Lost in thought, I did not notice the entrance of the old portière, who querulously called upon me to explain such an untimely visit. My attempt at an explanation evidently confirmed her suspicions of the insanity she very naturally attributed to me. It took some persuasion, weighted by the irresistible gift of a five-franc piece, to make her believe that I was in reality one of the old pupils. A further explanation brought out the fact that her husband was the “drummer boy” of my school days. A few moments’ chat with the “boy,” now advanced in years, made matters easy, and from him I ascertained that of all the old masters only one remained—Mons. Chapuizy—living on a small pension, in the Rue St. Fiacre. Having ordered a cab, I drove down to that address, ascertained that the dear old professor had rooms on the fifth flat, where I readily found the venerable gentleman—just out of bed—wrapped up in a tattered old morning gown. His reception, like that of the portière, was at first rather stiff; the name on my card did not avail to wake up his memory.
It was only after many reminiscences brought to his mind that he resolved on offering me a chair. His first questions were rather amusing. He had evidently more knowledge of classics than of geography. New South Wales, Sydney, even Australia itself, seemed quite unknown to him. From the abject surroundings of the apartment, I guessed the penury of the occupant; and in order to loosen effectually the tongue of Mons. Chapuizy, I suggested that he should dress and accept a déjeuner at the nearest best restaurant, where, within half-an-hour, we sat in a private room. A couple of bottles of wine, and a breakfast such as I am sure the old gentleman had not seen for many days, quite melted his heart, and brushed off the cobwebs which evidently clouded his memory.
From him I ascertained the whereabouts of some eight or ten of my old schoolmates, whom I at once wrote to, and within a few days got up a meeting, which, during the whole of my stay in France, was adjourned from week to week, and any new schoolmate hunted up in the interim was summoned to attend. Had it been possible to have had a résumé taken of these meetings, it would indeed have made up a most interesting volume.
As each member was brought he had to give a history of the last forty years. Coming from the antipodes I, of course, had the honour of being “the lion.” Still, some of the others had some interesting incidents to relate. Several had been in the army, some in the Civil Service; one—Leon Say—was then Minister of Finance, a post he had held during the Provisional Government after the Commune, when France, emerging from the sad trials of the war, lay bleeding and prostrate.
During that sad period the southern provinces had suffered from a most disastrous flood. Subscriptions had to be made for the victims of this new disaster. The Government cabled to Australia to get the Consul in Sydney to obtain contributions from New Caledonia to the fund. Knowing the poverty of that French colony, an idea came into my head that if the matter was promptly handled I could raise in Sydney some substantial assistance.
I accordingly asked the Premier (Sir John Robertson) for leave to get the use of the cable to Versailles, and from the manager of the Bank of Australasia leave to remit by cable whatever money I could collect up to 10 p.m. that day. Having made these preliminary arrangements, I started a door to door subscription; and such is the kind-hearted liberality of Australians that I was able to remit £800 that same night, and £400 more on the following day. 30,000 francs remitted from the antipodes, actually reaching Versailles within a week after the occurrence of the calamity—before Paris even had had time to organise a general subscription—seemed rather startling to the French Government. When Leon Say met me at our weekly gathering, and found out that I was the originator of this timely offering, he insisted on bringing the matter before the President of the Republic—old Marshal McMahon—who conferred upon me the Legion of Honour, together with his and the Duchess’ portrait, accompanied with an autograph letter, which I prize above all other rewards.
