who know the inner workings of
I'Affaire Dreyfus, that M. Zola's exile, like his
letter to President Faure and his repeated tria's for
xv a
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
libel, has in a large degree contributed to this
victory of the truth. For by going into voluntary
banishment, he kept not only his own but also
Dreyfus's case ' open,' and thus helped to foil the
last desperate attempts that were being made to
prevent the truth from being discovered.
I should add that in the following pages I deal
very slightly with I'Affaire Dreyfus, on which so
many books have already been written. Indeed,
as a rule, I have only touched on those incidents
which had any marked influence on M. Zola during
his sojourn in this country.
E. A. V.
MERTON, SURREY.
June 1899.
Postscript. — Of the four portraits which illustrate
the book, three, those of M. Zola, myself, and my
daughter, are from photographs by my son Victor-
The portrait of M. Zola was taken shortly after the
' death of Colonel Henry, at a time when the master
was experiencing keen anxiety. This will, I think,
be found reflected on his countenance,
xvi
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE I
II. IN LONDON l6
III. DANGER SIGNALS 32
IV. A CHANGE OF QUARTERS 46
V. WIMBLEDON — OATLANDS 6 1
VI. STILL AT OATLANDS 78
VII. EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS 88
VIII. OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES IO3
IX. A QUIET HOME AND A HAUNTED HOUSE . .Ill
X. ' LE REVE' : THE DREAM 129
XI. THROUGH THE AUTUMN 144
XII. THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE 159
XIII. WINTER DAYS ........ 1/4
XIV. 'WAITING FOR THE VERDICT' ... . . 189
XV. LAST DAYS — DEPARTURE . . 2O2
ILLUSTRATIONS
EMILE ZOLA Frontispiece
E. A. viZETELLY To face page 16
F. W. WAREHAM ,, IOO
VIOLETTE VIZETELLY .... ,, 138
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
i
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
FROM the latter part of the month of July 1898,
down to the end of the ensuing August, a frequent
heading to newspaper telegrams and paragraphs
was the query, ' Where is Zola ? ' The wildest
suppositions concerning the eminent novelist's
whereabouts were indulged in and the most con-
tradictory reports were circulated. It was on July 1 8
that M. Zola was tried by default at Versailles
and sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment on
the charge of having libelled, in his letter ' J'accuse,'
the military tribunal which had acquitted Com-
mandant Esterhazy. On the evening of the iQth
his disappearance was signalled by various tele-
grams from Paris. Most of these asserted that he
had gone on a tour to Norway, a course which the
B
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
%
' Daily News ' correspondent declared to be very
sensible on M. Zola's part, given the tropical heat
which then prevailed in the French metropolis.
On the 2Oth, however, the telegrams gave out
that Zola had left Paris on the previous evening by
the 8.35 express for Lucerne, being accompanied
by his wife and her maid. Later, the same day,
appeared a graphic account of how he had dined at
a Paris restaurant and thence despatched a waiter
to the Eastern Railway Station to procure tickets
for himself and a friend. The very numbers of
these tickets were given !
Yet a further telegram asserted that he had
been recognised by a fellow-passenger, had left the
train before reaching the Swiss frontier, and had
gaily continued his journey on a bicycle. But
another newspaper correspondent treated this
account as pure invention, and pledged his word
that M. Zola had gone to Holland by way of
Brussels.
On July 21 his destination was again alleged
to be Norway ; but — so desperate were the efforts
made to reconcile all the conflicting rumours — his
route was said to lie through Switzerland, Luxem-
burg, and the Netherlands. His wife (so the papers
2
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
reported) was with him, and they were bicycling
up hill and down dale through the aforenamed
countries. Two days later it was declared that he
had actually been recognised at a caf<6 in Brussels
whence he had fled in consequence of the threats
of the customers, who were enraged ' by the pre-
sence of such a traitor.' Then he repaired to
Antwerp, where he was also recognised, and where
he promptly embarked on board a steamer bound
for Christiania.
However, on July 25, the 'Petit Journal'
authoritatively asserted that all the reports hitherto
published were erroneous. M. Zola, said the Paris
print, was simply hiding in the suburbs of Paris,
hoping to reach Le Havre by night and thence
sail for Southampton. But fortunately the Pre-
fecture of Police was acquainted with his plans, and
at the first movement he might make he would be
arrested.
That same morning our own ' Daily Chronicle '
announced M. Zola's presence at a London hotel,
and on the following day the ' Morning Leader '
was in a position to state that the hotel in question
was the Grosvenor. Both ' Chronicle ' and ' Leader '
were right ; but as I had received pressing instruc-
3 H2
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
tions to contradict all rumours of M. Zola's arrival
in London, I did so in this instance through the
medium of the Press Association. I here frankly
acknowledge that I thus deceived both the Press
and the public. I acted in this way, however, for
weighty reasons, which will hereafter appear.
At this point I would simply say that M. Zola's
interests were, in my estimation, of far more conse-
quence than the claims of public curiosity, however
well meant and even flattering its nature.
One effect of the Press Association's contradic-
tion was to revive the Norway and Switzerland
stories. Several papers, while adhering to the state-
ment that M. Zola had been in London, added that
he had since left England with his wife, and that
Hamburg was their immediate destination. And
thus the game went merrily on. M. Zola's arrival
at Hamburg was duly reported. Then he sailed
on the ' Capella ' for Bergen, where his advent was
chronicled by Reuter. Next he was setting out
for Trondhjem, whence in a few days he would
join his friend Bjornstjerne Bjornson, the novelist,
at the latter's estate of Aulestad in the Gudbrands-
dalen. Bjornson, as it happened, was then at
Munich, in Germany, but this circumstance did
4
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
not weigh for a moment with the newspapers.
The Norway story was so generally accepted that
a report was spread to the effect that M. Zola had
solicited an audience of the Emperor William,
who was in Norway about that time, and that
the Kaiser had peremptorily refused to see him,
so great was the Imperial desire to do nothing of
a nature to give umbrage to France.
As I have already mentioned, the only true
reports (so far as London was concerned) were
those of two English newspapers, but even they
were inaccurate in several matters of detail. For
instance, the lady currently spoken of as Mme.
Zola was my own wife, who, it so happens, is a
Frenchwoman. At a later stage the ' Daily Mail '
hit the nail on the head by signalling M. Zola's
presence at the Oatlands Park Hotel ; but so
many reports having already proved erroneous,
the ' Mail ' was by no means certain of the accuracy
of its information, and the dubitativc form in
which its statement was couched prevented the
matter from going further.
At last a period of comparative quiet set in,
and though gentlemen of the Press were still
anxious to extract information from me, nothing
5
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
further appeared in print as to M. Zola's where-
abouts until the ' Times ' Paris correspondent, M.
de Blowitz, contributed to his paper, early in the
present year, a most detailed and amusing account
of M. Zola's flight from France and his subsequent
movements in exile. In this narrative one found
Mme. Zola equipping her husband with a night-
gown for his perilous journey abroad, and secreting
bank notes in the lining of his garments. Then,
carrying a slip of paper in his hand, the novelist
had been passed on through London from police-
man to policeman, until he took train to a village
in Warwickshire, where the little daughter of an
innkeeper had recognised him from seeing his
portrait in one of the illustrated newspapers.
There was something also about his acquaint-
ance with the vicar of the locality and a variety of
other particulars, all of which helped to make up
as pretty a romance as the ' Times ' readers had
been favoured with for many a day. But excellent
as was M. de Blowitz's narrative from the romantic
standpoint his information was sadly inaccurate.
Of his bona fides there can be no doubt, but some
of M. Zola's friends are rather partial to a little
harmless joking, and it is evident that a trap
6
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
was laid for the shrewd correspondent of the
' Times,' and that he, in an unguarded moment,
fell into it.
On the incidents which immediately preceded
M. Zola's departure from France I shall here be
brief; these incidents are only known to me by
statements I have had from M. and Mme. Zola
themselves. But the rest is well within my
personal knowledge, as one of the first things
which M. Zola did on arriving in England was to
communicate with me and in certain respects
place himself in my hands.
This, then, is a plain unvarnished narrative —
firstly, of the steps that I took in the matter, in
conjunction with a friend, who is by profession a
solicitor ; and, secondly, of the principal incidents
which marked M. Zola's sojourn in England.
With the chronicle of incidents I have blended an
account of M. Zola's views on some matters of
interest, as imparted by him to me at various
times. But, ultimately, M. Zola will himself pen
his own private impressions, and on these I shall
not trespass. It is because, according to his own
statements to me, his book on his English impres-
sions (should he write it) could not possibly appear
7
for another twelve months, that I have put these
notes together.
The real circumstances, then, of M. Zola's de-
parture from France are these: On July 18, the
day fixed for his second trial at Versailles, he left
Paris in a livery-stable brougham hired for the
occasion at a cost of fifty francs. His companion
was hisfidus Achates, M. Fernand Desmoulin, the
painter, who had already acted as his bodyguard at
the time of the great trial in Paris. Versailles was
reached in due course, and the judicial proceedings
began under circumstances which have been
chronicled too often to need mention here. When
M. Zola had retired from the court, allowing judg-
ment to go against him by default, he was joined
by Maitre Labori, his counsel, and the pair of them
returned to Paris in the vehicle which had brought
M. Zola from the city in the morning. M. Des-
moulin found a seat in another carriage.
The brougham conveying Messrs. Zola and
Labori was driven to the residence of M. Georges
Charpentier, the eminent publisher, in the Avenue
du Bois cle Boulogne, and there they were presently
joined by M. Georges Clemenceau, Mme. Zola, and
a few others. It was then that the necessity of
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
leaving France was pressed upon M. Zola, who,
though he found the proposal little to his liking,
eventually signified his acquiescence.
The points urged in favour of his departure
abroad were as follows : He must do his utmost to
avoid personal service of the judgment given
against him by default, as the Government was
anxious to cast him into prison and thus stifle his
voice. If such service were effected the law would
only allow him a few days in which to apply for a
new trial, and as he could not make default a
second time, and could not hope at that stage for
fresh and decisive evidence in his favour, or for a
change of tactics on the part of the judges, this
would mean the absolute and irrevocable loss of
his case.
On the other hand, by avoiding personal service
of the judgment he would retain the right to claim
a new trial at any moment he might find con-
venient ; and thus not only could he prevent his
own case from being closed against him and
becoming a chose jugte, but he would contribute
powerfully towards keeping the whole Dreyfus
affair open, pending revelations which even then
were foreseen. And, naturally, England, which so
9
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
freely gives asylum to all political offenders, was
chosen as his proper place of exile.
The amusing story of the nightgown tucked
under his arm and the bank notes sewn up in his
coat is, of course, pure invention. A few toilet
articles were pressed upon him, and his wife
emptied her purse into his own. That was all.
Then he set out for the Northern Railway Station,
where he caught the express leaving for Calais
at 9 P.M. Fortunately enough he secured a
first-class compartment which had no other
occupant.
M. Clemenceau had previously suggested to
him that on his arrival in London he might well
put up at the Grosvenor Hotel, and it is quite pos-
sible that the same gentleman handed him — as
stated in the ' Times ' narrative — a slip of paper
bearing the name of that noted hostelry. But, at
all events, this paper was never used by M. Zola.
He has an excellent memory, and when he reached
Victoria Station at forty minutes past five o'clock
on the morning of July 19, the name of the hotel
where he had arranged to fix his quarters for a few
days came readily enough to his lips.
There was, however, one thing that he did not
10
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
know, and that was the close proximity of this
hotel to the railway station. So, having secured a
hansom, he briefly told the Jehu to drive him to
the Grosvenor. At this, cabby looked down from
his perch in sheer astonishment. Then, doubtless,
in a considerate and honest spirit — for there are
still some considerate and honest cabbies in
London — he tried to explain matters. At all
events he spoke at length. But M. Zola failed to
understand him.
' Grosvenor Hotel,' repeated the novelist ; and
then, seeing that cabby seemed bent on further
expostulation, he resolutely took his seat in the
vehicle. This driver, doubtless after the fashion of
certain of his Paris colleagues, must be trying to
play some trick in order to avoid a long journey.
It was as well, therefore, to teach him to refrain
from trifling with his 'fares.'
However, cabby said no more, or if he did his
words failed to reach M. Zola. The reins were
jerked, the scraggy night-horse broke into a spas-
modic trot, turned out of the station, and pulled up
in front of the caravansary which an eminent
butcher has done so much to immortalise.
Zola was astonished at reaching his destination
1 1
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
with such despatch, and suddenly became conscious
of cabby's real motive in expostulating with him.
However, he ascended the steps, entered the hotel,
produced one of the few hundred-franc notes which
his purse contained, and asked first for change and
afterwards for a bedroom. English money was
handed to him for his note, and the night porter
carried cabby the regulation shilling for the journey
of a few yards which had been made.
Then, as M. Zola had no luggage with him, he
was requested to deposit a sovereign with the hotel
clerk and to inscribe his name in the register.
This he did, and the tell-tale signature of
' M. Pascal, Paris,' still remains as a token of the
accuracy of this narrative.
Such, then, was the way in which M. Zola
travelled across London, obligingly passed on from
policeman to policeman, and carrying a slip of
paper — a ' way-bill,' as it were — in his hand ! As
the above account was given to me by himself, it
will probably be deemed more worthy of credit
than the amusing romance which was so success-
fully palmed off on M. cle Blowitx, of the
' Times.'
12
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
41
Of his journey from Paris that night, he re-
clining alone in his compartment as the Calais
express rushed across the plains of Picardy under
a star-lit sky ; of his embarking on board the little
Channel boat amidst the glimmer of lanterns, his
transference to a fresh train at Dover, followed by
another and even faster rush on to London ; of
his gloomy thoughts at this sudden severance
from one and all, at speeding in this lonely fashion
into exile, and returning surreptitiously, as it were,
to the city where but a few years previously he had
been received as one of the kings of literature, he
will ever retain a keen impression.
It was at Victoria that his journey ended, even
as it had ended in 1893 ! Dut how changed the
scene ! He finds the station gaunt and well-nigh
deserted ; the few passengers are gliding away like
phantoms into the morning air ; the porters loiter
around, and the Customs officers discharge their
duties in a perfunctory, sleepy way. No crowd of
Pressmen and sightseers is present ; there are no
delegates and address, and flowers, and cheers as
of yore. Only cabby, who expostulates, and who
doubtless thinks this Frenchman a bit of a crank
* *
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
to insist upon being driven just round the
corner !
And at the hotel no army of servants appears
to marshal the master to the best suite of rooms
on the principal floor. In lieu thereof comes a
doubtful greeting and a demand for a deposit of
money, for fear lest he should be some vulgar
bilker. Then, once he is in the lift, he goes up
and up without stopping, until the very topmost
floor is reached. And afterwards he is marched
along interminable passages, with walls painted a
crude, hideous shade of blue, so offensive to all
artistic instinct as verily to make one's gorge rise.
Then at last he finds himself in a room which, high
as it is situated, is of lowly, common aspect. Yet
he is only too glad to reach it, and throw himself
on the bed to rest awhile, and to think.
New experiences are awaiting him. He is far
away from the mob that pelted his windows with
stones and yelled ' Conspuez ! conspuez ! ' when-
ever he left his house. Here there is no hostility.
Here quietude prevails, save for the shrill whistles
of arriving or departing trains. Yet he is also far
from the great majority of his affections and
friendships. But at this remembrance a fresh
H
ZOLA LEAVES FRANCE
thought comes to him ; he takes one of his visiting
cards from his pocket-book, pencils a few lines on
it, and encloses it in an envelope ready to be
posted. Then he again lies down ; tired as he is,
after his exciting day at Versailles and his weari-
some night journey, he soon falls soundly asleep.
'5
41
WITH ZOLA . IN ENGLAND
II
IN LONDON
ON Tuesday, July 19, I went to London on
business, and did not return to my home in the
south-western suburbs until nearly seven o'clock in
the evening. My wife immediately placed in my
hands an envelope addressed to me in the hajid-
writing of M. Zola. At first, having noticed neither
the stamp nor the postmark, I imagined that the
communication had come from Paris.
On opening the envelope, however, I found that
it contained a card on which was written in French
and in pencil : —
' My dear confrere, — Tell nobody in the world,
and particularly no newspaper, that I am in
London. And oblige me by coming to see me
to-morrow, Wednesday, at eleven o'clock, at Gros-
venor Hotel. You will ask for M. Pascal. And
16
ERNKSI A. VI/.KTKI.I.Y
above all, absolute silence, for the most serious
interests are at stake.
' Cordially,
' EMILE ZOLA.'
I was for a moment amazed and also somewhat
affected by this message, the first addressed by M.
Zola to anybody after his departure from France.
Since the publication of his novel ' Paris,' which
had followed his first trial, I had not seen him, and
we had exchanged but few letters. I had written
to express my sympathy over the outcome of the
proceedings at Versailles, but owing to his sudden
flitting my note had failed to reach him. And now
here he was in London — in exile, as, curiously
enough, I myself had foretold as probable some
time before in a letter to one of the newspapers.
My first impulse was to hurry to the Grosvenor
immediately, but I reflected that I might not find
him there, and that even if I did I might incon-
venience him, as he had appointed the following
day for my call. So I contented myself with
telegraphing as follows : ' Pascal, Grosvenor Hotel.
—Rely on me, to-morrow, eleven o'clock.' And
as a precautionary measure, I signed my telegram
merely with my Christian name.
17 c
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
As I afterwards learnt, M. Zola had spent that
day companionless, walking about the Mall and
St. James's Park, and purchasing a shirt, a collar,
and a pair of socks at a shop in or near Buckingham
Palace Road, where, knowing no English, he ex-
plained his requirements by pantomime. He had
further studied several street scenes, and had given
some time to wondering what purpose might be
served by a certain ugly elongated building, over-
looking a drive and a park. There was a sentry
at the gate, but the place had such a gaunt, clumsy,
and mournful aspect, that M. Zola could not
possibly picture it as the London palace of her
most Gracious Majesty the Queen.
However, evening found him once more in his
room at the Grosvenor ; and feeling tired and
feverish he lay down and dozed. When he awoke
between nine and ten o'clock he perceived a buff
envelope on the carpet near by him. It had been
thrust under the door during his sleep, and its
presence greatly astonished him, for he expected
neither letter nor telegram. For a moment, as he
has told me, he imagined this to be some trap ;
wondered if he had been watched and followed to
London, and almost made up his mind to leave the
18
IN LONDON
hotel that night. But when, after a little hesitation,
he had opened the envelope and read my telegram,
he realised how groundless had been his alarm.
On the morrow, when I reached the Grosvenor
and inquired at the office there for M. Pascal, I
was asked my name, on giving which I received a
note from M. Zola saying that he unexpectedly
found himself obliged to go out, but would return
at 2.30 P.M. As I stood reading this note, I espied
a couple of individuals scrutinising me in what I
deemed a most suspicious manner. Both were
Frenchmen evidently ; they wore billycock hats
and carried stout sticks ; and one of them, swarthy
and almost brigandish of aspect, had the ribbon of
the Legion of Honour in his buttonhole. It was
easy to take these individuals for French detectives,
and I hastily jumped to the conclusion that they
were on ' M. Pascal's ' track.
To make matters even more suspicious, when,
after placing Zola's note in my pocket, I began to
cross the vestibule, the others deliberately followed
me, and in all likelihood I should have fled never
to return if a well-known figure in a white billycock
and grey suit had not suddenly advanced towards
us from the direction of the staircase. In another
19 c 2
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
moment I had exchanged greetings with M. Zola,
and my suspicious scrutinisers had been introduced
to me as friends. One of them was none other
than M. Fernand Desmoulin. They had arrived
from Paris that morning, and were about to sally
forth with M. Zola in search of Mr. Fletcher
Moulton, Q.C., to whom they had brought a letter
of introduction from Maitre Labori.
Hence the note which M. Zola had already
deposited for me at the hotel office. Had I been
a moment later I should have found them gone.
My arrival led to a change in the programme.
It was resolved to begin matters with lunch at the
hotel itself, and to postpone the quest for Mr.
Fletcher Moulton until the afternoon. I made, at
the time, a note of our menu. The ' bitter bread
of exile ' consisted on this occasion of an omelet,
fried soles, fillet of beef, and potatoes. To wash
down this anchoretic fare M. Desmoulin and myselt
ordered Sauterne and Apollinaris ; but the contents
of the water bottle sufficed for M. Zola and the
other gentleman.
With waiters moving to and fro, nearly always
within hearing, there was little conversation at
table, but we afterwards chatted in all freedom in
20
IN LONDON
M. Zola's room just under the roof. Ah ! that
room. I have already referred to the dingy aspect
which it presented. Around the Grosvenor Hotel,
encompassing its roof, runs a huge ornamental
cornice, behind which are the windows of rooms
assigned, I suppose, to luggageless visitors. From
the rooms themselves there is nothing to be seen
unless you throw back your head, when a tiny
patch of sky above the top line of the cornice
becomes visible. You are, as it were, in a gloomy
well. The back of the cornice, with its plaster
stained and cracked, confronts your eyes ; and
with a little imagination you can easily fancy
yourself in a dungeon looking into some castle
moat.
' Le fosst de Vincennes,' so M. Zola suggested,
and that summed up everything. Yet it seemed
to him very appropriate to his circumstances, and
he absolutely refused to exchange rooms with
M. Desmoulin, who was somewhat more comfort-
ably lodged.
The appointments of M. Zola's chamber were,
I remember, of a summary description. There
were few chairs, and so one of us sat on the bed.
We succeeded in procuring some black coffee,
21
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
though the chambermaid regarded this as a most
unusual ' bedroom order' at that hour of the day ;
and when M. Desmoulin had lighted a cigar, his
friend a pipe, and myself a cigarette, a regular
Council of War was held. [N.B. — M. Zola gave
up tobacco in his young days, when it was a
question of his spending twopence per diem on
himself, or of allowing his mother the wherewithal
to buy an extra pound of bread.]
The council dealt mainly with two points —
first, what was M. Zola to do in England ? Should
he go into the country, or to the seaside, or settle
down in the London suburbs ? Since he wished
to avoid recognition, it would be foolish for him
to remain in London, particularly at an hotel like
the Grosvenor. Then, for my benefit, the legal
position was set forth, as well as the object of taking
Maitre Labori's letter to Mr. Fletcher Moulton.
The chief point was, Could the French
Government in any way signify the judgment of
the Versailles Court to M. Zola personally while
he remained in Great Britain ? If the French
officials could legally do nothing of that kind,
there would be less necessity for M. Zola to court
retirement.
22
IN LONDON
After the hurly-burly of Faffaire Dreyfus^ he
certainly needed some rest and privacy, but the
question was whether retirement would be a
, -
4V1
M. ZOLA'S NOTE TO MR. VIZF.TEI.LY.
necessity or a mere matter of convenience. Now
the choice of a place of sojourn depended on the
answer to the second question, and it was resolved,
nein. con., that M. Dcsmoulin, who spoke a little
23
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
English and knew something of London, should
forthwith drive to Mr. Fletcher Moulton's house in
Onslow Square, S.W., in accordance with the
address given on Maitre Labori's letter. M. Des-
moulin's friend, on his side, was to return to Paris
that afternoon by the Club train. So, the council
over, both these gentlemen went off, leaving
M. Zola and myself together.
We had a long and desultory chat, now on the
Dreyfus affair generally, now on M. Zola's personal
position, the probable duration of his exile, and so
forth. He himself did not think that he would
remain abroad beyond October at the latest, and
as there might be a delay if not a difficulty in
getting any clothes sent to him from Paris, he
proposed to make a few purchases.
It was then that he told me how he had
already bought a shirt, collar, and socks on the
previous day.
' I had nothing but what I was wearing,' said
he. ' I had been to Versailles and had sat per-
spiring in the crowded court ; then I had spent
the night travelling. I looked dirty, and I felt
abominably uncomfortable. So I go out, yester-
day morning, and see a shop with shirts, neckties,
24
IN LONDON
collars, and socks in the window. I go in ; I take
hold of my collar, I pull down my cuffs, I tap my
shirt front. The shopman smiles ; he understands
me. He measures my neck ; he gives me a shirt
and some collars. But then we come to the socks,
and I pull up my trousers and point to those I am
wearing. He understands immediately. He is
very intelligent. He climbs his steps and pulls
parcels and boxes from his shelves.
' Here are socks of all colours, dark and light,
spotted, striped, in mixtures, in cotton, in wool,
some ribbed and some with silk clockings. But
they are huge ! I look at one pair ; it is too big ;
he shows me another and another ; they are still of
a larger size. Then, impatient, and perhaps rather
abruptly, I hold out my fist for the man to measure
it, and thus gauge the length of my foot as is done
in Paris. But he docs not understand me. He
draws back close to his shelves as if he imagines
that I want to box him. And when I again lift
my foot to call his attention to its size, he shows
even greater concern. Fortunately an idea comes
to me. I take one of the mammoth socks that are
lying on the counter and fold parts of it neatly
back, so as to make it appear very much smaller
25
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
than it is. Then the shopman suddenly brightens,
taps his forehead, climbs his steps again, and pulls
yet more boxes and parcels from his shelves.
And here at last are the small socks ! So I
choose a pair, and pay the bill. And the man
bows his thanks, well pleased, it seems, to find
that in thrusting out my fist and raising my foot
I had been actuated by no desire to injure him.'
I was still chuckling over M. Zola's anecdote
when M. Desmoulin returned from his journey to
Onslow Square. He had there interviewed a
smart boy in buttons, who had informed him that
his learned master was out of town electioneering,
and might not be home again for a week or two.
Desmoulin had, therefore, retained possession of
Maitre Labori's note of introduction.
I now remembered what I ought to have re-
called before— namely, that Mr. Fletcher Moulton
was at that moment a candidate for the parlia-
mentary representation of the Launceston division
of Cornwall. Under such circumstances it was
unlikely that his advice would be available for some
little time to come. And so all idea of applying
to him was abandoned. It may be that this
narrative, should it meet the learned gentleman's
26
IN LONDON
•"***• (•
eye, will for the first time acquaint him with what
was intended by M. Zola, acting under Maitre
Labori's advice.
M. Zola, I should add, remained most anxious
to secure an English legal opinion on his position,
and I therefore suggested to him that I should that
evening consult a discreet and reliable friend of
mine, a solicitor. We, of course, well knew that
there could be no extradition, but it was a point
whether a copy of the Versailles judgment might
not legally be placed in M. Zola's hands, under
such conventions as might exist between France
and Great Britain.
This, I thought, could be ascertained within the
next forty-eight hours, and meantime M. Zola
might remain where he was, for I could not well
offer him an asylum in my little home. My con-
nection with him as his English translator being so
widely known, newspaper reporters were certain to
call upon me, and whatever precautions I might
take, his presence in my house would speedily be
discovered. On the other hand, M. Desmoulin
wished to go to Brighton or Hastings, but, in my
estimation, both those places, crowded with holiday-
makers, were not desirable spots.
27
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Leaving the Grosvenor, the three of us dis-
cussed these matters while strolling up Bucking-
ham Palace Road. It was a warm sunshiny
afternoon, and the street was full of people. All
at once a couple of ladies passed us, and one of
them, after turning her head in our direction, made
a remark to her companion.
' Did you hear that ? ' Desmoulin eagerly
inquired. ' She spoke in French ! '
' Ah ! ' I replied. ' What did she say ? '
'"Why," she exclaimed, "there's M. Zola!"
Our secret is as good as gone now ! It will be
all over London by to-morrow ! '
We felt somewhat alarmed. Who could those
ladies be ? For my part I had scarcely noticed
them. Desmoulin opined, however, that they
might perchance be French actresses, members
possibly of Madame Sarah Bernhardt's company,
which was then in London. And again he urged
the necessity of immediate departure. They must
go to Hastings, Brighton, Ramsgate — some place
at all events where the author of ' J 'accuse ' would
incur less chance of recognition.
To me it seemed that some quiet, retired
country village would be most suitable. In any
28
IN LONDON
town M. Zola would incur great risk of being
identified. Moreover his appearance was con-
spicuous, his white billycock, his glasses, his light
grey suit, his rosette of the Legion of Honour,
his many characteristic gestures all attracted
attention. If anything was to be done he must
begin by Anglicising his appearance. But what-
ever I might urge I found him stubborn on that
point ; and, as for departure from London, he
preferred to postpone this until I should have
seen my friend the solicitor.
' Everything is as good as lost ! ' cried M. Des-
moulin. ' How foolish, too, of Clemenceau to have
sent you to a swell hotel in a fashionable neigh-
bourhood ! I am certain there are other French
people staying at the Grosvenor — I heard some-
body talking French there this morning.'
This again might lead to unpleasantness, and
I could see that the master was gradually growing
anxious. By this time, however, we had reached
St. James's Park, and there, as we seated ourselves
on some chairs beside the ornamental water, I led
the conversation into another channel by producing
an evening newspaper, and reading therefrom
successive narratives of how M. Zola had sailed for
29
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Norway, how he had taken train at the Eastern
Terminus in Paris, and how he had been bicycling
through the Oberland on his way to some mysteri-
ous Helvetian retreat. Then we laughed — ah !
those journalists ! — and fears were at an end.
The ducks paddled past us, the drooping foliage
of the island trees stirred in the warm breeze.
On a bench near at hand a couple of vagrants
sat dozing, with their toes protruding through their
wretched footgear. Then a soldier, smart and
pert, strolled up, a flower between his lips and a
good-looking girl beside him. Away in front of
us were the top windows and the roofs of St.
Anne's Mansions. Farther, on the left, the clock
tower of Westminster glinted in the sun-rays,
' Fine ducks ! ' said M. Zola.
' A pretty corner,' added Desmoulin, waving
his hand towards some branches that drooped to
the water's edge. And suddenly I remembered
and told them of another French exile, the
epicurean St. Evremond, whose needs were re-
lieved by Charles II. appointing him governor of
yonder Duck Island at a salary of 3OO/. a year.
' Well, I have little money in my pocket,' quoth
Zola, ' but I don't think I shall come to that. I
30
IN LONDON
hope that my pen alone will always yield me the
little I require.'
But Big Ben struck the hour. It was six
o'clock. So we separated, Messrs. Zola and Des-
moulin to retire to the dungeon at the Grosvenor,
and I to go in search of my friend the solicitor at
his private house at Wimbledon.
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
III
DANGER SIGNALS
THAT evening, then, I called upon my friend-
Mr. F. W. Wareham, of Wimbledon, and Ethel-
burga House, Bishopsgate Street — and laid before
him the legal points. I afterwards arranged to see
him on the following morning in town, when I
hoped to fix a meeting between him and M. Zola.
My first call on Thursday, July 21, was made to
the Grosvenor Hotel, where I found both the
master and M. Desmoulin in a state of anxiety.
M. Zola, for his part, felt altogether out of his
element. After the excitement of his trial and his
journey to England, and the novelty of finding
himself stranded in a strange city, a kind of re-
action had set in and he was extremely depressed.
M. Desmoulin on his side, having procured
several morning newspapers, had explored their
columns to ascertain whether the ladies by whom
32
DANGER SIGNALS
the master had been recognised in the street on
the previous day, had by any chance noised the
circumstance abroad. However, the Press was still
on the Norway and Holland scents, and as yet not
a paper so much as suggested M. Zola's presence
in England.
' There has hardly been time,' said Desmoulin
to me, ' but there will probably be something fresh
this afternoon. Those actresses are certain to tell
people, and we shall have to make ourselves
scarce.'
I tried to cheer and tranquillise both him and
M. Zola, and then arranged that Wareham should
come to the hotel at 2 P.M. Meantime, said I,
whatever M. Desmoulin might do, it would be as
well for M. Zola to remain indoors. Several com-
missions were entrusted to me, and I went off,
promising to return about noon.
I betook myself first to Messrs. Chatto and
Windus's in St. Martin's Lane, where I arrived a
few minutes before ten o'clock. Neither Mr. Chatto
nor his partner, Mr. Percy Spalding, had as yet
arrived, and I therefore had to wait a few minutes.
When Mr. Spalding made his appearance he
greeted me with a smile, and while leading the
33 D
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
way to his private room exclaimed, ' So our friend
Zola is in London ! '
To describe my amazement is beyond my
powers. I could only just gasp, ' How do you
know that ? '
' Why, my wife saw him yesterday in Bucking-
ham Palace Road.'
I was confounded. For my part I had scarcely
glanced at the ladies whom Desmoulin had con-
jectured to be French actresses — simply because
they were young, prepossessing, and spoke French !
— and certainly I should not readily have recog-
nised Mrs. Spalding, whom I had only met once
some years previously. It now seemed to me
rather fortunate that she should be the person who
had recognised M. Zola, since she would naturally
be discreet as soon as the situation should be made
clear to her.
After I had explained the position, I ascer-
tained that the only persons besides herself who
knew anything so far were her husband and the
lady friend who had accompanied her on the
previous day.
' I will telegraph to my wife at once,' said
Mr. Spalding, ' and you may be sure that the
34
DANGER SIGNALS
matter will go no further. We certainly had a
hearty laugh at breakfast this morning when we
read in the " Telegraph " of Zola bicycling over the
Swiss frontier ; but, of course, as from what you
tell me, the matter is serious, neither my wife nor
myself will speak of it.'
' And her friend ? ' I exclaimed, ' she knows
nothing of the necessity for secrecy, and may
perhaps gossip about it.'
' She is going to Hastings to-day.'
' Hastings ! ' said I, ' why M. Desmoulin, Zola's
companion, does nothing but talk of going to
Hastings ! [ am glad I know this. Hastings is
barred for good, so far as Zola is concerned.'
' Well, I will arrange for my wife to see her
friend this morning before she starts,' Mr. Spalding
rejoined, 'and in this way we may be sure that her
friend will say nothing.'
This excellent suggestion was acted upon
immediately. Mr. Spalding telegraphed full in-
structions to his wife, and later in the day I learnt
that everything had been satisfactorily arranged.
But for this timely action, following upon my lucky
call at Messrs. Chatto and Windus's establishment,
it is virtually certain that the meeting in the
35 °2
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Buckingham Palace Road would have been talked
about and the game of ' Where is Zola ? ' brought
to an abrupt conclusion. As it happened, both
ladies, being duly warned, preserved absolute
secrecy.
After going to Bishopsgate Street to see Ware-
ham, and executing several minor commissions, I
returned to the Grosvenor, where Zola and Des-
moulin were much amused when I told them of
the outcome of the previous day's fright.
' It was a remarkable coincidence certainly,'
said M. Zola. ' At a low calculation I daresay a
thousand women passed me in the streets yesterday ;
just one of them recognised me, and she, you say,
was Mrs. Spalding. Shortsighted as I am, not
having seen her, too, since I was in England, a few
years ago, I had no notion she was the person who
turned as she passed along, and said, " There's
Monsieur Zola."
' But the curious part of it is that you should
have had to go to Chatto's, and should have learnt
the lady's name so promptly from her husband !
Mathematically there were untold chances that
this lady who recognised me might be some
stranger's wife, and that we might never more
36
DANGER SIGNALS
hear anything of her ! Yet you discover her
identity at once. This is the kind of thing which
occasionally occurs in novels, but which critics say
never happens in real life. Well, now we know
the contrary.'
And he added gaily, ' You see it is another
instance of my good luck, which still attends me in
spite of all the striving of those who bear me
grudges.'
So far as the ladies were concerned things were,
indeed, very satisfactory. But the same could
hardly be said of the position at the Grosvenor.
Neither M. Zola nor M. Desmoulin could leave the
hotel or return to it without being scrutinised.
They had also noticed many a glance in their
direction at meal-time in the dining-room ; and
they had come to the conclusion that departure
was imperative. I did not gainsay them, for I
shared their views, and, in fact, I had already
discussed the matter with Wareham. I explained,
however, that one must have a few hours to devise
suitable plans.
Seaside places were dangerous at that time of
the year, and the best course would probably be to
take a furnished house in the country. Meantime,
37
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
said I, Wareham had kindly offered to accommo-
date M. Zola at his residence at Wimbledon, while
M. Desmoulin might sleep close by at the house
of Mr. Everson (Wareham's managing clerk), who
also disposed of a spare bedroom. Further dis-
cussion of these matters was postponed, however,
until Warcham's arrival at the Grosvenor in the
afternoon.
As Zola and Desmoulin both distrusted the
inquisitive glances of the visitors and the atten-
dants at the hotel, we lunched, I remember, at a
restaurant in or near Victoria Street — a deep,
narrow place, crowded with little tables. And here
again M. Zola, in his light garments, with the
rosette of the Legion of Honour showing brightly
in his buttonhole, became the observed of all
observers.
He was, indeed, so conspicuous, so characteristic
a figure that, looking backward and remembering
how repeatedly the illustrated papers had portrayed
him and how many photographs of him were to be
seen in shop windows, I often wonder how it
happened that he was not recognised a hundred
times during those few days spent in London. It
may be that many did recognise him, but held
38
DANGER SIGNALS
their tongues. As yet. certainly, there was not a
word in the newspapers to set his adversaries upon
his track.
It was in a corner of the smoking-room at the
Grosvenor, a hot gloomy apartment overlooking
Victoria Station, that I introduced Wareham to
the novelist. The former had already formed
some opinion, but a few points remained for con-
sideration. The chief of these, as Wareham
explained, was how far the French Republic
might claim jurisdiction over Frenchmen.
In matters of process some countries asserted a
measure of authority over their subjects wherever
they might be ; and the question was, what might
be the law of France in that respect ? Of course
M. Zola could not be extradited. The offence for
which he had been sentenced did not come within
the purview of the Extradition Act. Again (in
reply to a query from M. Zola), there was no
diplomatic channel through which a French crimi-
nal libel judgment could be signified in England.
But suppose that French detectives should discover
M. Zola's whereabouts, and suppose a French
process-server should quietly come to England
with a couple of witnesses, and by some craft or
39
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
good luck should succeed in placing a copy of the
Versailles judgment in M. Zola's hands ?
Unless a breach of the Queen's peace were
committed, it might be difficult for the English
authorities to interfere. There appeared to be no
case or precedent in England applying to such a
matter. In Germany a foreign process-server
would be liable to penal servitude. But, of course,
that was not to the point. Again, although the
service by a foreigner might not hold good in
English law, that had nothing to do with it. The
process-server and his witnesses would immediately
return to France ; they would there prove to the
satisfaction of their employers that they had served
the judgment on M. Zola personally, and they
would be able to snap their ringers at English
lawyers should the latter complain that the
thrusting of a document into a man's hand under
such circumstances was a technical assault. They
would have gained their point. Judgment would
have been served, and in accordance with French
law M. Zola would be called upon to enter an
appearance against it at Versailles.
' Things must largely depend,' concluded Ware-
ham, ' on whether French law allows process to be
40
DANGER SIGNALS
served on a subject out of the jurisdiction. And
that is a point rather for French legal advisers
than for me. Still I shall look into the matter
further ; and if at the same time Maitre Labori can
be communicated with and can supply his opinion
on the question, so much the better. I now raise
the point because it seems the crux of the whole
matter, and if it goes against us it is certain that
M. Zola ought to remain in close retirement. For
the present it is as well that he should run as little
risk as possible.'
M. Zola acquiesced in the suggestion of writing
to his French counsel on the point which had been
raised ; and the conversation then went on in the
same low tone that had been preserved from the
outset.
On entering the smoking-room we had found
it deserted, but whilst Wareham was speaking a
couple of gentlemen had come in. One, I
remember, was an elderly, florid man, with
mutton-chop whiskers and a buff waistcoat, who
took his stand beside the fireplace at the further
end of the room and puffed away at a big cigar.
He looked inoffensive enough, and paid no
attention to us. But the other, a middle-aged
41
*WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
individual, tall and slim, with military moustaches,
eyed us very keenly, changed his position two or
three times, and finally installed himself in a chair,
whence, while trifling with a cigarette, he com-
manded a good view of M. Zola's face. Desmoulin,
I think, was the first to notice this, and to call the
novelist's attention to it. Zola then shifted his
position, and the military looking gentleman soon
did the same. At last, doubtless having satisfied
his curiosity, he left the room, not, however, with-
out a sharp, comprehensive survey of our party as
he passed us on his way out.
I do not now exactly remember how it
happened that Wareham was not received in the
' dungeon,' instead of the smoking-room. The
choice of the latter apartment was unfortunate. I
have no doubt that, if some of the newspapers
were, a day or two afterwards, able to state that
M. Zola was staying at the Grosvenor Hotel, it
was through certain remarks made by the inquisi-
tive military looking gentleman to whom I have
referred.
On the other hand his curiosity exercised
decisive influence over M. Zola's subsequent move-
ments. He had hitherto been rather chary of
42
DANGER SIGNALS
accepting Wareham's hospitality, for fear lest he
should inconvenience him. But the offer now
being renewed was promptly accepted, and it was
agreed that I should take both Messrs. Zola and
Desmoulin to Wimbledon that evening.
As it was expected that several letters from
Paris would arrive at the hotel, addressed to M.
Pascal, I arranged to call or send for them. The
same course was adopted with regard to a few
articles which M. Zola had given to be washed
and which had not yet been returned to him.
Some of these things were significantly marked
with the letter ' Z,' and for this reason it was
desirable that they should be recovered. Here I
may mention that during the next few days my
wife repeatedly called at the Grosvenor for M.
Pascal's correspondence, a circumstance which
doubtless gave rise to the rumour that Mine. Zola
had joined her husband in London.
The exodus from the hotel was not particularly
imposing. M. Desmoulin had originally intended
to stay but one day in London, and thus merely
had a dressing-case with him. As for M. Zola,
his few belongings (inclusive of a small bottle of
ink, which he would not part with) were stuffed
43
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
into his pockets, or went towards the making of a
peculiarly shaped newspaper parcel, tied round
with odd bits of string. Dressing-case and parcel
were duly brought down into the grand vestibule,
where the hotel servants smiled on them benignly.
There was, indeed, some little humour in the
situation.
The novelist, with his gold pince-nez and gold
watch-chain, his red rosette, and a large and
remarkably fine diamond sparkling on one of his
little fingers, looked so eminently respectable that
it was difficult to associate him with the wretched
misshapen newspaper parcel — his only luggage ! —
which he eyed so jealously. However, as the
attendants were all liberally fee'd, they remained
strictly polite even if they felt amused. I ordered
a hansom to be called, and we just contrived to
squeeze both ourselves and the precious newspaper
parcel inside it. The dressing-case was hoisted
aloft. Then the hotel porter asked me, ' Where
to, sir ? '
' Charing Cross Station,' I replied, and the next
moment we were bowling along Buckingham
Palace Road.
Perhaps a minute elapsed before I tapped the
44
DANGER SIGNALS
cab-roof with my walking stick. On cabby look-
ing down at me, I said, ' Did I tell you Charing
Cross just now, driver ? Ah ! well, I made a
mistake. I meant Waterloo.'
' Right, sir,' rejoined cabby ; and on we went.
It was a paltry device, perhaps, this trick of
giving one direction in the hearing of the hotel
servants, and then another when the hotel was out
of sight. But, as the reader must know, this kind
of thing is always done in novels — particularly in
detective stories.
And recollections had come to me of some of
Gaboriau's tales which long ago I had helped to
place before the English public. It might be that
the renowned Monsieur Lecoq or his successor, or
perchance some English confrere like Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, would presently be after us, and so it was
just as well to play the game according to the
orthodox rules of romance. After all, was it not
in something akin to a romance that I was
living ?
45
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
IV
A CHANGE OF QUARTERS
IT should be mentioned that the departure of
Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin from the Grosvenor
Hotel took place almost immediately after Ware-
ham had returned to his office. We were not to
meet our friend the solicitor again until the evening
at Wimbledon, but the hotel being apparently a
dangerous spot, it was thought best to quit it
forthwith.
When we reached Waterloo the dressing-case
and the newspaper parcel were deposited at one of
the cloak-rooms ; and after making the round
of the station, we descended into the Waterloo
Road. At first we sauntered towards the New
Cut, and of course M. Zola could not help noticing
the contrast between the dingy surroundings amidst
which he now found himself and the stylish shops
and houses he had seen in the Buckingham Palace
Road. The vista was not cheering, so I proposed
46
A CHANGE OF QUARTERS
that we should retrace our steps and go as far as
Waterloo Bridge.
There seemed to be little risk in doing so, for,
as usual hereabouts in the middle of the afternoon,
there were few people to be seen. The great
successive rush of homeward-bound employers,
clerks, and workpeople had not yet set in. And,
moreover, there was plenty of time ; for Wareham,
having important business in town that day, could
not possibly be at Wimbledon till half-past six at
the earliest.
We reached the bridge — 'that monument/ as a
famous Frenchman once put in, ' worthy of Sesos-
tris and the Caesars ' — and went about half-way
across. It was splendid weather, and the Thames
was aglow with the countless reflections of the
sunbeams that fell from the hot, whitening sky.
London was before us, ' with her palaces down to
the water ' ; and M. Zola stopped short, gazing
intently at the scene.
' Up-stream the view was spoilt,' said he, ' by
the hideous Hungerford Bridge, unworthy alike of
the city and the river ' an erection such as no
Paris municipality would have tolerated for four
and twenty hours. It was the more obtrusive and
47
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
aggravating, since beyond it one discerned but
little of the towers of Westminster. ' Admitting,'
added the novelist, ' that a bridge is needed at that
point for railway traffic, surely there is no reason
why it should be so surprisingly ugly. However,
from all I see, it seems more and more evident
that you English people are very much in the habit
of sacrificing beauty to utility, forgetting that with
a little artistic sense it is easy to combine the
two.'
Then, however, he turned slightly, and looked
down-stream where the Victoria Embankment
spreads past the Temple to Blackfriars. The
colonnades of Somerset House showed boldly and
with a certain majesty in the foreground, whilst in
the distance, high over every roof, arose the leaden
dome of St. Paul's. This vista was rather to
M. Zola's liking. Close beside us, on the bridge,
was one of the semi-circular embrasures garnished
with stone seats. A pitiful-looking vagrant was
lolling there ; but this made no difference to
M. Zola. He installed himself on the seat with
Desmoulin on one hand and myself on the other,
and there we remained for some little time looking
about us and chatting.
48
A CHANGE OF QUARTERS
' This was the only thing wanted,' said Des-
moulin, who generally had some humorous remark
in readiness for every situation. ' Yesterday at the
Grosvenor we were in thefoss/de Vincennes, and
now, as they say in the melodrama of " The Knights
of the Fog " (" Les Chevaliers du Brouillard " 1), we
are " homeless wanderers stranded on the bridges
of London." '
The allusion to the fog roused M. Zola from
his contemplation.
' But where is the Savoy Hotel, where I stayed
in '93 ? ' he inquired. ' It must be very near
here.'
I pointed it out to him, and he was astonished.
' Why, no — that cannot be it ! It was so large a
place, and now it looks so small. What is that
huge building beside it ? '
' The Hotel Cecil,' I replied.
Then again he shook his head in disapproval.
From an artistic standpoint he strongly objected
to the huge caravansary on which builder Hobbs
and pious Jabez Balfour spent so much of other
people's money. Soaring massively and preten-
1 The French dramatic adaptation of Ainsworth's 'Jack
Sheppard.'
49 '•
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
tiously into the sky it dwarfed everything around ;
and thus, in his opinion, utterly spoilt that part of
the Embankment.
' To think, too,' said he, ' that you had such a
site, here, along the river, and allowed it to be used
for hotels and clubs, and so forth. There was
room for a Louvre here, and you want one badly ;
for your National Gallery, which I well remember
visiting in '93, is a most wretched affair architec-
turally.'
' But I want to see rather more of the south
side of the river,' he added, after a pause. ' I
should like to ascertain if my lion is still there, I
recollect that there was some fog about on the
morning after my arrival at the Savoy in '93 ; and
when I went to the window of my room I noticed
the mist parting — one mass of vapour ascending
skyward, while the other still hovered over the
river. And, in the rent between, I espied a lion,
poised in mid air. It amused me vastly ; and I
called my wife, saying to her, "Come and see.
Here's the British lion waiting to bid us good-
day." '
We went to the end of the bridge and thence
espied the lion which surmounts the brewery of
50
A CHANGE OF QUARTERS
that name. M. Zola recognised it immediately.
Desmoulin would then have led us Strandvvard ;
but the Strand, said I, was about the most
dangerous thoroughfare in all London for those
who wished to escape recognition ; so we went
back over the bridge and again down the Waterloo
road.
' I should very much like to send a line to Paris
to-day to stop letters from going to the Grosvenor,'
said M. Zola. ' Is there any place hereabouts
where I could write a note ? '
This question perplexed me, for the numerous
facilities for letter-writing which are supplied by
the caffs of Paris are conspicuously absent in
London ; and this I explained to M. Zola. A
postage stamp may often be procured at a public-
house, but only now and again can one there
obtain ink and paper. However, I thought we
might as well try the saloon bar of the York Hotel,
which abuts on that famous ' Poverty Corner/ so
much frequented by ladies and gentlemen of the
•' halls,' when, sorely against their inclinations, they
are ' resting.'
It was Thursday afternoon ; still there were
several disconsolate-looking individuals lounging
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
about the corner ; and in the saloon bar we found
some fourteen or fifteen loudly dressed men and
women typical of the spot. I forget what I
ordered for Desmoulin and myself, but M. Zola, I
know imbibed, mainly for the good of the house,
' a small lemon plain.' Then we ascertained that
the young lady at the bar had neither stamps, nor
paper, nor envelopes, and so we were again in a
quandary. Fortunately I recollected a little
stationer's shop in the York Road, and leaving
the others in the saloon bar, I went in search of
the requisite materials.
When I returned I found the master an object
of general attention. His extremely prosperous
appearance, his white billycock, his jewellery, and
so forth, coupled with the circumstance that he
conversed in French with Desmoulin, had led
some of those present to imagine that he was a
Continental music-hall director on the look out for
English ' artists.'
Again and again I noticed, as it were, a
' hungry ' glance in his direction ; and when, after
procuring an inkstand from over the bar, I had
ensconced him in a corner, where he was able
after a fashion to pen his correspondence, a viva-
52
A CHANGE OF QUARTERS
cious and, it seemed to me, somewhat bibulous
gentleman in a check suit sidled up to where I
stood and introduced himself in that easy way
which repeated ' drops ' of ' Mountain Dew ' are
apt to engender.
' Ah ! ' said he, after a few pointless remarks,
' your friend is over here on business, eh ? Right
thing, splendid thing. It's only by looking round
that one can get real tip-top novelties. Oh ! I
know Paree and the bouleywards well enough. I
was on at the Follee Bergey only a few years ago
myself. A good place that — pays well, eh ? I
shouldn't at all mind taking a trip across the
water again. There's nothing like a change, you
know. Sets a man up, eh ? '
Then mysteriously — lifting his forefinger and
lowering his voice, ' Now your friend wants " talent,"
eh ? Real, genuine " talent " ! I could put him
in the way '
But I interposed : ' You've applied to the wrong
shop,' I said by way of a joke ; ' my friend has all
the talent he requires. He's quite full up.'
A sorrowful look came over the angular features
of the gentleman in the check suit. ' It's like my
luck,' said he ; ' there was a fellow over from
53
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Amsterdam the other day, but he'd only take
girls. I think the Continental line's pretty nigh
played out.'
He heaved a sigh and glanced in the direction
of his empty glass. Then, seeing that the novelist
and Desmoulin were rising to join me, he whispered
hurriedly, ' / say,, guv* nor, you Jiaven't got a tanner
you could spare, have you ? '
I had foreseen the request ; nevertheless I
pressed a few coppers into his hand and then
hurried out after my wards.
Though it was still early we decided to start at
once for Wimbledon. The master, I thought,
might like to see a little of the place pending
Wareham's arrival.
The journey through Lambeth, Vauxhall, and
Queen's Road is not calculated to give the in-
telligent foreigner a particularly favourable impres-
sion of London. Still M. Zola did not at first find
the surroundings very much worse than those one
observes on leaving Paris by the Northern or
Eastern lines. But as the train went on and on
and much the same scene appeared on either hand
he began to wonder when it would all end.
On approaching Clapham Junction a sea of
54
A CHANGE OF QUARTERS
roofs is to be seen on the right stretching away
through Battersea to the Thames ; while on the
left a huge wave of houses ascends the acclivity
known, I believe, as Lavender Hill. And at the
sight of all the mean, dusty streets, lined with little
houses of uniform pattern, each close pressed to the
other — at the frequently recurring glimpses of
squalor and shabby gentility — M. Zola exploded.
' It is awful ! ' he said.
We were alone in our compartment, and he
looked first from one window and then from the
other. Next came a torrent of questions : Why
were the houses so small ? Why were they all so
ugly and so much alike ? W7hat classes of people
lived in them ? Why were the roads so dusty ?
Why was there such a litter of fragments of paper
lying about everywhere ? Were those streets never
watered ? Was there no scavengers' service ? And
then a remark : ' You see that house, it looks fairly
clean and neat in front. But there ! look at the
back-yard — all rubbish and poverty! One notices
that again and again ! '
We passed Clapham Junction, pursuing our
journey through the cutting which intersects
Wandsworth Common. 'Well,' I said, 'you may
55
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
take it that, except as regards the postal and police
services, you are now out of London proper.'
Presently, indeed, we emerged from the cutting,
and fields were seen on either hand. One could
breathe at last. But as we approached Earlsfield
Station all M. Zola's attention was given to a long
row of low-lying houses whose yards and gardens
extend to the railway line . Now and again a trim
patch of ground was seen ; here, too, there was a
little glass-house, there an attempt at an arbour.
But litter and rubbish were only too often
apparent.
' This, I suppose,' said the novelist, ' is what
you call a London slum invading the country ?
You tell me that only a part of the bourgeoisie cares
for flats, and that among the lower middle class
and the working class each family prefers to rent
its own little house. Is this for the sake of privacy ?
If so, I see no privacy here. Leaving out the
question of being overlooked from passing trains,
observe the open four-foot fences which separate
one garden or yard from the other There is no
privacy at all ! To me the manner in which your
poorer classes are housed in the suburbs, packed
closely together in flimsy buildings, where every
56
A CHANGE OF QUARTERS
sound can be heard, suggests a form of socialism
—communism, or perhaps rather the phalansterian
system.'
But Earlsfield was already passed, and we were
reaching Wimbledon. Here M. Zola's impressions
changed. True, he did not have occasion to
perambulate what he would doubtless have called
the ' phalansterian ' streets of new South Wimble-
don. I spared him the sight of the chess-board of
bricks and mortar into which the speculative
builder has turned acre after acre north of Merton
High Street. But the Hill Road, the Broadway,
the Worple Road, and the various turnings that
climb towards the Ridgeway pleased him. And
he commented very favourably on the shops in the
Broadway and the Hill Road, which in the waning
sunshine still looked gay and bright. At every
moment he stopped to examine something. Such
displays of fruit, and fish, poultry, meat, and pro-
visions of all kinds ; the drapers' windows all aglow
with summer fabrics, and those of the jewellers
coruscating with gold and gems. Then the public-
houses — dignified by the name of hotels, though I
explained that they had no hotel accommodation
— bespoke all the wealth of a powerful trade.
57
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
There was an imposing bank, too, and a stylish
carriage builder's, with furniture shops, stationers,
pastrycooks, hairdressers, ironmongers, and so
forth, whose displays testified to the prosperity of
the town. Again and again did M. Zola express
the opinion that these Wimbledon shops were by
far superior to such as one would find in a French
town of corresponding size and at a similar distance
from the capital.
We sauntered up and down the Hill Road,
looking in at the Free Library on our way. Then,
on passing the Alexandra Road, I explained to
Desmoulin that he would sleep there, at No. 20,
where Wareham has a local office and where his
managing clerk, Everson by name, resides.
The arrangement with Wareham had been con-
cluded so precipitately that, to spare him unneces-
sary trouble at home, we had arranged to dine
that evening at a local restaurant — in fact, the
only restaurant possessed by Wimbledon. Ware-
ham was to join us there. The proprietor, Mr.
Genoni, is of foreign origin, but Wareham knowing
him personally had assured me that even should
he suspect our friend's identity his discretion
58
might readily be relied upon. And so the sequel
proved During our repast, however, I felt a little
doubtful about one of the waiters who knew French,
and I therefore cautioned M. Zola and M. Des-
moulin to be as reticent as possible.
After dinner we adjourned to Wareham's house
in Prince's Road, where Mrs. Wareham gave the
travellers the most cordial of welcomes. The con-
versation was chiefly confined to the question of
finding some suitable place where M. Zola might
settle down for his term of exile. He, himself,
was so taken with what he had seen of Wimbledon
that he suggested renting a furnished house there.
This seemed a trifle dangerous, both to Wareham
and myself; but the novelist was not to be gain-
said ; and as Wareham, in anticipation of his
services being required, had made special arrange-
ments to give M. Zola most of his time on the
morrow, we arranged to see some house agents,
engage a landau, and drive round to visit such
places as might seem suitable.
It was nearly half-past eleven when I left
Wareham's to escort Dcsmoulin to the Alexandra
Road. I there left him in charge of his host, Mr.
59
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Everson, and then turning (by way of a short cut)
into the Lover's Walk, which the South Western
Railway Company so considerately provides for
amorous Wimbledonians, I hurried homeward,
wondering what the morrow would bring forth.
60
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
V
WIMBLEDON — OATLANDS
IT will be obvious to all readers of this narrative
that from the moment M. Zola left Paris, and
throughout his sojourn in London and its
immediate neighbourhood, there was little if any
skill shown in the matter of keeping his move-
ments secret. In point of fact, blunder upon
blunder was committed. A first mistake was
made in going to an hotel like the Grosvenor ;
a second in openly promenading some of the most
frequented of the London streets ; and a third in
declining to make the slightest alteration with
regard to personal appearance. Again, although
press of circumstances rendered departure for
Wimbledon a necessity, as it was imperative to
get M. Zola out of London at once, this change
of quarters was in the end scarcely conducive to
6 1
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
secrecy. A good many Wimbledonians were
aware of my connection with M. Zola, and even if
he were not personally recognised by them, the
circumstance of a French gentleman of striking
appearance being seen in my company was fated
to arouse suspicion. My home is but a mile or so
from the centre of Wimbledon, and M. Zola's pro-
posal to make that locality his place of sojourn
seemed to me such a dangerous course that when
I returned to Wareham's house on the morning of
Friday, July 22, I was determined to oppose it, in
the master's own interests, as vigorously as might
be possible.
However, I found Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin
ready to start for an inspection of such furnished
houses as might seem suitable for their accommo-
dation ; and nothing urged either by Wareham or
by myself could turn them from their purpose. So
the four of us took our seats in the landau which
had been ordered, and were soon driving in the
direction of Wimbledon Park, where stood the
first of the eligible residences entered in the books
of a local house agent. The terms for these
houses varied, if I recollect rightly, from four to
seven guineas a week. Some we did not trouble
62
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
to enter ; others, however, were carefully in-
spected.
Nothing in the way of a terrace house would
suit ; for M. Zola was not yet a phalansterian.
And in like way he objected to the semi-detached
villas. He wished to secure a somewhat retired
place, girt with foliage and thus screened from the
observation of neighbours and passers-by. The
low garden railings and fences usually met with
were by no means to his taste. The flimsy party
walls of the semi-detached villas, through which
every sound so swiftly passes, were equally objec-
tionable to him. And I must say that I viewed
with some little satisfaction his dislike for several
of the houses which we visited ; for this made it
the easier to dissuade him from his plan of fixing
his abode in Wimbledon, where, unless he should
rigidly confine himself within doors, it was certain
that his presence would be known before a week
was over.
There were, however, some houses which the
master found to his liking ; and here he lingered
awhile, inspecting the rooms, taking stock of the
furniture, examining the engravings and water-
colours on the walls, and viewing the trim gardens
63
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
with visible satisfaction. One place, a large house
in one of the precipitous roads leading from the
Ridgeway to the Worple Road, was, perhaps,
rather too open for his requirements, but its
appointments were perfect, and at his bidding I
plied the lady of the house with innumerable
questions about plate, linen, and garden produce,
the servants she offered to leave behind her, and so
forth. She was a tall and stately dame, with silver
hair and a soft musical voice — a perfect type of the
old marquise, such as one sees portrayed at times
on the boards of the Comedie Franchise, and after
I had acted as interpreter for a quarter of an hour
or so, she suddenly turned upon the master and,
to the surprise of all of us, addressed him in perfect
French. It was this which broke the spell.
Though M. Zola was taken aback, he responded
politely enough, and the conversation went on in
French for some minutes, but I could already tell
that he had renounced his intention of renting the
house. When we drove away, after promising the
lady a decisive answer within a day or two, he said
to me :
' That would never do. The lady's French was
too good. She looked at me rather suspiciously
64
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
too. She would soon discover my identity. She
has probably heard of me already.'
' Who hasn't ? ' I responded with a laugh. And
once again I brought forward the objections that
occurred to me with respect to the plan of remain-
ing at Wimbledon. It was a centre of Roman
Catholic activity. There was a Jesuit college
there, numbering both French professors and
French pupils. Moreover, several French families
resided in Wimbledon, and with some of them I
was myself acquainted. Then also the population
included a good many literary men, journalists,
and others who took an interest in the Dreyfus
case. And, finally, the town was far too near to
London to be in anywise a safe hiding-place.
Nevertheless, M. Zola only abandoned his
intentions with regret. In that bright sunshiny
weather there was an attractive^ ne saisquoi about
Wimbledon which charmed him. Not that it was
in his estimation an ideal place. The descents
from the hill and the Ridgeway (though he admired
the beautiful views they afforded, stretching as far
as Norwood) appalled him from certain practical
standpoints, and he was never weary of expatiating
on the pluck of the girls who cycled so boldly and
65 F
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
gracefully from the hill crest to the lower parts of
the town. Here it may be mentioned that M. Zola
has become reconciled to the skirt as a cycling
garment. Once upon a time he was an uncom-
promising partisan of ' rationals ' and ' bloomers,' a
warm adherent of the views which Lady Harberton
and her friends uphold. But sojourn in England
has changed all that — at least so far as the English
type of girl is concerned. Those who have read
his novel, ' Paris,' may remember that he therein
ascribed the following remarks to his heroine-
Marie : ' Ah ! there is nothing like rationals ! To
think that some women are so foolish and obstinate
as to wear skirts when they cycle ! . . . To think
that women have a unique opportunity of putting
themselves at their ease and releasing their limbs
from prison, and yet won't do so ! If they fancy
they look the prettier in short skirts, like school-
girls, they are vastly mistaken. . . . Skirts are
rank heresy.'
Well, so far as Englishwomen are concerned,
M. Zola himself has become a heretic. ' Rationals,'
he has more than once said to me of recent times,
' are not suited to the lithe and somewhat spare
figure of the average English girl. Moreover, I
66
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
doubt if there is a costumier in England who
knows how to cut " rationals " properly. Such
women as I have seen in rationals in England
looked to me horrible. They had not the proper
figure for the garment, and the garment itself was
badly made. For rationals to suit a woman, her
figure should be of the happy medium, neither too
slim nor over-developed. Now the great bulk of
your girls are extremely slim, and appear in skirts
to advantage. In cycling, moreover, they carry
themselves much better than the majority of
Frenchwomen do. They sit their machines grace-
fully, and the skirt, instead of being a mere bundle
of stuff, falls evenly and fittingly like a necessary
adjunct— the drapery which is needed to complete
and set off the ensemble!
At the same time, the master does not cry
' haro ' on the ' bloomer.' It is admirably suited,
he maintains, to the average Frenchwoman, who
is more inclined to a reasonable plumpness than
her English sister. ' The skirt to England,' says he,
' the bloomer to France.' The whole question is one
of physique and latitude. The Esquimaux lady
would look ungainly and feel uncomfortable if she
exchanged her inoose furs for the wisp of calico
07 •• ^
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
which is patronised by the lady of Senegal ; and in
the like way the Englishwoman is manifestly
ungainly and uncomfortable when she borrows the
breeches of the Parisienne.
This digression may seem to carry one away
from Wimbledon, but I should mention that many
of the points enunciated were touched upon by
M. Zola for the first time, while we postponed
further house-hunting to drive over Wimbledon
Common. The historic mill, and Caesar's Camp,
and the picturesque meres were all viewed before
the horses' heads were turned to the town once
more.
By this time the master had come to the con-
clusion that however pleasant Wimbledon might
be, it was no fit place for him, and that his best
course would be to pitch his tent ' far from gay
cities and the ways of men.' Within a few hours
I had some proof of the wisdom of his decision,
and a week had not elapsed before I found that
M. Zola's sojourn at Wimbledon had become
known to a variety of people. Mr. Genoni, the
restaurateur, had been one of the first to identify
him ; but, as he explained to me, he was no spy or
betrayer, and whatever he might think of the
68
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
Dreyfus business — he was a reader of that anti-
Revisionist print the ' Petit Journal ' — M. Zola's
secret was, he assured me, quite safe in his hands.
But, independently of Mr. Genoni, the secret soon
became le secret de Polichinelle. A French resident
in Wimbledon recognised M. Zola as he stood one
day by the railway bridge admiring some fair
cyclists. Then a gentleman connected with the
local Petty Sessions court espied him in my
company, and shrewdly guessed his identity.
Subsequently a local hairdresser, an Englishman,
but one well acquainted with Paris and Parisian
matters, 'spotted' him in the Hill Road. Others
followed suit, and at last one afternoon a member
of the ' Globe ' staff called upon me and supplied
me with such circumstantial particulars that I
could not possibly deny the accuracy of his
information. But M. Zola had then left
Wimbledon, and thu.c I was able to fence with my
visitor and inform him that, even if the novelist
had ever been in the town, he was not there at
that time.
It had been arranged that some of the leading
London house agents should be written to, with
the view of securing some secluded country house,
69
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
preferably in Surrey, and on the South Western
line ; but the question was, where, in the mean-
while, could M. Zola be conveniently installed ?
Having left England in the year 1865, and apart
from a few brief sojourns in London, having
remained abroad till 1886, my knowledge of my
native land is very slight indeed. Years spent in
foreign countries have made me a stay-at-home —
one who nowadays buries himself in his little
London suburb, going to town as seldom as
possible, and without need of country or seaside
trip, since at Merton, where I live, there are
green fields all around one and every vivifying
breeze that can be wished for. Thus I was the
worst person in the world to take charge of M.
Zola and pilot him safely to a haven of refuge.
Fortunately, Mr. Wareham knows his way
about, as the saying goes, and his cycling experi-
ences proved very useful. He suggested that
until a house could be secured, M. Zola should
be installed at a country hotel ; and he mentioned
two or three places which seemed to him of the
right character. One of these was Oatlands Park ;
and Wareham, who, although a solicitor, claims to
have some little poetry in his nature, waxed so
70
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
enthusiastic over the charms of Oatlands and
neighbouring localities, that both M. Zola and
M. Desmoulin, fervent admirers of scenery as they
are, became curious to visit this leafy district
of Surrey, where, as will be remembered, King
Louis Philippe spent his last years of life and
exile.
One afternoon, then, I started with Messrs.
Zola and Desmoulin for Walton, from which
station the Oatlands Park Hotel is most con-
veniently reached. A Gladstone bag had now
replaced the master's newspaper parcel, and as M.
Desmoulin's dressing-case was as large as a valise>
there was at least some semblance of luggage. I
fully realised that it was hardly the correct thing
to present oneself at Oatlands Park and ask for
rooms there ex abrupto ; as with hostel ries of that
class it is usual for one to write and secure
accommodation beforehand. However, there was
no time for this ; and we decided to run the risk
of rinding the hotel ' full up,' particularly as Ware-
ham had informed us that in such a case we might
secure a temporary billet at one or another of the
smaller hotels of Walton or Weybridge. Thus we
went our way at all hazards, and during the journey
71
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
I devised a little story for the benefit of the manager
at Oatlands Park.
That gentleman, as I had surmised, was a trifle
astonished at our appearance. But I told him that
my friends were a couple of French artists, who
had been spending a few weeks in London ' doing
the lions ' there, and who had heard of the charm-
ing scenery around Oatlands, and wished to view
it, and possibly make a few sketches. And, at the
same time, a solicitor's recommendation being of
some value, since it might mean a good many
future customers, I handed the manager one of
Wareham's cards. There was, I remember,
some little difficulty at first in obtaining rooms,
for the hotel was nearly full ; but everything
ended satisfactorily.
I may mention, perhaps, that in describing
Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin as French artists, I
had at least told half the truth. M. Fernand
Desmoulin is, of course, well known in the French
art world ; and, moreover, he had already spoken
to me of purchasing a water-colour outfit for the
very purpose of sketching, as I had stated. Then,
too, M.Zola first distinguished himself in literature
as an art critic, the defender of Manet, the champion
72
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
of the school of the ' open air.' And if he made
no sketches whilst he remained at Oatlands he at
least took several photographs. Sapient critics
will stop me here with the oft-repeated dictum
that photography is not art. But however
that may be, so many painters nowadays have
recourse to the assistance of photography that
M. Zola's ' snap-shotting ' largely helped to bear
out the account which I had given of him at
the hotel.
Oatlands Park is a large pile standing on the
site of a magnificent palace built by Henry VIII.
Anne of Denmark, wife of James I., resided there,
and Henrietta Maria there gave birth to the Duke
of Gloucester, the brother of our second Charles
and second James. The palace was almost
entirely destroyed during the Civil Wars, and
subsequently the property passed in turn to
Jermyn, Earl of St. Albans ; Herbert, the admiral,
first Earl of Torrington ; and Henry, seventh Earl
of Lincoln. A descendant of the last-named sold
the estate to Frederick, Duke of York, the son of
George I II. and Commander-in-Chief of the British
army. Soon afterwards the house at Oatlands
was destroyed by fire, and the prince erected a
73
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
new building, some portions of which are incor-
porated in the present hostelry. A pathetic
interest attaches to those remains of York House.
Within those walls were spent many of the honey-
moon hours of a fair and virtuous princess, one
whose early death plunged England into the
deepest grief it had known for centuries ; there
she conceived the child who in the ordinary course
of nature might have become King of Great
Britain. But the babe, so anxiously awaited by
the whole nation (there was no Princess Victoria
at that time) proved stillborn ; and of the unhappy
' mother of a moment/ Byron wrote in immortal
lines :
Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ;
Thy bridal's fruit is ashes ; in the dust
The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid,
The love of millions !
I am bound to add that the tragic story of
the Princess Charlotte was not that which most
appealed to M. Zola's feelings at Oatlands Park.
Nor was he particularly impressed by the far-
famed grotto which the hotel handbook states
' has no parallel in the world.' The grotto, an
artificial affair, the creation of which is due to a
74
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
Duke of Newcastle, whom it cost 4O,ooo/., besides
giving employment to three men for twenty years,
consists of numerous chambers and passages,
whose walls are inlaid with coloured spars, shells,
coral, ammonites, and crystals. This work is
ingenious enough, but when one enters a bath-
room and finds a stuffed alligator there, keeping
company with a statue of Venus and a terra-cotta
of the infant Hercules, one is apt to remember
how perilously near the ridiculous is to the
sublime.
Ridiculous also to some minds may seem the
Duchess of York's dog and monkey cemetery, in
which half a hundred of that lady's canine and
simian pets lie buried with headstones to their
tombs commemorating their virtues. This
cemetery, however, greatly commended itself to
M. Zola, who, as some may know, is a rare lover
of animals. Among the various distinctions ac-
corded to him in happier times by his compatriots
there is none that he has ever prized more highly
than the diploma of honour he received from the
French ' Society for the Protection of Animals,'
and I believe that one of the happiest moments
he ever knew was when, as Government delegate
75
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
at a meeting of that society, he fastened a gold
medal on the bosom of a blushing little shepherdess,
a certain Mile. Camelin, of Trionne, in Upper
Burgundy, a girl of sixteen, who, at the peril of
her life, had engaged a ravenous wolf in single
combat, killed him, and thereby saved her flock.
And M. Zola's books teem with his love of
animals. During his long exile one of the few
requests addressed to him from France, to which
he inclined a favourable ear, was an appeal on
behalf of a new journal devoted to the interests
of the animal world. To this he could not refuse
his patronage, and he gave it enthusiastically,
well knowing how much remains to be accom-
plished in inculcating among the masses such
affection and patience as are rightful with regard
to those dumb creatures who serve man so well.
The Duchess of York's cemetery reminded
him of his own. Below his house at Medan a
green islet rises from the Seine. This he pur-
chased some years ago, and there all his favourites
have since been buried : an old horse, a goat, and
several dogs. During his exile a fresh interment
took place in this island cemetery, that of his
last canine favourite, the poor ' Chevalier de Perlin-
76
WIMBLEDON— OATLANDS
pinpin,' who, after vainly fretting for his absent
master, died at last of sheer grief and loneliness.
Those only can understand Emile Zola who have
seen him as I saw him then, bowed down with
sorrow, distraught, indifferent to all else, both the
weightiest personal interests and the very triumph
of the cause he had championed ; and this because
his pet dog had pined away for him, and was
beyond all possibility of succour. It was of course
a passing weakness with him ; such weakness as
may fall upon a man of kindly heart. In Zola's
case it came, however, almost like a last blow
amidst the sorrow and loneliness of the exile
which he was enduring in silence for the sake of
his much-loved country.
77
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
VI
STILL AT OATLANUS
FOR a time, at all events, Messrs. Zola and
Desmoulin found themselves in fairly pleasant
quarters ; they could stroll about the gardens at
Oatlands or along the umbrageous roads of
Walton, or beside the pretty reaches of the
Thames, amidst all desirable quietude. After all
his worries the master needed complete mental
rest, and he laughed at his friend's repeated
appeals for newspapers.
At that period I procured a few French
journals every time I went to town and posted
them to Oatlands, where they were eagerly conned
by M. Desmoulin, on whom the Dreyfus fever was
as strong as ever. But M. Zola during the first
fortnight of his exile did not once cast eyes
upon a newspaper, and the only information he
obtained respecting passing events was such as
73
STILL AT OATLANDS
Desmoulin or myself imparted to him. And in
this he evinced little interest. Half of it, he said,
was absolutely untrue, and the other half was of
no importance. There is certainly much force
and truth in this curtly-worded opinion as applied
to the contents of certain Paris journals.
However, communications were now being
opened up between the master and his Paris
friends, and every few days Wareham or myself
had occasion to go to Oatlands. There were
sundry false alarms, too, through strangers calling
at Wareham's office, and now and again my
sudden appearance at the hotel threw Messrs.
Zola and Desmoulin into anxiety. In other re-
spects their life was quiet enough. The people
staying at Oatlands were, on the whole, a much
less inquisitive class than those whom one had
found at the Grosvenor. There were various
honeymoon-making couples, who were far too busy
feasting their eyes on one another to pay much
attention to the two French artists. Then, also,
the family people gave time to the superintendence
of their sons and daughters ; whilst the old folks
only seemed to care for a leisurely stroll about
the grounds, followed by long spells of book or
79
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
newspaper reading, under the shelter of tree or
sunshade.
Moreover the exiles saw little of the other
inmates of the hotel, excepting at the table d'hote
dinner. M. Zola then brought his faculties of
observation into play, and after the lapse of a few
days he informed me that he was astonished at the
ease and frequency with which some English girls
raised their wine-glasses to their lips. It upset all
his ideas of propriety to see young ladies of
eighteen tossing off their Moselle and their cham-
pagne as to the manner born. In France the
daughter who is properly trained contents herself
with water just coloured by the addition of a little
Bordeaux or Burgundy. And the contrast between
this custom and incidents which M. Zola noticed
at Oatlands — and to which he once or twice called
my attention — made a deep impression on him.
The people staying at the hotel were certainly
all of a good class. There were several well-known
names in the register ; and knowing how much has
been written on the happy decrease of drinking
habits ' in the upper middle-class of England,' I
was myself slightly surprised at what was pointed
out to me. When M. Zola discovered, too, that
80
STILL AT OATLANDS
sundry gentlemen — leaving wine to their wives and
daughters— were addicted to drinking whisky with
their meals, he was yet more astonished, for he
claims that in France nowadays, greatly as the
consumption of alcohol has increased among the
masses, it has declined almost to vanishing point
among people with any claim to culture. On this
matter, however, I reminded him that wine was
often expensive in England, that beer disagreed
with many people, and that some who felt the need
of a stimulant were thus driven to whisky and
water.
When the master and Desmoulin wandered
down to the Thames towing-path, they found fresh
food for observation and comment among the
boating fraternity. With some gay parties were
damsels whose disregard for decorum was strongly
reminiscent of Asnieres and Joinville-le-Pont ; and
it was slightly embarrassing to stroll near the river
in the evening, when at every few yards one found
young couples exchanging kisses in the shadows
of the trees. After all it was surprise rather than
embarrassment which the exiles experienced, for
they had scarcely imagined that English training
was conducive to such public endearments.
81 G
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
At a later stage a bicycle was procured for the
master, and he was then able to extend his sphere
of observation ; but in the earlier days at Oatlands
his rambles were confined to the vicinity of Walton
and Weybridge. At the latter village he laid in a
fresh stock of linen, and was soon complaining of
the exiguous proportions of English shirts. The
Frenchman, it should be remembered, is a man of
many gestures, and desires all possible freedom of
action for his arms. His shirt is cut accordingly,
and a superabundance rather than a deficiency of
material in length as well as breadth is the result.
But the English shirt-maker proceeds upon dif-
ferent lines ; he always seems afraid of wasting a
few inches of longcloth, and thus if the ordinary
ready-made shirt on sale at shops of the average
class is dressy-looking enough, it is also often
supremely uncomfortable to those who like their
ease. Such, at least, was the master's experience ;
and in certain respects, said he, the English shirt
was not only uncomfortable, but indecorous as
well. This astonished him with a nation which
claimed to show so much regard for the pro-
prieties.
The desire to clothe himself according to his
82
STILL AT OATLANDS
wont became so keen that M. Desmoulin decided
to make an expedition to Paris. All this time
Mme. Zola had remained alone at the house in the
Rue de Bruxelles, outside which, as at Medan
(where the Zolas have their country residence),
detectives were permanently stationed. Mme.
Zola was shadowed wherever she went, the idea,
of course, being that she would promptly follow
her husband abroad. She had, however, ample
duties to discharge in Paris. At the same time she
much wished to send her husband a trunkful of
clothes as well as the materials for a new book he
had planned, in order that he might have some
occupation in his sorrow and loneliness.
Most people are by this time aware that
M. Zola's gospel is work. In diligent study and
composition he finds some measure of solace for
every trouble. At times it is hard for him to take
up the pen, but he forces himself to do so, and an
hour later he has largely banished sorrow and
anxiety, and at times has even dulled physical
pain. He himself, heavy hearted as he was when
the first novelty of his strolls round Oatlands had
worn off, felt that he must have something to
do, and was therefore well pleased at the prospect
83 02
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
of receiving the materials for his new book,
' Fe"conditeV
At that date he certainly did not imagine that
the whole of this work would be written in England,
that his exile would dragon month after month till
winter would come and spring return, followed once
more by summer. In those days we used to say :
' It will all be over in a fortnight, or three weeks,
or a month at the latest ; and again and again did
our hopes alternately collapse and revive. Thus
the few chapters of ' Fe'coridite',' which he thought
he might be able to pen in England, multiplied
and multiplied till they at last became thirty —
the entire work.
It was M. Desmoulin who brought the necessary
materials — memoranda, cuttings, and a score of
scientific works — from Paris. And at the same
time he had a trunk with him full of clothes which
had been smuggled in small parcels out of M. Zola's
house, carried to the residence of a friend, and
there properly packed. Desmoulin also brought a
hand camera, which likewise proved very acceptable
to the master, and enabled him to take many little
photographs — almost a complete pictorial record
of his English experiences.
84
STILL AT OATLANDS
During Desmoulin's absence the master re-
mained virtually alone at Oatlands, and as he still
cared nothing for newspapers I sent him a few
books from my shelves, and, among others,
Stendhal's ' La Chartreuse de Parme.' He wrote
me afterwards : ' I am very grateful to you for the
books you sent. Now that I am utterly alone they
enabled me to spend a pleasant day yesterday. I
am reading " La Chartreuse." I am without news
from France. If you hear of anything really
serious pray let me know it.'
By this time proper arrangements had been
made with regard to M. Zola's correspondence.
His exact whereabouts were kept absolutely secret
even from his most intimate friends. Everybody,
his wife and Maitre Labori also, addressed their
letters to Wareham's office in Bishopsgate Street.
Here the correspondence was enclosed in a large
envelope and redirected to Oatlands. With regard
to visitors Wareham and I had decided to give
the master's address to none. Wareham in-
tended to take their cards, ascertain their Lon-
don address, and then refer the matter through
me to M. Zola. Later on, a regular supply of
French newspapers was arranged, and those journals
85
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
were re-transmitted to the master by Wareham
or myself.
On the other hand, I usually addressed M.
Zola's letters for him to the house of a trusty friend
in Paris. This precaution was a necessary one, as
M. Zola's handwriting is so extremely characteristic
and so well known in France. And thus we were
convinced that any letter arriving in Paris ad-
dressed by him would immediately be sent to the
' Cabinet Noir,' where all suspicious correspondence
is opened by certain officials, who immediately
report the contents to the Government.
It has been pretended that of recent years this
secret service has been abolished ; but such is by
no means the case. It flourishes to-day in the
same way as it flourished under the Second Empire,
when Napoleon III. made a point of acquainting
himself with the private correspondence of his own
relatives, his ministers, and his generals. After the
revolution of September 1870, hundreds of copies
of more or less compromising letters, covert attacks
on or criticisms of the Imperial Government, billets-
doux also between Imperial princes and their
mistresses, and so forth, were found at the Palace
of the Tuileries ; and some of them were even
86
STILL AT OATLANDS
published by a commission nominated by the
Republican Government.
Much of the same kind of thing goes on to-day,
and M. Zola, when in Paris during the earlier
stages of the Dreyfus case, had made it a point to
trust no letter of the slightest importance to the
Postal Service. On one occasion, a short time
after his arrival in England, we had reason to fear
that a letter addressed by me to Paris had gone
astray, and all correspondence on M. Zola's side
was thereupon suspended for several days. How-
ever, the missing letter turned up at last, and from
that time till the conclusion of the master's exile
the arrangements devised between him, Wareham,
and myself worked without a hitch.
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
VII
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
ALREADY at the time of M. Zola's arrival in
London I had received a summons to serve upon
the jury at the July Sessions of the Central
Criminal Court. I had been excused from service
on a previous occasion, but this time I had no valid
excuse to offer, and it followed that I must either
serve or else pay such a fine as the Common
Serjeant might direct. There is always a certain
element of doubt in these matters ; and while I
might perhaps luckily escape service after a day or
two, on the other hand, I might be kept at the Old
Bailey for more than a week. At any other time
I should have accepted my fate without a murmur ;
but I was greatly worried as to what might befall
M. Zola during my absence in London, and I more
than once thought of defaulting and 'paying up.'
But the master would not hear of it. He was now
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
located at Oatlands, and felt sure that he would
have no trouble there. Moreover, said he, it would
always be possible for me to run down now and
again of an evening, dine with him, and attend to
such little matters as might require my help.
So, on the Monday morning when the sessions
opened, I duly repaired to town ; and on the
journey up, I saw in the ' Daily Chronicle ' the
announcement of M. Zola's recent presence at the
Grosvenor Hotel. This gave me quite a shock.
So the Press was on the right track at last ! Start-
ing from the Grosvenor Hotel, might not the
reporters trace the master to Wimbledon, and
thence to his present retreat ? I had no time for
hesitation. My instructions, moreover, were im-
perative. For the benefit of M. Zola personally,
and for the benefit of the whole Dreyfus cause, I
had orders to deny everything. So I drove to the
Press Association offices, sent up a contradiction of
the ' Daily Chronicle's ' statement, and then hurried
up Ludgate Hill to the Court, where my name was
soon afterwards called.
I found myself on the second or third jury got
together, and that day I was not empanelled. But
on the morrow I was required to do duty ; and
89
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
between then and the latter part of the week I sat
upon four or five cases — all crimes of violence, and
one described in the indictment as murder. This
position was the more unpleasant for me, as I
am, by strong conviction, an adversary of capital
punishment. I absolutely deny the right of society
to put any man or any woman to death, whatever
be his or her crime. My proper course then
seemed to lie in the direction of a public statement,
which would have created, I suppose, some little
sensation or scandal ; but happily the prosecuting
counsel in his very first words abandoned the
count of murder for that of manslaughter, and I
was thereby relieved from my predicament.
The cases on which I sat, and those to which
I listened while I remained in attendance, need
not be particularised. I will merely mention that
they were nearly all due to drink. Mr. Justice
Lawrance, who sat upon the bench, was visibly
impressed by the circumstance, to which he more
than once alluded in his summings up. In one
case he was so good as to refer to a question, put
by me from the jury box, as a proper and pertinent
one, at which I naturally felt vastly complimented.
On the second or third day, either before the
90
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
proceedings began or when the Court rose for
luncheon — I do not exactly remember which — a
gentleman approached me, and introduced himself
as a member of the Press. Said he, ' I have
been asking Mr. Avory for you. You are Mr.
Vizetelly, I believe ? '
' That is my name,' I answered.
' Well, I have come to speak to you about M.
Zola's presence in England.'
I should here mention that, in spite of my
contradiction of the ' Chronicle ' story, there re-
mained some people who had reason to believe
it. Moreover, it had been more or less confirmed
by the ' Morning Leader,' and some editors,
rightly surmising that if M. Zola were in London
he would very likely be in communication with
his usual translator, had despatched reporters
to my house, where my wife had seen them. On
learning that I was quietly doing jury service at
the Old Bailey, some had apparently concluded
that 1 was not concerned in M. Zola's movements,
which, so it happened, was the very conclusion I
had desired them to arrive at. One gentleman,
however, not content with his repulse at my house,
had followed me to the Court.
91
WITH ZOLA IN [ENGLAND
I answered his inquiries with a variety of
suggestions. Zola in England, and in London
too ! Well, we had heard that before, said I.
But was it a probable course for the novelist to
take ? He knew no English, and had but few
personal friends in England. His portraits, how-
ever, were in several shops and in many newspapers.
And only a few years previously he had been seen
by a thousand English pressmen and others. So
would he not be liable to recognition almost
immediately ? Now, the only modern language
besides French of which M. Zola had any know-
ledge was Italian. And if I were in his place, I
said, I should go to Italy — for instance, to one of
the little towns in the north, whence, if needful,
one could cross over into Switzerland ; though, of
course, there was little likelihood that the Italian
Government would ever surrender the distinguished
writer to his persecutors.
Continuing in this strain I gave my inter-
viewer material for a very plausible article, which
I remember was duly published, and which thus
helped to divert attention from the right scent.
At the week-end, having given considerable
time to jury duties, I was compelled to spend
92
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
Saturday morning in London on business, and in
the afternoon I allowed myself a few hours' relaxa-
tion. Reaching Wimbledon about eight in the
evening I called on Wareham, who received me
with a great show of satisfaction ; for, said he, my
services had been required for some hours past
and nobody had known where I might be. That
day, it seemed, just before Wareham had left his
Bishopsgate Street office, he had received a visit
from a most singular-looking little Frenchman,
who had presented one of Maitre Labori's visiting
cards and requested an interview with M. Zola.
Questioned as to his business, the only explanation
he would give was that he had with him a docu-
ment in a sealed envelope which he must place
in M. Zola's own hands. Wareham had wired to
me on the matter, but owing to my absence from
home had of course received no reply. Then, on
reaching Wimbledon, he had called on me and
found me out. And, finally, he had gone down to
Oatlands and had there seen M. Zola, who had
handed him a note authorising Maitre Labori's
messenger to call at the hotel on the morrow.
However, the messenger and his manners had
seemed very suspicious to Wareham— as, indeed,
93
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
they afterwards seemed to me- and the question
arose, was he a genuine envoy, was the writing on
Maitre Labori's card perchance a forgery, and what
was the document in a sealed envelope which was
to be handed to nobody but M. Zola himself?
Well, said I at a guess, perhaps it is a copy of the
Versailles judgment, and this is simply an impudent
attempt to serve it.
Wareham still had Zola's note in his possession,
and we resolved to go to town that evening to
interview the messenger and extract from him
some decisive proof of his bona fides before allow-
ing matters to go any further.
The envoy's address was the Salisbury Hotel,
Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, which I thought
a curious one, being in the very centre of the
London newspaper district ; and all the way up
to town my suspicions of having to do with a
' plant ' steadily increased. It was quite ten
o'clock when we reached the hotel, and on inquir-
ing for our party we found that he had gone to
bed.
'Well,' said Wareham, sharply, 'he must be
roused. We must see him at once.'
1 spoke to the same effect, and the hotel
94
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
servants looked rather surprised. I have an idea
that they fancied we had come to arrest the man.
In about ten minutes he was brought down-
stairs. His appearance was most unprepossessing.
He was very short, with a huge head and a
remarkable shock of coal-black hair. Having
hastily risen from bed, he had retained his
pyjamas, but a long frock coat hung nearly to his
slippers, and in one hand he carried a pair of
gloves, and in the other a huge eccentric silk hat
of the true chimney-pot type. These were details,
and one might have passed them over. But the
man's face was sadly against him. He had the
slyest eyes I have ever seen ; that peculiar shifty
glance which invariably sets one against an
individual. And thus I became more and more
convinced that we had to deal with some piece of
trickery.
We entered the smoking-room where the gas
was burning low. A gentleman stopping at the
hotel was snoring in solitary state in one of the
arm chairs. Reaching a table near a window we
sat down and at once engaged in battle.
' I have not brought you a definite answer,'
said Wareham to the envoy, ' but this gentleman
95
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
is in M. Zola's confidence, and wishes further proof
of your bona fides before allowing you to see
M. Zola.'
Then I took up the tale, now in French, now
in English, for the envoy spoke both languages.
Who was he ? I asked. Did he claim to have
received Labori's card from Labori himself? What
was the document in the envelope which he would
only deliver to M. Zola in person ? And he
replied that he was a diamond-broker. Did I
know So-and-So and So-and-So of Hatton
Garden ? They knew him well, they did business
with him ; they could vouch for his honorability.
But no, I was not acquainted with So-and-So and
So-and-So. I never bought diamonds. Besides,
it was ten o'clock on Saturday night, and the
parties mentioned were certainly not at their
offices for me to refer to them.
Afterwards the little envoy began to speak of
his family connections and his Paris friends,
mentioning various well-known names. But the
proofs I desired were not forthcoming ; and when
he finally admitted that he had not received
Maitre Labori's card from that gentleman himself,
all my suspicions revived. True he added that it
96
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
had been given him by a well-known Revisionist
leader to whom Maitre Labori, in a moment of
emergency, having nobody of his own whom he
could send abroad, had handed it.
But what was in the envelope ? That was
the great question. The envoy could or would
not answer it. He knew nothing certain on
that point. Then we — Wareham and I — brought
forward our heavy artillery. We could not allow
a document to be handed to M. Zola under such
mysterious conditions. We must see it. But no,
the envoy had strict instructions to the contrary ;
he could not show it to us. In that case, we
rejoined, he might take it back to Paris. He had
produced no proof of any of his assertions ; for all
we knew he might have told us a fairy tale, and
the mysterious document might simply be a copy
of the much dreaded judgment of Versailles. This
suggestion produced a visible impression on the
little man, and for half an hour we sat arguing
the point. Finally he began to compliment us :
' Oh ! you guard him well ! ' he said. ' I shall tell
them all about it when I get back to Paris. But
you do wrong to distrust me ; I am honourable. I
am well known in Hatton Garden. I have done
97 H
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
business there, ten, twelve years with So-and-So
and So-and-So. I speak the truth : you may
believe me.'
We shrugged our shoulders. For my part, I
could not shake off the bad impression which the
envoy had made on me. The gleams of craft and
triumph which now and again I had detected in
his eyes were not to my liking. Assuredly few
men are responsible for any physical repulsive-
ness ; we cannot all be ' Belvedere ' Apollos ; but
then the envoy was not only of the ugly, but also
the cunning-looking class. Yet a more honourable
man never breathed. He at last thrust one hand
into the depths of a capacious inner pocket, pro-
duced the mysterious envelope, and opened it in
our presence. It contained simply a long letter
from Maitre Labori, accompanied by a document
concerning the prosecution which had been insti-
tuted with reference to the infamous articles that
Ernest Judet, of the ' Petit Journal/ had recently
written, accusing Zola's father of theft and em-
bezzlement whilst he was a wardrobe officer in the
French Foreign Legion in Algeria. It was needful
that Zola should see this document, and return it
by messenger to Paris immediately.
98
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
The affair in question is still sub judice> and I
must therefore speak of it with some reticence.
But all who are interested in M. Zola's origin and
career will do well to read the admirable volume
written by M. Jacques Dhur, and entitled ' Le Pere
d'Emile Zola,' which the Societ6 Libre d'Edition
des Gens de Lettres (30, Rue Laffitte, Paris)
published a short time ago. This will show them
how strong are the presumptions that the docu-
ments cited by Judet in proof of his abominable
charges are rank forgeries — similar to those of
Henry and Lemercier-Picard ! In this connection
it afforded me much pleasure to be able to supply
certain extracts from Francesco Zola's works at
the British Museum, showing how subsequent to
the date at which the novelist's father is alleged to
have purloined State money he was received with
honour by King Louis-Philippe, the Prince de
Joinville, the Minister of War, and other high
personages of the time — incidents which all tend
to establish the falsity of the accusations by which
Judet, in his venomous spite and malignity, hoped
to cast opprobrium on the parentage of my dear
master and friend.
But I must return to Maitre Labori's envoy.
99 H2
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
kl
When I had seen the contents of his envelope I
heartily apologised to him for the suspicions which
I had cast upon his good faith. At this he smiled
more maliciously and triumphantly than ever, and
then candidly remarked : ' Well, if you have tested
me, I have tested you, and I shall be able to tell
all our friends in Paris that M. Zola is in safe
hands.'
According to previous agreement we re-sealed
the envelope, writing across it that it had been
opened in presence of Wareham and myself. And
afterwards our reconciliation also was ' sealed ' over
a friendly glass. Nevertheless the envoy never
saw M. Zola. M. Desmoulin luckily turned up on
the morrow, and, armed with a fresh note from the
master, persuaded our little French friend to hand
him the documents.
We left the Salisbury Hotel, Wareham and I,
well pleased to find that our suspicions had been
unfounded. Nevertheless the whole conversation
of the last hour had left its mark on us ; and, for
my part, I was in much the same state of mind as
in the old days of the siege of Paris, when the spy
mania led to so many amusing incidents. Thus
the circumstance of finding two persons at the
100
I. \V. \VAKKIIAM
EXCURSIONS AND ALARUMS
corner of Salisbury Square as we left it — two
persons who were speaking in French and who
eyed us very suspiciously — revived my alarm.
They even followed us along Fleet Street towards
Ludgate Circus, and though we dodged them
through the cavernous Ludgate Hill Railway
Station, across sundry courts and past the stores of
Messrs. Spiers and Pond, we again found them
waiting for us on our return towards the embank-
ment, determined, so it seemed, to convoy us home.
We hastened our steps and they hastened theirs.
We loitered, they loitered also. At last Wareham
made me dive into a side street and thence into a
maze of courts, and though the others seemed bent
on following us, we at last managed to give them
the slip.
I never saw these men again, but I have
retained a strong suspicion that no mere question
of coincidence could explain that seeming pursuit.
I take it that these individuals had come over to
England on the track of the little French envoy ;
for it was after he had bidden us good-night out-
side the Salisbury Hotel that they had turned to
follow us. He had told us, too, that earlier in the
evening he had spent an hour smoking and strolling
101
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
about Salisbury Court whilst anxiously awaiting
Wareham's arrival with his promised answer.
Whether these men were French police spies,
whether they were simply members of some swell
mob who knew that the little gentleman with the
huge head and the coal-black hair sometimes
journeyed to London with a fortune in diamonds
in his possession, must remain a mystery. As for
Wareham and myself, when we had again reached
Fleet Street we hailed a passing hansom and drove
away to Waterloo.
1 02
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
VIII
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
I HAD another alarm a few days later. Returning
one evening by train from Waterloo, I was followed
into the compartment I selected by a party of five
men, two of whom I recognised. One was the
landlord of the Raynes Park Hotel, now deceased,
and the other his son. Their companions proved
to be Frenchmen, which somehow struck me as a
curious circumstance. This was the time when a
letter addressed by me to Paris for M. Zola
appeared to have gone astray, and when we were
therefore rather apprehensive of some action on
the part of the French authorities. Could it be
that the two Frenchmen who had followed me into
the railway carriage in the company of a local
licensed victualler were actually staying at Raynes
Park, within half a mile of my home ? And, if so,
what could be their purpose ? *
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
I remained silent in my corner of the carriage,
pretending to read a newspaper ; but on glancing
up every now and then I fancied that I detected
one or another of the Frenchmen eyeing me sus-
piciously. They conversed in French, either
together or with the landlord's son — who spoke
their language, I found — on a variety of common-
place topics until we had passed Earlsfield and
were fast approaching Wimbledon. Then, all at
once, one of them inquired of the other : ' Shall we
get out at Wimbledon or Raynes Park ? '
' We'll see,' replied the other ; and at the same
time it seemed to me that he darted a very
expressive glance in my direction.
I now began to feel rather nervous. It was my
own intention to alight at Wimbledon, as I had an
important message from M. Zola to communicate
to Wareham that evening. But it now occurred to
me that the best policy might be to go straight
home. If these men were French detectives, or
French newspaper men of the anti-Dreyfusite party,
who by shadowing me hoped to discover M. Zola's
retreat, it would be most unwise for me to go to
Wareham's. If once the latter's name and address
should be ascertained b/ detectives, commumca-
104
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
tions between M. Zola and his friends would be
jeopardised. On the other hand, of course, I might
be mistaken with regard to the men ; and before
all else I ought to make sure whether they really
had any hostile intentions. So I resolved to leave
the train at Wimbledon, as I had originally proposed
doing, and then shape my course by theirs.
As soon as the train pulled up I rose to
alight, and at that same moment the Frenchman
who had said ' We'll see/ exclaimed to his com-
panion : ' Well, I think we will get out here.'
I waited to hear no more. I rushed off, threw
my ticket to an inspector, climbed the steps from
the platform, descended another flight into the
station-yard, hurried into the Hill Road, and did
not pause until I reached the first turning on the
right. This happened to be the Alexandra Road,
in which Wareham's local office is situated.
Then I turned round and, sure enough, I saw
the two Frenchmen, the licensed victualler and
his son, deliberately coming towards me. Forth-
with, under cover of a passing vehicle, I crossed
the street to the corner of St. George's Road,
which offered a convenient, shady retreat. Then
I awaited developments. To my great relief
105
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
the party of four went straight on up the Hill
Road.
Nevertheless, this might only be a feint, and I
hesitated about going to Wareham's immediately.
Before anything, I had better let those suspicious
Frenchmen get right away. So I retraced my
steps towards the station, and entered the saloon
bar of the South- Western Hotel. There I found a
foreign gentleman, whether French or Italian I do
not know, whom I had previously met about
Wimbledon on various occasions. A short, rather
stout, and elderly man, formerly, I believe, in
business in London, and now living on his income,
he had more than once spoken to me of the
Dreyfus case, Zola, Esterhazy, and all the others.
And on this particular evening he approached me
with a smile, and inquired if there were any truth
in the reports he had heard to the effect that
M. Zola had lately been seen in Wimbledon.
Nervous as I was at that moment, I was about
to give him a sharp reply, when the door of the
saloon bar opened, and to my intense alarm in
marched the two Frenchmen who had already
inspired me with so much distrust. Their friends
were behind them ; and I could only conclude that
1 06
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
my movements had somehow been observed by
them, and that now I was virtually caught, like a
rat in a trap.
I was the more startled, too, when my foreign
acquaintance (about whom I really knew very little)
abruptly quitted me to accost the new comers.
But this gave me breathing time. The door was
free, and so, leaving the refreshment I had ordered
untouched, I bolted out of the house in much the
same way as a thief might have done, and ran, as
if for my life, right down the Alexandra Road
until I reached Wareham's office. And there I
seized the knocker in a frenzy, and made such a
racket as might have awakened the dead. The
door suddenly opened, and I fell into the arms of
Everson, Wareham's managing clerk.
1 Great Scott ! ' said he. ' What is the matter?
You've nearly brought the house down ! '
' Shut the door ! ' I replied. ' Shut the door ! '
' But what has happened to you ? '
' Shut the door ! '
I had seated myself on the stairs, and a full
minute went by before I could begin my story.
Then I told Everson all that had befallen me.
Some Frenchmen were on Zola's track ; they must
107
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
be the very same men who had shadowed Wareham
and myself from the Salisbury Hotel some nights
previously ; and now they were in Wimbledon,
having heard, no doubt, that M. Zola had been
seen there. Wareham must be warned of it.
Every precaution must be taken ; we must remove
our charge from Oatlands, and so forth.
Everson puffed away at his pipe and listened
meditatively. At last he remarked, ' Well, it is a
curious business if what you say is true. What
were these Frenchmen like ? '
Forthwith I began to describe them as accu-
rately as I could. The first likeness I sketched
must have been a faithful one, for Everson started,
and exclaimed, ' And the other. Was he not
so-and-so and so-and-so ? '
' Yes, he was. But how do you know that ? ' I
rejoined, with considerable surprise.
' Why, because I know who the men are !
Although you saw them with Mr. Savage of the
Raynes Park Hotel, it doesn't follow that they are
staying at Raynes Park. As a matter of fact they
live here in this very road. They have been here
I daresay, eight or nine months now. And as for
being detectives, my dear sir, they are musicians ! '
108
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
' You don't mean it ! '
I collapsed again. To think that out of a mere
chain of chance coincidences I should have forged
a perfect melodramatic intrigue ! To think that I
should have let my fancy run away with me in such
a fashion, and have worked myself into a state of
nervousness and alarm ! I could not help feeling a
trifle ashamed. ' Well,' I pleaded, ' for my part, I
had never seen the men before, either in Wimbledon
or elsewhere. Of course, I am short-sighted, and
my eyes sometimes play me tricks ; however, as
you are sure '
' Sure ! ' repeated Everson ; and again he
described the men in such a way as to convince me
that there was no mistake in the matter. ' More-
over,' he added, ' I saw them go past the house this
very morning when they went up to town.'
1 Well,' I rejoined, ' I suppose I am losing my
head. Ten minutes ago I could have sworn that
those men were after me.'
' Your statement that you never saw them
before,' said Everson, ' does not surprise me. As a
rule they go to town every morning, and as you
are seldom in Wimbledon in the evening you can't
very well meet one another.'
109
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
' I suppose you regard me as a bit of a fool ? '
I inquired.
' Oh, no. The circumstances were curious
enough, and in your place I might have drawn
the same conclusions. Only I don't think I should
have hurried off to a friend's house and have nearly
" knocked " it down.'
We both laughed, and then I apologised.
' As a matter of fact,' said I, 'all this is the
natural outcome of events. The beginning was
long ago. I have a secret which I find haunting
me when I get up in the morning ; all day long it
occupies my mind ; at night it clings to me and
follows me through my sleep. And I grow more
and more suspicious ; it seems as if everybody I
meet has designs upon my secret. Every French-
man I don't know is a detective or a process server
with a copy of the Versailles judgment in his
pockets. And thus I shall soon become a mono-
maniac if I do not discover some remedy. I think
I shall try the shower-bath system.'
Then I recalled experiences dating from long
prior to M. Zola's arrival in England. First
mysterious offers of important documents bearing
on the Dreyfus case —documents forged a la
no
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
Lemercier-Picard, hawked about by adventurers
who tried to dispose of them, now in Paris, now in
Brussels, and now in London. Needless to say
that I, like others, had rejected them with con-
tempt. Then had come an incident that Everson
already knew of: a stranger with divers aliases
beseeching me for private interviews in M. Zola's
interest, a request which I ultimately granted, and
which led to a rather curious experience. I had
declined to see my correspondent alone, and had
given him the address of Wareham, who had been
present at the interview. And at first the stranger,
a tall and energetic looking man, with sunburnt face
and heavy moustaches, had refused to disclose his
business in Wareham's presence. If at last he did
so, it was solely because I told him that before
coming to any decision in the matters which he
might have to submit to me I should certainly lay
them before my solicitor. So the result would be
the same, whether he spoke out before Wareham
or not And Wareham very properly added that
a solicitor was, in a measure, a confessor bound to
observe professional secrecy.
At last the man told us his business, and it
proved to be a scheme for rescuing Dreyfus from
in
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Devil's Island and carrying him to an American
port. Neither Wareham nor myself was able to
take the matter seriously, but our visitor spoke
with great earnestness, as though he already saw
the suggested feat accomplished. He had a ship
at his disposal, and a crew also. He gave parti-
culars about both. If I remember rightly, the
ship lay at Bristol. He knew Cayenne and Devil's
Island, and Royal Island, and so forth. He was
convinced of the practicability of the venture, he
had weighed all the pros and cons, and it rested
with Dreyfus's friends and relatives to decide
whether or no he (the prisoner) should be a free
man within another six weeks.
Wareham laughed. He was thinking of
' Captain Kettle,' and said so. But the would-be
rescuer protested that all this was no romancing.
Oh ! he was not a philanthropist, he should expect
to be well paid for his services ; but the Dreyfus
family was rich, and M. Zola, too, was a man of
means. So surely they would not begrudge the
necessary funds to release the unhappy prisoner
from bondage !
But I replied that though the Dreyfus family
and M. Zola also were anxious to see Dreyfus
112
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
free, they were yet more anxious to prove his
innocence. Personally I knew nothing of the
Dreyfus family, and could give no letter of intro-
duction to any member of it, such as I was asked
for. And, as regards M. Zola, I was sufficiently
acquainted with his character to say that he would
never join in any such enterprise. He intended to
pursue his campaign by legal means alone, and it
was useless to refer the matter to him.
Then the interview ended rather abruptly. A
French client of Wareham's happened to call at
that very moment, and was heard speaking in
French in the hall. This seemed to alarm the
stranger, who ceased pressing his request that I
should give him letters of introduction to prominent
Dreyfusites. He rose abruptly, saying that the
time would come when we should probably regret
having refused to entertain his proposals, and
hurrying past the waiting French client he ran off
down the Alexandra Road in much the same way
as I myself subsequently ran off from the French
' detectives ' who were simply harmless disciples of
St. Cecilia.
To this day I do not know whether the man
was a lunatic, an impostor seeking money, or an
113 I
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
agent provocateur^ that is, one who imagined that
he might through me inveigle M. Zola into an
illegal act which would lead to prosecution and
imprisonment The last-mentioned status that I
have ascribed to my interviewer is by no means
an impossible one, considering the many dastardly
attempts made to discredit and ruin M. Zola.
And yet, suspicious and abrupt as was the man's
leave-taking when he heard French being spoken
outside Wareham's private room (where the inter-
view took place), I nowadays think it more
charitable to assume that he was a trifle crazy.
One thing is certain, he had come to the wrong
person in applying to me to aid and abet him in
the foolhardy enterprise he spoke of.
This is the first time I have told this anecdote
in any detail ; but at the period when the incident
occurred I spoke of it casually to a few friends, to
which circumstance I am inclined to attribute
the earlier paragraphs which appeared in the
newspapers about American schemes for delivering
Dreyfus. The person whom I saw was, I believe,
a German-American.
Well, this incident, preposterous as it may
appear (but truth, remember, is quite as fantastic
114
OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES
as fiction), had proved another link in the chain of
suspicious occurrences in which I had been mixed
up prior to M. Zola's exile. Other curious little
incidents had followed, and thus for many months
I had been living — even as we lived long ago in
besieged Paris — in distrust of all strangers, and
the climax had come with my foolish fears respect-
ing a couple of French musicians. The story I
have told goes against me, but the man who
cannot tell a story against himself when he
thinks it a good one can have, I think, little grit
in his composition.
From the time of my adventure with the
French musicians I steeled myself against excessive
fears whilst remaining duly vigilant. On one point
I was still anxious, which was that M. Zola should
be able to settle down in a convenient retreat
where he himself would enjoy all necessary
quietude ; whilst we, Wareham and I, knowing
him to be well screened from his enemies, would
be less liable to those ' excursions and alarums '
which had hitherto troubled us. As the next
chapter will show, this consummation was near at
hand.
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
IX
A QUIET HOME AND A HAUNTED HOUSE
IT was M. Zola himself who, after some stay at
Oatlands, discovered, in the course of his excursions
with M. Desmoulin, a retreat to his liking. It was
a house in that part of Surrey belonging to a city
merchant, who was willing to let it furnished for a
limited period. The owner met M. Zola on various
occasions and showed himself both courteous and
discreet.
The details of the ' letting ' were arranged
between him and Mr. Wareham ; and my wife
hastily procured servants for the new establishment.
These servants, however, did not speak French, and
I settled with M. Zola that my eldest daughter,
Violette, should stay with him to act in some
measure as his housekeeper and interpreter. This
was thrusting a young girl, not quite sixteen, into
a position of considerable responsibility, but I
thought that Violette would be equal to the task,
116
A QUIET HOME
provided she followed the instructions and advice
of her mother ; and as she was then at home for
the summer holidays she was sent down to M.
Zola's without more ado.
I shall have occasion to speak of her hereafter
in some detail, in connection with a very curious
incident which marked M. Zola's exile. Here I
will merely mention that a Parisienne by birth
and speaking French from her infancy, it was easy
for her to understand and explain the master's
requirements.
Like M. Zola, she was provided with a bicycle,
and the pair of them occasionally spent an after-
noon speeding along leafy Surrey lanes and visiting
quaint old villages. The mornings, however, were
devoted to work, for it was now that M. Zola
started on his novel, ' Fe"conditeY the first of a
series of four volumes, which will be, he considers,
his literary testament.
These books, indeed, are to embody what he
regards as the four cardinal principles of human
life. First Fruitfulness, as opposed to neo-Malthu-
sianism, which he holds to be the most pernicious
of all doctrines ; next Work, as opposed to the
idleness of the drones, whom he would sweep away
117
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
from the human community ; then Truth, as
opposed to falsehood, hypocrisy, and convention ;
and, finally, Justice to one and all, in lieu of charity
to some, oppression to others, and favours for the
privileged few.
All four books— ' Fruitfulness,' ' Work,' ' Truth,'
and ' Justice ' — are to be stories ; for years ago
M. Zola arrived at the conclusion that mere essays
on sociology, though they may work good in time
among people of culture, fail to reach and impress
the masses in the same way as a story may do. It
is, I take it, largely on this account that Emile Zola
has become a novelist. He has certainly written
essays, but he knows how inconsiderable have been
their sales in comparison with those of his works
embodying precisely the same principles, but
placed before the world in the form of novels.
To criticise him as a mere story-teller is arrant
absurdity.
He himself put the whole case in a nutshell
when he remarked, ' My novels have always been
written with a higher aim than merely to amuse.
I have so high an opinion of the novel as a means
of expression that I have chosen it as the form in
which to present to the world what I wish to say
118
A QUIET HOME
on the social, scientific, and psychological problems
that occupy the minds of thinking men. I might
have said what I wanted to say to the world in
another form. But the novel has to-day risen
from the place which it held in the last century at
the banquet of letters. It was then the idle
pastime of the hour, and sat low down between the
fable and the idyll. To-day it contains, or may be
made to contain, everything ; and it is because
that is my creed that I am a novelist. I have, to
my thinking, certain contributions to make to the
thought of the world on certain subjects, and I
have chosen the novel as the best means of com-
municating these contributions to the world.'
If critics in reviewing one or another of M.
Zola's books would only bear these declarations of
the author in mind, the reading public would often
be spared many irrelevant and foolish remarks.
M. Zola's device is Nulla dies sine linea, and
even before the materials for ' Fecondite" ' were
brought to him from France he had given an hour
or two each day to the penning of notes and im-
pressions for subsequent use. With the arrival of
his books and memoranda, work began in a more
systematic way. At half-past eight every morning
119
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
he partook of a cup of coffee and a roll and butter,
no more, and shortly after nine he was at his table
in a small room overlooking the garden of the
house he had rented. And there he remained
regularly, hard at work, until the luncheon hour,
covering sheet after sheet of quarto paper with
serried lines of his firm, characteristic handwriting.
M. Zola has retained possession of the MSS. of
almost every work written by him, and I know
that these MSS. often differ largely from the books
actually given to the world. The ' copy ' is not
only extremely clear, but remarkably free from
erasures and interpolations. But when his first
proofs reach him M. Zola revises them with the
greatest care. He will strike out whole passages
in the most drastic manner, and alter others until
they are almost unrecognisable.
He will even at the last moment change some
character's name, and I know all the inconvenience
that arises on certain occasions from having had to
prepare portions of my translations from first
proofs, through lack of time to wait for the cor-
rected matter.
This was notably the case with my version of
' Paris.' While that work was passing through the
1 20
A QUIET HOME
Press M. Zola was already in all the throes of the
Dreyfus affair, and somehow, as he has acknow-
ledged to me with regret, he forgot to tell me that
at the last moment he had changed the names of
several personages in the story. Thus Duthil (as
originally written and given in my translation)
became Dutheil in the French book ; Sagnier was
changed to Sanier; the Princess de Horn was
renamed Harn and finally Harth, and young Lord
George Eliott became Elson.
Of course some of the reviewers of my trans-
lation attacked me virulently for my unwarrantable
presumption in changing the very names of M.
Zola's characters; they were unaware that the
names given by me were those first selected by the
author, who had afterwards altered them and
forgotten to tell me of it.
Coming back to ' FeconditeY I should say that
M. Zola wrote an average of three pages per day
of that book during his exile in England. Work
ceased at the luncheon hour, as I have said, and
consequently he could dispose of his afternoons.
But it will be remembered that the summer of
1898 was exceptionally hot, so hot indeed that
M. Zola, though many years of his childhood were
121
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
spent under the scorching sun of Provence, found
a siesta absolutely necessary after the midday
meal. It was only later that he ventured out on
foot or on his bicycle, often taking his hand camera
with him.
At some distance from the house where he was
residing, in the midst of large deserted grounds,
overrun with grass and weeds, there stood a mourn-
ful-looking, unoccupied private residence of some
architectural pretensions, on the building of which
a considerable sum had evidently been expended.
The place took M. Zola's fancy the first time
he passed it on his bicycle. The iron entrance
gate was broken, and he was able to enter the
garden and peep through the ground-floor win-
dows.
All spoke of decay and abandonment ; and
when, through my daughter, M. Zola began to
make inquiries about the place, he was told a
fantastic tragic story. A murder, it was said, had
been committed there many years previously ; a
poor little girl had been killed by her stepmother,
and her remains had been buried beneath a scullery
floor.
There was also talk of the child's father, who at
122
A QUIET HOME
night drove up to the house in a phantom carnage
drawn by ghostly horses, and hammered at the
door of the mansion and shouted aloud for his
dead child !
The story was alleged to be well known, and it
was said that not a girl from Chertsey to Esher,
from Walton to Byfleet, would have dared to pass
that house after nightfall, when harrowing voices
rang out through the trees, and the shadowy horses
of the ghostly carriage trotted swiftly and silently
over the gravel.
The story not only impressed my daughter
Violette, but it greatly interested M. Zola, on whose
behalf I made various inquiries. For instance, I
closely questioned an old gardener who had known
the district for long years. All he could tell me,
however, was that there were certainly some strange
rumours abroad among the womenfolk, but that
for his own part he had never heard of any crime
and had never seen any ghost.
And at last others told me quite a different
story of the house's abandonment, and this I here
venture to give, though I certainly cannot vouch for
its accuracy. The place had been built, it seemed,
some forty years previously by a retired and
123
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
wealthy London pawnbroker, a gaunt, shrivelled
old man, who, mounted on a white mare, had in
his declining years been a familiar figure on the
roads of the district.
Extremely eccentric, he had largely furnished
and decorated the house with unredeemed articles
that had been pledged with him. There was
nothing en suite. Old chairs of divers patterns
were mingled with odd tables and sideboards and
sofas ; there were also innumerable daubs ' ascribed '
to old masters, and a wonderful display of War-
dour-street bric-cl-brac. But, indeed, one has
only to look at an average pawnbroker's shop to
picture what kind of articles the house must
have contained.
It seems that the old fellow in question had
three daughters, whom he kept more or less
imprisoned on his recently-acquired property,
though they were charming girls well worthy of
being sought in marriage ; and the story I heard was
that three officers sojourning in the district had
one day espied the three forlorn damsels over the
garden hedge, and had forthwith begun to court
them, much to the ire of the misanthropic, retired
pawnbroker. That stern old gentleman ordered
124
A QUIET HOME
his daughters into the house, and there kept them
in stricter confinement than ever.
But love laughs at locksmiths, and the amorous
officers eventually carried the place by storm, and
beat down all parental resistance. Three weddings
followed on the same day, and all ended for a time
as in a fairy tale. But the old pawnbroker subse-
quently married again to relieve his solitude, and
after his death his will was attacked, and an
interminable lawsuit ensued, with the result that
the property was left unoccupied. Now, it
appeared, it was for sale, and before long would
probably be cut up into building plots.
Whatever romantic element there might be in
the story of the pawnbroker and his daughters,
M. Zola much preferred the popular and gruesome
legend of the little girl murdered in the scullery ;
and, some time later, when he consented to write
a short story for 'The Star,' it was this legend
which he took as his basis, building thereon
the pathetic sketch of ' Angeline,' the scene of
which he transferred to France.
He has stated in his article ' Justice,' published
in Paris on his return from exile, that during most
of the time he spent in England he was virtually
125
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
in a desert. There were people about him of
course ; but he retired into himself as it were,
communing with his own thoughts, and seeking
no intercourse with strangers. This is true of the
period to which I am now referring. Still he did
not complain of solitude. In fact he knew that
quiet was essential for his work. Only once or
twice did anything happen of a nature to cause
any anxiety. Neither Wareham nor myself was
much troubled at this period ; there was a lull
even in the periodical visits with which gentlemen
of the Press kindly favoured me.
Still we had taken our precautions by ad-
mitting a mutual friend, Mr. A. W. Pamplin, into
our confidence. If M. Zola's communications with
Paris, through Wareham and myself, should be
threatened, Mr. Pamplin was to take upon himself
the duty of re-establishing them.
At M. Zola's house there was, so far as I am
aware, but one brief alerte. This occurred one
afternoon, when a servant came to my daughter
with the tidings that there was a French hunch-
back at the door. Violette impulsively rushed
off to tell M. Zola of it ; but when in her turn she
went to the door to see who the person might be,
126
A QUIET HOME
she found that he was an Englishman, a traveller
for some county directory, who had merely
performed his legitimate work in requesting to
know the name of the occupier of the house. Of
course the only name given was that of the
owner, then absent at the seaside.
Thus the hot days sped by peacefully enough.
M. Zola had at least found occupation and quietude,
though it was naturally impossible that he should
feel content with his lot. Each day brought more
and more home to him the consciousness that he
was in exile, and that contumely had been his
reward for seeking to save France from the shame
of a great crime.
I have previously mentioned that during the
first week or so of his sojourn in England he had
refused to look at newspapers and — at least so it
seemed to me — had sought to banish the Dreyfus
affair and his own troubles from his mind, much as
one might seek to drive away a hateful nightmare.
But before long he again fell under the spell and
followed the course of events with the keenest in-
terest. And again and again, reading of the great
battle being waged in France, he longed to return
home, and grew restless and impatient.
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Moreover a complaint from which he has
suffered on and off for some years troubled him
on more than one occasion. He always rallied,
however, and returned to his work with renewed
energy. ' Fe"condite" ' was already taking shape
in the leafy solitude in which he dwelt. And
undoubtedly the steady task of creation, resumed
morning by morning, greatly helped him to
quiet the anguish of heart which the course of
events in France would otherwise have rendered
intolerable.
NOTE.— While this work was appearing serially in the ' Evening
News ' I received numerous letters from readers interested in
various matters mentioned by me. With respect to the foregoing
chapter, a lady living at Staines wrote saying that she was looking
out for ' a cheap haunted house,' and asking for the address of the
one I had mentioned. I was unable to comply with her request, as
personally I do not believe the house was haunted at all. Moreover,
to prevent the sale or letting of any particular house by asserting it
to be haunted would be an offence under the libel laws. As I could
not tell what course my lady-correspondent might take in the
matter, I preferred not to answer her. May she forgive me my
impoliteness !
128
LE REVE': THE DREAM
X
' LE REVE': THE DREAM
WHEN the owner of the house which M. Zola
had rented desired to resume possession, it became
necessary to find new quarters of a similar cha-
racter for the master. And so he was transferred
to another Surrey country house where the arrange-
ments remained much the same as previously :
work every morning, and resting or bicycling in
the afternoon, followed by newspaper reading and
letter-writing in the evening.
The grounds of M. Zola's new retreat were
very extensive, and in part very shady, which last
circumstance proved extremely welcome to the
novelist, who on corning to ' cold, damp, foggy
England,' as the French put it, had never imagined
that he would have to endure a temperature
approaching that of the tropics.
The heat deprived him of appetite, and, morc-
129 K
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
over, he did not particularly relish some of the
dishes provided for him by a new cook who had
lately been engaged. We all know how great is
the servant difficulty even under the best of circum-
stances ; and when cooks and maids have to be
secured in hot haste an entirely satisfactory result
is hardly to be expected. Moreover, many servants
refuse to live in country retirement, far away from
their ' followers/ and thus one has at times to take
such as one can find.
As for the cookery to which M. Zola was at
certain periods treated, he beheld it with wonder
and repulsion. His tastes are simple, but to him
the plain, boiled, watery potato and the equally
watery greens were abominations. Plum tart,
though served hot (why not cold, like the French
tarte ? ) might be more or less eatable ; but, surely,
apple pudding — the inveterate breeder of indiges-
tion—was the invention of a savage race. And
why, when a prime steak was grilled, should the
cook water it in order to produce ' gravy,' instead
of applying to it a little butter and chopped
parsley ? This, Dundreary-wise, was one of those
things which nobody, not even M. Zola, could
understand.
130
'LE REVE': THE DREAM
However, a visit to a fishmonger's shop had
made him acquainted with the haddock, the kipper,
and likewise the humble bloater ; and occasionally,
I believe, when his appetite needed a stimulant he
turned to the smoked fish, which seemed so novel
to his palate. The cook, of course, was mightily
incensed thereat. For her part, she most certainly
would not eat haddock or kippers for dinner ; she
had too much self-respect to do such a thing, so
she boiled or roasted a leg of mutton for her own
repast and the maids'. I do not say that she was
wrong ; and, indeed, M. Zola never forced people
to eat what they did not care for.
But in the same way he wished for something
that he himself could eat, and he was weary of the
perpetual joint and the vegetables a I'eau. One
day, when in a jocular spirit he was talking to me
on this subject, I told him that we English had
a saying to the effect that ' God sent us food, but
the devil invented cooks."
'You are quite right,' he replied, 'only as a
Frenchman I should put it this way : " God sent us
food, but the devil invented English cooks." '
Towards the end of August he again became
very dispirited. The 'cause ' did not at that time
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
appear to be prospering in France, where so many
people remained under the spell of the deceptive
declarations and documents which had been made
public in the Chamber of Deputies by War
Minister Cavaignac early in July.
Of course the Revisionists were still hard at
work, but in the face of M. Cavaignac's speech,
placarded throughout the 36,000 townships of
France, they seemed to have a very uphill task
before them. The anti-Dreyfusites on their side
were more arrogant than ever, and although M.
Zola never once lost faith in the justice of his
cause and its ultimate triumph, he did, on more
than one occasion, question whether that triumph
would come in a peaceful way.
Felix Faure was then still President of the
Republic, and I am abusing, I think, no confidence
in saying that M. Zola regarded that vain, showy
man as one of the great obstacles to the victory of
truth and justice. Faure, he said to me, had
undoubtedly at one time enjoyed well-deserved
popularity ; he, Zola, had been received by him
and in the most cordial manner. But the Presi-
dent's intercourse with crowned heads, and his
intimacy with arrogant general officers, coupled
132
'LE REVE': THE DREAM
with all the flummery of the Protocole, all the
pomp and display observed whenever he stirred
from the Palace of the Elysee, had virtually turned
his head. He was in the hands of those military
men who opposed revision, and he shielded them
because their downfall would mean his own. He
was bent on the hushing-up course lest his Presi-
dency should become synonymous with a great
judicial crime ; he feared that he might be forced
to resign even before his term of office was over,
or, at all events, that he might have to abandon
all hope of re-election.
And thus with the President and the more
prominent generals opposed to revision, M. Zola,
though confident in the final issue, more than once
said to me that there might be serious trouble
before all was over.
He was now kept very well informed of all that
took place in France ; intelligence often reached
him before it appeared in the newspapers ; and
now and again he told me what was brewing.
Going backward, too, he confided to me some
curious particulars of the genesis of the Revisionist
campaign. But he will himself some day tell all
this in a book of his own, and I must not anticipate
133
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
him. I will only say that various important things
he mentioned to me in the autumn of 1898 have
since become well-known, acknowledged facts,
and I have every reason to believe that time will
duly show the accuracy of those which have not
as yet been publicly revealed.
There is one point to which I must refer at
more length. In his declaration ' Justice,'
published on the expiration of his exile, M. Zola
stated that he had long suspected Colonel Henry,
though he had possessed no actual proof of that
officer's guilt. This is so true, that I well recollect
listening to a conversation between him and
M. Desmoulin during the first days of their
sojourn in England, when they compared notes
with respect to their impressions of Henry, whom
they had particularly noticed at Versailles on the
occasion of M. Zola's sentence by default.
They had then observed how nervous and
crestfallen the colonel looked — the very picture,
indeed, of a man who dreads the discovery of his
guilt. This was the more remarkable, as Henry's
confident arrogance at the earlier trial in Paris had
been so conspicuous. The man had a skeleton in
134
'LE REVE': THE DREAM
his cupboard — to Zola and Desmoulin that was
certain.
M. Zola is a good physiognomist, and his
friend (as a portraitist) is scarcely less gifted in
that respect, and they felt equally certain of
Henry's culpability. As yet they could not say
that it was he who had actually forged that famous
' absolute proof of Dreyfus's guilt, which they
knew to have been forged by some one, but that
time would prove him guilty of some abominable
machination was to them a foregone conclusion.
One day, it must have been I suppose the 3 1st
of August, a rather strange telegram in French
reached me for transmission to M. Zola. It came
from Paris, and was, so far as I remember, to this
effect : ' Be prepared for a great success.'
A name I was acquainted with followed ; but
what the telegram might mean I knew not.
There was absolutely nothing in the newspapers
with reference to any great success achieved at
that moment by the Revisionist party ; but possibly
the message might refer to one or another of
M. Zola's lawsuits, such as that with the ' Petit
Journal ' or that with the handwriting experts. I
135
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
re-telegraphed it to M. Zola, and that day, at all
events, I thought no more of the matter.
But I afterwards learnt that the telegram had
perplexed him quite as much as it perplexed me.
A great success ? What could it be ? He racked
his mind in vain. He reviewed all the phases
and aspects of the Dreyfus case, wondering
whether this or that had happened, but not
suspecting the public revelations which were
then impending, the tragedy which was being
enacted.
For a while he walked up and down, feverish
and anxious (he was at the time in poor
health), and then he would fling himself on a
sofa, still and ever indulging in his surmises.
With that kind of prescience which he had so
frequently displayed in the Dreyfus affair, he felt
certain that something very important had occurred,
for otherwise such a mysterious telegram would
never have been sent him. This lasted the whole
evening.
My daughter Violette was with him at the
time, and his feverishness doubtless gained on her.
At last she retired to rest, while M. Zola, according
to his wont, carried a lamp into his own room to
136
<LE REVE': THE DREAM
sit there awhile and read some French newspapers
which had reached him, vid Wareham, by the
evening delivery. There was nothing in them of
a nature to explain the mysterious telegram ; still
he read on and on in the hope, as it were, of
quieting himself.
It was, I believe, between eleven o'clock and
midnight when he rose to go to bed, and as he
did so he heard some loud exclamations, followed
by a cry. At first he fancied that the calls came
from one of the servants' rooms, and he paused on
the landing. Then, however, as they were repeated,
he found that they came from my daughter's
apartment. With fatherly solicitude he waited
and listened. Violette was calling in her sleep.
Practical enough in matters of everyday life,
this girl of mine has literary partialities of a
somewhat gruesome kind, and her avowed ambi-
tion (I quote her own words) is to write, some day,
stories full of witches and wizards, that shall make
people's flesh creep. For this reason I keep such
of Anne RadclifTe's uncanny novels as I possess
carefully locked up.
I can well remember my daughter telling me at
times of strange things dreamt by her in her sleep ;
137
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
but not being of a romantic or a mystical turn
myself, I have usually pooh-poohed all this as
nonsense. And such I believe is the course which
fathers usually adopt if their daughters' imagina-
tions begin to run riot.
As for M. Zola, when he heard Violette calling
in her sleep, his first impulse was to rouse her,
but all suddenly became still again. The girl had
probably sunk into more peaceful slumber. And
so, after waiting a few minutes longer, he thought
it best to leave her as she was.
Nothing further disturbed M. Zola that night ;
but on the following morning, when he met Violette
downstairs, he asked her how she felt, and told her
that he had heard her calling in her sleep. He
had probably formed the same opinion as I should
have formed under the circumstances, namely,
that it was a case of indigestion or a little excite-
ment.
But she turned to him and replied, ' Oh ! I
had such a frightful dream. ... I was in a big
black place, and there was a man on the ground
covered with blood, and people were crowding
round him, talking with great excitement. And I
saw you, Monsieur Zola, and you came up looking
138
VIOI.K. I I K VI/.KTKI I.Y
<LE REVE': THE DREAM
like a giant and waved your arms again and again,
and seemed well pleased.'
M. Zola was dumbfounded. He could make
nothing of it. A man in a pool of blood and
others round him ; and he, Zola, waving his arms
and looking well pleased ! It was nonsense ; and
he was disposed to laugh at the girl and chide her.
But a little later, with the arrival of some morning
newspapers, the position suddenly changed.
Here I should mention that as the Paris
journals only reached M. Zola with a delay of
twelve or four-and-twenty hours, it had just been
arranged that he should be supplied with two or
three London papers every morning, and that he
and Violette between them should put the tele-
grams concerning the Dreyfus business into
French.
He opened one of these English newspapers —
which it was I do not recollect — and there he saw
a whole column dealing with the arrest and con-
fession of Colonel Henry. The heading to the
telegrams, the very words ' arrest ' and ' confession,'
made everything intelligible to M. Zola ; and
beneath all this came a brief wire headed, I think,
1 Paris, midnight,' and worded much to this effect :
139
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
' Colonel Henry has been found dead in his cell
at Mont Val6rien.'
So that was the man whom Violette, in her
dream, had seen weltering in a pool of blood,
surrounded by his custodians, who had rushed in
full of excitement ! M. Zola's presence in that
vision was, so to say, symbolical. ' He had waved
his arms and had seemed well pleased ' — so the
girl had put it in her frank, artless way. ' Well
pleased ' may perhaps appear to be scarcely the
correct expression. At all events, it needs to be
interpreted. Most certainly Zola never desired
the death of a sinner ; but, on the other hand,
he could only feel some satisfaction at knowing
that Henry's crime was at last divulged to the
world.
This, then, is how my daughter dreamt Henry's
death. I do not wish to insist unduly on the
incident, and I have no intention of appealing to
the Psychical Research Society to test, corro-
borate, or disprove the case.
There was one rather curious feature that I
have not yet mentioned. My daughter has assured
me that during that same night she dreamt the
same thing over and over again. She tried to
140
<LE REVE': THE DREAM
banish the vision, but ever and ever it returned,
as if to impress itself indelibly upon her mind.
And ever did she see M. Zola waving his arms as
he hovered round the scene.
At that time the girl knew nothing of Colonel
Henry ; she understood very little about the
Dreyfus case ; and all she had to go upon was the
enigmatical telegram and M. Zola's talk during
the evening, when he was expressing his thoughts
aloud. But at that moment he had foreseen no
death, murder, or suicide, and if the possibility of
any arrest had occurred to him it was that of M.
du Paty de Clam, which the Revisionist papers
were then demanding.
It is true that in infancy my daughter had
often seen Mont Valerien, as I lived for some
years at Boulogne-sur-Scine, and the hill and
fortress towering across the river were then familiar
objects to us all. But the girl was little more than
a baby at the time, and so this circumstance can
have exercised no influence upon her. Moreover,
she has told me that she had no notion as to what
might be the actual scene of her dream ; it merely
appeared to her that she was in France, because
the people she saw raised ejaculations in French.
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Passing from this incident, I may point out
that the telegram sent to M. Zola through me was
explained by the news in the English newspapers.
It was evident that the ' great success ' referred to
in the message was the discovery of Henry's
forgery and possibly his arrest.
Directly I saw the news in a London news-
paper I hurried off to M. Zola's, and when I
reached his abode about noon I found him expect-
ing me. We then went over matters together, the
press telegrams, my daughter's dream, and the
probable outcome of the whole affair.
As was natural, M. Zola was quite excited.
First, the document which Henry had confessed
to having forged was the very one that General de
Pellieux had imported into the Zola trial in Paris
as convincing proof of Drcyfus's guilt. At that
time already its effect had been very great ; it
had destroyed all chance of M. Zola's acquittal.
Then, too, it had been solemnly brought forward
in the Chamber of Deputies by War Minister
Cavaignac, who had vouched for its authenticity.
And now, as previously alleged by Colonel
Picquart, it was shown to be a forgery of the
clumsiest kind.
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'LE REVE': THE DREAM
Here at least was ' a new fact ' warranting the
revision of the whole Dreyfus case. Surely the
blindest bigot could not resist such evidence of the
machinations of those who had sent Dreyfus to
Devil's Island ; truth and justice would speedily
triumph, and in a week or two he, Zola, would be
able to return to France again.
But he did not take sufficient account of human
obstinacy and vileness. His friends, to whom he
appealed on the subject of his return, urged him
to remain where he was, for the battle, they said,
was by no means over, and his name was still like
the red scarf of the matador that goads the bull
to fury. The advice proved good, for again were
passions stirred. Henry, the ignoble forger, was
raised to the position of a martyr, and Cavaignac
and Zurlinden and Chanoine in turn strove to
impede the course of justice. ' Hope deferred
maketh the heart sick,' and thus M. Zola, finding
so many difficulties in the way of his return,
abandoned for a time all work and fell into
brooding melancholy.
'43
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
CHAPTER XI
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
IMPORTANT events were now taking place in
Paris. Cavaignac resigned the position of War
Minister and was succeeded by Zurlinden ; Du
Paty de Clam was turned out of the army ;
Esterhazy, who had likewise been ' retired,' fled
from France ; Mme. Dreyfus addressed to the
Minister of Justice a formal application for the
revision of her unfortunate husband's case ; and
that application was in the first instance referred
to a Commission of judges and functionaries.
Then General Zurlinden resigned his Ministerial
office, and again becoming Governor of Paris,
apprehended the gallant Picquart on a ridiculous
charge of forgery, and cast him into close confine-
ment in a military prison. There was talk, too,
of a military plot in Paris, and again and again
were attempts made to prevent the granting of
Revision.
144
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
Throughout those days of alternate hope and
fear M. Zola suffered keenly. It was, too, about
this time that he heard of the death of his favourite
dog — an incident to which I have previously
referred as coming like a blow of fate in the midst
of all his anxiety.
When he rallied he spoke to me of his desire
to familiarise himself in some degree with the
English language, with the object principally of
arriving at a more accurate understanding of the
telegrams from Paris which he found in the London
newspapers. A dictionary, a conversation manual,
and an English grammar for French students
were then obtained ; and whenever he felt that he
needed a little relaxation, he took up one or another
of these books and read them, as he put it to me,
' from a philosophical point of view.'
Later I procured him a set of Messrs. Nelson's
' Royal Readers ' for children, which he greatly
praised, declaring them to be much superior to the
similar class of work current in France. After-
wards he himself purchased a prettily illustrated
edition of the classic ' Vicar of Wake-field '
(the work to which all French young ladies are
put when learning our language), but he found
145 L
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
portions difficult to understand, and a French
friend then procured him an edition in which the
text is printed in French and English on alternate
pages.
One day when he had been dipping into
English papers and books he tackled me on rather
a curious point ' Why is it,' said he, ' that the
Englishman when he writes of himself should
invariably use a capital letter ? That tall " I "
which recurs so often in a personal narrative
strikes me as being very arrogant. A Frenchman,
referring to himself, writes je with a small/; a
German, though he may gratify all his substantives
with capital letters, employs a small i in writing
ich ; a Spaniard, when he uses the personal pronoun
at all, bestows a small y on his yo, while he honours
the person he addresses with a capital V. I believe,
indeed — though I am not sufficiently acquainted
with foreign languages to speak with certainty on
the point — that the Englishman is the only person
in the world who applies a capital letter to himself.
That " I " strikes me as the triumph of egotism. It
is tall, commanding, and so brief! " I "— and that
suffices. How did it originate ? '
It was difficult for me to answer M. Zola on the
146
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
point ; I am a very poor scholar in such a matter,
and I could find nothing on the subject in any
work of reference I had by me. I surmised, how-
ever, that the capital I, as a personal pronoun, was
a survival of the time when English, whether
written or printed, was studded with capitals, even
as German is to-day. If I am wrong, perhaps
some one who knows better will correct me. One
thing I have often noticed is that a child's first
impulse is to write ' i,' and that it is only after
admonition that the aggressive and egotistical ' I '
supplants the humbler form of the letter. This
did not surprise M. Zola, since vanity, like most
other vices, is acquired, not inherent in our natures.
But in a chaffing way he suggested that one might
write a very humorous essay on the English
character by taking as one's text that tall, stiff,
and self-assertive letter ' I.'
How far M. Zola actually carried his study of
English I could hardly say, but during the last
months of his exile he more than once astonished
me by his knowledge of an irregular verb or of
the correct comparative and superlative of an
adjective. And if he seldom attempted to speak
English, he at least made considerable progress in
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
reading it. By the time he returned to France he
could always understand any Dreyfus news in the
English papers. Of course the language in which
the news was couched was of great help to him, as
in three instances out of four it was simply direct
translation from the French.
In this connection, while praising many features
of the English Press, M. Zola more than once
expressed to me his surprise that so much of the
Paris news printed in London should be simply
taken from Paris journals. Some correspondents,
said he, never seemed to go anywhere or to see
anybody themselves. They purely and simply
extracted everything from newspapers. This he
was able to check by means of the many Paris
prints which he received regularly.
' Here,' he would say, ' this paragraph is taken
verbatim from " Le Figaro " ; this other appeared
in " Le Temps," this other in " Le Siecle," ' and so
forth. And he was not alluding to extracts from
editorials, but to descriptive matter — accounts of
demonstrations and ceremonies, fashionable wed-
dings and other social functions, interviews, and
so forth. The practice upset all his ideas of a
foreign correspondent's duties, which should be
148
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
to obtain first-hand and not second-hand informa-
tion.
In principle this is of course correct, but a
correspondent cannot be everywhere at the same
time ; and nowadays, moreover, English journalists
in Paris do not enjoy quite the same facilities as
formerly. As regards more particularly the
Dreyfus business, the French, with a sensitiveness
that can be understood, have all along deprecated
anything in the way of foreign interference, and
the English Pressman of inquiring mind on the
subject has more than once met with a rebuff from
those in a position to give information. Again,
the political difficulties between the two countries
of recent years have often placed the Paris corre-
spondents in a very invidious position.
This brings me to the Fashoda trouble, which
arose last autumn while M. Zola was still in his
country retreat. The great novelist's enemies have
often alleged that he is no true Frenchman ; but
for my part, after thirty years' intimacy with the
French, I would claim for him that his country
counts no better patriot. He is on principle
opposed to warfare, but there is a higher patriot-
ism than that which consists in perpetually beating
149
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
the big drum, and that higher patriotism is
Zola's.
The Fashoda difficulties troubled him sorely,
and directly it seemed likely that the situation
might become serious he told me that it would be
impossible for him to remain in England. The
progress of the negotiations between France and
Great Britain was watched with keen vigilance,
and M. Zola was ready to start at the first sign of
those negotiations collapsing. As all his friends
were opposed to his return to France (they had
again virtually forbidden it late in September when
the Brisson Ministry finally submitted the case for
revision to the Criminal Chamber of the Cour de
Cassation), he would probably have gone to
Belgium, but I doubt whether he would have
remained long in that country.
I have said that M. Zola is opposed to warfare
on principle. His views in this respect have long
been shared by me. Life's keenest impressions
are those acquired in childhood and youth. And
in my youth— I was but seventeen, though already
acting as a war correspondent, the youngest, 1
suppose, on record — I witnessed war attended by
every horror : — A city, Paris, starved by the
ISO
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
foreigner and subsequently in part fired by some of
its own children. And between those disasters,
having passed through the hostile lines, I saw an
army of 1 25,000 men with 350 guns, that of Chanzy,
irretrievably routed after battling in a snowstorm
of three days' duration, cast into highways and
byways, with thousands of barefooted stragglers
begging their bread, with hundreds of farmers
bewailing their crops, their cattle, and their ruined
homesteads, with mothers innumerable weeping
for their sons, and fair girls in the heyday of their
youth lamenting the lads to whom their troth was
plighted. And in that ' Retraite Infernale,' as one
of its historians has called it, I saw want, hunger,
cupidity, cruelty, disease, stalking beside the war
fiend ; so no wonder that, like Zola, I regard war-
fare as the greatest of the abominations that fall
upon the world. I often regret that, short of actual
war itself and its disaster and misery, there should
be no means of bringing the whole horror of the thing
home to those silly, arm-chair, jingo journalists
of many countries, our own included, who, viewing
war simply as a means of imposing the will of the
stronger upon the weaker, and losing sight of all
that attends it, save martial pomp and individual
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
heroism, ever clamour for the exercise of force as
soon as any difficulty arises between two govern-
ments.
Ties of affection, bonds of marriage, as well as
long years of intimacy, link me moreover to the
French people ; and more keenly, perhaps, than
even the master himself, did I realise what war
between France and England might mean ; thus
we both had an anxious time during the Fashoda
trouble. Fortunately for the general peace hos-
tilities were averted, and M. Zola was thus able
to remain in his secluded English home, and to
continue the writing of his novel.
The weather was still very fine, and now and
again he ventured upon a little excursion. The
principal one was to Virginia Water, where he
strolled round the lake, then drove through part
of the Great Park, and thence on to Windsor
Castle, where he saw all the sights, the State
apartments, St. George's Hall and Chapel, the
Albert Memorial Chapel, and so forth. And, as
he had brought his hand camera with him, he was
able to take a few snapshots of what he saw. I
was not present on that occasion ; his companions
were a French gentleman, a very intimate friend,
152
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
and my daughter, but I was pleased to hear that
he had, at all events, seen Windsor. As a rule, it
was extremely difficult to induce him to emerge
from his solitude. When he took a walk or a
bicycle ride his destination was simply some sleepy
Surrey village or deserted common.
He appreciated English scenery. Around
Oatlands he had been much struck by the beauty
of the trees, and was greatly astonished to find
such lofty and perfect hedges of holly running at
times for a mile almost without a break on either
side of the roads. I suppose that some of the
finest holly hedges in England are to be found in
that district. Then, too, the rookeries surprised
and interested him. There was one he could see
from his window at the last of his country
residences, and many an idle half-hour was spent
by him in watching the flight of the birds or their
occasional parliaments.
Nobody recognised him on his rambles. I
even doubt if people, generally, thought him a
foreigner. He had long since ceased to wear his
rosette of the Legion of Honour, and he had
replaced his white billycock by an English straw
hat. Towards the close of the fine weather he
153
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
purchased a ' bowler,' which greatly altered his
appearance. Indeed, there is nothing like a
' bowler ' to make a foreigner look English.
Wareham and I had now quite ceased to fear
that any attempt would be made to serve the
Versailles judgment on M. Zola. We were only
troubled by gentlemen of the Press, both French
and English, for since Esterhazy had fled from
France and the case for revision had been formally
referred to the Cour de Cassation, several news-
papers had become desirous of ascertaining M.
Zola's views on the course of events. My instruc-
tions remained, however, the same as formerly : I
was to tell every applicant that M. Zola declined
to make any public statement, and that he would
receive nobody. I was occasionally inclined to
fancy that some of those who called on me
imagined that these instructions were of my own
invention, and that I was simply keeping M. Zola
au secret for purposes of my own. But nothing
was further from the truth.
Personally, at certain moments, when the
revision proceedings began, when M. Brisson fell
from office, when M. Dupuy, listening to the
clamour of a pack of jackals, transferred the
154
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
revision inquiry from the Criminal Chamber to the
entire Court of Cassation, I thought that it might
really be advisable for him to speak out. But,
anxious though he was, disgusted, indignant, too,
at times, he would do nothing to add fuel to the
flame. Passions were roused to a high enough
pitch already, and he had no desire to inflame
them more.
Besides, the cause was in very good hands ;
Clemenceau and Vaughan, Yves Guyot and
Reinach, Jaures and Gerault-Richard, Pressens£,
Comply, and scores of others were fighting
admirably in the Press, and his intervention was
not required. Many a man circumstanced as M.
Zola was would have rushed into print for the
mere sake of notoriety, but he condemned himself
to silence, stifling the words which rose from his
throbbing heart. And, after all, was not that
course more worthy, more dignified ?
Thus I could only return one answer to the
newspaper men who wrote to me or called at my
house. Late in the autumn there was an average
of three applications a week. One or two gentle-
men, I believe, imagined that M. Zola was staying
very near me, and, failing to learn anything at my
155
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
place, they tried to question one or two tradesmen
in the neighbourhood. One of these, a grocer,
became so irate at the frequent inquiries as to
whether a Frenchman, who wrote books and had
a grey beard, and wore glasses, was not staying in
the vicinity, that he ended by receiving the
reporters with far more energy than politeness,
not only ordering them out of his shop at the
double quick, but pursuing them with his vitupe-
rative eloquence. ' Taking one consideration with
another, a reporter's lot, at times, is not a happy
one.'
A climax was reached when one gentleman,
after communicating with M. Zola by letter
through various channels and receiving no answer
from him, ascertained my address and called there.
As servants are not always to be depended upon,
we had made it virtually a rule at home that
whenever a stranger was seen at the front door my
wife herself should, if possible, answer it. And
she did so in the instance I am referring to.
Well, the gentleman first asked for me, and,
on learning that I was absent, he explained that
he was a friend, a private friend of M. Zola, whom
he wished to see on an important private matter.
156
THROUGH THE AUTUMN
Could she, my wife, oblige him with M. Zola's
address ? No, she could not ; he had better write,
and his letter would be duly forwarded by me.
Then the applicant started on another story. It
was of no use his writing, he must see me. Should
I be at home on the morrow ? The matter was of
great importance, it would mean a large sum of
money for myself and so on. My wife had not
much confidence in what was told her, but she
requested the visitor to leave his name and address
in order that I might make an appointment
with him, should I think such a course advisable.
He thereupon wrote me a few lines in my
dining-room, and then all at once had the cool
impudence to tell my wife that he would then and
there give her a matter of 2O/. or 2$l. if she would
only tell him where he could find M. Zola, as the
private interests at stake were so enormous !
She was, at the moment, far more amazed and
amused than indignant. She bade the gentleman
keep his money, and then showed him to the door.
To me that evening she did not mention the
incident, and, indeed, I only heard of it after I had
taken the trouble to communicate with M. Zola
respecting the gentleman's urgent private business,
157
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
which (so it turned out) was purely and simply
connected with journalism, my visitor having acted
on behalf of the owner of a well-known London
newspaper.
I do not know whether his principal had any
knowledge of his impudent attempt at bribery.
For my own part I much regret that my wife (I
suppose in the interests of peace) should have kept
it from me at the time as she did, for the gentle-
man might otherwise have experienced, as he
deserved, a rather unpleasant ten minutes.
158
THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
XII
THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
AT last the time arrived when it became necessary
to remove M. Zola from his country quarters, and
by his desire Wareham and I then looked around
us for a suitable suburban hotel. The autumn was
now far spent and M. Zola felt confident that he
would be back in Paris by the end of the year.
Had he foreseen that his exile would prove so long,
he would certainly have sent for a couple of his
French servants, and have set up a quiet establish-
ment in some other furnished house. But for
another month or two he considered that hotel
accommodation would well suffice.
The place selected for him by Wareham and
myself was the Queen's Hotel, Upper Norwood,
and there he remained from late in the autumn of
1898 until his departure from England.
A glance at the Queen's Hotel shows one that
159
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
it is composed of what were once separate houses,
now connected together by buildings of one storey
only. Each of these houses, or, as one may per-
haps call them, pavilions, has a separate entrance
and staircase ; and the advantage of this, to one
circumstanced as M. Zola was, must be obvious.
A person lodging in one of the pavilions can come
and go freely. There is no vast hall to cross, with
a dozen servants standing around, ready to
scrutinise you as you pass in and out. You have
your suite of rooms in one or another pavilion,
you take your meals there in your own dining-
room, and you can shut yourself off, as it were,
from the greater part of the establishment and
enjoy privacy and quiet. This, no doubt, is the
reason why many well-to-do people, who dislike
the stir and bustle of the ordinary hotel, patronise
the hostelry at Upper Norwood.
There at one time — when consulting Sir Morell
Mackenzie, 1 believe — stayed the unfortunate
Emperor Frederick ; and now it may add to its
list of patrons the most famous Frenchman of
his day.
It seemed to Wareham and me that the Queen's
Hotel would, under the circumstances, prove an
1 60
THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
ideal retreat for M. Zola. Moreover, Upper
Norwood stands on very high ground, and it was
probable therefore that he would largely escape
the winter fogs. Of course the Crystal Palace was
comparatively near, but it was not very largely
patronised in the winter, and, besides, if M. Zola
wished to escape a crowd, he had only to take his
walks in another direction.
The Queen's Hotel stands back from the road ;
but, in the first instance, as a precautionary measure
it was thought best to select for M. Zola a suite of
rooms overlooking the extensive gardens. As
time went on, however, the trees lost their last
leaves, the vista from these rooms, charming enough
in summer, became very cheerless. So the master's
quarters were shifted to a larger suite on the ground
floor, with the windows of the two communicating
sitting-rooms overlooking both the road and the
garden.
The two sitting rooms were an advantage,
particularly during the time that Mmc. Zola stayed
at the Queen's Hotel (for she joined her husband
on and off), as he could devote one of them entirely
to his work. But when Mme. Zola finally left
England (in a very ailing state, after a terrible cold
161 M
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
had kept her within doors for some weeks) her
husband moved once again, and installed himself
on the second floor, where the rooms were smaller
and therefore easier to warm. It was then mid-
winter.
The various rooms M. Zola occupied and in
which he spent from seven to eight months — that
is by far the greater portion of his exile — were all
part of the same house or pavilion, this being the
last of the pavilions constituting the hotel proper.
Adjoining is a lower building, belonging to the
same proprietary as the hotel, but, in a measure,
distinct from it. Most of M. Zola's tenancy was
spent in the topmost rooms. After bringing the
master up from the country, I took him one morn-
ing down to Norwood, and he cordially approved
of the arrangements which had been made for him.
There was only one thing amiss. Wareham and I
had been promised that he should have a waiter
speaking French to attend on him ; and the one
provided knew perhaps just a few words of that
language. However, he was very intelligent, very
discreet, very willing to oblige — a pattern waiter of
the good old English school. And when I had
explained to him exactly what would be required,
162
THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
he took due note of everything, and for many
months the arrangements that were made worked
virtually without a hitch.
If M. Zola's surroundings had altered, the
routine of his life remained the same as formerly.
With regard to his novel ' Fecondit6 ' he had, as
the saying goes, ' warmed to his work,' which he
pursued at the Queen's Hotel with unflagging
energy.
Knowing his habits I never (unless under
exceptional circumstances) visited him till he had
finished his daily quantum of ' copy,' that was about
the luncheon hour. Then we would talk business,
communicate to one another such news as might
be necessary, and at times exchange impressions
with regard to the incidents of the day.
Among other matters often discussed were the
English birth-rate and the rearing of English
children, points which deeply interested M. Zola,
as they were germane to the subject of ' FeconditeV
I could at first only give him general information,
but the Rev. R. Ussher, vicar of Westbury, Bucks,
the able author of ' Neo-Malthusianism,' very
kindly sent me a copy of his exhaustive work,
which contained many particulars on the points
163 M2
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
that principally interested M. Zola. Moreover,
Mr. George P. Brett, the President of the Macmillan
Company of New York (M. Zola's American
publishers), supplied him with some interesting
information respecting the United States.
With regard to England, M. Zola had been
much struck by certain proceedings instituted
during his exile against medical men, midwives,
and others, proceedings which seemed to point to
the existence in this country of a state of affairs
much akin to that prevailing in France. The
affair of the brothers Chrimes, who first sold bogus
medicines and then proceeded to blackmail the
women who had purchased them, was, in Zola's
estimation, particularly significant, for here were
hundreds and hundreds of Englishwomen applying
to those men for the means of accomplishing the
greatest crime against Nature there could be.
On that point M. Zola spoke in no uncertain
language. He understood well enough that the
authorities could not justly single out a few of
those hundreds of women for prosecution and
punishment : but he censured the women quite as
much as he censured the convicted men, who were,
after all, but common scoundrels.
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THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
And he was amazed to find that so few English
newspapers ventured to speak out on the matter.
There were plenty of leaderettes on the cunning
shown by the men, but the alacrity of the women
to purchase the bogus medicines was, as a rule,
lightly passed over ; and great as is M. Zola's
admiration for the British Press in many respects,
he could but regard its attitude towards the Chrimes
case as lamentably inadequate and lacking in
moral courage.
' A great responsibility,' said he, ' rests with
those who, possessing commanding influence,
refrain from requisite action, and who, instead of
seeking to cure proved and acknowledged evils,
connive at driving them beneath the surface,
where, in secret, they steadily grow and expand.'
And all this for the sake of the ' young person,' to
whose mythical innocence the welfare of a whole
nation is often sacrificed. M. Zola's views are
summed up in the words : ' Let all be exposed
and discussed, in order that all may be cured ! '
He regards Neo-Malthusianism and its practices
as abominable, and when he had learnt more of
the actual situation in England he was empha-
tically of opinion that his book ' Fecondite,' though
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
applied to France alone, might well, with little
alteration, be applied to this country also.
The fluctuations in the English birth-rate from
1872 to 1897 were to him full of meaning. At a
certain period, for instance, they showed all the
harm wrought by the abominable Bradlaugh-
Besant campaign. But what he dwelt on still
more was the absolute physical incapacity of so
many English mothers to suckle their own off-
spring. Circumstances are much the same both in
France and the United States, at least among the
older Colonial families. In three or four genera-
tions the women of a family in which the practice
of suckling has ceased, are altogether unable to
give the breast ; and the ' bottle ' ensues, with its
thousand evils and a gradual deterioration of
the race.
On the last occasion when James Russell
Lowell came to England he was asked what
change, if any, he remarked since his last visit,
among the people he met, and he replied that he
was most struck by the falling off in height, and
breadth of shoulders, of the average man in the
London streets.
Though matters have not yet reached such a
1 66
THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
point as in France and elsewhere, it is I think
incontestable that the English race, like many
another, is physically deteriorating. Athletics
tend to improve the standard, but there must be
proper material to work upon, and M. Zola, I
found, held the view that for a race to be healthy
its womenfolk should be willing and able to dis-
charge the primary duties of Nature. When he
discovered that so many Englishwomen would
not or could not suckle their babes, he remarked
that England had started on the same downward
course as France.
He often watched the troops of nursemaids and
children whom he met during his afternoon strolls.
He noticed and told me how many of the former
neglected their charges, standing about, flirting or
gossiping, or looking into shop windows, while the
baby in the bassinette or the mail-cart sucked
away at that vile invention the bone and gutta-
percha ' soother,' and he was astonished that ladies
should apparently consider it beneath them to
accompany baby on the promenade. Indeed the
invariable absence of the mothers gave him a rather
bad opinion of them : for surely they must know
that many of the nurse-girls neglected the infants
167
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
and yet they exercised no supervision. ' Of
course,' said he, ' they are visiting or receiving, or
reading novels, or bicycling or playing lawn tennis.
Ah ! well, that is hardly my conception of a
mother's duty towards her infant, whatever be her
station in life.'
Now and again at intervals I accompanied him
•on his afternoon walks. These generally took a
semi-circular form. We descended from the
plateau of Upper Norwood on one side to climb
to it again on another. Sometimes we passed by
way of Beulah Spa, then round by some fields and
a recreation ground, with the name of which I am
not acquainted. There were several shapely oak
trees thereabouts, which he greatly admired and
even photographed.
' Do you know,' he remarked to me one after-
noon,' when I come out all alone for my usual con-
stitutional, and want to shake off some worrying
thoughts, I often amuse myself by counting the
number of hairpins which I see lying on the foot-
pavement. Oh ! you need not laugh, it is very
curious, I assure you. I already had ideas for two
essays — one on the capital " I " in its relation to the
English character, and another on the physiology
1 68
THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
of the English "guillotine" window and the forms
it affects, not forgetting the circumstance that
whenever an architect introduces a French window
into an English house, it invaribly opens outwardly
so as to be well buffeted by the wind, instead of
into the room as it should do. Well, now I am
beginning to think that I might write something
on the carelessness of Englishwomen in fastening
up their hair, and the phenomenal consumption of
hairpins in England. For the consumption must
be enormous since the loss is so great, as I will
show you.'
Then he proceeded to ocular demonstration.
As we walked on for half an hour or so, prin-
cipally along roads bordered by the umbrageous
gardens of villa residences, we counted all the
hairpins we could see. There were about four
dozen. And he was careful to point out that we
had chiefly followed a route where there was but
a moderate amount of traffic.
Not one man in a thousand probably would
have thought of counting the lost hairpins in the
streets ; but then M. Zola is an observer, and if I
tell this anecdote, which some may think puerile,
it is by way of illustrating his powers of observation
169
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
and the length to which he occasionally carries
them.
On one point, I told him, he was rather in the
wrong. The great loss of hairpins did not proceed
so much from the carelessness of women in
fastening their hair, as from their ' pennywise and
pound-foolish ' system of buying cheap hairpins
with few and inefficient 'twists.' These cheap
hairpins never ' caught ' properly in their coiled-up
tresses. The women went out, walked rapidly,
tossed their heads perchance, and one at least of
their hairpins fell to the ground. Supposing one
hundred women passed along a certain road or
street in the course of the day, it would not be
surprising to find that at least thirty hairpins
were lost there. And I concluded by saying that,
to the best of my belief, the aforesaid hairpins
were ' made in Germany.'
Another thing which amused and interested
M. Zola when he took his walks around Norwood
was to note the often curious and often high-
sounding names bestowed on villa residences. As
a rule the smaller the place the more grandiose
the appellation bestowed on it. Some of the
names M. Zola, having now made progress with
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THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
his English, could readily understand ; others, too,
were virtually French, such as Bellevue, Beaumont,
and so forth ; but there were several that I had
to interpret, such as Oakdene, Thornbrake,
Beechcroft, Hillbrow, Woodcote, Fernside, Fair-
holme, Inglenook, etc. And there was one name
that I could not explain to him at all — an awful
name, which I fancied might be Gaelic or Celtic,
though I appealed in vain to Scottish, Irish, and
Welsh friends for an interpretation of its meaning.
It was written thus : ' Ly-ee-Moon.'
Nobody of my acquaintance was able to
explain it to me. M. Zola wrote it down in his
memorandum-book as an abstruse puzzle. However,
while this narrative was appearing in the ' Evening
News,' several correspondents kindly informed me
that Ly-ee-Moon (at times written ' Lai-Mun ') was
Chinese, being the name of a narrow passage or
strait between the island of Hong-Kong and the
mainland of China (now transferred to Great
Britain), at the eastern entrance to the harbour
of the city of Victoria on the island.
It seems also that Ly-cc-Moon is a name often
given to ships sailing in the China seas. And in
the case of the Norwood house, built by a retired
171
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
shipowner and sea captain, the name was taken
from a vessel plying on the Australian coast for
many years, and ultimately wrecked with great
loss of life. The owner of the Norwood house had
an engraving of the ship executed on a plate-glass
window of his hall. Until these explanations
reached me both M. Zola and myself were quite
as much at sea (with regard to ' Ly-ee-Moon ' )
as ever its owner and captain was.
When I spent an afternoon at Norwood with
M. Zola we generally returned to the hotel about
half-past four for a cup of tea. And on the way
back (particularly during the last months) I
frequently purchased postage stamps for him at
the chief post-office. He might, of course, have
bought them himself, and as a matter of fact he
did at times do so. But he was aware, I think,
that he was regarded with some suspicion by the
the young lady clerks under the control of the
Duke of Norfolk.
At certain periods, Christmas time and the
New Year, for instance, M. Zola's correspondence
became extensive, and on the first occasion when
he entered the Upper Norwood post-office and
asked for fifty 2.\d. stamps he was looked at with
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THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE
surprise. When, a couple of days later, he applied
for another fifty, the young ladies eyed him as if
he were a genuine curiosity. A hundred 2\d.
stamps in four days ! What could he do with
them ? Nobody could tell. When, shortly after-
wards, he returned for another supply of the same
kind, the Norwood post-office was convulsed.
And I doubt if even now some of the young ladies
have quite got over that brief but extraordinary
run on the so-called ' foreign stamp.'
I hope they do not imagine that M. Zola was
hungry, and bought those stamps to eat.
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
XIII
WINTER DAYS
THE winter was hardly a cold one, but it proved
very tempestuous, and Upper Norwood, standing
high as it does, felt the full force of the gales.
Christmas found M. Zola alone ; still, this did not
particularly affect him, as Christmas, save as a
religious observance, is but little kept up in France,
where festivity and holiday-making are reserved
for the New Year. In M. Zola's rooms the only
token of the season was a huge branch of mistletoe
hanging over the chimney-piece. This he had
bought himself, after I had told him of the privi-
leges that attached to mistletoe in England.
There were, however, no young ladies to kiss, and,
if I remember rightly, Mme. Zola, who had been
absent in Paris, did not return to Norwood until
a day or two before the New Year.
While her husband formed a fairly favourable
174
WINTER DAYS
opinion of England, its customs and its climate,
Mme. Zola, I fear, was scarcely pleased with this
country. At all events, she finally left it vowing
that she would never return. But then for three or
four weeks bronchitis and kindred ailments had
kept her absolutely imprisoned in her room — her
illness lasting the longer, perhaps, because she was
unwilling to place herself in the hands of any
medical man.
The New Year was but a day or two old, when
one of the London morning newspapers announced
with a great show of authority that an application
for the extradition of M. Zola was imminent.
Somebody, moreover, informed the same journal
that he had recognised and interviewed M. Zola an
evening or two previously, to which statement
was appended a brief account of some of M. Zola's
views. All this amazed me the more as on the
very day mentioned in the newspaper I had been
with the master till nine r.M. and I could hardly
believe that anybody had interviewed him after
that hour. Moreover, my wife had since seen him,
and he had said nothing to her of any visit or
interview. Nevertheless, as other papers proceeded
to copy the statements to which I have referred, I
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
thought it as well to communicate with our exile
on the subject.
Through the carelessness of one of M. Zola's
friends, Wareham's name and address had lately
been given to an English journalist usually resident
in Paris, and this journalist had then come to Lon-
don to try to discover the master's whereabouts.
It was therefore possible that there might be some
truth in the story. But M. Zola promptly wired
to me that such was not the case, and followed up
his telegram with a note in which he said :
' My dear confrere and friend, — I have just
telegraphed to you that the whole story of a
journalist having interviewed me is purely and
simply a falsehood. I have seen nobody. Again,
there can be no question of extradition in my
case ; all that could be done would be to serve me
with the judgment of the Assize Court. Those
people don't even know what they write about.
' As for 's indiscretion, this is to be
regretted. I am writing to him. For the sake of
our communications, I have always desired that
Wareham's name and address should be known
only to those on whom one can depend. Tell him
that he must remain on his guard and never
176
WINTER DAYS
acknowledge that he knows my address. Persevere
in that course yourself. I will wait a few days to
see if anything occurs before deciding whether the
correspondence arrangements should be altered.
It would be a big affair ; and I should afterwards
regret a change if it were to prove uncalled for.
Let us wait.'
Going through the many memoranda and notes
I received from M. Zola during his exile, I also
find this, dated February : ' You did right to
refuse Mr. my address. I absolutely decline
to see anybody. No matter who may call on you,
under whatever pretext it be, preserve the silence
of the tomb. Less than ever am I disposed to let
people disturb me.'
Again, a little later : ' No ; I will see neither
the gentleman nor the lady. Tell them so
distinctly, in order that they may worry you no
more.'
With the New Year, it will be remembered, had
come a succession of startling events which kept
M. Zola in a state of acute anxiety. The violent
attacks of the anti-Revisionists on the Criminal
Chamber of the Cour de Cassation culminated in
the resignation of Q. de Bcaurepairc, in an inquiry
177 N
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
into the Criminal Chamber's methods of investiga-
tion, and finally in the passing of a law which
transferred the task of the Criminal Chamber to
the whole of the Supreme Court. On the many
intrigues of that period I often conversed with
M. Zola, who was particularly angered by the
blind opposition of President Faure and the
impudent duplicity of Prime Minister Dupuy.
These two were undoubtedly doing their utmost to
impede the course of justice.
Then suddenly, on February 17, came a
thunderbolt Faure had died on the previous
evening, and by his death one of the greatest
obstacles to the triumph of truth was for ever
removed. We talked of the defunct president at
some length, M. Zola adhering to the opinions
that he had expressed during the summer,
But the great question was who would succeed
M. Faure. When M. Brisson had fallen from
office after initiating the Revision proceedings,
M. Zola had said to me : ' Brisson's present fall
does not signify ; it was bound to come. But
hereafter he will reap his reward for his courage in
favouring revision. Brisson will be Faure's
successor as President of the Republic.'
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WINTER DAYS
In expressing this opinion M. Zola had imagined
that Faure would live to complete his full term of
office. His death in the very midst of the battle
entirely changed the position. M. Brisson's time
had not come, and considering his age it indeed
now seemed as if he might never attain to the
supreme magistracy. The future looked blank ;
but M. Loubet was elected President, and a feeling
of great relief followed.
I have reason to believe that M. Zola regards
the death of President Faure as the crucial turn-
ing-point in the whole Dreyfus business. Had
Faure lived every means would still have been
employed to shield the guilty ; all the influence of
the Elysee would, as before, have been brought to
bear against the unhappy prisoner of Devil's
Island.
During those January and February days
M. Zola was an eager reader of the newspapers.
Rumours of all kinds were in circulation, and once
again in M. Zola's mind did despondency alternate
with hopefulness. I must say, however, that he
was not particularly impressed by Paul Derouledc's
attempt to induce General Rogct to march on the
Elyscc. He regards Deroulccle as a scarcely sane
179
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
individual, and holds views on Parisian demonstra-
tions which may surprise some of those who
believe everything they read in the newspapers.
These views may be epitomised as follows :
The Government can always put down trouble in
the streets when it desires to do so. If trouble
occurs it is because the Government allows it.
Three-fourths of the ' demonstrations ' that have
taken place in Paris during the last year or two
have been simply ' got up ' by professional agitators.
The men who start the shouting and the marching
are paid for their services, the tariff being as a rule
two francs per demonstration. With 500 francs,
that is 2O/., one can get 250 men together.
These are joined by as many fools and a small
contingent of enthusiasts, and then you have a
rumpus on the boulevards, and half the news-
papers in Europe announcing on the morrow :
' Serious Disturbances in Paris. Impending
Revolution.' Some people may ask, Where does
the money for many of these demonstrations come
from ? The answer is that it comes largely from
much the same sources as those whence General
Boulanger's funds were derived — that is, from the
Orlcanist party.
1 80
WINTER DAYS
As for military insubordination, plotting, or
anything of that kind, M. Zola often pointed out
to me that no general could effect a revolution,
for the simple reason that he could not rely on his
men to follow him in an illegal attempt. It was
quite possible that now and again other generals
besides Boulanger had dreamt of overturning the
Republic, but they had not the means to do so.
It was as likely as not that the officer foolhardy
enough to make the attempt would be shot in the
back by some of the Socialists among the rank
and file. Boulanger no doubt could have counted
on a good many men and ' non-coms.,' as he
was popular with them, but few if any officers
above the rank of captain would have followed
him.
To-day, moreover, intense jealousy still reigns
among the French general officers. There is not
one among them of sufficient pre-eminence and
popularity to gather round him a large contingent
of military men of high rank for any political
purpose. And this, of course — quite apart from
the opinions of the masses-- largely makes for a
continuance of the Republican regime.
With a weak Government in office, one with
181
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
a policy of drift, everything may become possible ;
but, so long as foresight and vigilance are shown,
the Republic remains impregnable. If military
malcontents become obstreperous it is only
necessary to treat them as General Boulanger was
treated.
I recollect hearing M. Yves Guyot, who was a
member of the Cabinet which put down ' the brave
general on the black horse,' and who was also one
of the few French friends who visited M. Zola
during his exile, give a brief account of some of
the decisive steps which were taken to stop the
Boulangist agitation. The Prefect of Police of
that time was summoned to the Ministry of the
Interior, where two or three members of the
Government awaited his arrival. Amongst other
orders given him was one (if I remember rightly)
for the dissolution of M. Deroulede's c League of
Patriots,' which then, as more recently, was at the
bottom of much of the agitation.
The Prefect hesitated ; he was afraid to execute
his orders. ' Very well, then,' said M. Constans,
M. Guyot, and others, ' you may regard your
resignation as accepted ; you are not the man
for the situation ; if you are afraid, there are
182
WINTER DAYS
plenty who are not ; and we shall immediately
replace you.'
That threat of the loss of office wrought an
immediate change in the Prefect. He became as
brave as he had been timorous, and with all due
energy he proceeded to carry out his instructions.
Boulangism was crushed and held up to public
opprobrium and ridicule ; and but for the culpable
weakness and connivance of M. Felix Faure and
his favourite Prime Minister, M. Meline, it would
never have revived in its varied forms of anti-
Semitism, anti-Dreyfusism, etc.
French functionaries, those of the Civil Service,
are, as a rule, a docile set ; but every now and
again a Government rinding some laxity among
prefects and sub-prefects makes a few examples.
Three or four prefects of departments are transferred
in disgrace to less important towns ; two or three
are cashiered, and the same method is followed
with some of the sub-prefects. Thereupon, all the
others, prefects and ' subs,' throughout the eighty
and odd departments of France, hasten to show
themselves vigilant and, if need be, energetic.
Taking one consideration with another, this system
of frightening the prefects into obedience and
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
vigilance has, so far as the maintenance of public
order is concerned, answered admirably well
whenever it has been applied during the last fifty
years. It has undoubtedly been adopted at times
for the furtherance of purely despotic or arbitrary-
aims ; but if ever it was justified such was the case
during the Dreyfus agitation. If the Government
had not connived, for purposes of its own, at
the proceedings of what the French call the
' militarist' party, there would have been no turmoil
at all.
But those in power desired to shield culprits of
high rank and to defend the effete organisation
of the French War-office. And those who thus
misused the power they held, who sacrificed the
national interests, who trampled truth and justice
under foot, and rendered their country an object of
amazement, distrust, and ridicule throughout the
length and breadth of Europe (Russia not excepted)
will be censured and condemned in no uncertain
voice by the France of to-morrow.
But I am forgetting the prefects and sub-
prefects. I mentioned them partly because M.
Zola himself might have been one of them. It is
not generally known, I believe, that at the time of
184
WINTER DAYS
the Franco-German war he in some degree assisted
one of the sub-prefects in the discharge of his
duties, and (had he only so chosen) might even
have become a sub-prefect himself. He had been
an opposition, a Republican journalist, before the
fall of the Empire, and M. Gambetta, during his
virtual dictatorship throughout the latter part of
the Franco-German war, was very fond of appoint-
ing journalists of that description to office, both
in the army and the Civil Service. M. Zola, then,
might have become a sub-prefect to begin with ;
and, later, a full-blown prefect. Picture him in a
cocked hat and a uniform bedizened with gold lace,
and with a slender sword dangling by his side.
That, at all events, was how sub-prefects and
prefects used to array themselves when ' in the
exercise of their functions.'
I doubt if M. Zola would ever have made a
good functionary. His character is too inde-
pendent, and in all likelihood he would have
resigned the very first time that he happened to
have ' a few words ' with his Minister. But politics
having caught him in their grasp he would
doubtless (like the few functionaries of independent
views who throw up their posts in France) have
185
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
next come forward as a candidate for the Chamber
or the Senate. And then — why not ? He might
have been an Under-Secretary of State, later a
Minister, and finally President of the Republic.
True, as he himself knows, and readily admits, he
is no orator ; but then orators are not always the
men who get on in France. Thiers was a ready
and fluent speaker, but MacMahon could scarcely
say (or learn by heart) twenty consecutive words.
Grevy, it is true, could be long-winded, prosy, and
didactic ; but the powers of elocution which Carnot
and Felix Faure possessed were infinitesimal. And
so the idea of Emile Zola, President of the
Republic, may not be so far-fetched after all,
particularly when one remembers Zola's great
powers of observation, analysis, and foresight.
Had he taken to politics in his younger days
he would at least have made his mark in the career
thus chosen. And it may be that, in some respects,
French public life might then have been healthier
than it has proved during the last quarter of a
century. Perchance, too, on the other hand, many
old maids and young persons, not to mention
ecclesiastics and vigilance societies, would have
been spared manifold pious ejaculations and gasps
1 86
WINTER DAYS
of horror. Again, my poor father — imprisoned,
ruined, and hounded to his death — might still have
been alive.
Unless some other courageous man had arisen
to tear the veil away from before human life, such
as it is in so-called civilised communities, and show
society its own self in all its rottenness, foulness,
and hypocrisy — so that on more than one occasion,
shrinking guiltily from its own image, it has
denounced the plain unvarnished truth as libel-
there would have been no ' Nana ' and no ' Pot
Bouille,' no 'Assommoir,' and no 'Germinal.' And
no ' La Terre.' ' La Debacle/ and ' Lourdes,' and
1 Rome,' ' Paris,' and ' Fe"conditeY and all the other
books that have flowed from Emile Zola's busy pen
would have remained unwritten. But for my own
part I would rather that the world should possess
those books than that Zola when tempted, as he
was, should have cast literature aside to plunge into
the abominable and degrading vortex of politics.
Like all men of intellect he certainly has his
views on important political questions, and again
and again he has enunciated them in the face of
fierce opposition. In the Dreyfus case, however,
he has been no politician, but simply the indignant
187
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
champion of an innocent man. And his task over
truth and justice vindicated, he asks no reward, no
office ; he simply desires to take up his pen once
more and revert to his life work : — The delineation
and exposure of the crimes, follies, and short-
comings of society as now constituted, in order
that those who are in politics, who control human
affairs, may, in full knowledge of existing evils, do
their utmost to remedy them and prepare the way
for a better and a happier world.
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WAITING FOR THE VERDICT
XIV
'WAITING FOR THE VERDICT'
I CAN still see before me the sitting-room on the
second floor of the Queen's Hotel, in which M.
Zola spent so much of his time and wrote so many
pages of ' F6condite ' during the last six months or
so of his exile. A spacious room it was, if a rather
low one, with three windows overlooking the
road which passes the hotel.
A very large looking-glass in a gilt frame
surmounted the mantelpiece, on which stood two
or three little blue vases. Paper of a light colour
and a large flowing arabesque pattern with a broad
frieze covered the walls. There was not a single
picture of any kind in the room, neither steel
engraving, nor lithograph, nor chromo ; and
remembering what pictures usually are, even in
the best of hotels, it was perhaps just as well that
there should have been none in that room at
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
the Queen's. Yet during the many hours I
spent there the bareness of the walls often
worried me.
Against the one that faced the fireplace stood
a small sideboard. Then on another side was a
sofa, and here and there were half a dozen chairs.
The room was rich in tables, it counted no fewer
than five. On a folding card-table in one corner
M. Zola's stock of letter and ' copy ' paper, his
weighing scales for letters, his envelopes, pens, and
pencils, were duly set out. Then in front of the
central window was the table at which he worked
every morning. It was of mahogany, little more
than three feet long and barely two feet wide.
Whenever he raised his eyes from his writing, he
could see the road below him, and the houses
across the way. On a similar table at another of
the windows he usually kept such books and
reviews as reached him from France.
In the centre of the room, under the electric
lights — which, however, were only fitted towards
the end of M. Zola's sojourn at the hotel, so
that throughout the winter a paraffin lamp
supplied the necessary illumination — stood the
table at which one lunched and dined. It was
190
•t
'WAITING FOR THE VERDICT'
round and would just accommodate four persons.
Finally, beside M. Zola's favourite arm-chair,
near the fireplace, was a little gipsy table, on
which he usually kept the day's newspapers,
and perchance the volume he was reading at the
time.
A doorway on the same side as the fireplace
gave ingress to the bedchamber, which was smaller
than the sitting-room, and adequately, but by no
means luxuriously furnished.
On the little writing-table near the middle
window were first a small inkstand belonging to
the hotel, then a few paper-weights covering
memoranda jotted down on little square pieces of
paper, about three inches long either way, together
with an old yellowish newspaper which did duty
as a blotting pad ; and a pen with a ' j ' nib and
a very heavy ivory handle, so heavy, indeed, that
though the master often offered it to me I could
never write with it. With this pen, however, he
himself did all his work. That work he generally
cleared away before lunch, and locked up in his
bedroom wardrobe, so that by the time a visitor
arrived there was never any litter in the sitting-
room.
191
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
The road, viewed from the writing-table window,
was at times fairly lively. Nursemaids and
children, bicyclists and others passed constantly
to and fro. Stylish carriages also rolled by during
the afternoon, and at intervals a little green
omnibus went its way at a slow jog-trot. The
detached villa residences on the other side of the
road were, however, singularly lifeless. One day
M. Zola remarked to me : ' I have never seen a
soul in those houses during all the months I have
been here. They are occupied certainly, for the
window blinds are pulled up every morning and
lowered every evening, but I can never detect who
does this ; and I have never seen anybody leave
the houses or enter them.'
At last one afternoon he told me that one of
these villas had woke up, for on the previous day
he had espied a lady in the garden watering some
flowers.
Rather lower down the road there was a livelier
house, one which had a balconied window, which
was almost invaribly open, and here servants and
children were often to be seen. 'That,' said M.
Zola, ' is the one little corner of life and gaiety,
amidst all the other silence and lack of life.
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'WAITING FOR THE VERDICT'
Whenever I feel dull or worried I look over
there.'
As a rule the Queen's Hotel itself is, as I have
already mentioned, a very quiet place ; but now
and again a wedding breakfast was given there.
Broughams and landaus would then roll over the
gravel sweep, and M. Zola and I would at times
lean out of the windows and exchange opinions
with respect to the bridal pair and the guests.
What surprised and amused him, on one occasion
when a wedding party came to the hotel, was to
notice that all the coachmen of the carriages wore
yellow flowers and favours ; for in France yellow
is not only associated with jealousy, but also with
conjugal faithlessness.
' If those flowers are to be taken as an omen,'
said M. Zola to me, ' that happy pair will soon be
in the Divorce Court.'
During the latter part of his stay at Norwood,
when the door between his bed and sitting room
remained open, one could see on a chest of drawers
in the former apartment a pair of life-size porcelain
cats, coloured a purplish maroon, with sparkling
yellow glass eyes, and an abundance of fantastic
yellow spots. These cats had been bought by him
193 O
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
as a souvenir of England and English art, for he
was much struck by their oddity. He had been
offered others — for instance, white ones with little
coloured landscapes printed all over their backs
and sides — surely as idiotic an embellishment as
any insane potter could devise — but although these
had sorely tempted him he had finally decided in
favour of the maroon and yellow abominations.
A little girl of mine, who found herself face to
face with those cats one day in his room, was
quite startled by them, and has since expressed
the opinion that Sir John Tenniel ought to have
seen them before he drew the Cheshire cat for
' Alice in Wonderland.' For my own part I can
imagine the laughter and the jeers of M. Zola's
artistic friends when those choice specimens of
British art are shown to them in Paris.
At intervals during his long sojourn at the
Queen's Hotel M. Zola received a few brief visits
from French friends, chiefly literary men and
politicians, whose names need not be mentioned,
but who have identified themselves with the cause
of Revision. At times these gentlemen found
themselves in London on other matters, and
profited by the opportunity to run down to
194
'WAITING FOR THE VERDICT'
Norwood. On other occasions they made the
journey from France for the especial purpose of
quieting M. Zola's impatience, and telling him
that he must not yet think of returning home.
Again, M. Fasquelle, the French publisher, came
over four or five times, now on business and now
in a friendly way.
I think that during the seven or eight months
that M. Zola stayed at the Queen's Hotel, he
received altogether some ten visits from com
patriots, which visits were often of only an hour or
two's duration. Thus, Mme. Zola having returned
to France, he was frequently very much alone.
During the last months of his exile my wife
fell seriously ill, and I could not then go so often
to Norwood. Afterwards ague caught me in its
grip, and my visits ceased for two or three
successive weeks. All I could do in an emergency
was to place my eldest daughter or my son at
M. Zola's disposal.
The foreign visitors he received — by foreign I
mean non- French — were (apart from the Ware-
hams, myself and family) very few in number. I
think that an eminent Russian publicistc who
happened to be a personal friend (M. Zola has
195 02
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
long been popular in Russia, where even the
Emperor has read many of his books) saw him on
one occasion. Then, when M. Yves Guyot called,
he brought with him an English friend who was
pledged to secrecy.
A well-known English novelist and art critic,
M. Zola's oldest English friend, and his earliest
champion in this country, likewise saw him.
Further, in a friendly capacity he received an
English journalist for whom he has much regard,
and who came to see him quite apart from any
journalistic matters. To this list I will add the
names of Mr. Andrew Chatto and Mr. Percy
Spalding, of Messrs Chatto and Windus, and Mr.
George P. Brett, of the Macmillan Company of
New York.
Such, then, were M. Zola's visitors and guests
— say, apart from the Warehams, myself and
family, less than a score of persons, the total
duration of whose visits added together amounted
perhaps to a hundred and twenty hours spread
over many long and trying months.
At times when we chatted together, M. Zola
and myself, and mention was made of his friends
—of persons occasionally whom we both knew—
196
'WAITING FOR THE VERDICT'
he referred feelingly to the many estrangements
caused by the divergence of views on the Dreyfus
affair. Friends of twenty and thirty years' standing,
men who had laboured side by side often in pursuit
of the same ideal, had not only quarrelled and
parted but had assailed each other with the
greatest virulence in the Press and at public
meetings.
Many whom he himself had regarded as close
and sincere friends had trodden upon all the
past and attacked him abominably, as though he
were the veriest scum of the earth, Some in the
earlier stages of the affair had hypocritically feigned
sympathy, in order to provoke his confidence, and
had then turned round to hold him up to execra-
tion and ridicule. One or two had behaved so
badly that he had refused ever to receive them at
his house again.
He spoke to me of an eminent French litttra-
teur who at the outset of the agitation on behalf
of Dreyfus had immediately promised his help,
and had even prepared articles and appeals on
behalf of the prisoner of Devil's Island. But this
litterateur had of recent years been lapsing into
mysticism, and at the behests of the reverend
197
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
father his confessor, he had abruptly destroyed
what he had written, and gone over to the other
side to wage desperate warfare upon the cause he
had promised to help.
The writer in question (one who will probably
leave a name in French literature) was tortured by
the everlasting fear that he might go to hell when
he died, and he was the more timorous, the more
easily influenced by certain persons, as he suffered
from a horrible, incurable complaint, and feared
that his medical man — a bigoted Romanist— might
abandon him to all the pangs of sudden death if
he did not comply with the injunctions of the
Church.
Then there was a friend of many years' stand-
ing, a Minister in successive Cabinets, who feigned
that by remaining in office he would be able to
favour the cause, and who, instead of that, did his
utmost against it. A playwright wrote : ' I am
heartily with you, but for God's sake don't say it,
for my plays might be hissed.' l Another pro-
minent man started on a long journey to avoid
1 Apropos of the stage, it is a curious circumstance that nine-
tenths of ' the profession ' in France are ardent Dreyfusards.
Nearly every actor and actress and vocalist of note has been on the
same side as M. Zola from the outset.
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•WAITING FOR THE VERDICT'
having to express any opinion. Nearly all the
baser passions of humanity were made manifest
in some degree — treachery, rancour, jealousy, and
moral and physical cowardice.
But, of course, there was another and a brighter
side to the picture. There were men of high
intellect and courage who had not hesitated to
state their views and plead for truth and justice,
men who, when in office, had been arbitrarily
suspended and removed. There were many who
had risked their futures, many too who, after years
of labour, were well entitled to rest and retirement,
yet had come forward with all the ardour of youth
to do battle for great principles and save their
country from the shame of a cruel crime.
Adversity makes one acquainted with strange
bedfellows, and M. Zola was more than once
struck by the heterogeneous nature of the Re-
visionist army. He found men of such varied
political and social views banded together for the
cause. It all helped to remove sundry old-time
prejudices of his.
For instance, he said to me one day : ' I never
cared much for the French Protestants ; I regarded
them as people of narrow minds, fanatics of a
199
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
kind, far less tolerant and human than the great
mass of the Catholics. But they have behaved
splendidly in this battle of ours, and shown them-
selves to be real men.'
All through the spring M. Zola eagerly followed
the inquiry which the Cour de Cassation was
conducting, and when M. Ballot-Beaupre" was
appointed reporter to the Court, there came a
fresh spell of anxiety. M. Ballot-Beaupr6 is a
man of natural piety, and the anti-Revisionist news-
papers, basing themselves on his religious views,
at first made certain that he would show no mercy
to the Jew Dreyfus, but would report strongly in
favour of the prisoner's guilt. Certain Dreyfusite
journals, on the other hand, bitterly attacked the
learned judge for his supposed clerical leanings ;
and indeed so much was insinuated that M. Zola
for a short time half believed it possible that
M. Ballot-Beaupre" might show himself hostile to
revision.
When I saw M. Zola he repeatedly expressed
to me his feelings of disquietude. Then every-
thing suddenly changed. Certain newspapers
discovered that M. Ballot-Beaupre", if pious, was
by no means a fanatic, and, further, that he was
200
'WAITING FOR THE VERDICT
a very sound lawyer, much respected by his
colleagues. This cleared the atmosphere, for it
seemed impossible that any man of rectitude and
judgment could pass over the damning revelations
which the Cour de Cassation's inquiry, as pub-
lished in ' Le Figaro,' had produced.
Time went on, and at last the issue, so fre-
quently postponed, so longingly awaited, came in
sight. The week before the public proceedings of
the Cour de Cassation opened M. Zola said to me :
' I shall have finished the last chapter of " Fecon-
dite"" by Saturday or Sunday, so I shall have my
hands quite free and be able to give all my atten-
tion to what takes place at the Courts. I am
hopeful, yes, very hopeful, and yet at moments
some horrid doubt will spring up to torture me.
But no ! you'll see, our cause will gain the day,
revision will be granted, and justice will be
done.'
And at last came the fateful week which was to
prove the accuracy of his surmises.
201
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
XV
LAST DAYS — DEPARTURE
I SPENT the afternoon of Saturday, May 27, with
M. Zola, and we then spoke of the proceedings
impending before the Cour de Cassation. All our
information pointed to the conclusion that the
Court would give judgment on the Saturday
following, and it was decided that M. Zola should
return to France a few days afterwards. The date
ultimately agreed upon was Tuesday, June 6, and
the train selected was that leaving Charing Cross
for Folkestone at 2.45 in the afternoon.
Though according to every probability the
Court's judgment would be in favour of revision,
M. Zola was resolved to return home whatever
might be the issue, and such were his feelings on
the matter that nothing any friend might have
urged would have prevented him from doing so.
As a matter of fact one friend did regard the return
202
LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
as somewhat unwise, and intimated it both by
telegram and letter. This compelled me to see
M. Zola again on the following Tuesday (May 30),
but the objections were overruled by him, and the
arrangements which had been planned were
adhered to.
M. Zola had now drafted the declaration which
he proposed issuing on the morrow of his return
home, and this he gave me to read. It was the
article 'Justice,' published in 'L'Aurore,' to which I
have occasionally referred in the course of the
present narrative.
I left M. Zola rather late that Tuesday night
in the expectation that everything which had been
arranged would follow in due course. As the
writing of ' F£condit6 ' was now finished he had
time on his hands, and a part of this he proposed
to devote to taking a few final snapshots of
Norwood, the Crystal Palace, and surrounding
scenery. He needed something to do, for he could
not sit hour by hour in his room at the Queen's
Hotel anxiously waiting for news of the proceedings
at the Paris Palais dc Justice.
For my part I had begun to prepare the present
narrative, and as he would not listen to my
203
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
repeated offers to take him to the Derby, it was
arranged that I should not see him again until the
end of the week. On Friday, however, reports
were already in circulation to the effect that
M. Fasquelle (M. Zola's French publisher) had
come to London for the purpose of escorting him
home.
This was true, and I foresaw that the rumours
might lead to some modification of our programme ;
for M. Zola did not wish his return to have any
public character. He had forbidden all the
demonstrations which his friends in Paris were
anxious to arrange in his honour, declaring that he
desired to go back quietly and privately, and then
at once place himself at the disposal of the
public prosecutor.
On Friday I sent my daughter Violette to
Norwood with a parcel of M. Zola's photographs,
received by Messrs. Chatto and Windus from Miss
Loie Fuller, who being greatly interested in the
Clarence Ward of St. Mary's Hospital, particularly
wished M. Zola to sign these portraits in order
that they might be sold at a bazaar which was to
be held for the benefit of the hospital referred to.
I told my daughter that I should myself go down
204
LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
to the Queen's Hotel on the morrow, and she
brought me back a message to the effect that I
really must go, as complications had arisen, and
M. Zola particularly desired to see me.
On the following day, Saturday, I therefore
betook myself to Norwood with a parcel of
M. Zola's books, which I had received from Messrs.
Macmillan & Co. on behalf of the Countess of
Bective, who (prompted by the same spirit as Miss
Loie Fuller) wished to sell these volumes at the
' Bookland ' stall on the occasion of the Charing
Cross Hospital Bazaar. And when I arrived I
found indeed that it was most desirable that the
programme of M. Zola's departure should be
modified.
He had already seen M. and Mme. Fasquelle,
the former of whom was much annoyed at the
reports of his presence in London, and thought it
most advisable to precipitate the departure. Delay
might, indeed, be harmful if it was desired to avoid
demonstrations. Besides, why should he wait
until the ensuing Tuesday ? Why not return the
very next night— that of Sunday, June 4 — by the
Dover and Calais route ? Mme. Fasquelle had
declared that she in no way objected to travelling
205
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
at night time ; and so far as the departure from
London was concerned, there would be few people
about on a Sunday evening, which was another
point to be considered. I cordially assented, for
now that the imminence of M. Zola's return to
Paris had been reported in the newspapers it was
certain that delay meant a possibility of demon-
strations both for and against him. In spite of his
prohibition, many of his friends still wished to greet
him like a conquering hero on his arrival at the
Northern Railway Station in Paris. And the
other side would unfailingly send out its recruiting
agents to assemble a contingent of loafers at two
francs per demonstration, who would be duly
instructed to yell ' Conspuez,' and ' A bas les juifs.'
Then a brawl would inevitably follow.
Now M. Zola (as I have already mentioned)
did not wish for a homecoming of that kind.
There was no question of refusing to 'face the
music,' of shunning a hostile crowd, and so forth.
It was purely and simply a matter of dignity and
of doing nothing that might lead to a disturbance
of the public peace. The triumph of justice was
undoubtedly imminent, and it must not be followed
by disorder.
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LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
When I had expressed my concurrence in the
views held by M. Zola and M. Fasquelle, M. Zola
and I attended to business. First came the ques-
tion of Lady Bective's books, in each of which a
suitable inscription was inserted. Afterwards, in a
friend's birthday book M. Zola inscribed his famous,
epoch-making phrase, ' Truth is on the march, and
nothing will be able to stop it.' Finally, a few
brief notes were written and posted, and work was
over.
For a little while we chatted together. Some
notable incidents connected with the interminable
Affair had occurred during the last few days.
Colonel du Paty de Clam, for whose arrest the
Revisionist journals had clamoured so long and so
pertinaciously, had at last been cast into prison.
In M. Zola's estimation, the Colonel's arrest had
been merely a question of time ever since the day
when one had learnt that he had disguised himself
with a false beard and blue glasses when he went
to meet the notorious Esterhazy.
' A man may be guilty of any misdeed and may
yet find forgiveness and even favour,' M. Zola had
then said to me, 'but he must not make himself,
his profession, and his cause ridiculous. In France,
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WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
as you know, " ridicule kills." The false beard
and the blue spectacles, following the veiled lady,
are decisive. One need scarcely trouble any
further about M. du Paty de Clam. His fate is as
good as sealed.'
And now that the Colonel had at last been
arrested, the master remarked, ' The military party
is throwing him over to us as a kind of sop ; it
would be delighted to make him the general scape-
goat, and thereby save all the other culprits. But
it won't do. There are men higher placed than
Du Paty who must bear their share of censure and,
if need be, punishment.'
Then we spoke of Esterhazy, ' that fine type for
a melodrama or a novel of the romantic school,' as
M. Zola often remarked. The Commandant had
just acknowledged to the ' Times ' and the ' Daily
Chronicle' that the famous bordereau had been
penned by him, and we laughed at the remem-
brance of his squabbles on this subject with the
proprietress of another newspaper. How indig-
nantly he had then denied having ever acknow-
ledged the authorship of the bordereau, and how
complacently he now admitted it ! As for the
circumstances under which he asserted the docu-
208
LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
ment to have been written, M. Zola could make
nothing of them. ' So far, the explanations explain
nothing,' said he ; ' take them whichever way you
will, there is no sense, no plausibility even, in them.
Hitherto I always thought Esterhazy a very shrewd
and clever man, but after reading his statements
in the " Times " and the " Chronicle " I no longer
know what to think. Still, one point is gained ;
he admits having written the bordereau, and others
hereafter will tell us the exact circumstances under
which he did so. Colonel Sandherr, at whose
bidding he says he wrote it, is dead ; but others
who know a great deal about him are still alive.'
While M. Zola thus expressed himself, we sat
face to face, he in his favourite arm chair on one side
of the fireplace, and I on the other, in the familiar
room, with its three windows overlooking the lively
road, while all around curvetted the scrolls and
arabesques of the light fawn-tinted wall paper.
And after chatting about Du Paty and Esterhazy
we gradually lapsed into silence. It was a fateful
hour. There were ninety-nine probabilities out of
a hundred that the decision of the Cour de Cassa-
tion would be given that same afternoon ; and
whatever that decision might be we felt certain that
209 p
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
before it was made public by any newspaper in
London we should be apprised of it. We knew that
five minutes after judgment should have been
pronounced a telegram would be speeding through
the wires to the Queen's Hotel, Norwood.
M. Zola did not tell me his thoughts, yet I
could guess them. We can generally guess the
thoughts of those we love. But the hours went by
and nothing came. How long they were, those
judges ! Whatever could be the cause of their
delay ? Surely — trained, practised men that they
were, men who had spent their lives in seeking and
proclaiming the truth — surely no element of doubt
could have penetrated their minds at the final, the
supreme moment.
Ah ! the waiter entered, and there on his salver
lay a buff envelope, within which must surely be
the ardently awaited message that would tell us of
victory or defeat. M. Zola could scarcely tear
that envelope open ; his hands trembled violently.
And then came an anti-climax. The wire was
from M. Fasquelle, who announced that he and
his wife were inviting themselves to dinner at
Norwood that evening.
It was welcome news, but not the news so
210
LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
impatiently expected. And, at last, suspense
becoming intolerable, I resolved to go out and try
to purchase some afternoon newspapers.
There had been rumours to the effect that as
each individual judge might preface his decision
by a declaration of the reasons which prompted it,
the final judgment might after all be postponed
until Monday. Both M. Zola and I had thought
this improbable ; still, there was a possibility of
such delay, and perhaps it was on account of a
postponement of the kind that the telegram we
awaited had not arrived.
I scoured Upper Norwood for afternoon papers.
There was, however, nothing to the point at that
hour (about five P.M.) in ' The Evening News,' the
' Globe,' the ' Echo,' the ' Star,' the ' Sun,' the three
' Gazettes.' They, like we, were ' waiting for the
verdict.' I went as far as the lower level station
in the hope of finding some newspaper that might
give an inkling of the position, and I found nothing
at all. It was extremely warm, and I was some-
what excited. Thus I was perspiring terribly by
the time I returned to the hotel, to learn that no
telegram had come as yet, that things were still in
statu quo.
211 '2
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
Then all at once the waiter came up again with
another buff envelope lying on his plated salver.
And this time our anticipations were realised ;
here at last was the expected news. M. Zola read
the telegram, then showed it to me.
It was brief, but sufficient. ' Cheque postponed,'
it said ; and Zola knew what those words meant.
' Cheque paid ' would have signified that not only
had revision been granted, but that all the proceed-
ings against Dreyfus were quashed, and that he
would not even have to be re-tried by another
court-martial. And in a like way ' cheque unpaid '
would have meant that revision had been refused
by the Court. ' Cheque postponed ' implied the
granting of revision and a new court-martial.
The phraseology of this telegram, as of previous
ones, had long since been arranged. For months
many seemingly innocent ' wires ' had been full of
meaning. There had been no more enigmatical
telegrams, as at the time of Henry's arrest and
death, but telegrams drafted in accordance with
M. Zola's instructions and each word of which was
perfectly intelligible to him.
It often happened that the newspaper corre-
spondents ' were not in it.' Things were known
212
LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
to M. Zola and at times to myself hours — and even
days — before there was any mention of them in
print. The blundering anti-Dreyfusites have often
if not invariably overlooked the fact that their
adversaries number men of acumen, skill, and
energy. Far from it being true that money has
played any role in the affair, everything has virtually
been achieved by brains and courage. In fact,
from first to last, the Revisionist agitation, whilst
proving that the Truth must always ultimately
conquer, has likewise shown the supremacy of true
intellect over every other force in the world,
whether wealth, or influence, or fanaticism.
But I must return to M. Zola. He now knew
all he wished to know. As there had been no
postponement of the Court's decision there need
be none of his return. A telegram to Paris
announcing his departure from London was hastily
drafted and I hurried with it to the post-office,
meeting on my way M. and Mme. Fasquelle,
who were walking towards the Queen's Hotel.
We had a right merry little dinner that
evening. We were all in the best of humours.
M. Zola's face was radiant. A great victory
had been won ; and then, too, he was going home !
213
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
He recalled the more amusing incidents of
his exile ; it seemed to him, said he, as if for
months and months he had been living in a dream.
And M. Fasquelle broke in with a reminder
that M. Zola must be very careful when he
reached his house, and must in no wise damage
the historic table for which he, Fasquelle, had
given such a pile of money at the memorable
auction in the Rue de Bruxelles.
Ah, that table ! We were in a mood to laugh
about anything, and we laughed at the thought of
the table ; at the thought, too, of all the simple-
minded folk who had imagined that they would be
able to purchase 'souvenirs' at the auction so
abruptly brought to an end.
Then the Fasquelles, having been to the Oaks
on the previous day, began to talk of Epsom, and
the scene, unique in the whole world, which the
famous racecourse presents during Derby week.
M. Zola half regretted that he had missed going.
' But I will go everywhere and see everything,' he
repeated, ' the next time I come to England. I
shall then be able to do so openly, without any
playing at hide and seek. Oh, it won't be till
after the Paris Exhibition, that is certain ; but I
214
LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
have written an oratorio for which Bruneau has
composed the music, and if it is sung in London,
as I hope, I shall come over and spend a month
going about everywhere. But, of course,' he
added, with a twinkle in his eyes, ' I have about
two years' imprisonment to do as things stand, so I
must make no positive promises.'
The rest is soon told. Final arrangements
were made, and we came away, M. and Mme.
Fasquelle and myself, about ten o'clock. ' It is
your last night of exile,' I said to M. Zola as I
pressed his hand, ' and it will soon be over. You
must try to sleep well.1
' Sleep ! ' he replied. ' Oh, there is no sleep
for me to-night. From this moment I shall be
counting the hours, the very minutes.'
1 It will make a change for you, Vizetelly,'
said M. Fasquelle, as he, Mme. Fasquelle, and
myself walked towards the railway station. ' You
will be missing him now.'
This was true. All the routine, all the alertes,
the meetings, the missions of those eleven months
were about to cease abruptly. What had at
first seemed to me novel had with time become
confirmed habit, and for the first few days
215
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
after M. Zola's departure I felt my occupation
gone.
That departure took place, as arranged, on
Sunday evening, June 4. It was the day when
President Loubet was cowardly assailed at a race-
meeting by the friends and partisans of the foolish
Duke of Orleans ; but of all that we remained
(pro tern.} in blissful ignorance. The Fasquelles
went down to Norwood and brought M. Zola to
Victoria. I was busy during the day preparing
for the ' Westminster Gazette ' an English epitome
of the declaration which ' L'Aurore ' was to publish
on the morrow. That work accomplished, I met
the others on their arrival in town. Wareham had
been warned of the change in the programme on
the previous night, and came up from Wimbledon
with my wife. There was a hasty scramble of a
dinner at a restaurant near Victoria. We were
served, I remember, by a very amusing and
familiar waiter, who, addressing M. Zola by pre-
ference (I wonder if he recognised him ? ), kept on
repeating that he was ' a citizen of the most noble
Helvetian Confederation,' and assured us that
potatoes for two would be ample, and that chicken
for three would be as much as we should care to
216
LAST DAYS— DEPARTURE
eat. 'Take this,' said he, 'it's to-day's. Don't
have that, it was cooked yesterday.' And all this
made us extremely merry. ' It seems to me more
than ever that I am living in a dream,' said M.
Zola after a final laugh. ' That waiter has given
the finishing touch to my illusion.'
The train started at nine P.M., and we had a
full quarter of an hour at our disposal for our
leave-takings in the dimly-lighted station. There
were few passengers travelling that night, and few
loiterers about. We made M. Zola take his seat
in a compartment, and stood on guard before it
talking to him. Only one gentleman, a short,
dapper individual with mutton-chop whiskers
(Wareham suggested that he looked like a barrister),
paid any attention to the master, and, it may be,
recognised him. For the rest, all went well.
There were au revoirs and handshakes all round,
and messages, too, for one and another. And M.
Zola would have his little joke. ' If you should
come across Esterhazy,' he said to me, ' tell him that
I've gone back, and ask him when he's coming.'
' Well,' I replied, ' he will probably want
another safe-conduct before answering that
question.'
217
WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
' Do you think that a safe-conduct to take
Dreyfus's place would suit him ? ' was M. Zola's
retort.
But the clock was now on the stroke of the
hour, the carriage doors were hastily closed, and
the signal for departure was given.
' Au revoir> au revoirT A last handshake,
and the train started. For another half-minute
we could see our dear and illustrious friend at his
carriage window waving his arm to us. And then
he was gone. The responsibility which had so
long rested on Wareham and myself was ended ;
Emile Zola's exile was virtually over : shortly
after five o'clock on the following morning he
would once more be in Paris, ready to take his
part in the final, crowning act of one of the greatest
dramas that the world has ever witnessed. Truth
was still marching on, and assuredly nothing
would be able to stop it.
THE END
Spottisivoode <5r> Co Printers, New-street Square, London.
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From Midnight to Mid-
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The Fountain of Youth.
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Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers.
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Story of Antony Grace.
This Man's Wife.
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Tbe Fossicker.
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The Fate of Herbert Wayne
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Red Spider. | Eve.
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Corintuia Harazlon.
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The Days of bl> Vanity.
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The Track of a Storm. | Jetsam
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The Glamour of the Impossible.
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Under the Greenwood T
By BRE1
A Waif of the Plains.
A Ward of the Golden
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A Sappho of Green
Col. Starbottle's Client.
SUIT. | Sally Oowi.
"HARTE.
A Proty.-e of Jack
Humlin s.
Clarence.
Barker's Luck.
Devil's Ford, [celslor.1
The Crusade of the ' Ex-
A Life's Atonement.
Joseph's Coat.
Coals of Fire.
Old Blazer's Hero.
Val Strange. | Hearts.
A Model Father.
By the Gate of the Sea.
A Bit of Human Nature.
The Way ol the World.
BobMartin s Little Girl.
Time's Revenges.
A Wasted Crime.
In Direst Peril.
Mount Despair.
A Capful o Nails.
Tales in Prose & Verio.
A Race for Millions.
This Little World.
and HERMAN.
IPaul Jones's Alia*.
NISBET.
Tales of Tra
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Garth. 1 Doit.
Elllce Qaentia.
Sebastian Strom*.
Fortune's Fool.
11 and Town.
1AWTHORNE.
Beatrix Randolph.
David Poindexter's Die-
appearance.
Spectre of Camera.
Cynic Fortune.
By MURRAY
The Bishops' Bible.
One Traveller Returns.
By HUME
' Ball Tin 1 '
By Sir A. HELPS.— IvandeBiron.
By I. HENDERSON.-AgathaPage.
By G. A. HENTY.
Rnjub the Juggler. I The Queen's Cap.
Dorothy's Double. |
By JOHN HILL. The Common Ancestor.
By TIGHE HOPKINS.
'Twlxt Love and Duty. | Nngents of Carriconna.
For Freedom. | The Incomplete Adveniurer.
Incomplete Adventurer.
By Mrs. HUNGERFORD.
Lady Venter's Flight.
The Red House Mystery
The Three Graces.
Professor's Experiment
Nora Creina.
An Anxious Moment.
April's Lady.
Peter's Wifo.
Levies.
A Point of Conscience.
The Coming of Ohloe.
By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT.
The Leaden Casket. I Self Condemned.
That Other Person. | Mrs. Juliet.
By C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE.
Honour of Thieves.
By R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game.
By GEORGE LAMBERT.
The President of Boravia.
By EDMOND LEPELLETIER.
Madam* Bans Gene.
By ADAM LILBURN.
A Tragedy in Marbl*.
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Khoda Roberts.
By HENRY W. LUCY. -Gideon Fleyc*
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Patricia Xemball.
Under which Lord ?
• My Love I • | lone.
Fasten Carew.
Bowing the Wind.
The Atonement of Leant
Dundas.
The World Well Lost.
The One Too Many.
With a Silken Thread.
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Donna Quixote.
Maid of Athens.
The Comet of a Season
The Dictator.
Red Diamonds.
The Riddle Ring.
The Three Disgraces.
A Fair Saxon.
LI aliy Rochford.
Dear Lady Disdain.
Camiola
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Mil* Mls.iutliropo.
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A London Legend. | The Royal Christopher.
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The Voice
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of the
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In an Iron Grip.
Dr. l;u nuey'B Patient.
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This Stage of Fools. | Cynthia.
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LuckofGerardRldgeley. | Rensh. Fanning'iQuest.
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Maid Marian and Kobin Hood.
Basile the Jester. I Toung Lochlnvar.
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Saint Ann's. | Billy Bellow.
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Gentle and Simple.
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Holiday Tasks.
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The Burnt Million.
The Word and the Will.
Sunny Stories.
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A Modern DUk Whit-
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Lost Sir Massmgberd.
Less Black than We're
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A Grape from a Thorn.
In Peril and Privatio
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Walter's Word.
High Spirits.
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Jerry the Dreamer.
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Christina Chard. | Nnlma.
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Miss Maxwell's Affections.
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Weird Stories.
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Barbara Dering. | Merlel.
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He Long.
The Double Marriage.
Foul Play.
Put Yourself in HI*
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THB PICCADILLY (v6) NOVELS— continued.
By CHARLES RBADB.
Peg Wofflngton ; and Love He Little, Lor*
Christie Johnitone.
Hard Cash.
Cloister * the Hearth.
Never Too Late to Mend
Ike Coarse of True
LOT* Never Did Ran | A Terrible Temptatloi
Smooth ; and Single- ! A Simpleton.
heart andDoublefuce. ; A Woman Hater.
Ant-biography of a The Jilt. \- c.tuerStories:
Thief, Jack of all & Good Stories of Man
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a Martyr ; and The A Perilous Secret.
Wandering Heir. j ReaoUana: and Bible
Oriflth Gaunt. I Character!.
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Round the Oalley Fire. > Hy Shipmate Lonlie.
IB the Hiddle Watch.
On the Fokile Head.
A Voyate to the Cape.
Book for the Hammock.
Myiteryof ' Ocean Star
The K' ounce of Jenny
Harlowe.
An Ocean Tragedy.
ieonWidoWidi-Sea.
Tiie Phantom Death.
Ii He the Han 1
Good Shio Mohock.'
The Convict ship.
H-art of Oak.
The Tale of the Ten.
The Last Entry.
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A Country bwectheart. | Tbe Drift of Fate.
By BAYLE ST. JOHN.
A Levantine Family.
By ADELINE SERGEANT.
Dr. Endicott * Experiment.
By GEORGE R. SIMS.
Once Upon a ChrUtaa* Tim*.
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Without Love or Licence
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Loag Odd*
The Outsider.
Beatrice & Benedick.
A Racing Rubber.
By T. W. SPEIGHT.
A Minion of the Hoon.
The Secret of Wyvern
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The Orey Monk.
The Ha*t<r of Trenance
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Uaster erst. Benedict'*. | The Tremlelt DLtmonda.
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Tbe Cruciform Hark.
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Tbe Buloide Club.
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Proad Maiste. | The Violin Player.
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The W»y we Live Now. I Scarborough * Family.
Fran Frohmann. | The Land Utacner*
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Like ship* upon the I Anne f urneu.
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The Innocent* Abroad.
Roughing It ; and The
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A Tramp Abroad.
'1 he American Claimant.
Adven*ure*TomSawyer
Tom Sawyer, Detective,
Pudd nhead Wilson.
The Gilded Age.
Piince and the Pauper,
Life on the UisiUaippl,
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A Yankee at the Court
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Stolen wnite Elephant.
Tom Sawyer Abroad' I £1.000.003 Bank-note.
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Uiitreu Judith.
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Burled Diamond*. Mrs Cirmlchael's God'
The Blackball Ghost*. dosses, i Lady Bell.
The MacdonUd Lai*. Rachel Langton.
The Witch-Wife. Sapphira
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The Queen againitOwen I ThePrinceof B.ilkistan.
By E. A. VIZETELLY.
The Scorpion : A Romance ,,t Spain.
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Joan, tha Curate.
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The Express Messenger,
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A Queer Rac<>.
Ben C.ocgh.
The Old Factory.
Red Ryvington.
Ra'ph Norbreck c Trust.
Trust-Toney
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Her Two Millions.
Two Pinches of Snuff.
Roy of Roy'* Court.
Nigel Forteicne.
Birch Dene.
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Strange Ciimei
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The Shadow of Hilton Fernbrook.
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An Easy-troini; Fellow.
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Cavalry Life and Regimental Legend*.
A Sololer's Children.
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My Flirtation*.
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Fortune of too Rougon*.
The Abbe Mouret* Transvrcuton.
The
The Downfall.
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Dr. Pascal.
Honev.
Lonrde*.
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The Fat and the Thin
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Tbe Dram Shoo.
Rome. P-iri*.
Fruitfulneai.
Z Z.'
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Fhlllitla. | ' Babylon
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In all Shade*.
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The Devil'* Die.
The Tenta of them.
The Great Taboo.
A Life Interest.
Honas Choice.
By Woman* Wit.
Damaretq • Da>g;hter.
Du. Inn of Powysland.
Blood Royal. (piece-
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Phra the Phoenician.
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John Ford. Arc.
Womiiao Iro i Br»'-i- I*
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Sin of OUa Zaawullch.
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Hxneit Da vie.
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30 CHATTO & VVINDUS, Publishers, Hi St. Maf tin's Lane, London, \V.C,
TWO-SHILLING NOVELS — continued.
By Sir W. BESANT and J. RICE.
IU»<iy-Moi]ey Mortlboy By Celia s Arbour.
My Little Oirl. Chaplain of tlie Fleet
With Harp and Crown. The Seamy Side.
This Sou of Vulcan. j The Case of Mr.Lucraft.
The Golden Butterfly. • In Trafalgar s Bay.
The Monks of Thelema. ' The Ten Years' Tenant.
By Sir WALTER BESANT.
All Borua and Condi- Thu Bell of St. Panl'i.
The Holy Rose.
Armorel of Lyoncsse.
B.Katherlne s by Tower
Verbena Camellia iito-
phanotis.
The Ivory Gate.
The Kebel Que in.
Beyond the Dreams of
tioni of
The Captains Ero-a.
All In a Garden Fair.
Dorothy Forator.
Uncle Jack.
The World Went Very
Well Then.
Children of Gibeon.
Herr Paultu.
For Faith and Freedom.
To Call Her Mine.
The Master Craftsman.
By j
In the Midst of Life.
BY BRET HARTE.
Avarice.
Tho Revolt of Man.
In Deacon's Orders.
The City of Refuge.
Californl.in Stories.
Gabriel Conroy.
Luck of Roaring Camp.
An Heiress of Red I)o0'.
By ROBERT
Flip. I Maruja.
A Phyllis of the biirraa.
A Waif of the Plains.
Ward of Golden Gate.
BUCHANAN.
The Martyrdom of Ma-
deline.
The New Abelard.
The Heir of Linne.
Woman and the Man.
Rachel Dene. | Matt.
Lady Kilpatrick.
Shadow of the Sword,
A Child of Mature,
God r.ad the Man.
Love Me for Ever.
Foxglove Manor.
The Master of the Mine
Annan Water.
By BUCHANAN and MURRAY.
The Charlatan.
By HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime. I Tno Deemster.
A Son of Hagar. |
By Commander CAMERON.
The Cruise of the 'Black Prince.'
By HAYDEN CARRUTH
The Adventures of Jones.
By AUSTIN CLARE.
For the Love of a Loss.
By Mrs. ARCHER CL1VE.
Paul Ferroll.
Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife.
By MACLAREN COBBAN.
The Cure of Souls. | The Keel Sultan.
By C. ALLSTON COLLINS.
The Bar Sinister.
By MORT. & FRANCES COLLINS.
Sweet Anne Page.
Transmigration.
From Midnight to Mid
night.
A Fight with Fortune
Sweet and Twenty.
The Village Comedy.
You Play me False.
Blacksmith and Scholar
Frances.
By WILKIE COLLINS.
Armadalc. | AfterDark.
No Name.
Antonina.
Basil.
Hide and Seek.
Th« Dead Secret.
Queen of Hearts.
Miss or Mrs. ?
The New Magdalen.
The Frozen Deep.
The Law and the Lady
The Two Destinies.
The Haunted Hotel.
A Rogue's Life.
My Miscellanies.
The Woman in White.
The Moonstone.
Man and Wife.
Poor Miss Finch.
The Fallen Leaves.
Jezebel's Daughter.
The Black P.obe.
Heart and Science.
•I Say No!'
The Evil Genius.
Little Novels.
Legacy of Cain.
Blind Love.
By M. J. COLQUHOUN.
Every Inch a Soldier.
By DUTTON COOK.
Leo. I Paul Foster's Daughter.
By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK.
The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains.
By MATT CRIM.
The Adventures of a Fair Robel.
By B. M. CROKER.
i Neville. Village Tales and Jungle
Tragedies,
Two Masters.
Mr. Jsrvis.
The Real Lady Hljd*. •
Married or Single 1 ',
Interference".
Pretty Mi»a
Diana Barrington.
•To Let.
A Bird of Passage.
Proper Pride
A Third Person.
By W. CYPLES.
Hearts of Gold.
By ALPHONSE DAUDET.
The Evangelist : or, 1'ort Salvation.
By ERASMUS DAWSON.
The Fountain of Youth.
By JAMES DE MJLLE.
A Castle in Spain.
By J. LEITH DERWENT.
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lov.trs.
By DICK DONOVAN.
In the Grip o.' t!i? Law.
From Information He-
ceived.
Tracked to Dooia.
Link by LmK
Suspicion Aroused.
Darn Deeds.
Riddles Read.
The Man -Hunte
Tracked and Taken.
Caught at Last I
Wanted I
Who Poisoned Eetty
Duncan 7
Man from Manchester.
A Detective's Triumphs
Tne Mystery of Jamaica Terrace.
The Chronicles of Michael Danevitch.
By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES.
A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell.
By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
Felicia. I Kitty.
By EDWARD EGGLESTON.
y By G. MANVILLE FENN.
The New Mistress. I Tho Tiger Lily.
Witness to the Deed. I The White Virgin.
By PERCY FITZGERALD.
Bella Donna.
Never Forgotten.
Polly.
Fatal Zero.
Secoud Mrs. Ti.lotson.
Seventy • five Brooke
Street.
The Lady Of Brantome.
By P. FITZGERALD and others.
Strange Secrets.
Fil
By ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE.
Ithy Lucre.
By R. E. FRANCILLON.
Kin} or Knave?
Romances of the Law.
Ropes of Sand.
A Dog and his shadow.
Olympia.
One by One.
A Real Queen.
Queen Cophetua.
By HAROLD FREDERIC.
Seth's Brother's Wife. I The Lawton Girl. .
Prefaced by Sir BARTLE FRERG.
Panduraiig Hari.
By EDWARD GARRETT.
Tl.e Capel Girls.
By GILBERT GAUL.
A Strange Manuscript.
By CHARLES GIBBON.
Robin Gray. In Honour Bound.
Fancy Free. | Flower of the Forest.
For Lack of Gold. \ The Braes of Yarrow.
What will World Say ? | The Golden Shaft.
In Love and War. Of High Degree.
For the King. By Mead ana jji.re.im.
In Pastures Green. Loving a Dream.
Queen of the Meadow. A Hard Knot.
A Heart's Problem. Heart's De light.
The Dead Heart. Blood-Money.
By WILLIAM GILBERT.
Dr. Austin s Guests. I The Wizard of tho
James Duke. | Mountain
By ERNEST GLANVILLE.
The Lost Heii-ess. I The Fossicker.
A Fair Colonist. .1 , .
CHATTO & W1NDUS, Publishers, in St. Martin's Lane. London. W.C. 31
TWO-SHILLING NOVELS — continvtd.
By Rev. S. BARINQ GOULD.
Red Spider. | Eve.
By HENRY GREVILLE.
A Noble Woman. | Nikanor.
By CECIL GRIFFITH.
Cortnthia Marazion.
By SYDNEY QRUNDY.
The Days of his Vanity.
By JOHN HABBERTON.
liructon s Bayou. | Country Luck.
By ANDREW HALLIDAY.
Every-day Papers.
By THOMAS HARDY.
Under tbe Greenwood Tree.
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE
Beatrix Randolph.
Love — or a Name.
David Potadexter's Dis-
appearan e.
The Spe:tre of tho
Camera.
Garth.
Elitce Quentin.
Fortune s Fool.
Miss Cttdogna.
Sebastian Strome.
By Sir ARTHUR HELPS.
Ivan da Biron.
By G. A. HENTY.
F.njub the Juggler.
By HENRY HERMAN.
A Leading Lady.
By HEADON HILL.
Zambra the Detective.
By JOHN HILL.
Treason Felony.
By Mrs. CASHEL HOEY.
The Lover's Creed.
By Mrs. GEORGE HOOPER.
The House of Rabjr.
By Mrs. HUNGERFORD.
A Maiden all Forlorn.
la Duranco Vile.
Marvel.
A Mental Struggle.
A Modern Circe.
April s Lady.
Peter i Wife.
I.ady Verner's Flight.
Toe Red-House Myotery
The Three lirace*.
Unsatisfactory Lover.
Lady Patty.
Nora Creina.
Professor's Experiment.
By Mr*. ALFRED HUNT.
Thornlcroffs Model. I Self-Condemned.
That Olher Person. I The Leaden CttkJt
By WM. JAMESON.
Uy Dead Self.
By HARRIETT JAY.
T»« Dark Colleen. I Queen of Con naught
By MARK KERSHAW.
Colonial Fi;ts aid Fiction*.
By R. ASHB KINQ.
A Drawn Oam*. Passion'* »Uve.
• The Wearing of tho Bell Ba: ry.
"By EDMONO LEPELI.ETICR.
KwUm» Bins Gene.
By JOHN LEYS.
The Lindsays.
By E. LYNN LINTON.
The Atonement of Learn
Dundas
Rebel of tho Fa-nily.
Sowing the Wm>1.
The One Too Many.
Dukle Bvtrtou.
Patricia Kemball.
The World Well Lost.
Under which Loid /
Paiton Care v.
• My Love I '
Ion*.
WlUt a Silken Thread.
By HENRY W. LUCY.
Oldeon Fleyce.
»y JUSTIN MCCARTHY.
Defer Ladv Dt»dtln. , Donna gu:xou
Wat.rdaJ* NeUhboun. Maid of AUieas.
Mv Enemy's Daughter , The Coin.-t of a Season
AP*ir Saxon. | Th« Dictator.
Llnley Rochford. ' Bod DUm»n<ti.
Mtu Misanthrope ' The HMdle KUig. •
Caaiola.
By HUGH MACCOLL.
Mr. Stranger s Sealed Packet.
By GEORGE MACDONALD.
Heather and Enow.
By AGNES MACDONELL.
Quaker Cousins.
By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID.
The Evil Eye. | Lost 1-ose.
By W. H. MALLOCK.
A Romance of the Nine- 1 The Mew Republic,
teenth Century. |
By J. MASTERMAN.
Hair a dozen Daughters.
By BRANDER MATTHEWS.
A Secret o," the Sea.
By L. T. MEADE.
A Soldier of Fortune.
By LEONARD MERRICK.
The Man who was Good.
By JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
Touch and Go. | Mr. DorilUon.
By Mrs. MOLES WORTH.
Hathercourt Rectory.
By J. E. MUDDOCK.
StoriesWeird and Won-
dcrtul.
The Bead Man's Secret.
By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY.
A Model Father.
From the Bosom of tha
Deep.
ABitofHuman Nature .
First Person Singular.
Bob Martin s LittleGirL
Time's Revenges.
A Wasted Crime.
In Direst Peril.
Mount Despair.
A Capful o Nails
Joseph's Coat.
Coals of Fire.
Val Strange. 1 Hearts.
Old Blazer's Hero.
Tas Way of the World.
Cynic Fortune.
A Life s Atonement.
By th« Gate of the Pea.
By MURRAY and HERMAN.
One Traveller Returns. I The Bishops' Bible.
Paul Jones s Alias.
By HENRY MURRAY.
A Game of Bluff. I A Song of Sixpence.
By HUME NISBET.
' Bail Up I ' I nr.Bernard St. Vincent
By W. E. NORRIS.
Sa^it Ann's. I Billy Belliw
By ALICE O'HANLON.
The Unforeseen. | Chance 7 or Fate 1
By GEORGES OHNET.
Dr Fameau. I A Weird Gilt.
A Last Love.
By Mrs. OLIPHANT.
Whtteladies. I The Greatest Heiress in
It e Primrose Path. | England.
By Mr.s. ROBERT O'REILLY.
r".iobe s Fortune*.
By OUIDA.
Held in Bondage.
Strathmore.
Chandoi.
Idalia.
Under Two Flags.
Cecil Castlemaine sGage
Trlootrin.
Pni-k.
Folia Farfne.
A DOR of Fianders.
Pascarel.
Siena.
Princess Napraxln*.
In a Winter City.
Arladre.
Friendship.
Dy MARGARET AGNl-S PAUL.
Gentle and Eiinpl"
By EDGAR A. POL.
HM If ntory o( Mario K.vot.
By Mrs. CA.MPBLLL PRAED.
Tlie Romaiuo ol » Station.
The Boul of Oount«« Artnan.
Out' aw and Lawmaker I Mrj Tt*gisk2M.
Christina Chard. |
Two Lit. Wooden Shoes
Moths.
Blmbi.
PipUtrcllo.
A Village Commune.
Wanda.
Othtr.tr
Frescoes.
In Maromma.
Gnllderoy.
Rnfflno.
Byrlln.
Santa Barbara.
Two OUrn^er*.
Onidvs Wlulo<n. Wit,
and Pat:. oa.
33 CIIATTO & WINDUS, Publishers, in St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C.
TWO-SHILLING NOVELS — continued.
By E. C. PRICE.
Valentina. I Mrs. Lancaster sRival.
Tue Foreigner*. | Gerald.
By RICHARD PRYCE.
Mi.w Maxwell s Affections.
By JAMES PAYN.
Bentinck'g Tutor.
Murphy's Master.
A County Family.
At Her Mercy.
Cecils Tryst.
The Clyffards of Clyffe.
The Foster Brothers.
Found Dead.
The Best of Husbands.
Walter s Word.
Halves.
Fallen Fortunes.
Humorous Stories.
£200 Reward.
A Marine Residence.
Mirk Abbey
By Proxy.
Under One Roof.
Hlfh Spirits.
Carlyon's Tear.
From Exile.
For Cash Only.
Kit.
The Canon's Ward
The Talk of the Town.
Holiday TasU.
A Perfect Treasure.
What He Cost Her.
A Confidential Agent.
Glow-worm Tales.
The Burnt Million.
Sunny Stories.
Lost Sir Massmgberd.
A Woman's Vengeance.
The Family Scapegrace.
Gwendoline s Harvest.
Like Father. Like Son.
Married Bener.th Him.
Not Wooed, but Won.
Leas Black than We re
Fainted.
Borne Private Views.
A Grape from a Thorn.
The Mystery of Mir-
bridge.
The Word and the Will.
A Prince of t ic Blood.
A Trying Patient.
By CHARLES READE.
It la Never Too Late to
Mend.
Christie Johnstone.
The Double Marriage.
Put Yourself in His
Place
Love Me Little, Love
Me Long.
The Cloister and the
Hearth.
The Course of True
Love.
The Jilt.
The Autobiography of
A Terrible Temptation.
Foul Play.
The Wandering Heir.
Hard Cash.
Singleheartand Double-
face.
Good Stories of Man and
other Animals.
Pec Woffington.
Griffith Gaunt.
A Perilous Secret.
A Simpleton.
Readiana.
A Woman-Hater.
a Thief.
By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL.
The Uninhabited Honse.
The Mystery in Palace
Gardens.
The Nun s Corse.
Idle Tales.
Weird Stories.
Fairy Water.
Her Mother's Darling.
The Prince of Wales s
Garden Party.
By AMELIE RIVES.
Barbara Dering.
By F. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange. I The Woman in the Dark
Ihe Hands of Justice.
By JAMES RUNCIMAN.
Skippers and Shellbacks. | Schools and Scholars.
Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart.
By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
Round the GaUey Fire. | An Ocean Tragedy.
On the Fo'k sle Head.
In the Middle Watch.
A Voyage to the Cape.
A Book for the Ham-
mock.
The Mystery of the
• Ocean Star.'
The Romance of Jenny
My Shipmate Louise.
Alone on Wide Wide Sea.
Good Ship ' Mohock.'
Tne Phantom Death.
Is He the Man ?
Heart of Oak.
The Convict Ship.
The Tale of the Ten.
The Lasr. Entry.
Hurlowe
By DORA RUSSELL.
A Country Sweetheart.
By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA
Gaslight and Daylipht.
By GEORGE R. SIMS.
The Ring o Bells
Mary Jane's Memoirs.
Mary Jane Married.
Tales of To day.
Dramas of Life.
Tinkletop s Crime.
My Two Wives.
By ARTHUR SKETCHLEY
A Match in the Dark.
Zeph.
Memoirs of a Landlady.
Scenes from the Show.
The 10 Commandinei-.j.
Dagonet Abroad.
Rogues and Vagabonds.
By HAWLEY SMART.
Without Love or Licence. The Plunger.
Beatrice and Benedick. Long Odd*.
The Master of Rathkelly.
By T. W. SPEIGHT.
The Mysteries of Heron
Dyke.
The Golden Hoop.
Hoodwinked.
By Devious Ways.
Back to Life.
The LoudwaterTragedy .
Burgo s Romance.
Quittance in Full.
A Husband from the Sea
By ALAN ST. AUBYN.
Orchard Damerel.
In the Face of the World.
The Xremlett Diamonds.
A Fellow of Trinity.
The Junior Dean.
Mutter of St. Benedict's
To His Own Master.
By R. A. STERNDALE.
The Afghan Knife.
By R. LOUIS STEVENSON.
Mew Arabian Nights.
By BERTHA THOMAS.
Cressida. | The Violin- Player.
Proud Maisie. |
By WALTER THORNBURY.
Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Retul I.
By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE.
Diamond Cut Diamond.
By F. ELEANOR TROLLOPE.
Like Ships upon the I Anne Furness.
tiea. I Mabel's Progress.
By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
Frau Frohmanu. The Land-Leaguers
Marlon Fay.
Kept in the Dark.
John Caldigate.
The Way we Live Now
By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
Farnell's Folly.
By IVAN TURGENIEFF, &c.
Stories from Foreign Novelists.
By MARK TWAIN.
The American Senator.
Mr. Scarborough's
Family.
GoldenLlon of Oranperi
Life on the Mississippi.
The Prince and th«
Pauper.
A Yankee at the Court
of King Arthur.
The £1,000,000 Bank-
note.
The Huguenot Family.
The Blackball Ghosts.
What SheCameThrough
Beauty and the B«*st.
Citoyenne Jaquellno,
A Pleasure Trip on the
Continent.
The Gilded Age.
Huckleberry Finn.
MarkTwain s Sketches.
Tom Sawyer.
! A Tramp Abroad.
Stolen White Elephant.
By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.
Mistress Judith.
By SARAH TYTLER.
The Bride s Pass.
Buried Diamonds.
St. Munco's City.
Lady Bell.
Noblesse Oblige.
Disappeared.
By ALLEN UPWARD.
The Queen against Owen. | Prince of Balklstan.
• God Save the Queen I '
By AARON WATSON and LILLIAS
WASSERMANN.
The Marquis of C irabis.
By WILLIAM WESTALL.
Trust- Money.
By Mrs. F. H. WILLIAMSON.
A Child Widow.
By J. S. WINTER.
Cavalry Life. | Uegimental Legends.
By H. F. WOOD.
The Passenger from Scotland Yard.
The Englishman of the Rue Cam.
By CEL1A PARKER WOOLLEY.
Rachel Armstrong ; or. Love and Theology.
By EDMUND YATES.
The Forlorn Hope. I Castaway.
Land at Last.
By I. ZANGWILL.
Ghetto Tragedies.
OGDEN, SMAI,£ A.ND TETTV, LIMITED, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.G.
™ " "SITY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
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