n.o.body recognised him on his rambles. I even doubt if people, generally, thought him a foreigner. He had long ceased to wear his rosette of the Legion of Honour, and he had replaced his white billyc.o.c.k by an English straw hat. Towards the close of the fine weather he 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 Ca.s.sation, several newspapers had become desirous of ascertaining M. Zola's views on the course of events. My instructions 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 n.o.body. 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 revision inquiry from the Criminal Chamber to the entire Court of Ca.s.sation, 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.

Pa.s.sions 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, Pressense, Cornely, and scores of others were fighting admirably in the Press, and his intervention was not required. Many a man circ.u.mstanced 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 autumn there was an average of three applications a week. One or two gentlemen, I believe, imagined that M.

Zola was staying very near me, and, failing to learn anything at my 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 gla.s.ses, 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 vituperative 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. 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 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.

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, 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 princ.i.p.al 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 that time as she did, for the gentleman might otherwise have experienced, as he deserved, a rather unpleasant ten minutes.

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 establishment 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 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 perhaps call them, pavilions, has a separate entrance and staircase; and the advantage of this, to one circ.u.mstanced 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 pa.s.s 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 so 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, I 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 circ.u.mstances, prove an 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 Mme. 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 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 const.i.tuting 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 morning 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, 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 'Fecondite' 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 circ.u.mstances) 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 'Fecondite.' 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 that princ.i.p.ally 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 inst.i.tuted 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.

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 pa.s.sed over; and great as is M. Zola's admiration for the English Press in many respects, he could but regard its att.i.tude 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. Circ.u.mstances 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 ba.s.sinette 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 pa.s.sed 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 const.i.tutional, 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 a.s.sure 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 circ.u.mstance 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, princ.i.p.ally 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 ill.u.s.trating 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 pa.s.sed 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.'

n.o.body 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 pa.s.sage 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-gla.s.s 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? n.o.body 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.