Chapter 9

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 English 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 emphatically of opinion that his book 'Fecondite,' though 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 offspring. Circumstances are much the same both in France and the United States, at least among the older Colonial families. In three or four generations 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 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 discharge 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 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 afternoon, 'when I come out all alone for my usual constitutional, 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 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 invariably 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, principally 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 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 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, Fairholme, 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-ee-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 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 this 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 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 1_2 d. stamps he was looked at with 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 1_2 d. stamps in four days! What could he do with them? Nobody could tell. When, shortly afterwards, 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.

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 privileges 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 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 P.M. and I could hardly believe than 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 thought it 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 London 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_ 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 Beaurepaire, in an inquiry into the Criminal Chamber's methods of investigation, 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.'

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 turning-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 Deroulede's attempt to induce General Roget to march on the Elysee. He regards Deroulede as a scarcely sane individual, and holds views on Parisian demonstrations 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 20 l., 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 newspapers 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 Orleanist party.

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 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 '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 plenty who are not; and we shall immediately replace you.'

The 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 finding 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 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 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 appointing 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 of M. Zola would ever have made a good functionary. His character is too independent, 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 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.