_June 27, 1848._
I returned home this morning after a short campaign of four days, in
which I was exposed to no danger, but wherein I have been enabled to
appreciate all the horrors of the time and of this land of ours. In the
midst of my grief and sorrow I am impressed above all else with the
stupidity of this nation. It is without parallel. I do not know whether
it will ever be possible for her to turn her back upon the savage
barbarism in which she is so prone to wallow.
I hope all is well with your brother. I do not think his regiment has
had any serious engagement. At the same time, we are overcome with
fatigue, having had no sleep for four nights.
Have but little confidence in the newspaper reports of the dead,
wounded, etc. Day before yesterday I passed along the rue Saint Antoine,
where I saw many windows shattered by cannon and fronts of shops
injured; but, except for this, the destruction is not as great as I had
supposed or as has been reported. These are the most extraordinary
things I saw, which I shall describe briefly, in order to go to bed: 1.
The prison has been defended for several hours by the National Guard,
and surrounded by insurgents. They said to the National Guard: “Do not
fire on us, and we will not fire on you. Take care of the prisoners.” 2.
I entered a house on the corner of the _Place de la Bastille_: it had
just been captured from the insurgents. I asked the residents there:
“Did they take much from you?” “Nothing was stolen,” was the reply. Add
to this that I took to prison a woman who was cutting off the heads of
the militiamen with her kitchen-knife, and a man whose arms were red
with blood from having bathed them in the gore of a wounded man, whose
body he had ripped open, and you will have some conception, will you
not, of this glorious nation? One thing is certain, and that is that we
are going to the dogs!
When do you mean to return? The fighting will be over in six weeks at
the most.