Agent of Peace

by Jennifer Hobhouse Balme

  The man was a cad! It was almost the last straw on a day of great strain – not that I felt I had done anything but what was right and under the cires sensible – but I feared that either they might stop me or else try to discredit me in London and so destroy my mission.

  It was therefore very dejectedly that I went up to the French Consulate. Here I encountered considerable difficulties – French officials are very snappy and irritable. My papers had to pass before four separate men – the last one demanded more photographs but I told him I had none. The English Consul had them all, five besides the one pasted in. He was high-handed, said it was the rule and he must have at least four. I was sorry but could not give him what I had not got. He was rude and it was long before he would let me go. At last he consented and utterly exhausted I came out – sent Phoebe back to finish the packing and went to get the sleeper tickets.

  We made a hurried supper and so to the station in fairly good time. Fortunately Frau Kocher came to see me off and, hurriedly, I was able to tell her of this contretemps of my stolen letter – the results of which I feared might be serious for my work. When we started Phoebe told me the clerk from the Passport Office was on the platform and she believed watching us. The reason for this Espionage I learned later. At the moment I thought it was to see who saw me off and who my friends in Berne might be.

  Once the train was off my anxiety was relieved and I felt sure no hindrance would be placed in my reaching London. I knew Grant Duff’s wire had been answered saying I was to be allowed to pass and that Sir Ed Grey knew through him that I had information I wanted to give and I felt therefore certain I was under the protection of the Foreign Office. The men I detest and fear are the underlings who seem to crop up and come to the fore in wartime (just as in South Africa) and who are always suspicious unreasonable arbitrary and invariably Cads.

  As we neared Neuchâtel and I came to myself a bit I realized that once over the border I should no longer be able to correspond freely with anyone in Switzerland and I felt I must write at once to the British Consul and tell him I had discovered that my letter had been tampered with and if he could assure me it was not and he must write to me in London at once. I told him how painful it was to me to think that his office contained men who could do such an ungentlemanly deed and it made me ashamed of the British Consulate in Berne. That any man would open and read and copy a private letter handed him by a mistake was the act of a dishonorable Cad. I further said that whatever information it contained could and would be of no use unless with the consent of the British Government and now none at all as of course I cancelled it at once on finding out their treachery.

  This I wrote in pencil in the train and posted at Neuchâtel and I felt calmer when it was done. The letter which was copied by them was almost word for word as follows:

  To Dr. Aletta Jacobs – 1507 Koninginneweg, Amsterdam.

  Dear Friend,

  I am leaving Switzerland tonight and so shall not have any further chance of writing to you freely.

  You know I have been to Berlin and have seen members of the Govmt there. When I get back to London it may be necessary for me to send a reply to a kind of message I have to carry. The posts via Switzerland are so very uncertain that I think it would be better and surer by Holland. So if you get a postcard from me beginning as above but which does not seem to have any meaning for you will you be so kind as to take it (not send it by post) to the German Ambassador at the Hague and ask him to forward it to Herr von Jagow.

  Forgive my writing in great haste.

  Yrs. etc. EH

  These are almost the words and exactly the substance of what I wrote. Needless to say I never had explanation or apology from the Consul – who poor man (a Swiss Subject too) was I well knew not himself in fault. Later I learned that Captain Binns an attaché at the British Legation was the caddish hero of this brilliant war exploit. A lady who stayed at the same hotel came to England and told me all about it. She said Captain Binns told everyone – made no secret of it – and she herself could actually repeat to me the main parts of the letter. She evidently disliked Capt Binns very much and had snubbed him a good deal.

  Anyhow he bragged a great deal saying how delighted he was – that they had ‘tried in vain to find anything against Miss Hobhouse.’ Later he came to England bringing with him the copy of the letter which he appears to have taken to the Foreign Office and I believe that and that only explained the conduct of Lord Robert Cecil later in the summer and inspired the attack upon me in Parliament. This lady told me how she heard me often discussed by groups of these young attachés and officers and how one day after they had been libelling and slandering me for my work in South Africa and again now – Major Dansey(?) suddenly spoke: ‘After all Miss Hobhouse has not been half so bad in this war as she was in the Boer War and the worst of it is she was damn right!’ My friend said, ‘I left it at that, thinking his words, he being an older and serious man and head of the Intelligence Department at the War Office, would have the best effect.’

  But all this is a digression to finish the story of the letter about which I may hear more in the future. Still I feel it was the only commonsense thing to have done considering that I was unaware that Warring Governments had other means of communicating.

  We were soon at Pontarlier and had to be scrutinized anew. Just before arriving there I had some talk with an English lady in the train and learnt that if one stayed the night in Paris it would necessitate viséing etc again – but this would not be required if one went straight through.

  My examination at Pontarlier was very close. Of course we were both stripped to the skin – an affair I am getting used to and always make light of. Then my bag and papers were opened and plain writing pads taken – not written upon. They said these were prohibited. My passport – or some words on it, I know not what – caused considerable uncertainty and one after another was called to examine it. I sat in outward tranquility and unconcern and inward trepidation awaiting the issue. At last a Superior was called and he scrutinized it and me, then finally banged the book down on the table with a ‘Sans arrêt’* and I was free. We crept out in the dark and found our sleeper and some much needed coffee, though indeed perspiration was streaming down my face with exhaustion and fatigue rather than heat. I was so thankful for the quiet darkness of the sleeper and the unbroken journey through the night – with Paris and a good wash to greet the morning.

  At the Gare de Lyons I found a ‘Cooks’ man to help me – feeling him well worth his weight in francs and he and Phoebe went off to claim the luggage while I ordered coffee and rolls. How refreshing it was, though alas! quantity and quality not what it used to be! Then Phoebe returned and when she had finished breakfast he found us a cab driven by a great-grandfather! and told us of a quiet Hotel (London and New York) close in front of our next station Gare St. Lazare. A nice, quiet, very small little Inn. I took a room for the inside of the day (6frs!!) and washed. Then I sallied forth to Cooks office in Plâce de l’Opera to secure tickets, and berths from Havre. This done and no difficulty encountered except uncertainty itself a sufficiently disagreeable element of travel I took a cab and drove to Faubourg S. Honoré to find the le Foyers. The day was still young, though I had not realized it, having forgotten time and space. It was barely 10 a.m., early for a call, and Madame le Foyer was in her peignoir and M Lucien le Foyer in bed and asleep. I was disappointed wanting much to see him, but she received me and I talked long with her. Then I drove to Quai Debilly and to my joy found both Madame Duchêne and her daughter. They begged me to take an early lunch with them and meanwhile I told them all my adventures and heard their news and outlook. Their movement was growing steadily though slowly and silently. All had to be done by hand and not through the post. The Socialist Deputies – Brizon, Raffin Dugens and Blanc – were brave and had done nobly but they were not the men who carried most weight. Nevertheless ’twas a beginning.

  I returned to the Hotel and Phoebe and the luggage – we posted photos
and some special papers – and went across to the Station. The train started about 4 p.m. and it must have been about 6.30 p.m. when we reached Havre. Here again I encountered difficulty as the passengers from the crowded train filed through the Passport Office. My name seemed known and the passport was handed from one to another. I was looked up under letter H in a card index and found to be No. 85. This ‘quatre vingt-cinq’ was shouted aloud and a Portfolio was brought full of typewritten sheets. It was obviously my character and history – the wicked history of a Pacifist!!! There was consternation while I stood imperturbable and unconcerned. I could not believe I had got so far to be stopped at last. A white-headed old man was summoned from an inner room who scrutinized me – all were uncertain how to act when fortunately this man asked if no English Official were there. A young man at once rose, looked at the passport and at me and with alacrity and extreme readiness as of a person expecting to see me, said ‘O Yes, Miss Hobhouse? By all means – pass this way. Your maid? Certainly. Quite in order etc.’ And so again I knew I was under the protection, at any rate for the time, of our Foreign Office. But what was to come?

  If I had only known it – I was more than safe – for Captain Binns later told my friend that their one idea was to get me safely back to England – that they had feared that my discovery that my letter had been tampered with, could make me afraid to go home and that I should stay in Switzerland and give them trouble.

  Needless to say such an idea never occurred to me. I felt I had a mission to fulfill – and as for the letter, it being merely a common-sense arrangement in regard to that mission, I had no guilty conscience about it at all. It was the only wise thing to do. But I was told that was the official fear in Berne that I should remain there and that was why Captain Binns came down to the station to assure himself that I really did go.

  It never occurred to me to want to stay in Switzerland, but it appears that the Legation there prefers to have no English pacifists so near Enemy territory and indeed Enemy residents. I found indeed great suspicion of some English pacifists and semi-pacifists such as Mrs Holbach and others who were watched and plagued by the Legation.

  From the Passport Office there was a long distance to the Docks and no cabs to be found. Finally an open tram took the passengers and hand luggage and we were promised the registered baggage would come later. It was some way – the streets were crowded with British Tommies. I could not help comparing them with the German masses of troops so lately seen. These by comparison seemed so slim and so white and so boyish looking – reedy many of them – the Germans shorter, broader, more robust. Ours so trim in newest outfits, the Germans less trim and more worn in appearance.

  With difficulty we struggled through and found the ship and berths. ’Twas well I had wired to reserve from Paris. We found the vessel would not start till near midnight – and meanwhile the boxes must be found. For all this sort of thing Phoebe was useless. I had myself to go again to the quay and stand for hours in the great shed and watch while wagon after wagon brought the baggage to be sorted.

  All Red X trunks were passed without delay or trouble. It was nearly 11 p.m. before I had spied my three articles and got them placed together and then found a weary official – a woman – to open them. But at last this terrific day was over and I was free to go and rest. Tired out, we both soon fell asleep – only to be awakened by a loud-voiced Red X woman who bounced into my cabin insisting it was hers – which it was not. This, as usual with a sudden awakening, gave my heart such a shock that I had a restless night though the sea was calm as a lake.

  Wednesday, June 28th We were docked in good time at Southampton and by 7 a.m. on the quay looking for coffee – a rapid pass through the customs and London by 11 a.m. No such luck. I could see delay writ large on all sides and saw we must be content to take things leisurely. I sent two telegrams: one to Sir Edward Grey ‘Arrived Southampton. Proceed to London. Shall await your kind instructions in the Westminster Palace Hotel.’ The other wire was to the Hotel reserving rooms for myself and Phoebe. N.B. These wires were all censored. I did not at the moment think of that, but as matters turned out the openness of my movements was all to the good. We drank our coffee – very bad stuff. Then, as for once benches were provided for the unfortunate waiting hours for tardy Officials and Officialism, we sat down on the last bench to abide our turn. I found at once I was expected and my name known and I prepared to meet it all with frankness and good humor, though burning to hurry on to London. My experience of Wartime officials in South Africa stood me in good stead in these days. The great thing is never to resist in any way – or show the slightest objection to the unpacking of anything however treasured. Keep smiling and civil … My orders to Phoebe were to remember this and to reply with exact truth to anything she was asked …

  Notes

  * Lord Newton was a long-serving parliamentarian who had taken on a voluntary war job of looking after internment camps and propaganda for the British Foreign Office. He had previously been Paymaster General in Asquith’s government.

  * Although the passport was stamped ‘Sans arrêt’, ‘without stopping’, it was an acknowledged fact that this journey required a day in Paris.

  1. Journal vol. 2 p. 85–vol. 3 p. 31

  10

  THE CITADEL

  M eanwhile, at the British Foreign Office in London, the health and welfare of the Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey was of prime concern. His sight had been deteriorating. He wore dark glasses and had to take long breaks from the office. Although the war was at full ferocity, apparently no attempt was made to replace him. He was, however, ably supported by his Parliamentary Undersecretary, Lord Robert Cecil, a son of the former Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury. Cecil, who was trained as a barrister, was also Minister for the Blockade and, as such, had a place in the Cabinet. He enjoyed parliamentary work and answered questions for Grey in the House of Commons. (Questions in the House of Lords were answered by the Lord President of the Council, Lord Crewe.) In mid-July Grey was to receive the title of Viscount. Grey and Cecil worked hand in hand and ultimately it was Cecil who was responsible for actions concerning Emily. Cecil was considered broad-minded but, although he supported Millicent Fawcett in her bid for votes for women, his actions towards her suggest he believed that women should be subservient. He would almost certainly have been aware that Millicent Fawcett considered Emily Hobhouse a traitor. Emily was not subservient.

  The Foreign Office in those days was an all-male preserve, although as a war measure, there may have been a trickling of women typists. There was a rigidness about Foreign Office dealings – Cecil liked to keep it that way. Its insistence on conducting all its business with other countries through diplomatic channels was both a strength and a weakness.

  Grey had brought England into the war in 1914. Now it seems almost certain that peace could have been had in 1916 if Germany was sincere in its willingness to evacuate Alsace-Lorraine, as was said, and if something could have been done to stop this terrible build-up of armaments. Cecil, at the beginning of the war, had joined the Red Cross and on a visit to France that autumn had dined with the British commander Sir John French and his staff. French felt the Germans knew they were beaten and Britain should only ask for the return of Alsace-Lorraine and the restoration of Belgium in peace talks.1 (At the other extreme Fritz Fischer in Griff nach der Weltmacht said Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg would have insisted on acquisition of the Longwy-Briery basin, near Metz in France, economic and military control over Belgium and a share of Persian oilfields for Germany.2)

  Emily Hobhouse had returned to England with four main objectives: first to get peace talks moving so as to avoid further bloodshed, second to obtain the release of civilian internees on foreign soil, third to get better food and supplies to the people of Belgium, and fourth to discuss the food position in Germany. Her Boer War reputation had brought her many friends in high places, but also many enemies who (although she had been proved right) had not forgotten what they considered as slights
against the integrity of their government. The establishment had been rocked, their comfort space had been invaded. They had not forgiven her.

  On arrival in London instead of seeing the Foreign Secretary, as she desired, Emily was summoned to New Scotland Yard for a grilling by Basil Thomson, Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department, Metropolitan Police, and liaison with the War Office and Admiralty Counter Intelligence Sections.3