The war -- Reaction before the Emperor's departure -- The moral
effects of the publication of the draft treaty -- "Bismarck has
done the Emperor" -- The Parisians did not like the Empress --
The latter always anxious to assume the regency -- A retrospect
-- Crimean war -- The Empress and Queen Victoria -- Solferino --
The regency of '65 -- Bismarck's millinery bills -- Lord Lyons --
Bismarck and the Duc de Gramont -- Lord Lyons does not foresee
war -- The republicans and the war -- The Empress -- Two
ministerial councils and their consequences -- Mr.
Prescott-Hewett sent for -- Joseph Ferrari, the Italian
philosopher -- The Empress -- The ferment in Paris -- "Too much
prologue to 'The Taming of the German Shrew'" -- The first
engagement -- The "Marseillaise" -- An infant performer -- The
"Marseillaise" at the Comedie-Francaise -- The "Marseillaise" by
command of the Emperor -- A patriotic ballet -- The courtesy of
the French at Fontenoy -- The Cafe de la Paix -- General Beaufort
d'Hautpoul and Moltke -- Newspaper correspondents -- Edmond About
tells a story about one of his colleagues -- News supplied by the
Government -- What it amounted to -- The information it gave to
the enemy -- Bazaine, "the glorious" one -- Palikao -- The fall
of the Empire does not date from Sedan, but from Woerth and
Speicheren -- Those who dealt it the heaviest blow -- The
Empress, the Empress, and no one but the Empress.
Even before the Emperor started for the seat of war it was very evident,
to those who kept their eyes open, that a reaction had set in among the
better classes. They were no longer confident about France's ability to
chastise the arrogance of the King of Prussia. The publication of the
famous "draft treaty" had convinced them "que Bismarck avait roule
l'empereur,"--_anglice_, "that the Emperor had been bone;" and,
notwithstanding their repeated assertions of being able to dispense with
the moral support of Europe, they felt not altogether resigned about the
animosity which the revelation of that document had provoked. Honestly
speaking, I do not think that they regretted the duplicity of
Louis-Napoleon in having tried to steal a march upon the co-signatories
of the treaty guaranteeing the protection of Belgium; but it wounded
their pride that he should have been found out to no purpose. The word
"imbecile" began to circulate freely; and when it became known that he
had conferred the regency upon the Empress, the expression of contempt
and disapproval became stronger still. In spite of everything that has
been said to the contrary, the Parisians did not like the Empress. I
have already noted elsewhere that those frankly hostile to her did not
scruple to apply the word "l'Espagnole" in a depreciating sense; those
whose animosity did not go so far merely considered her "une femme a la
mode," and by no means fitted to take the reins of government,
especially under circumstances so grave as the present ones. On the
other hand, the Empress always showed herself exceedingly anxious to
exercise the functions of regent. The flatterers and courtiers around
her had imbued her with the idea that she was a kind of Elizabeth and a
Catherine in one, and the clerical element in her entourage was not the
least blamable in that respect.
During the Crimean war, Lord Clarendon had already been compelled to
combat the project, though he could not do so openly. Napoleon III. had
several times expressed his intention of taking the command of the army.
His ministers, and especially MM. Troplong and Baroche, begged of him
not to do so. Even Queen Victoria, to whom the idea was broached while
on her visit to Paris, threw cold water upon it as far as was possible.
But the Empress encouraged it to her utmost. "I fail to see," she said
to our sovereign, "that he would be exposed to greater dangers there
than elsewhere." It was the prospect of the regency, not of the glory
that might possibly accrue to her consort, that appealed to the Empress;
for in reality she had not the least sympathy with the object of that
war, any more than with that of 1859. Russia was ostensibly fighting for
the custody of the Holy Sepulchre; and the defeat of Austria, she had
been told by the priests, would entail the ruin of the temporal power of
the pope. And Empress Eugenie never attained to anything more than
parrot knowledge in the way of politics.
However, in 1859 she had her wish, and, before the opening of the
campaign, she declared to the Corps Legislatif that "she had perfect
faith in the moderation of the Emperor when the right moment for peace
should have arrived." Her ladies-in-waiting and the male butterflies
around her openly discounted the political effects of every engagement
on the field of battle. The Emperor, according to them, would make peace
with Austria with very few sacrifices on the latter's part, for it was a
Conservative and Catholic power, which could not be humiliated to the
bitter end, while Italy was, after all, but a hotbed of conspiracy,
revolutionary, anti-Catholic, and so forth.
And I know, for a positive fact, that the Emperor was, as it were,
compelled to suspend operations after Solferino, because the Minister
for War had ceased to send troops and ammunitions "by order of the
regent." The Minister for Foreign Affairs endeavoured by all means in
his power to alarm his sovereign.
Nevertheless, in 1865, when he went to Algeria to seek some relief from
his acute physical sufferings, Napoleon III. was badgered into confiding
the regency once more to his wife. There is no other word, because there
was no necessity for such a measure, seeing that he did not leave French
territory. We have an inveterate habit of laughing at the "henpecked
husband," and no essayist has been bold enough as yet to devote a
chapter to him from a purely historical point of view. The materials are
not only at hand in France, but in England, Germany, and Russia also;
above all, in the latter country. He, the essayist, might safely leave
Catherine de Medici out of the question. He need not go back as far. He
might begin with Marie de Medici and her daughter, Henrietta-Maria.
Sometimes the "henpecking" turns out to be for the world's benefit, as
when Sophie-Dorothea worries her spouse to let her first boy wear a
heavy christening dress and crown, which eventually kill the infant, who
makes room for Frederick the Great. But one could have very well spared
the servant-wench who henpecked Peter the Great, and Scarron's widow who
henpecked Louis XIV., and Marie-Antoinette and the rest.
The regency of '65, though perhaps not disastrous in itself, was fraught
with the most disastrous consequences for the future. It gave the
Empress the political importance which she had been coveting for years;
henceforth she made it a habit to be present at the councils of
ministers, who in their turn informed her personally of events which
ought to have remained strictly between them and the chief of the State.
This went on until M. Emile Ollivier came into power, January 2, 1870.
The Italian and Austrian ambassadors, however, continued to flatter her
vanity by constantly appealing to her; the part they played on the 4th
of September shows plainly enough how they profited in the interest of
their governments by these seemingly diplomatic indiscretions on their
own part.
As for Bismarck, as some one who was very much behind the political
scenes in Berlin once said, "His policy consisted in paying milliners'
and dressmakers' bills in Paris for ladies to whose personal adornment
and appearance he was profoundly indifferent." I am bound to say that
Lord Lyons courteously but steadfastly refused to be drawn out
"diplomatically" by the Empress. While paying due homage to the woman
and to the sovereign, he tacitly declined to consider her a pawn in the
political game, and, though always extremely guarded in his language,
could scarcely refrain from showing his contempt for those who did. I do
not know whether Lord Lyons will leave behind any "memoirs;" if he do,
we shall probably get not only nothing but the truth, but the whole
truth, with regard to the share of the Empress in determining the war;
and we shall find that that war was not decided upon between the
Imperial couple between the 14th and 15th of July, '70, but between the
5th and 6th of July. Meanwhile, without presuming to anticipate such
revelations on the part of our ambassador, I may note here my own
recollections on the subject.
On Tuesday, the 5th of July, about 2.30 p.m., I was walking along the
Faubourg Saint-Honore, when, just in front of the Embassy, I was brought
to a standstill by Lord Lyons' carriage turning into the courtyard from
the street. His lordship was inside. We were on very good terms, I may
say on very friendly terms, and he beckoned me to come in. I was at the
short flight of steps leading to the hall almost as soon as the
carriage, and we went inside together. I do not suppose I was in his
private room for more than ten minutes, but I brought away the
impression that, although the Duc de Gramont and M. Emile Ollivier might
think it necessary to adopt a bellicose tone in face of the Hohenzollern
candidature, there was little or no fear of war, because the Emperor was
_decidedly_ inclined to peace. I remember this the more distinctly,
seeing that Lord Lyons told me that he had just returned from an
interview with the Minister for Foreign Affairs. I am not certain of the
exact words used by his lordship, but positive as to the drift of one of
his remarks; namely, that the Duc de Gramont was the last person who
ought to conduct the negotiations. "There is too much personal animosity
between him and Bismarck, owing mainly to the latter having laughed his
pretensions to scorn as a diplomatist while the duke was at Vienna." I
am certain the words were to that effect. Then he added, "I can
understand though I fail to approve De Gramont's personal irritation,
but cannot account for Ollivier's, and he seems as pugnacious as the
other. Nevertheless, I repeat, the whole of this will blow over: William
is too wise a man to go to war on such a pretext, and the Emperor is too
ill not to want peace. I wish the Empress would leave him alone. I am
going to Ollivier's to-night, and I'll know more about it by to-morrow
morning."
It is very evident from this that the historians were subsequently
wrongly informed as to M. Emile Ollivier's attitude at that moment,
which they have described as exactly the reverse from what Lord Lyons
found it. I knew little or nothing of M. Ollivier, still he did not give
me the impression of being likely to adopt a hectoring tone just in
order to please the gallery, the gallery being in this instance the
clientele of the opposition, whom the Emperor feared more than any one
else. From all I have been able to gather since, Louis-Napoleon seemed
racked with anxiety, but, as one of my informants, who was scarcely away
from his side at the time, said afterwards, he was not pondering over
the consequences of war which he fancied he was able to prevent, he was
pondering the consequences of peace. Translated into plain language, it
meant that the republican minority, with its recent accession of
representatives in the chambers and its still more unscrupulous
adherents outside, were striving with might and main, not to goad the
Emperor into a war, but to make him keep a peace which, if they had had
the chance, they would have denounced as humiliating to France.
Unfortunately for France, they found an unexpected ally in the Empress.
The latter urged on the war with Prussia, in order to secure to her son
the imperial crown which was shaking on the head of her husband; the
former were playing the game known colloquially as "Heads, I win; tails,
you lose." Peace preserved by means of diplomatic negotiations would
give them the opportunity of holding up the Empire to scorn as being too
weak to safeguard the national honour; war would give them the
opportunity of airing their platitudes about the iniquity of standing
armies and the sacrifice of human life, etc. I go further still, and
unhesitatingly affirm that, if any party was aware of the corruption in
the army, it was the republican one. The plebiscite of May, with its
thousands of votes adverse to the Imperial regime--among which votes
there were those of a great many officers--had not only given them a
chance of counting their numbers, but of obtaining information, not
available to their adversaries in power. This is tantamount to an
indictment of having deliberately contributed to the temporary ruin of
their country for political purposes, and such I intend it to be. I am
not speaking without good grounds.
On the day I met Lord Lyons, two ministerial councils were held at
Saint-Cloud, both presided over by the Emperor. Between the first and
the second, the peaceful sentiments of the chief of the State underwent
no change. So little did the Emperor foresee or desire war, that on the
evening of that same day, while the second council of ministers was
being held, he sent one of his aides-de-camp to my house for the exact
address of Mr. Prescott-Hewett, the eminent English surgeon. I was not
at home, and on my return, an hour later, sent the address by telegraph
to Saint-Cloud. I have since learnt that, on the same night, a telegram
was despatched to London, inquiring of Mr. Hewett when it would be
convenient for him to hold a consultation in Paris. An appointment was
made, but Mr. Hewett eventually went in August, to the seat of war, to
see his illustrious patient. I believe, but am not certain, that he saw
him at Chalons.
On the 6th of July, there was a third council of ministers at
Saint-Cloud, at ten o'clock in the morning, in order to draw up the
answer to M. Cochery's interpellation on the Hohenzollern candidature.
The latter was supposed to have been inspired by M. Thiers, but I will
only state what I know positively with regard to the Emperor. At a
little after two that afternoon, I happened to be at the Cafe de la
Paix, when my old friend, Joseph Ferrari, came up to me.[77] He was a
great friend of Adolphe and Elysee, the brothers of Emile Ollivier. He
looked positively crestfallen, and, knowing him to be a sincere advocate
of peace, I had no need to ask him for the nature of the news he
brought. I could see at a glance that it was bad. He, however, left me
no time to put a question.
[Footnote 77: Joseph Ferrari was an Italian by birth, but spent
a great part of his time in France. He is best known by his
"Philosophes Salaries," and died in Rome, 1876.--EDITOR.]
"It's all over," he said at once, "and, unless a miracle happens, we'll
have war in less than a fortnight." He immediately went on. "Wait for
another hour, and then you'll see the effect of De Gramont's answer to
Cochery's interpellation in the Chamber. Not only the Prussians, but the
smallest nation in Europe would not stand it."
"But," I remarked, "about this time yesterday I was positively assured,
and on the best authority, that the Emperor was absolutely opposed to
any but a pacific remonstrance."
"Your informant was perfectly correct," was the answer; "and as late as
ten o'clock last night, at the termination of the second council of
ministers, his sentiments underwent no change. Immediately after that,
the Empress had a conversation with the Emperor, which I know for
certain lasted till one o'clock in the morning. The result of this
conversation is the answer, the text of which you will see directly, and
which is tantamount to a challenge to Prussia. Mark my words, the
Empress will not cease from troubling until she has driven France into a
war with the only great Protestant power on the Continent. That power
defeated, she will endeavour to destroy the rising unity of Italy. She
little knows that Victor-Emanuel will not wait until then, and that, at
the first success of the French on the Rhine, he will cross the Alps at
a sign of Prussia; that at the first success of Prussia, the Italian
troops will start on their march to Rome. Nay, I repeat, it is the
Empress who will prove the ruin of France."
That playful cry of the Empress, which she was so fond of uttering in
the beginning of her married life, "As for myself, I am a Legitimist,"
without understanding, or endeavouring to understand its import, had
gradually grafted itself on her mind, although it had ceased to be on
her lips. Impatient of contradiction, self-willed and tyrannical, both
by nature and training, her sudden and marvellous elevation to one of
the proudest positions in Europe could not fail to strengthen those
defects of character. Superstitious, like most Spaniards, she was firmly
convinced that the gipsy who foretold her future greatness was a Divine
messenger, and from that to the conviction that she occupied the throne
by a right as Divine as that claimed by the Bourbons there was but one
short step. A corollary to Divine right meant, to her, personal and
irresponsible government. That was her idea of legitimism. Though by no
means endowed with high intellectual gifts, she perceived well enough,
in the beginning, that the Second Empire was not a very stable edifice,
either with regard to its foundations or superstructure, and, until
England propped it up by an alliance, and a State visit from our
sovereign, she kept commendably coy. But from that moment she aspired to
be something more than the arbiter of fashion. As I have already said,
she failed in prevailing upon the Emperor to go to the Crimea. In '59
she was more successful, in '65 she was more successful still. In the
former year, she laid the foundation of what was called the Empress's
party; in the latter, the scaffolding was removed from the structure,
henceforth the work was done inside. She, no more than her surroundings,
had the remotest idea that France was gradually undergoing a political
change, that she was recovering her constitutional rights. Her party was
like the hare in the fable that used the wrong end of the opera-glass,
and lived in a fool's paradise with regard to the distance that divided
them from the sportsman, until he was fairly upon them, in the shape of
the liberal ministry of the 2nd of January, 1870.
M. Emile Ollivier, to his credit be it said, refused to be guided by his
predecessors. He studiously avoided informing the Empress of the affairs
of State, let alone discussing them with her. Apart from the small fry
of the Imperial party, he made two powerful enemies--the Empress
herself, and Rouher, who saw in this refusal to follow precedent an
implied censure upon himself. Rouher, I repeat once more, was honest to
the backbone, but fond of personal power. The Empire to him meant
nothing but the Emperor, the Empress, and the heir to the throne; just
as Germany meant nothing to Bismarck but the Hohenzollern dynasty. He
was one of the first to proclaim, loudly and openly, that the plebiscite
of the 8th of May meant an overwhelming manifestation, not in favour of
the liberal Empire, but in favour of the Emperor; and when the latter,
to do him justice, declined to look at it in that light, he deserted him
for the side of his wife. It is an open secret that the first use the
Empress meant to make of her power as regent, after the first signal
victory of French arms, was to sweep away the cabinet of the 2nd of
January. The Imperial decree conferring the regency upon her, "during
the absence of the Emperor at the head of his army," and dated the 22nd
of July, invested her with very limited power.
Meanwhile, pending the departure of the Emperor, Paris was in a
ferment, but, to the careful observer, it was no longer the unalloyed
enthusiasm of the first few days. There were just as many people in the
streets; the shouts of "A Berlin!" though, perhaps, not so sustained,
were just as loud every now and then; the troops leaving for the front
received tremendous ovations, and more substantial proofs of the
people's goodwill; the man who dared to pronounce the word "peace" ran a
great risk of being rent to pieces by the crowds--a thing which almost
happened one night in front of the Cafe de Madrid, on the Boulevard
Montmartre: still, the enthusiasm was not the same. "There seems to be a
great deal of prologue to 'The Taming of that German Shrew,'" said a
French friend, who was pretty familiar with Shakespeare; and he was not
far wrong, for the Christopher Sly abounded. The bivouacs of the troops
about to take their departure reminded one somewhat more forcibly of
operatic scenes and equestrian dramas of the circus type than of the
preparations for the stern necessities of war--with this difference,
that the contents of the goblet were real, and the viands not made of
cardboard. "They are like badly made cannons, these soldiers," said some
one else: "they are crammed up to the muzzle, and they do not go off."
In short, the more sensible of the Paris population began to conclude
that a little less intoning of patriotic strophes and a good deal more
of juxtaposition with the German troops was becoming advisable. The
reports of the few preliminary skirmishes that had taken place were no
doubt favourable to the French; at the same time, there was no denying
the fact that they had taken place on French and not on German
territory, which was not quite in accordance with the spirit of the
oft-repeated cry of "A Berlin!" In accordance with the programme of
which that cry was the initial quotation, the French ought, by this
time, to have been already half on their way to the Prussian capital.
That is what sensible, nay, clever people expressed openly.
Nevertheless, the cry continued, nor was there any escape from the
"Marseillaise," either by day or night. Every now and then a more than
usually dense group might be seen at a street corner. The centre of the
group was composed of a woman, with a baby in her arms; the little one
could scarcely speak, but its tiny voice reproduced more or less
accurately the air of the "Marseillaise:" a deep silence prevailed
during the performance in order to give the infant a fair chance;
deafening applause greeted the termination of the solo, and a shower of
coppers fell into the real or pseudo mother's lap. On the 18th of July,
the day of the official declaration of war in Paris, the
Comedie-Francaise performed "Le Lion Amoureux" of Ponsard.[78] At the
end of the second act, the public clamoured for the "Marseillaise."
There was not a single member of the company capable of complying with
the request, "so the stage manager for the week" had to come forward and
ask for a two-days' adjournment, during which some one might study it.
Of course, _the honour_ of singing the revolutionary hymn was to devolve
upon a woman, according to the precedent established in '48, when Rachel
had intoned it. From what I learnt a few days afterwards, the candidates
for the _distinguished task_ were not many, in spite of the tacit
consent of the Government. The ladies of the company, most of whom, like
their fellow-actors, had been always very cordially treated by the
Emperor on the occasion of their professional visits to Saint-Cloud,
Compiegne, and Fontainebleau, instinctively guessed the pain the
concession must have caused the chief of the State, and under some
pretext declined. Mdlle. Agar accepted, and sang the "Marseillaise," in
all forty-four times, from the 20th of July to the 17th of September,
the day of the final investment of the capital by the German armies.
[Footnote 78: I believe there exists an English version of the
play, entitled "A Son of the Soil." I am not certain of the
title.--EDITOR.]
It must not be supposed, though, that the Government had waited until
the day of the official declaration of war to sanction the performance
of the "Marseillaise" in places of public resort. I remember crossing
the Gardens of the Tuileries in the afternoon of Sunday, the 17th of
July. One of the military bands was performing a selection of music. The
custom of doing so during the summer months has prevailed for many
years, both in the capital and in the principal garrison towns of the
provinces. All at once they struck up the "Marseillaise." I looked with
surprise at my companion, a member of the Emperor's household. He caught
the drift of my look.
"It is by the Emperor's express command," he said. "It is the national
war-song. In fact, it is that much more than a revolutionary hymn."
"But war has not been declared," I objected.
"It will be to-morrow," was the answer.
The public, which in this instance was mainly composed of the better
classes, apparently refused to consider the "Marseillaise" a national
war-song, and applause at its termination was but very lukewarm.
I have already spoken of the scene I witnessed in connection with the
departure of the Germans on that same Sunday early in the morning, and
have also noted the demonstration in front of the German Embassy on the
previous Friday night. I will not be equally positive with regard to the
exact dates of the succeeding exhibitions of bad taste on the part of
the Parisians, but I remember a very striking one which happened between
the official declaration of war and the end of July. It was brought
under my notice, not by a foreigner, but by a Frenchman, who was
absolutely disgusted with it. We were sitting one evening outside the
Cafe de la Paix, which, being the resort of some noted Imperialists, I
had begun to visit more frequently than I had done hitherto. There was a
terrible din on the Boulevards: the evening papers had just published a
very circumstantial account of that insignificant skirmish which cost
Lieutenant Winslow his life, and in which the French had taken a couple
of prisoners. "They" (the prisoners), suggested an able editor, "ought
to be brought to Paris and publicly exhibited as an example." "And, what
is more," said my friend who had read the paragraph to me, "he means
what he says. These are the descendants of a nation who prides herself
on having said at Fontenoy, 'Messieurs, les Anglais tirez les premiers,'
which, by-the-by, they did not say.[79] If you care to come with me,
I'll show you what would be the probable fate of such prisoners if the
writer of that paragraph had his will."
[Footnote 79: It was, in fact, an English officer who shouted,
"Messieurs des gardes francaises, tirez;" to which the French
replied, "Messieurs, nous ne tirons jamais les premiers; tirez
vous memes." But it was not politeness that dictated the reply;
it was the expression of the acknowledged and constantly
inculcated doctrine that all infantry troops which fired the
first were indubitably beaten. We find the doctrine clearly
stated in the infantry instructions of 1672, and subsequently
in the following order of Louis XIV. to his troops: "The
soldier shall be taught not to fire the first, and to stand the
fire of the enemy, seeing that an enemy who has fired is
assuredly beaten when his adversary has his powder left." At
the battle of Dettingen, consequently, two years before
Fontenoy, the theory had been carried _beyond_ the absurd by
expressly forbidding the Gardes to fire, though they were raked
down by the enemy's bullets. Maurice de Saxe makes it a point
to praise the wisdom of a colonel who, in order to prevent his
troops from firing, constantly made them shoulder their
muskets.--EDITOR.]
So said; so done. In about a quarter of an hour we were seated at the
Cafe de l'Horloge, in the Champs Elysees, and my friend was holding out
five francs fifty centimes in payment for two small glasses of so-called
"Fine Champagne," _plus_ the waiter's tip. The admission was gratis; and
the difference between those who went in and those who remained outside
was that the latter could hear the whole of the performance without
seeing it, and without disbursing a farthing; while the former could see
the whole of the performance without hearing a note, for the din there
was also infernal. Shortly after our arrival, the band struck up the
inevitable "Marseillaise," but the audience neither listened nor
applauded.
This was, after all, but the overture to the entertainment to which my
friend had invited me, and which consisted of a spectacular pantomime
representing an engagement between a regiment or a battalion of Zouaves
and Germans. As a matter of course, the latter had the worst of it; and,
at the termination, a couple of them were brought in and compelled to
sue for mercy on their knees. I am bound to say that the thing hung fire
altogether, and that, but for the remarkable selection of handsome legs
of the Zouaves, not even the hare-brained young fellows with which the
audience was largely besprinkled would have paid any attention.
In the whole of Paris there was no surer centre of information of the
state of affairs at the front than the Cafe de la Paix. It was the
principal resort of the Bonapartists. There were Pietri, the prefect of
police, Sampierro, Abatucci, and a score or two of others; all
cultivating excellent relations with the Chateau. There was also the
General Beaufort d'Hautpoul, to whom Bismarck subsequently, through the
pen of Dr. Moritz Busch, did the greatest injury a man can do to a
soldier, in accusing him of drunkenness when he came to settle some of
the military conditions of the armistice at Versailles. He was, as far
as I remember, one of the two superior French officers who estimated at
its true value the strategic genius of Von Moltke. The other was Colonel
Stoffel. But General d'Hautpoul was even better enabled to judge; he had
seen Moltke at work in Syria more than thirty years before. He was in
reality the Solomon Eagle of the campaign, before a single shot had been
fired. "I know our army, and I know Helmuth von Moltke," he said,
shaking his head despondingly. "If every one of our officers were his
equal in strategy, the chance would then only be equal. Moltke has the
gift of the great billiard-player; he knows beforehand the exact results
of a shock between two bodies at a certain angle. We are a doomed
nation."
As a matter of course, his friends were very wroth at what they called
"his unpatriotic language," and when the news of the engagement at
Saarbruck arrived they crowed over him; but he stuck to his text. "It is
simply a feint on Moltke's part, and proves nothing at all. In two or
three days we'll get the news of a battle that will decide, not only the
fate of the whole campaign, but the fate of the Empire also."
Two days afterwards, I met him near the Rue Saint-Florentin; he looked
absolutely crestfallen. "We have suffered a terrible defeat near
Wissembourg, but do not breathe a word of it to any one. The Government
is waiting for a victory on some other point, and then it will publish
the two accounts together."
The Government was reckoning without the newspapers, French and foreign.
The latter might be confiscated, and in fact were, such as the _Times_
and _l'Independance Belge_; but the French, notwithstanding the
temporary law of M. Emile Ollivier, were more difficult to deal with. I
am inclined to think that if they had foreseen the terrible fate that
was to befall the French armies they would have been more amenable, but
in the beginning they anticipated nothing but startling victories, and,
as such, looked upon the campaign in the light of a series of brilliant
spectacular performances, glowing accounts of which were essentially
calculated to increase their circulation. When MM. Cardon and
Chabrillat, respectively of the _Gaulois_ and _Figaro_, were released by
the Prussians, they told many amusing stories to that effect,
unconsciously confirming the opinion I have already expressed; but the
following, which I had from the lips of Edmond About himself, is better
than any I can remember.
A correspondent of one of the best Paris newspapers, on his arrival at
the head-quarters of "the army of the Rhine," applied to the
aide-major-general for permission to follow the operations. He had a
good many credentials of more or less weight; nevertheless the
aide-major-general, in view of the formal orders of the Emperor and
Marshal Leboeuf, felt bound to refuse the request. The journalist, on
the other hand, declined to take "no" for an answer. "I have come with
the decided intention to do justice, and more than justice, perhaps, to
your talent and courage, and it would be a pity indeed if I were not
given the opportunity," he said.
"I am very sorry," was the reply; "but I cannot depart from the rules
for any one."
"But our paper has a very large circulation."
"All the more reason to refuse you the authorization to follow the
staff."
The journalist would not look at matters in that light. He felt that he
was conferring a favour, just as he would have felt in offering the
advantage of a cleverly written puff of a premiere to a theatrical
manager. Seeing that his arguments were of no avail, he delivered his
parting shot.
"This, then, general, is your final decision. I am afraid you'll have
cause to regret this, for we, on our side, are determined not to give
this war the benefit of publicity in our columns."
M. Emile Ollivier's original decision was the right one, but, instead of
embodying it in a temporary and exceptional order, he ought to have made
it a permanent law in times of peace as well as war. On Saturday, the
16th of July, Count Culemburg, the Prussian Minister of the Interior,
addressed a circular to the German papers, recommending them to abstain
from giving any news, however insignificant, with regard to the
movements of the troops. As far as I remember, the German editors
neither protested, nor endeavoured to shirk the order; they raised no
outcry against "the muzzling of the press." Five days later, the French
minister was attacked by nearly every paper in France for attempting to
do a similar thing, and, rather than weather that storm in a teacup, he
consented to a compromise, and condescended to ask where he might have
commanded. In addition to this, he undertook that the Government itself
should be the purveyor of war-news to the papers. Every editor of
standing in Paris knew that this meant garbled, if not altogether
mythical, accounts of events, and that even these would be held back
until they could be held back no longer. In a few days their worst
apprehensions in that respect were confirmed. While Paris was still
ignorant of the terrible disaster at Wissembourg, the whole of Europe
rang with the tidings. Then came the false report of a brilliant victory
from the Government agency. It made the Parisians frantic with joy, but
the frenzy changed into one of anger when the truth became known through
the maudlin and lachrymose despatches from the Imperial head-quarters,
albeit that they by no means revealed the whole extent of the defeats
suffered at Woerth and Spicheren.
Nevertheless, the _agency_ continued the even--or rather uneven--tenor
of its way up to the last. The Republicans subsequently adopted the
tactics of the Imperial Government, the Communists adhered to the system
of those they had temporarily ousted. In the present note, I will deal
only with events up to the 4th of September. Patent as it must have been
to the merest civilian, that the commanders were simply committing
blunder after blunder, the movements of Bazaine were represented by the
_agency_ as the result of a masterly and profound calculation. Even such
a pessimist as General Beaufort d'Hautpoul was taken in by those
representations. He considered the "masterly inactivity" of Bazaine as
an inspiration of genius. "He is keeping two hundred thousand German
troops round Metz," he said several times. "These two hundred thousand
men are rendered absolutely useless while we are recruiting our armies
and reorganizing our forces." He seemed altogether oblivious of the fact
that these two hundred thousand Germans were virtually the gaolers of
France's best army.
I am unable to say whether General d'Hautpoul was in direct or indirect
communication with the _agency_, or whether some ingenious scribe
belonging to it had overheard his expressions of admiration and wilfully
adopted them; certain it is that the _agency_ was the first to inspire
the reporters of those papers who took their cue from it with the
flattering epithet of "glorious Bazaine."
It was the same with regard to Palikao. His sententious commonplaces
were reported as so many oracular revelations dragged reluctantly from
him. Had they been more familiar with Shakespeare than they were, or
are, the scribes would have made Palikao exclaim with Macbeth, "The
greatest is behind." And all the while the troops were marching and
countermarching at haphazard, without a preconceived plan, jeering at
their leaders, and openly insulting the "phantom" Emperor, as they did
at Chalons, for he was already no more than that. The fall of the Empire
does not date from Sedan, but from Woerth and Spicheren; and those most
pertinently aware of it were not the men who dealt it the final blow
less than a month later, but the immediate entourage of the Empress at
the Tuileries.
For from that moment (the 6th or 7th of August) the entourage of the
Empress began to think of saving the Empire by sacrificing, if needs be,
the Emperor. "There is only one thing that can avert the ruin of the
dynasty," said a lady-in-waiting on the Empress, to a near relative of
mine; "and that is the death of the Emperor at the head of his troops.
That death would be considered an heroic one, and would benefit the
Prince Imperial."
I do not pretend to determine how far the Empress shared that opinion,
but here are some facts not generally known, even to this day, and for
the truth of which I can unhesitatingly vouch.
The Empress did not know of the consultation that had taken place on the
1st of July, and to which I have already referred. But she did know that
the Emperor was suffering from a very serious complaint, and that the
disease had been aggravated since his departure through his constantly
being on horseback. M. Franceschini Pietri, the private secretary of the
Emperor, had informed her to that effect on the 7th of August, when
Forbach and Woerth had been fought. He also told her that the Emperor
was not unwilling to return to Paris, and to leave the command-in-chief
to Bazaine, but that his conscience and his pride forbade him to do so,
unless some pressure were brought to bear upon him. I repeat, I can
vouch for this, because I had it from the lips of M. Pietri, who was
prefect of police until the 4th of September.
Meanwhile, others, besides M. Franceschini Pietri, had noticed the
evident moral and mental depression of the Emperor, increased, no doubt,
by his acute physical sufferings, which were patent to almost every one
with whom he came in immediate contact; for an eye-witness wrote to me
on the 4th of August: "The Emperor is in a very bad state; after
Saarbruck, Lebrun and Leboeuf had virtually to lift him off his horse.
The young prince, who, as you have probably heard already, was by his
side all the time, looked very distressed, for his father had scarcely
spoken to him during the engagement. But after they got into the
carriage, which was waiting about a dozen yards away, the Emperor put
his arm round his neck and kissed him on the cheeks, while two large
tears rolled down his now. I noticed that the Emperor had scarcely
strength to walk that dozen yards."
Leboeuf, who, like a great many more, has suffered to a certain extent
for the faults of Marshal Niel, perceived well enough that something had
to be done to cheer the Emperor in his misfortunes. It was he who
proposed that the latter should return to Paris, accompanied by him,
while the corps d'armee of Frossard, which had effected its retreat in
good order, and several other divisions that had not been under fire as
yet, should endeavour to retrieve matters by attacking the armies of Von
Steinmetz and Frederick-Charles, which at that identical moment were
only in "course of formation." But Louis-Napoleon, while admitting the
wisdom of the plan, sadly shook his head, and declared that he could not
relinquish the chief command in view of the double defeat the army had
suffered under his leadership.
What had happened, then, during the twenty-four hours immediately
following the telegram of M. Franceschini Pietri? Simply this: not only
had the Empress refused to exercise the pressure which would have
afforded her husband an excuse for his return, but she had thrown cold
water on the idea of that return by a despatch virtually
discountenancing that return. The cabinet had not been consulted in this
instance.
Nay, more; the cabinet on the 7th of August despatched, in secret, M.
Maurice Richard, Minister of Arts, which at that time was distinct from
the Ministry of Public Instruction, to inquire into the state of health
of the Emperor and the degree of confidence with which he inspired the
troops. That was on the 7th of August. He went by special train to Metz.
Two hours after he was gone, Adolphe Ollivier told me and Ferrari at the
Cafe de la Paix. A few hours after his return next day, he told us the
result of those inquiries. M. Richard had brought back the worst
possible news.
At a council of ministers, held early on the 9th, M. Emile Ollivier, in
view of the communication made to him by his colleague, proposed the
immediate return of the Emperor, fully expecting M. Richard to support
him. The Empress energetically opposed the plan, and when M. Ollivier
turned, as it were, to M. Richard, the latter kept ominously silent. Not
to mince matters, he had been tampered with. M. Ollivier found himself
absolutely powerless.
A day or so before that--I will not be positive as to the date--M.
Ollivier telegraphed officially to the head-quarters at Metz, to request
the return of the Prince Imperial, in accordance with the generally
expressed wish of the Paris papers. M. Pietri told me that same day that
the minister's telegram had been followed by one in the Empress's
private cipher, expressing her wish that the Prince Imperial should
remain in the army. She did not explain why. She merely recommended the
Emperor to make the promise required, and then to pay no further heed to
it.
The regent had no power to summon parliament, nevertheless she did so,
mainly in order to overthrow the Ollivier ministry. I am perfectly
certain that the Emperor never forgave her for it. If those who were at
Chislehurst are alive when these notes appear, they will probably bear
me out.
What, in fact, could a parliament summoned under such circumstances be
but a council of war, every one of whose decisions was canvassed in
public and made the enemy still wiser than he was before? Of course, the
Empress felt certain that she would be able to dismiss it as easily as
it had been summoned; she evidently did not remember the fable of the
horse which had invited the man to get on his back in order to fight the
stag. There is not the slightest doubt that, as I have already remarked,
the Empress's main purpose was the overthrow of the Ollivier
administration; if proof were wanted, the evidence of the men who
overthrew the Empire would be sufficient to establish the fact, and not
one, but half a dozen, have openly stated that the defeat of the
Ollivier ministry was accomplished with the tacit approval of the court
party: _read_, "the party of the Empress," to which I have referred
before.
The list of the Empress's blunders, involuntary or the reverse, is too
long to be transcribed in detail here; I return to my impressions of men
and things after my meeting with General Beaufort d'Hautpoul in the Rue
de Rivoli.
I do not suppose that in the whole of Paris there were a dozen sensible
men who still cherished any illusions with regard to the possibility of
retrieving the disasters by a dash into the enemy's country. The cry of
"A Berlin!" had been finally abandoned even by the most chauvinistic.
But the hope still remained that the Prussians would be thrust back from
the "sacred soil of France" by some brilliant coup de main, although I
am positive that the Empire would have been doomed just the same if
that hope had been realized. Among those who had faith in the coup de
main were M. Paul de Cassagnac and, curiously enough, General Beaufort
d'Hautpoul. He had suddenly conceived great hopes with regard to
Bazaine. M. de Cassagnac seriously contemplated enlisting in the
Zouaves. Strange to relate, M. Paul de Cassagnac, in spite of his
well-known attachment to the Imperialist cause, was looked upon, by the
most determined opponents of that cause among the masses, as a man to be
trusted and consulted in a non-official way. I remember being on the
Boulevard one evening after the affair at Beaumont, when the rage of the
population was even stronger than after the defeats at Woerth and
Forbach. All of a sudden we perceived a dense group swaying towards
us--we were between the Rues Laffite and Le Peletier--and in the centre
towered the tall figure of M. de Cassagnac. For a moment we were afraid
that some mischief was being contemplated, the more that we had noticed
several leaders of the revolutionary party--or, to speak by the card, of
the Blanqui party--hovering near the Cafe Riche. But the demonstration
was not a hostile one; on the contrary, it had a friendly tendency, and
showed a tacit acknowledgment that, whosoever else might hide the truth
from them, M. de Cassagnac would not do so. "What about rifles, M.
Paul?" was the cry; "are there sufficient for us all?" It must be
remembered that the _levee en masse_ had been decreed. M. de Cassagnac
could not tell the truth, and would not tell a lie. He frankly said, "I
don't know." We noticed also that at his approach the Blanquists slunk
away. The Empire had been tottering on its base until then; after
Beaumont it was virtually doomed.