CHAPTER XIV.
THE PRUSSIANS IN FRANCE.
The Prussian army was more than two weeks on the road from Sedan to Paris and Versailles, and it was just one month after the French emperor surrendered before the king of Prussia made his headquarters in the beautiful city which seems to enshrine the memory of Louis XIV.
On Sunday, September 18, a scouting party of three Uhlans made their appearance at the gates of Versailles. They had in fact lost their way, and stumbled unawares upon the city; however, they rode boldly up to the gate, demanded admittance, and presented themselves at the mairie, bringing terror and dismay to the inhabitants. When the maire presented himself at their summons, they demanded on what terms Versailles would surrender? He replied that he could not treat with private soldiers, but must see their officers. "Oh, our officers are close at hand," they replied; "they are waiting with a large force in yonder woods. If you come to the gate, they will meet you there." The maire assented, and the audacious Uhlans galloped safely away. Let us hope that at their firesides in the far-off Fatherland they still laugh over this unparalleled adventure.
A few hours later, news was received at Versailles that fighting was going on towards the south of Paris between French troops and the Prussians; and all the inhabitants, including foreign residents, were busy in preparing supplies for the field-hospitals,—lint, bandages, water-cans, and pillows stuffed with torn paper. Before long, eight Prussians and an officer entered the city. They were thus described by one who saw them as they dashed up to the mairie through an excited crowd:—
"They were small men. They had light hair, but were very thick-set. They looked very tired, and were covered with dust and with torn clothes: but they had good horses. They wore the Prussian helmet and spike, and were well armed, with a sabre on one side and on the other a huge horse-pistol two feet long, while they carried carbines in their hands, all ready to shoot if occasion offered. But all the French soldiers had left Versailles, except a few National Guards. The inhabitants looked very sad; the women were crying, and the men looked as if they would like to. We walked on, when suddenly we saw a troop of horsemen come through an arch that spanned one of the main roads; behind came more, and more, and more. The first were fifty Uhlans. These fellows were in blue, on horseback, very handsome. Then came some men with silver death's-heads and crossbones on their caps; then hundreds and hundreds of mounted fellows with needle-guns and sabres; then three regiments of infantry, marching in superb time. Every five hundred men had a drum corps and fifes playing in perfect unison. You could almost feel the ground shake with the steady thud of their march as they tramped on. The men looked dirty and tired, but were fat, and many of them were laughing. Looking down the road as far as possible, we could still see helmets, spikes, and guns all leaning exactly the same way, and glittering in the sunshine. All the officers looked like gentlemen, with great whiskers, and jolly, fat faces. None of the men talked, much less sang, as the French do. When these had passed, there came a splendid band of sixty pieces, playing beautifully, and then regiment after regiment of cavalry (not carrying as much, nearly, as the French cavalry do). Their horses were in excellent order, many of them very handsome. Lots of the soldiers were smoking great German pipes.
"This was the army of the Crown Prince, less than a third of those that entered the city. They passed through Versailles, only stopping to repair the roads torn up by the peasantry. Next came artillery and baggage-wagons, and carts of ammunition; more infantry, more bands, fifty pontoons on carts; more cavalry; then hundreds of soldiers on peasants' carts, which they had requisitioned as they passed through the country; then ambulances and carts, full of wounded, who were brought to the Hôtel des Reservoirs and to the Palace. They began to pass at half-past one, and were passing three hours; and I saw just as many more going by another road, where they passed till seven in the evening. There seemed, at times, to be a hunting corps, for every man would have a fat hare or rabbit, or hens, ducks, pheasants, or partridges slung on his back. One man I saw with a live sheep, full grown, over his shoulders.
"Only four regiments of infantry, one of cavalry, and four batteries of artillery remained in Versailles that night. They camped upon the Place d'Armes, lit fires, and cooked. Everything was remarkable for neatness; the cannon and powder-carts were arranged in order in a circle, horses all fastened inside the circle, soldiers all sleeping round it. They took off their knapsacks, stacked their guns, put their helmets on the top of their bayonets, unrolled their great-coats, and lay down, still wearing sword and pistols, with their guns at arm's length. Thus they pass the night, rain or shine (they have no tents) and they look as hardy and strong as lions.
"By the time the Prussians were fairly in their quarters the inhabitants of Versailles seemed to take heart and to be much less frightened. Many French peasants could talk German, and conversed freely with the Prussians, interpreting what they said to an eager crowd. The soldiers seemed to be well fed; we saw them dining on bread and cheese, butter, sausages, and wine. In the evening they were very jolly. Fires flickered all around; the soldiers sat singing and smoking. Some milked cows that they had stolen, and some were cooking game. The formal way in which everything was done was very curious. At the gate of every house where officers were quartered were two sentries, and every time an officer passed, these men were obliged to go through five movements with their guns. On all the doors of all the houses the names of the officers stationed there were marked in chalk, and a field-telegraph line in the streets connected every such house with the mairie."
This account of the entry of the Prussians into Versailles is from the private letter of a very young man, with the eye of an artist and a keen love of music and fine horses. The letter was seen by the editor of the "Nation," who requested leave to publish it. The writer says further,—
"I got up at seven on the morning of September 20, and went down to the Place d'Armes. It was filled with Prussian soldiers; some were sleeping, some were cooking, some eating, some grooming horses, some washing cannon, and all were smoking. There were but two tents, belonging to high officers. One of these was dressing in the open air before his tent. A guard paced up and down with a drawn sword. When I got there, he was brushing his hair and putting on his cravat, while a little French boy held a looking-glass for him. He had a bright red shirt on, and riding-boots up to his hips, and silver spurs. I saw his horse brought up, a beautiful, great black one. His coat was covered all over with decorations, and he had a very brilliant sword. In the other tent there were two officers writing. They had about fifty bottles of claret and champagne stacked up beside them, and a guard set over it.
"In a little while all was bustle, but no confusion. All the cannon and powder-carts were ranged in numerical order; the horses the same; and every bucket and every pot was numbered like the cart to which it belonged. Soon as the bugles sounded, every man jumped, and knew what he had to do. There was ringing and rattling of chains, and the horses were fastened to the cannon, the soldiers gobbled their last mouthfuls, strapped on their knapsacks, and in a few minutes everything was in motion, officers giving their orders; the horses neighed, the line was formed, and off they went.
"That afternoon we saw some French peasants brought in; they had fired on the men who were stealing their carts, horses, and cows, and were to be shot. It was very sorrowful. We heard afterwards that the Crown Prince had pardoned them. Some noble-looking Zouave prisoners[1] were also brought in, and the crowd cheered them.
[Footnote 1: Possibly some of the men who had shown "regrettable haste" the day before.]
"About one P. M. a squad of Uhlans, with long lances and black-and-white flags came in; then came other men leading horses, all very handsome, belonging to the Crown Prince. Then came the royal baggage, cart after cart, mostly painted purple, with a great gold crown; but some carts had once been French. One of the bands had a brass drum, with the imperial eagle and 3d Zouaves painted on it. They showed it to the bystanders and laughed. We found that the Crown Prince was to be received at the prefecture,—a handsome building with a large court in front, and a black-and-gilt grille, such as they have round the palace and park. We went there at once. A guard of honor was drawn up in front, and a full band on each side of the gate. The Crown Prince was surrounded by a splendid staff. He is quite handsome, with large bushy beard and moustache. He was dressed like his officers, and wore a cap such as they all wear, with a scarlet band; but he had lots of decorations and a splendid diamond star. They all had most beautiful horses, and the effect was very kingly. The bands played, and the troops presented arms. The prince rode in first, then all followed him into the courtyard. They took possession, and the gates were closed. The next day the prince left to join the king at Ferrières. The palace is appropriated to the Prussian wounded."
By September 23 the Prussians had completed their investment of Paris. They were only two hundred and fifty thousand men, but, disciplined as we can see they were by the letter I have quoted, they were more than a match for the four hundred thousand disorganized and undisciplined crowd within the walls of the capital, who called themselves soldiers.
Strasburg surrendered on the very day that the Crown Prince of Prussia and his brilliant suite entered Versailles. Strasburg is the capital city of Alsace, and is considered the central point in the defence of the Rhine frontier. It has a glorious cathedral, and a library unsurpassed in its collection of historical documents of antiquity. It is an arch-bishopric, and had always been defended by a large garrison. With Paris, Lyons, Bordeaux, Marseilles, and Rouen, it had stood foremost among French cities. It contained, when invested, twenty thousand fighting men, and it was besieged at first by a corps of about sixty thousand. Its investment was one of the first acts of the Germans on entering France. Strasburg made an heroic resistance for six weeks, and surrendered on the day when Jules Favre was assuring Count Bismarck that France would never repay the services of its heroic garrison by consenting to give them up as prisoners of war. Before its surrender it suffered six days' bombardment. A bombardment is far more destructive to a small town than to a city of "magnificent distances" like Paris. By September 9, a week after Sedan, ninety-eight Prussian rifled cannon and forty mortars were placed in position and directed against the walls of Strasburg, while forty other pieces were to bombard the citadel. By September 12 the defences of the city were laid in ruins. Two weeks after, it surrendered. The Mobiles and National Guards, being Alsatians, were sent to their homes; the remaining five thousand men, who were regular soldiers, were marched as prisoners of war into Germany. Hardly a house in Strasburg remained untouched by shells. The ordinary provisions were exhausted. The only thing eatable, of which there was abundance, was Strasburg pie, paté de foie gras,—the year's production of that delicacy having been stored in Strasburg for exportation.
The famous library was greatly injured, but the cathedral was not materially hurt. A German who had been in Hamburg during the time of the great fire, assured an English reporter that the scene of desolation in that city on the morning after the conflagration was less heart-rending than that presented by the ruined quarters of Strasburg when the Prussian conquerors marched in. And yet the inhabitants, had General Ulrich been willing, would have still fought on.
Metz capitulated one month after Strasburg, Oct. 27, 1870. Three marshals of France, six thousand officers, and one hundred and seventy-three thousand men surrendered to the Germans. Many were entirely demoralized; but the Garde Impériale, a body of picked troops, was faithful to the last.
"That a vast army which had given ample proof of military worth in the two great battles of Gravelotte, and which moreover possessed the support of the most important stronghold in France, should have permitted a scarcely superior enemy to hem it in and to detain it for weeks, making no earnest attempt to escape, and finally, at the conqueror's bidding, should have laid down its arms without striking a blow, would before the event," says an English military authority, "have seemed impossible. It set the investing force free to crush the new-made Army of the Loire, and it occurred in the nick of time to prevent the raising of the siege of Paris, which the Germans had in contemplation."
Smaller places held out nobly,—Phalsbourg in Alsace, and Thionville and Toul, but above all Belfort. Garibaldi was there with a considerable body of Italians and a contingent of two hundred well-armed Greeks. There was great jealousy of Garibaldi and his Italians in the Southern army, and their outrageous conduct towards priests and churches set against them the women and the peasantry.
Belfort never surrendered. But the army under Bourbaki, called the Army of the East, nearly a hundred thousand strong, suffered horribly in the latter days of the struggle. It was not included in the armistice made at the close of January, 1871, between Bismarck and Jules Favre, for Favre was in total ignorance of its position. Bourbaki attempted suicide. His soldiers, shoeless, tentless, and unprovided with provisions, pushed into the defiles of the Jura in the depths of one of the coldest winters ever known in Europe, hoping to escape into Switzerland. Eighty thousand men made their way over the mountains; fifteen thousand were made prisoners. A few escaped to their homes. A correspondent who saw them after they reached safety, said,—
"In all of them, pinched features and a slouching gait told of gnawing hunger, while their hollow voices told of nights spent on snow and frozen ground. Some had tied bits of wood under their bare feet to keep them from the stones. For weeks none had washed, or changed their clothes. Their hands were black as Africans'. For three days neither food nor fodder had been served out to them, and before that they had only got one four-pound loaf among eight men."
While men were thus suffering in the mountains, an event of the greatest political importance was taking place at Versailles. On January 19, a week before the capitulation of Paris, the king of Prussia received a deputation from the German Reichstag, offering him the imperial crown of Germany.
The Federal States of the German Empire up to the close of the last century were three hundred and sixty; many of these were only free cities or extremely small duchies or principalities. There was a German emperor and a German Diet. The latter met always at Frankfort. The emperor might be of any family or of any religion. His successor was elected during his lifetime, to be ready in case of accident, and was called King of the Romans. The emperor was at first chosen by the princes at large, but in process of time the choice was made over to nine princes, called electors. After 1438, all emperors of Germany were of the house of Hapsburg, the royal family of Austria. This was not law, but custom. In the days of Napoleon I. the old German Empire was broken up. The title of Emperor of Germany was discontinued, though he who would have borne it still held an imperial title as Emperor of Austria. The small German princes were mediatized; that is, pensioned, and reduced from sovereign princes to the condition of mere nobles. In place of three hundred and sixty States there remained thirty-six States, composing the German Confederation. A new German Federal Constitution was formed; the States agreed to defend one another, to do nothing to injure one another, and to abstain from making war upon one another. There were practically seventeen votes in the Diet, some of the larger States having several, and many of the smaller States uniting in the possession of one.
This Constitution also was swept away in 1866, after the brilliant campaign of Sadowa.
The great desire of patriotic Germans was to consolidate Germany,—to make her strong; and while Prussia, assisted by all the North German States and by Bavaria, Baden, Würtemberg, and Darmstadt, was fighting France, a new Federal, Constitution was formed.
The king of Prussia was chosen German emperor, and the imperial crown was to be hereditary in his family. There is a Diet, or Federal Congress, composed of two Houses, the Upper House being limited to sovereign princes or their representatives, the other, called the Reichstag, being really the governing power of the nation. Each State is entitled also to its own legislature.
In the Reichstag, Prussia has nearly two thirds of the votes; and its power is much greater than that of our Congress at Washington. The emperor can veto its decisions only when they affect changes in the constitution. The Diet can dethrone any emperor if he is considered incapable of governing, or supposed to be dangerous to the Fatherland.
Practically the power of Prussia seems boundless in the federation; she enforces her military system on all Germany, and the smaller States submit to her, for the sake of strength and unity.
On Jan. 18, 1871, a deputation of fifty members of the Reichstag came to the king of Prussia's headquarters at Versailles to implore him to accept the imperial crown of Germany. The world's attention was engrossed by the campaign which was then drawing to a close, and the offering of the imperial crown to the Prussian sovereign formed only a dramatic episode in the history of the war. Fortunately, as the deputies passed Paris, shivering in their furs, while transported in carriages of all descriptions, the Parisians made no sortie to intercept them, and they reached Versailles in safety.
The French seemed perfectly indifferent on the occasion. "Do as you like," seemed to be the feeling. "Have an empire if you think proper. It is no concern of ours. We are glad to have got rid of our own."
The day on which the deputies offered their great gift to King William was clear and bright. Before the prefecture at Versailles was planted the Prussian royal standard,—a black cross on a ground of gold and purple. Round the gateway stood all the Prussian soldiers who were off duty, waiting to see the deputies pass in. There was no music, but shots boomed from Paris from time to time. There was to be thenceforward one Germany, and one flag for the land of so many princes, who all waived their claims in favor of the greatest among them,—he who now stood conqueror in a foreign land.
The chief room of the prefecture was filled with men in bright uniforms, with helmets, ribbons, and decorations of all kinds. The king stood near the fireplace, surrounded by princes and generals. The president of the North German Confederation appointed to address him had once before, in 1849, offered the imperial crown to a Prussian king, who had declined it. Since then events had ripened. This time the king accepted what his countrymen desired he should receive from them. But he declined to assume the title of emperor until the South German people should express their acquiescence, as the South German princes had already done.
We may contrast the conduct of the Prussian king with the unwisdom of the French emperor. Both Napoleon III. and the Emperor William governed as autocrats; but with what different men they surrounded themselves, and how differently they were served in their hour of need! Yet Napoleon III. was lavish of rewards to his adherents, while the Emperor William was, to an excessive degree, chary of recompense. He seemed to feel that each man owed his all to his kaiser and his country, and that when he had given all, he could only say, in the words of Scripture: "I have but done that it was my duty to do."
When Jules Favre went to Versailles to negotiate with the German emperor and his chancellor for the surrender of Paris, he was accompanied, on his second and subsequent visits, by a young officer of ordnance, Count d'Hérisson, who attended him as a sort of aide-de-camp. Nothing could be less alike than the two men: Jules Favre, of the upper middle class in life, deeply sorrowful, oppressed by his responsibility, and profoundly conscious of his situation; and the young man whose birth placed him in the ranks of the jeunesse dorée, pleased to find himself in plenty and in good society, and allowing his spirits to rise with even more than national buoyancy, when, for a moment, the pressure of trouble was removed. D'Hérisson published an account of his experience while at the Prussian headquarters, which gives so vivid a picture of Count Bismarck, the great chancellor of the German Empire, that I here venture to repeat some parts of his narrative. He says,—
"On January 23 I received a summons from Jules Favre. He seized me by both hands, and asked me to carry, early the next morning, a despatch to M. de Bismarck, and to get it into his hands before daybreak. No one was to know of this despatch except the German officer bearing a flag of truce, to whom I was to give it with my own hand. 'Then all is over?' I said to Jules Favre. 'Yes,' he answered, 'we have only bread enough for a few more days. God only knows what the people of Paris may do to us when we are forced to let them know the truth. We must do our best to guard against the disastrous consequences of their strong feeling of patriotism. The Government does not intend to rid itself of its responsibilities, but its first duty is to provide bread for the capital.'
"With some difficulty," continued d'Hérisson, "I reached Sèvres, and the next morning before daybreak gave Jules Favre's letter to the Prussian officer. I sent back an express to Jules Favre with the news, and then went to Baron Rothschild's desolated villa at Suresnes to wait the answer. Two hours later, came a message from the French officer commanding the nearest outpost to say that a flag of truce had brought word that M. de Bismarck would see M. Jules Favre, and that a carriage would be in waiting on the left bank of the Seine to take him to headquarters."
This knowledge of the negotiation at the French outposts was a disclosure that Jules Favre had desired to avoid.
"When I brought Jules Favre the news," continues d'Hérisson, "he was greatly moved. His hands trembled so that he could hardly break the seal of the letter."
JULES FAVRE.
Seeing that news of what was passing would most certainly be brought in from the outposts, it seemed best that the French Minister for Foreign Affairs should start at once for the interview. There was in the courtyard a coupé with a handsome horse, once belonging to Napoleon III., and driven by one of his former coachmen. Jules Favre at once got into it, with his son-in-law and M. d'Hérisson. They passed with some difficulty through the Bois de Boulogne, the roads having been torn up and trees felled in every direction. On reaching a French outpost Jules Favre, afraid of being recognized, concealed his face. Their only means of crossing the Seine at Sèvres was to take a small boat which had served General Burnside a few days before. But the Prussians had been making a target of it ever since, and it was riddled with bullets. Having bailed it out, however, with an old saucepan, they stuffed their handkerchiefs into the worst leaks, and crossed the Seine in safety.
In a miserable old carriage, attended by a Prussian escort, Jules Favre was borne away to his terrible interview with Bismarck, leaving d'Hérisson behind. Favre did not come back for many hours. His first words to his aide-de-camp were: "Oh, my dear fellow, I was wrong to go without you. What have I not suffered?"
He had been taken at once to a very modest house in Versailles, where Bismarck had his quarters. After the first salutations Jules Favre said that he came to renew the negotiations broken off at Ferrières. Here Bismarck interrupted him, saying: "The situation is changed. If you are still going to say, 'Not an inch, not a stone,' as you did at Ferrières, we may break off at once. My time is valuable, and yours too." Then suddenly he added: "Your hair has grown much grayer than it was at Ferrières." Jules Favre replied that that was due to anxiety and the cares of government. The chancellor answered that the Government of Paris had put off a long time asking for peace, and that he had been on the eve of making an arrangement with an envoy from Napoleon III. He then explained that it would be easy for him to bring back the emperor and to force France to receive him; that Napoleon could collect an army of a hundred thousand men among the French prisoners of war in Germany, etc.; and he added: "After all, why should I treat with you? Why should I give your irregular Republic an appearance of legality by signing an armistice with its representative? What are you but rebels? Your emperor if he came back would have the right to shoot every one of you."
"But if he came back," cried Jules Favre, "all would be civil war and anarchy."
"Are you so sure of that?" said the chancellor. "Anyhow, a civil war in France could not affect Germany."
"But, M. le Comte, are you not afraid of reducing us to despair, of exasperating our resistance?"
"Your resistance!" cried Bismarck. "Are you proud of your resistance? If General Trochu were a German, I would have him shot this evening. You have no right, for the sake of mere military vainglory, to risk the lives of two millions of people. The railroad tracks have been torn up, and if we cannot lay them down again in two days, we know that a hundred thousand people in Paris will die of famine. Don't talk of resistance, it is criminal."
Jules Favre, put entirely out of countenance by Bismarck's tone, merely insisted that in pity to France there should be no question of subjecting her to the ignominy of being again made over to her deposed emperor. Before parting, Bismarck requested him to write down such conditions of peace as seemed to him reasonable, in order that they might discuss them the next day.[1]
[Footnote 1: My copy of d'Hérisson's book has a pencil note at this place, written by a friend then at Versailles: "Bismarck rode after Jules Favre when he set out on his return, and thrust into his carriage an enormous sausage."]
When that day came, the chancellor, having had interviews with his sovereign and Von Moltke, submitted his own propositions. They were seven in number:—
I. An armistice for twenty-one days.
II. Disarmament of the French army, to remain in Paris as prisoners of war.
III. The soldiers to give up arms and banners; officers to keep their swords.
IV. The armistice to extend all over France.
V. Paris to pay indemnity, and give up its forts to the Prussians.
VI. The Germans not to enter Paris during the armistice.
VII. Elections to be held throughout France for a National Assembly charged to consider conditions of peace.
Some slight modifications were made in these hard terms, which were signed Jan. 28, 1871.
As aide-de-camp and secretary to the French minister, d'Hérisson was present at all the interviews between Bismarck and his principal. When the terms, proposed by Germany were reported by Jules Favre to the Committee of Defence, they were thought less severe than had been feared.
The next morning Favre and d'Hérisson were at Versailles by dawn. Bismarck, who was an early riser, soon appeared, and took the minister and his aide-de-camp to his study. There the two men talked, and the secretary took notes of the conversation.
Bismarck and Favre presented a great contrast. Bismarck was then fifty-five years of age; Jules Favre was six years older. Bismarck wore the uniform of a colonel of White Cuirassiers,—a white coat, a white cap, and yellow trimmings. He seemed like a colossus, with his square shoulders and his mighty strength. Jules Favre, on the contrary, was tall and thin, bowed down by a sense of his position, wearing a black frock-coat that had become too wide for him, with his white hair resting on its collar. He was especially urgent that the National Guard in Paris should retain its arms. He consented to the disarmament of the Mobiles and the army, but he said it would be impossible to disarm the National Guard. At length Bismarck yielded this point, but with superior sagacity remarked: "So be it. But believe me you are doing a foolish thing. Sooner or later you will be sorry you did not disarm those unquiet spirits. Their arms will be turned against you."
When the question was raised concerning the indemnity to be paid by Paris, Bismarck said, laughing, that Paris was so great a lady, it would be an indignity to ask of her less than a milliard of francs ($200,000,000). The ransom was finally settled at two hundred millions of francs ($40,000,000).
"The dinner-hour having arrived, the chancellor invited us," says d'Hérisson, "to take seats at his table. Jules Favre, who wanted to write out carefully the notes I had taken, begged to have his dinner sent up to him; so I alone followed the chancellor to the dining-room, where about a dozen military and civil functionaries were assembled, but all were in uniform. The chancellor, who sat at the head of the table, placed me on his right. There was plenty of massive silver, belonging evidently to a travelling case. The only deficiency was in light, the table being illuminated by only two wax candles stuck in empty wine-bottles. This was the only evidence of a time of war."
As soon as the chancellor was seated, he began to eat with a good appetite, talking all the time, and drinking alternately beer and champagne from a great silver goblet marked with his initials. The conversation was in French. Suddenly the chancellor remembered having met M. d'Hérisson eight years before at the Princess Mentzichoff's, and their relations became those of two gentlemen who recognize each other in good society.
The Parisians thought that d'Hérisson had been far too lively on this occasion; but he feels sure that his sprightly talk and free participation in the good things of the table, formed a favorable contrast to the deep depression of Jules Favre at the same board the day before. "M. de Bismarck," he says, "is not at all like the conventional statesman. He is not solemn. He is very gay, and even when discussing the gravest questions often makes jokes, though under his playful sallies gleam the lion's claws."
They talked of hunting. The chancellor related anecdotes of his own prowess, and by the time they returned to Jules Favre, the French aide-de-camp and the Prussian prime minister were on the best terms with each other. But before long the chancellor gave a specimen of the violence of his displeasure. "Three times," says d'Hérisson, "I saw him angry,—once à propos of Garibaldi; once when speaking of the resistance of St. Quentin, an unwalled town, which he said should have submitted at once; and once it was my own fault."
On the table stood a saucer with three choice cigars. The chancellor took it up and offered it to Jules Favre, who replied that he never smoked; "There you are wrong," said Bismarck; "when a conversation is about to take place which may lead to differences of opinion, it is better to smoke. The cigar between a man's lips, which he must not let fall, controls his physical impatience. It soothes him imperceptibly. He grows more conciliatory. He is more disposed to make concessions. And diplomacy is made up of reciprocal concessions. You who don't smoke have one advantage over me,—you are more on the alert. But I have an advantage over you,—you will be more likely than I shall be to lose your self control and give way to sudden impressions."
The negotiation was resumed very quietly. With astonishing frankness the chancellor said simply and plainly what he wanted. He went straight to his point, bewildering Jules Favre, a lawyer by profession, who was accustomed to diplomatic circumlocutions, and was not prepared for such imperious openness.
The chancellor spoke French admirably, "making use," says d'Hérisson "of strong and choice expressions, and never seeming at a loss for a word." But when the subject of Garibaldi and his army came up, his eyes began to flash, and he seemed to curb himself with difficulty. "I intend," he said, "to leave him and his followers out of the armistice. He is not one of your own people. You can very well leave him to me. Our army opposed to him is about equal to his. Let them fight it out between them." Jules Favre replied that this was impossible; for though France had not asked Garibaldi for his services, and had in the first instance refused them, circumstances had made him general-in-chief of a large corps d'armée composed almost entirely of Frenchmen, and to abandon him would be indefensible. Then the anger of the chancellor blazed forth against Garibaldi. "I want to parade him through the streets of Berlin," he cried, "with a placard on his back: 'This is Gratitude!'"
Here d'Hérisson interrupted his burst of anger by picking up the saucer from the table and holding it to his breast as beggars do at the church-doors. The chancellor caught his idea after a moment. He laughed, and Garibaldi, with his corps d'armée, was included in the armistice.
It was necessary, however, that a French general should come out to Versailles the next day and confer with Count von Moltke with regard to some military details. The old general who was chosen for that service was furious at the appointment, and behaved with such rudeness that Bismarck requested that a man more courteous might replace him.
In the course of the conversation Bismarck, who was always breaking off upon side topics, replied to an observation made by Jules Favre about the love of France for a republic, by saying: "Are you so sure of that?—for I don't think so. Before treating with you, we naturally made it our business to obtain good information as to the state of public feeling in your country; and notwithstanding this unhappy war, which was forced by France upon Napoleon III., and notwithstanding the disasters of your armies, nothing would be easier, believe me, than to re-establish the emperor. I will not say that his restoration would have been hailed by acclamations in Paris, but it would have been submitted to by the country. A plébiscite would have done the rest."
Jules Favre protested. "Oh, you will become more inclined to monarchy as you grow older," cried the chancellor. "Look at me. I began my public life by being a liberal; and now, by force of reason, by the teachings of experience, and by an increased knowledge of mankind, I have learned, loving my country, wishing her good and her greatness, to become a conservative,—an upholder of authority. My emperor converted me. My gratitude to him, my respectful affection, date from the far-off time when he alone supported me. If I am to-day the man you see me, if I have rendered any service to my country, I owe it all, as I am pleased to acknowledge, to the emperor."
That night, as Jules Favre was returning to Paris to obtain from his colleagues the ratification of the armistice, Bismarck proposed that firing should cease at midnight. Jules Favre assented, but asked as a courtesy that Paris might fire the last shot.
That night the terms of capitulation were signed by all the members of the Committee of Defence. It is strange how the baptismal name of Jules predominated among them,—Jules Favre, Jules Ferry, Jules Simon, Jules Trochu. Trochu, however, did not sign, having resigned his post that he might not be called upon to do so.
A few changes in the articles as at first drawn up were made. The Prussians did not insist, as Bismarck had done at first, that the cannon in the bastions should be hurled down, and regiments were permitted to retain their colors, though Von Moltke objected strongly to such concessions. They were granted, however, by the emperor, when the matter was referred to him, but in words more insulting than a refusal. "Tell the envoy of the French Government," he said, "that we have trophies enough and standards enough taken from French armies, and have no need of those of the army of Paris."
Then, the capitulation being signed, the armistice began. General elections were at once held all over France, and the National Assembly met at Bordeaux. A Provisional Government, with M. Thiers at its head, was appointed, and peace was concluded. Alsace and Lorraine were given up to Germany, with the exception of the stronghold of Belfort, which had never surrendered. The German army was to enter Paris, but to go no farther than the Place de la Concorde; and besides the two hundred millions of francs exacted from Paris, France was to pay five milliards, that is, five thousand millions, of francs, as a war indemnity,—a thousand millions of dollars. Germany was to retain certain forts in France, and her troops in them were to be rationed by the French until this money was paid.
It was paid in an incredibly short time, chiefly by the help of the great Jewish banking-houses; and the last of the Germans retired to their own soil in September, 1872.
But on March 13, 1871, the German army around Paris,
after remaining a few hours in the capital, marched away towards home.
The Assembly at Bordeaux proceeded at once to transfer itself to the late Prussian headquarters at Versailles; but on March 18 a great rising, called the Commune, broke out in Paris, which lasted rather more than nine weeks, with a continued succession of horrors.
CHAPTER XV.
THE COMMUNE.
The story of the Commune is piteous, disheartening, shameful, and terrible. It seems as if during three months of 1871 "human nature," as Carlyle says of it in his "French Revolution," "had thrown off all formulas, and come out human!" It is the story of those whom the French call "the people,"—we "the mob," or "the populace,"—let loose upon society, and society in its turn mercilessly avenging itself for its wrongs.
By March 12,1871, the Prussian soldiers had quitted the environs of Paris, and were in full march for their homes. Two of the detached forts, however, remained eighteen months longer in their hands. On March 20 the National Assembly was to begin its session at Versailles. The Provinces were very mistrustful of Paris, and the assembling of the deputies at Versailles was of itself a proof of the want of national confidence in the Parisians.
When it was made known that the German army was to enter Paris, the National Guard of Belleville and Montmartre stole cannon from the fortifications, and placed them in position in their own quarter on the heights, so that they could fire into the city.
On March 18 General Vinoy, who had succeeded Trochu as military commander of Paris, demanded that these cannon should be given back to the city. Many of them had been purchased by subscription during the siege, but they were not the property of the men of Belleville and Montmartre, but of the whole National Guard. A regiment of the line was ordered to take possession of them, and they did so. But immediately after, the soldiers fraternized with the National Guard of Belleville, and surrendered their prize. An officer of chasseurs had been killed, and General Lecomte twice ordered his men to fire on the insurgents.[1] They refused to obey him. "General Lecomte is right," said a gentleman who was standing in a crowd of angry men at a street-corner near the scene of action. He was seized at once, and was soon recognized as General Clément Thomas, formerly commander of the National Guard of Paris. He had done gallant service during the siege; but that consideration had no weight with the insurgents. General Lecomte had been already arrested. "We will put you with him," cried the mob,—"you, who dare to speak in defence of such a scoundrel." Both the unfortunate generals were immediately imprisoned.
[Footnote 1: Leighton, Paris under the Commune.]
At four P. M. they were brought forth by about one hundred insurgent National Guards; Lecomte's hands were tied, those of General Thomas were free. They were marched to an empty house, where a mock trial took place. No rescue was attempted, though soldiers of the line stood by. The two prisoners were then conducted to a walled enclosure at the end of the street. As soon as the party halted, an officer of the National Guard seized General Thomas by the collar and shook him violently, holding a revolver to his head, and crying out, "Confess that you have betrayed the Republic!" The general shrugged his shoulders. The officer retired. The report of twenty muskets rent the air, and General Thomas fell, face downward. They ordered Lecomte to step over his body, and to take his place against the wall. Another report succeeded, and the butchery was over.
By evening the National Guard had taken possession of the Hôtel-de-Ville, and the outer Boulevards were crowded by men shouting that they had made a revolution. On this day the insurgents assumed the name of "Fédérés," or Federals, denoting their project of converting the communistic cities of France into a Federal Republic.
In vain the Government put forth proclamations calling on all good citizens, and on the Old National Guard, to put down insurrection and maintain order and the Republic. The Old Battalions of the National Guard, about twenty thousand strong, had been composed chiefly of tradesmen and gentlemen; these, as soon as the siege was over, had for the most part left the city. Bismarck's proposition to Jules Favre had been to leave the Old National Guard its arms, that it might preserve order, but to take advantage of the occasion to disarm the New Battalions. As we have seen, all were permitted to retain their arms; but the chancellor told Jules Favre he would live to repent having obtained the concession.
The friends of order, in spite of the Government's proclamations, could with difficulty be roused to action. There were two parties in Paris,—the Passives, and the Actives; and the latter party increased in strength from day to day. Indeed, it was hard for peaceful citizens to know under whom they were to range themselves. The Government had left the city. One or two of its members were still in Paris, but the rest had rushed off to Versailles, protected by an army forty thousand strong, under General Vinoy.
A species of Government had, however, formed itself by the morning of March 19 at the Hôtel-de-Ville. It called itself the Central Committee of the National Guard, and issued proclamations on white paper (white paper being reserved in Paris for proclamations of the Government). It called upon all citizens in their sections at once to elect a commune. This proclamation was signed by twenty citizens, only one of whom, M. Assy, had ever been heard of in Paris. Some months before, he had headed a strike, killed a policeman, and had been condemned to the galleys for murder. The men who thus constituted themselves a Government, were all members of the International,—that secret association, formed in all countries, for the abolition of property and patriotism, religion and the family, rulers, armies, upper classes, and every species of refinement. Another proclamation decreed that the people of Paris, whether it pleased them or not, must on Wednesday, March 22, elect a commune.
In a former chapter I have tried to explain the nature of a commune. Victor Hugo wrote his opinion of it, when the idea of a commune was first started, after the fall of Louis Philippe in 1848. His words read like a prophecy:—
"It would tear down the tricolor, and set up the red flag of destruction; it would make penny-pieces out of the Column of the Place Vendôme; it would hurl down the statue of Napoleon, and set up that of Marat in its place; it would suppress the Académie, the École Polytechnique, and the Legion of Honor. To the grand motto of 'Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity,' it would add the words, 'or death.' It would bring about a general bankruptcy. It would ruin the rich without enriching the poor. It would destroy labor, which gives each of us his bread. It would abolish property, and break up the family. It would march about with the heads of the proscribed on pikes, fill the prisons with the suspected, and empty them by massacre. It would convert France into a country of gloom. It would destroy liberty, stifle the arts, silence thought, and deny God. It would supply work for two things fatal to prosperity,—the press that prints assignats, and the guillotine. In a word, it would do in cold blood what the men of 1793 did in the ravings of fever; and after the great horrors which our fathers saw, we should have the horrible in every form that is low and base."
The party of the Commune has been divided into three classes,—the rascals, the dupes, and the enthusiasts. The latter in the last hours of the Commune (which lasted seventy-three days) put forth in a manifesto their theory of government; to wit, that every city in France should have absolute power to govern itself, should levy its own taxes, make its own laws, provide its own soldiers, see to its own schools, elect its own judges, and make within its corporate limits whatever changes of government it pleased. These Communistic cities were to be federated into a Republic. It was not clear how those Frenchmen were to be governed who did not live in cities; possibly each city was to have territory attached to it, as in Italy in the Middle Ages.
The weather during March of the year 1871 was very fine, and fine weather is always favorable to disturbances and revolutions.
The very few men of note still left in Paris desirous of putting an end to disorder without the shedding of blood, proposed to go out to Versailles and negotiate with M. Thiers, the provisional president, and the members of his Government. They were the twelve deputies of the Department of the Seine, in which Paris is situated, headed by Louis Blanc, and the maires, with their assistants, from the twenty arrondissements. They proposed to urge on the Government of Versailles the policy of giving the Parisians the right to elect what in England would be called a Lord Mayor, and likewise a city council; also to give the National Guard the right to elect its officers.
This deputation went out to Versailles on the 20th of March,—two days before the proposed election for members of a commune. On the 21st, while all Paris was awaiting anxiously the outcome of the mission, there was a great "order" demonstration in the streets, and hopes of peace and concord were exchanged on all sides. The next day, the order demonstration, which had seemed so popular, was repeated, when a massacre took place on the Place Vendome and the Rue de la Paix. Nurses, children, and other quiet spectators were killed, as also old gentlemen and reporters for the newspapers. One of the victims was a partner in the great banking house of Hottinguer, well known to American travellers.
The most popular man at that moment in Paris seemed to be Admiral Seisset, who had commanded the brigade of sailors which did good service in the siege. He went out to Versailles to unite his efforts to those of the maires and the deputies in favor of giving Paris municipal rights; but M. Thiers and his ministers were firm in their refusal.
When this was known in Paris, great was the fury and indignation of the people. In vain had Louis Blanc entreated the Assembly at Versailles to approve conciliatory measures; and when that body utterly refused to make terms with a Parisian mob, M. Clémenceau said, as he quitted their chamber: "May the responsibility for what may happen, rest upon your heads."
The mission to Versailles having been productive of no results, the election for a commune was held. The extremest men were chosen in every quarter of the city, and formed what was called the Council of the Commune. It held its sittings in the Hôtel-de-Ville, and consisted at first of eighty members, seventy of whom had never been heard of in Paris before. Its numbers dwindled rapidly, from various causes, especially in the latter days of the Commune. Among them were Poles, Italians, and even Germans; two of the eighty claimed to be Americans.
The first act of the Council of the Commune was to take possession of the Hôtel-de-Ville and to celebrate the inauguration of the new government by a brilliant banquet; its first decree was that no tenant need pay any back rent from October, 1870, to April, 1871,—the time during which the siege had lasted. It lost no time in inviting Garibaldi to assume the command of the National Guard. This Garibaldi declined at once, saying that a commandant of the National Guard, a commander-in-chief of Paris, and an executive committee could not act together. "What Paris needs," he said, "is an honest dictator, who will choose honest men to act under him. If you should have the good fortune to find a Washington, France will recover from shipwreck, and in a short time be grander than ever."
On April 3 the civil war broke out,—Paris against Versailles; the army under the National Assembly against the National Guard under the Commune. The Prussians from the two forts which they still held, looked grimly on.
At the bridge of Courbevoie, near Neuilly, where the body of Napoleon had been landed thirty years before, a flag of truce was met by two National Guards. Its bearer was a distinguished surgeon, Dr. Pasquier. After a brief parley, one of the National Guards blew out the doctor's brains. When news of this outrage was brought to General Vinoy, he commanded the guns of Fort Valérien to be turned upon the city.
At five A. M. the next morning five columns of Federals marched out to take the fort. They were under the command of three generals, Bergeret, Duval, and Eudes. With Bergeret rode Lullier, who had been a naval officer, and Flourens, the popular favorite among the members of the Commune. The three divisions marched in full confidence that the soldiers under Vinoy would fraternize with them. They were wholly mistaken; the guns of Fort Valérien crashed into the midst of their columns, and almost at the same time Flourens, in a hand-to-hand struggle, was slain.
Flourens had begun life with every prospect of being a distinguished scientist. His father had been perpetual secretary of the Academy of Sciences and a professor in the Collège de France, in which his son succeeded him when he was barely twenty-one. His first lecture, on the "History of Man," created a great impression; but in 1864 he resigned his professorship, and thenceforward devoted all his energies to the cause of the oppressed. In Crete he fought against the Turks. He was always conspiring when at home in Paris; even when the Prussians were at its gates, he could not refrain. He was the darling of the Belleville population, whom in times of distress and trial he fed, clothed, and comforted. Sometimes he was in prison, sometimes in exile. "He was a madman, but a hero, and towards the poor and the afflicted as gentle as a sister of charity," said one who knew him.
Of the three generals who led the attack on Mont Valérien, Duval was captured and shot; Eudes and Bergeret got back to Paris in safety. But the latter, in company with Lullier, was at once sent to prison by the Central Committee, and a decree was issued that Paris should be covered with barricades. As the insurgents had plenty of leisure, these barricades were strong and symmetrical, though many of them were injudiciously placed.
Whilst the fight of the 4th of April was going on without the gates, the Central Committee was occupied in issuing decrees, by which Thiers, Favre, Simon,—in short, all the legitimate ministers,—were summoned to give themselves up to the Commune to be tried for their offences, or else all their property in Paris would be confiscated or destroyed.
The failure of the expedition under Bergeret made the Parisians furiously angry. In less than a week some of the best-known priests in Paris were arrested as hostages. The churches were all closed after the morning services on Easter Day; the arms were cut off from the crosses, and red flags were hung up in their stead. No one could be buried with Christian decency, or married with the Church's blessing.
"The motto of the Commune soon became fraternity of that sort," said a resident in Paris, "which means arrest each other." Before the Commune had been established two weeks, many of its leading members, besides Lullier and Bergeret, had found their way to prison.
A personage who rose to great importance at this period was General Cluseret. He called himself an American, but he had had many aliases, and it is not known in what country he was born. At one time he had been a captain in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, but was convicted of dishonesty in the purchase of horses, and dismissed from the army. Then he came to the United States, and entered the service of the Union, by which he became a naturalized citizen. He got into trouble, however, over a flock of sheep which mysteriously disappeared while he had charge of them. Next he enlisted in the Papal Zouaves. After the Commune he escaped from Paris, and the Fenians chose him for their general. In their service he came very near capturing Chester Castle. The Fenians, however, soon accused him of being a traitor. Again he escaped, fearing a secret dagger, and was thought to have found refuge in a religious community. Subsequently he served the Turks; and lastly, during the presidency of M. Grévy, at a time of great dissatisfaction in France, he was elected a deputy from one of the Southern cities.
By April 7, Cluseret had, as some one expresses it, "swallowed up the Commune." He became for three weeks absolute dictator; after which time he found himself in prison at Mazas, occupying the very cell to which he had sent Bergeret.
Cluseret was a soldier of experience; but Bergeret had been a bookseller's assistant, and his highest military rank had been that of a sergeant in the National Guard. He could not ride on horseback, and he drove out from Paris to the fight in which Flourens was killed.
The official title of Cluseret and others, who were heads of the War Office during the Commune, was War Delegate, the committee refusing to recognize the usual title of Minister of War.
Probably the best general the Commune had was a Pole named Dombrowski, an adventurer who came into France with Garibaldi. He was not only a good strategist, but a dare-devil for intrepidity. Some said he had fought for Polish liberty, others, that he had fought against it; at any rate, he was an advanced Anarchist, though in military matters he was a strict disciplinarian, and kept his men of all nations in better order than any other commander.
When, after the first attack of the Communist forces on those of the Versailles Government, the guns of Fort Valérien opened on Paris, the second bombardment began. It was far more destructive than that of the Prussians, the guns from the forts being so much nearer to the centre of the city. The shells of the Versaillais fell on friend and foe alike, on women and on children, on homes, on churches, and on public buildings. Three shots struck the Arch of Triumph, which the Prussians had spared.
Such scenes as the following one, related by an American, might be seen daily:—
"Two National Guards passed me, bearing a litter between them. 'Oh, you can look if you like,' cried one; so I drew back the checked curtain. On a mattress was stretched a woman decently dressed, with a child of two or three years lying on her breast. They both looked very pale. One of the woman's arms was hanging down; her hand had been carried away. 'Where are they wounded?' I asked. 'Wounded! they are dead,' was the reply. 'They are the wife and child of the velocipede-maker in the Avenue de Wagram. If you will go and break the news to him, you will do us a kindness.'"
The velocipede-maker may have been—probably was—a good, peaceable citizen, with no sympathy for disorder or anarchy; but doubtless from the moment that news was broken to him, he became a furious Communist.
By order of General Cluseret every man in Paris was to be forced to bear arms for the Commune. His neighbors were expected to see that he did so, and to arrest him at once if he seemed anxious to decline. "Thus, every man walking along the street was liable to have the first Federal who passed him, seize him by the collar and say: 'Come along, and be killed on behalf of my municipal independence.'"
It would be hardly possible to follow the details of the fighting, the arrests, the bombardment, or even the changes that took place among those high in office in the Council of the Commune during the seventy-three days that its power lasted; the state of things in Paris will be best exhibited by detached sketches of what individuals saw and experienced during those dreadful days.
Here is the narrative of an English lady who was compelled to visit Paris on Easter Sunday, April 9, while it was under the administration of Cluseret.[1]
[Footnote 1: A Catholic lady in "Red" Paris. London Spectator, April, 1871 (Living Age, May 13, 1871).]
The streets she found for the most part silent and empty. There were a few omnibuses, filled with National Guards and men en blouse, and heavy ammunition-wagons under the disorderly escort of men in motley uniforms, with guns and bayonets. Here and there were groups of "patriots" seated on the curbstones, playing pitch-farthing, known in France by the name of "bouchon." Their guns were resting quietly against the wall behind them, with, in many instances, a loaf of bread stuck on the bayonet. The sky was gray, the wind piercingly cold. The swarming life of Paris was hushed. There was no movement, and scarcely any sound. The shop-windows were shut, many were boarded up; from a few hung shabby red flags, but the very buildings looked dead. She says,—
"I felt bewildered. I could see no traces of the siege, and all my previous ideas of a revolution were dispersed. I passed several churches, not then closed, and being a Catholic, I entered the Madeleine. The precious articles on the altar had been removed by the priests, but except the words 'Liberté,' 'Égalité,' 'Fraternité,' deeply cut in the stone over the great door, the church had not, so far, been desecrated. I went also to mass at Notre Dame des Victoires; but before telling my cabman to drive me there, I hesitated, believing it to be in a bad part of the city. 'There are no bad parts,' he said, 'except towards the Arch of Triumph and Neuilly. The rest of Paris is as quiet as a bird's nest.' The church was very full of men as well as women. It was a solemn, devout crowd; every woman wore a plain black dress, every face was anxious, grave, and grieved, but none looked frightened. As the aged priest who officiated read the first words of the Gospel for the day, 'Be not afraid, ye seek Jesus who was crucified,' the bombardment recommenced with a fearful roar, shaking the heavy leathern curtain over the church door, and rattling the glass in the great painted windows. I started, but got used to it after a while, and paid no more attention to it than did others. While I was in church, the citizen patriot who was my cab-driver, had brought me three newspapers, one of them the journal edited by M. Rochefort, which said that it was earnestly to be hoped that the 'old assassin' M. Thiers would soon be disposed of; that all men of heart were earnestly demanding more blood, and that blood must be given them. I also learned that the Commune would erect a statue to Robespierre out of the statues of kings, which were to be melted down for that purpose. In the Rue Saint-Honore I met a lady whom I knew, returning from the flower-market with flowers in her hands. 'Then no one,' I said, pointing to these blossoms, 'need be afraid in Paris?' 'No woman,' she answered, 'except of shells; but the men are all afraid, and in danger. They are suspected of wanting to get away, but they will be made to stay and to fight for the Commune.'
"Indeed, profound gravity seemed expressed on all men's faces, and as a body, the patriots looked to me cold, tired, bored, and hungry, to say nothing of dirty, which they looked, to a man. I had expressed a wish to see a barricade, so we turned into a small street apparently closed in by a neatly built wall with holes in it, through which I saw the mouths of cannon. About this wall men were swarming both in and out of uniform. They were all armed, and two or three were members of the Commune, with red sashes and pistols stuck in them, after the fashion of the theatre. As I looked out of my cab window, longing to see more, a cheerful young woman, with a pretty, wan infant in her arms, encouraged me to alight, and a young man to whom she was talking, a clean, trim, fair young fellow, with a military look, stepped forward and saluted me. He seemed pleased at my admiration of the barricade, and having handed a tin can to the young woman, invited me to come inside. Thence I beheld the Place Vendôme. I had seen it last on Aug. 15, 1868, on the emperor's fête-day, filled with the glittering Imperial troops. I saw it again, a wide, empty waste, bounded by four symmetrical barricades, dotted with slouching figures whose clothes and arms seemed to encumber them.... I thanked my friend for his politeness, and returned to my carriage. The young woman smiled at me, as much as to say: 'Is he not a fine fellow?' I thought he was; and there may be other fine fellows as much out of place in the ruffianly mass with which they are associated.
"In the Rue de Rivoli I saw a regiment marching out to engage the enemy. Among them were some villanous-looking faces. They passed with little tramp and a good deal of shuffle,—shabby, wretched, silent. I did not hear a laugh or an oath; I did not see a violent gesture, and hardly a smile, that day. The roistering, roaring, terrible 'Reds,' as I saw them, were weary, dull men, doing ill-directed work with plodding indifference.
"I visited a lady of world-wide reputation, who gave me a history of the past months in Paris so brilliantly and epigrammatically that I was infinitely amused, and carried away the drollest impressions of L'Empire Cluseret; but her manner changed when I asked her what I should say to her friends in England. 'Tell them,' she said, 'to fear everything, and to hope very little. We are a degraded people; we deserve what we have got.'
"In the street I bought some daffodils from a woman who was tying them up in bunches. As she put them into my hand, her face seemed full of horror. Seeing probably an answering sympathy in my face, she whispered: 'It is said that they have shot the archbishop.' I did not believe it, and I was right. He was arrested, but his doom was delayed for six weeks. That night the churches were all closed. There were no evening services that Easter day.
"I may add that I saw but one bonnet rouge, which I had supposed would be the revolutionary headdress. It was worn by an ill-looking ruffian, who sat with his back to the Quai, his legs straddled across the foot-walk, his drunken head fallen forward on his naked, hairy breast, a broken pipe between his knees, his doubled fists upon the stones at either side of him."
In the story of Louis Napoleon's abortive attempt at Boulogne to incite France against Louis Philippe's Government, we were much indebted to the narrative of Count Joseph Orsi, one of the Italians who from his earliest days had attended on his fortunes. The same gentleman has given us an account of his own experiences during the days of the Commune:—
"One could not help being struck by the contrasts presented at that time in Paris itself: destruction and death raging in some quarters, cannon levelling its beautiful environs, while at the same moment one could see its fashionable Boulevards crowded with well-dressed people loitering and smiling as if nothing were going on. The cafés, indeed, were ordered to close their doors at midnight, but behind closed shutters went on gambling, drinking, and debauchery. After spending a riotous night, fast men and women considered it a joke to drive out to the Arch of Triumph and see how the fight was going on."
The troops at Versailles, reinforced by the prisoners of war who had been returned from Prussia, began, by the 9th of April, to make active assaults on such forts as were held by the Federals. Confusion and despair began to reign in the Council of the Commune. Unsuccessful in open warfare, the managing committee tried to check the advance of the Versaillais by deeds of violence and retaliation. They arrested numerous hostages, and the same night the palace of the archbishop was pillaged. The prefect of police, Raoul Rigault, issued a decree that every one suspected of being a réactionnaire (that is, a partisan of the National Assembly) should be at once arrested. The delivery of letters was suspended, gas was cut off, and with the exception of a few places where lamp-posts were supplied with petroleum, Paris was in darkness.
The Commune also issued a decree that while all men under sixty must enter its army, women, children, and aged men could obtain passes to leave the city at the prefecture of police for two francs a head. The prefecture was besieged by persons striving to get these passes, many of whom camped out for forty-eight hours while waiting their turn.
In the midst of this confused pressure on the prefect of police, Count Orsi took the resolution of visiting him. As a known adherent of the former dynasty and a personal friend of the late emperor, he did not feel himself safe. He therefore took the bull by the horns, and went to call on the terrible Raoul Rigault in his stronghold. He did not see him, however; but after struggling for three hours in the crowd of poor creatures who were waiting to pay their two francs and receive a passport, he was admitted to the presence of his secretary, Ferré. Ferré was writing as his visitor was shown in, and, waving his pen, made him stand where he could see him. When he learned his name, he said—
"Your opinions are well known to us. We also know that you have taken no active part against us. We fight for what we believe to be just and fair. We do not kill for the pleasure of killing, but we must attain our end, and we shall, at any cost. I recommend you to keep quiet. As you are an Italian, you shall not be molested. However, I must tell you that you have taken a very bold step in calling on me in this place. Your visit might have taken a different turn. You may go. Your frank declaration has saved you."
On Easter Sunday, as the English lady to whom allusion has been made, was leaving Paris, the population in the neighborhood of the Place de Grève was amusing itself by a public burning of the guillotine. It was brought forth and placed beneath a statue of Voltaire, where it was consumed amid wild shouts of enthusiasm.
The Freemasons and trades unions sent deputies to Versailles to endeavor to negotiate between the contending parties. M. Thiers promised amnesty to all Communists who should lay down their arms, except to those concerned in the deaths of Generals Lecomte and Thomas, and he was also willing to give pay to National Guards till trade and order should be restored; but no persuasions would induce him to confer on Paris municipal rights that were not given to other cities. On the 12th of May the Commune issued the following decree:—
"Whereas, the imperial column in the Place Vendôme is a monument of barbarism, a symbol of brute force and of false glory, an encouragement to the military spirit, a denial of international rights, a permanent insult offered to the conquered by the conquerors, a perpetual conspiracy against one of the great principles of the French Republic,—namely, Fraternity,—the Commune decrees thus: The column of the Place Vendôme shall be destroyed."
Four days later, this decree was carried into effect. Its execution was intrusted to the painter Courbet, who was one of the members of the Commune. He was a man who, up to the age of fifty, had taken no part in politics, but had been wholly devoted to art. His most celebrated pictures are the "Combat des Cerfs" and the "Dame au Perroquet." He was a delightful companion, beloved by artists, and a personal friend of Cluseret, who had caused his name to be put upon the list of the members of the Commune.
The column of the Place Vendôme was one hundred and thirty-five feet high. It was on the model of Trajan's column at Rome, but one twelfth larger. It was erected by Napoleon I. to celebrate the victories of the Grand Army in the campaign of 1805. He had caused it to be cast from cannon taken from the enemy. When erected, it was surmounted by a statue of Napoleon in his imperial robes; this, at the Restoration, gave place to a white flag. Under Louis Philippe, Napoleon was replaced, but in his cocked hat and his redingote, but Louis Napoleon restored the imperial statue.