After a wretched night, we washed at the pump in the basket-maker's yard, and breakfasted off bread and _café noir_. Milk, by the way, was as scarce at Brie as in Paris itself, the Germans, it was said, having carried off all the cows that had previously supplied France with the far-famed Brie cheese. We now discovered that, in order to reach Versailles, we should have to proceed in the first instance to Corbeil, some fifteen miles distant, when we should be within thirty miles of the German headquarters. That was pleasant news, indeed! We had already made a journey of over twenty miles, and now another of some five-and-forty miles lay before us. And yet, had we only been allowed to take the proper route, we should have reached Versailles after travelling merely eleven miles beyond Paris!
Under the circumstances, the position of the unfortunate pedestrians was a very unpleasant one, and my father undertook to speak on their behalf to Mr. Wodehouse, pointing out to him that it was unfair to let these unfortunate people trudge all the way to Versailles.
"But what am I to do?" Mr. Wodehouse replied. "I am afraid that no vehicles can be obtained here."
"The German authorities will perhaps help you in the matter," urged my father.
"I doubt it. But please remember that everybody was warned before leaving Paris that he would do so at his own risk and peril, and that the Embassy could not charge itself with the expense."
"That is exactly what surprised me," said my father. "I know that the Charitable Fund has done something, but I thought that the Embassy would have done more."
"I had no instructions," replied Mr. Wodehouse.
"But, surely, at such a time as this, a man initiates his own instructions."
On hearing this, my father, for a moment, almost lost his temper. "Surely, Mr. Wodehouse," said he, "you need only have gone to Baron de Rothschild--he would have let you have whatever money you required." [I have reconstructed the above dialogue from my diary, which I posted up on reaching Versailles.]
Mr. Wodehouse looked worried. He was certainly a most amiable man, but he was not, I think, quite the man for the situation. Moreover, like my father, he was in very poor health at this time. Still, he realized that he must try to effect something, and eventually, with the assistance of the mayor and the German authorities, a few farm-carts were procured for the accommodation of the poorer British subjects. During the long interval which had elapsed, however, a good many men had gone off of their own accord, tired of waiting, and resolving to try their luck in one and another direction. Thus our procession was a somewhat smaller one when we at last quitted Brie-Comte-Robert for Corbeil.