Mob seize Hôtel de Ville.--"Thanksgiving" in Paris.--Prices of
Food.--Paris Rats.--Menagerie Meat.--Horse-meat.--Eatable only
as Mince.--Government Interference.--Sorties.--Are Failures.--Le
Bourget taken by French.--Retaken by Prussians.--French
Naval Officers.--Belleville National Guard.--Their Poetry.
--Blundering.--Sheridan's Opinion of German Army.
Late in October, M. Thiers came into Paris on a peace mission, but
met with no success. He brought the news of the fall of Metz. There
was great excitement in Paris. The mob collected, marched to the
Hôtel de Ville, and took possession. They arrested several members
of the Government, and shut them up--others escaped. They then
proceeded to depose the Government, and to set up one of their own.
Ducrot begged Trochu to let him fire on the mob; he could disperse
them, he said, in five minutes. The Mobiles were eager to fire; for
the Mobiles and the National Guard lived like cat and dog together.
Trochu would not consent. The insurgents remained in possession of
the Hôtel de Ville all that night, and the next day gradually melted
away. It was one of those unfortunate mob triumphs which contributed
not a little to the success of the Commune.
The siege found about two hundred Americans in Paris. I ought to
say "citizens of the United States;" but we have taken to ourselves
the broader title, and in Europe it is generally accorded to us.
Of these two hundred about fifty went away, and about one hundred
and fifty remained. The French live from hand to mouth, buying only
what is necessary for the day, and laying no stores in. This comes,
I think, from their system of living in apartments, and the want of
store-rooms. The Americans, as a rule, laid in a stock of provisions.
The grocers of Paris had imported a large quantity of canned food
for the use of the _colonie américaine_, which was then, and still
is, a power in Paris. The greater part of the _colonie_ having gone,
there remained a quantity of canned vegetables, fruit, deviled ham
and turkey, oysters, lobsters, etc., etc., and, above all, hominy
and grits. The French knew nothing of these eatables till late in
the siege, when they discovered their merits. In the mean time the
Americans had bought up nearly all there was on hand.
As Thanksgiving approached we determined to celebrate it,
notwithstanding our supposed forlorn condition. Some thirty of us met
at a restaurant on the Boulevard, where we feasted on the traditional
turkey, or, rather, on two of them, at twelve dollars apiece. Under
the circumstances, we had quite an Epicurean repast. Mr. Washburne
presided, and made a humorous speech, dwelling provokingly on the
good things our unbesieged countrymen were then enjoying at home.
Professor Shepherd, of Chicago, was present, and made some clever
and appropriate remarks. The Professor has written one of the most
readable and reliable books upon the siege I have met with.
Prices of food in Paris had now reached their height. Turkeys, as I
have said, sold at $12 apiece, chickens at $6, cats $1.60, rats 15
cents, dogs from 80 cents up, according to size and fat. There was a
refinement in rats. They were known as the brewery rat and the sewer
rat. The brewery rat was naturally the most delicate titbit, and
as the siege progressed and but little food found its way into the
sewers, the sewer rats diminished wofully in numbers, while their
brethren of the brewery increased. I know of no better evidence
of the severity of the cold, and the scarcity of food during that
winter, than an incident that came under my own observation. I was
called by the _concierge_ of the building to look at the apartment of
an American gentleman, on the floor below me. The rats had made their
way with great gymnastic agility into the kitchen; they had thrown
down and broken two or three dishes which the cook had imperfectly
washed, and on which there remained a little grease. They had then
made their way into the salons and bedrooms, had gnawed and burrowed
into the sofas and mattresses, and there several lay, dead of cold
and hunger.
But there was no time in Paris when money would not buy good food,
though it could not buy fuel, for that had been seized by the
Government. Very late in the siege a man brought to the Legation
a piece of _filet de bœuf_ of six pounds, for which he asked four
dollars a pound. Mr. Washburne and I did not indulge in such
luxuries, living principally upon our national pork and beans, and
the poetic fish-ball. A young American happened to be in the office,
however, who took it at once, and paid his twenty-four dollars.
In the suburbs of Paris food was more abundant. I breakfasted in
December with a French general, who commanded one of the outposts.
We had beef, eggs, ham, etc., and, from what I heard, I should say
that he and his staff breakfasted as well every day. These noonday
breakfasts, by-the-way, ruined the French army. I reached my
general's head-quarters at half-past eleven. He and one of his staff
were smoking cigars and drinking absinthe. At twelve we breakfasted
bountifully, as I have said, and with Champagne and other wines,
followed by coffee, brandy, and more cigars. We got through breakfast
about three o'clock. This was on an outpost, in presence of the
enemy. Had he attacked, what would the general and his staff have
been worth? They were very far from being intoxicated, but certainly
their heads were not clear, or their judgments sound.
The Prussians soon learned the French habits, and attacked them in
the field when they were making their soup. The French soldiers could
not catch up their soup and pocket it, and eat it at their leisure.
They consequently lost not only their breakfasts, but frequently
their cooking utensils too. The Germans, on the other hand, had a
liberal ration of meat (_fleisch_--what a disagreeable word!)--one
pound and a half per diem. But, meat failing, they always had a
German sausage and a piece of bread in their haversacks, and could
eat as they marched. Yet such is the power of habit in France, and
the strength of tradition, that I suppose the French soldier will
continue to all time to prepare his soup, even at the expense of
defeat.
Without stirring from Paris, I had the opportunity during the
siege to taste as many varieties of wild meat as the greatest of
travelers--as Humboldt himself. It was found to be impossible to
procure food for the animals at the Jardin d'Acclimatation, and they
were sold and killed. They were bought mostly by the enterprising
English butcher of the Avenue Friedland. I indulged from time to time
in small portions of elephant, yak, camel, reindeer, porcupine, etc.,
at an average rate of four dollars a pound. Of all these, reindeer
is the best; it has a fine flavor of venison. Elephant is tolerably
good. Some of my readers may remember the charming twin elephants,
Castor and Pollux, who carried children round the Garden on their
backs, in 1867 to 1869. They were done to death with chassepots--shot
through the head. I eat a slice of Castor. It was tolerably good
only; did very well in time of siege. But all these meats are but
poor substitutes for beef and mutton; and when travelers tell us of
the delights of elephant's trunk or buffalo's hump, depend upon it,
it is the hunter's appetite that gives the flavor.
The main-stay of the population, in the way of fresh meat, was horse.
These were requisitioned, and every horseholder having more than one
was compelled to contribute toward feeding the population. The horses
were liberally paid for, so much per pound. Some individuals made a
very good thing out of it. They got in with the horse officials. A
fine animal, requisitioned from the owner, who knew no better than
to send it, appeared at the shambles. One of these gentry, with the
connivance of the official in charge, would take him, and substitute
an old screw of equal or greater weight. I know an American in
Paris who is daily aggravated by seeing at the Bois a beautiful
mare he once owned, and whose loss he had deeply deplored, but had
been comforted by the reflection that she had perished to feed the
starving Parisians.
The horse-meat was rationed and sold by the Government at reasonable
prices: nine ounces and a half were allowed per diem to each adult.
There is a refinement in horse-meat, as in rats. A young light-gray
is tender and juicy. Black is the worst color; the meat is coarse
and tough. But horse-flesh is poor stuff at best. It has a sweet,
sickening flavor. Some people spoke highly of it as soup; others when
_mariné_. The only way I found it eatable was as mince mixed with
potato.
From horse-meat to beef is but a slight transition, but one
more easily made on paper than on the table in those days. The
interference of the French Government in almost every detail of
private life is something of which happily we know nothing in this
country. You can not cut down a tree on your own land without its
permission. During the siege you could not kill your own ox without
leave from the Minister of Commerce. If you had providently laid in a
larger supply of fuel than he thought you needed, he took possession
of it, and paid you Government prices for what was then almost
priceless. An American lady resident in Paris had a cow. The cow ran
dry, and she wanted to convert it into beef. She came to the Legation
to secure Mr. Washburne's intervention to obtain for her permission
to kill her own cow. At first it was refused, and it required no
inconsiderable amount of diplomatic correspondence and the waste of
many pages of good foolscap, with a large expenditure of red tape
and sealing-wax, before the permission was obtained.
I have said very little of the sorties from Paris. The subject is
not a pleasant one. There were five hundred thousand armed men in
Paris, and only three hundred and fifty thousand outside. Yet but
one serious sortie was ever made. This was to the south-east, under
Ducrot; and the fighting was obstinate, and lasted two days. Ducrot
had published a proclamation to the effect that he should come back
victorious, or be brought back dead. He was defeated, but marched
quietly back nevertheless. We are unaccustomed among Anglo-Saxons to
this style of proclamation, and call it bombast. I am told, however,
by those better acquainted with the French character than I am, that
it has its effect upon the French soldier, and is therefore allowable.
The garrison of Paris should have made a sortie every night,
sometimes a thousand men, and sometimes a hundred thousand, and in
two or three quarters at once. Their central position gave them
every opportunity to do this to advantage. Had they done so, they
would soon have worn out the Germans with constant _alertes_, and
with comparatively little fatigue to themselves. But this, too, was
mismanaged. They surprised and took Le Bourget, a little village to
the north-east. Of course we all supposed that it would be strongly
garrisoned, and the garrison well supported. Not at all. Two days
later the Prussians retook it. The garrison made a most gallant
defense, but they were entirely unsupported. Not a regiment of the
immense army in Paris came to their assistance. No possible excuse
can be given for this abandonment.
The loss of Le Bourget produced great discontent among the Parisians;
and Trochu was blamed, and most justly. He made an effort to retake
it, but in vain. The sailors, under their gallant officers, made a
spirited assault, but were repulsed with great loss; for they were
not supported by the soldiers. The officers made every effort to lead
them on, but they would not assault.
The French naval officers are a very superior class of men. They
compare most favorably with those of any other nation. They are
painstaking, intelligent, and well-informed. Under their command the
sailors fought gallantly during the war, for there was a large number
of them detailed to the army, as they had little to do at sea. They
felt strongly the deterioration of their sister service, the army.
At Versailles I was once dining at a restaurant near a naval officer.
An army officer, accompanied by two non-commissioned officers,
entered, called loudly for dinner, and made a great disturbance. They
were evidently the worse for liquor. I overheard the naval officer
muttering to himself, "_Cette pauvre armée française! cette pauvre
armée française!_"
There was always blundering. They had shut up a brigade of cavalry
in Paris. Jerome Bonaparte, who commanded one of the regiments, told
me he had no idea why he was ordered in, unless it was to eat up
his horses. This they proceeded to do so soon as they were fairly
trained, and so doubled in value. Trochu organized a sortie to the
north-west. Two columns left Paris one night by different gates,
and were to take up their positions simultaneously and attack at
daylight. He forgot that one road crossed the other, and that one
column must necessarily halt for the other to pass. Of course one
of them arrived late on the ground, and the attack failed. When a
sortie was to be made, a flag was hoisted on Mount Valérien. The
Germans soon knew its meaning as well as the French, and prepared
accordingly. An intended sortie was known at least twenty-four hours
before it took place, and its chances discussed on the boulevards.
The National Guard, too, with some honorable exceptions, would not
fight. The heroes of Belleville howled to be led against the enemy.
They got as far as the barriers, and refused to go farther. "They
were enlisted to defend Paris, and they would not go beyond the
_enceinte_; the Reactionists wanted to get them out, that they might
deliver Paris over to the enemy." There was a popular song they sung
as they marched through the streets which perfectly illustrates their
sentiments and character:
"Nous partons,
ons, ons,
Comme des moutons,
Comme des moutons,
Pour la boucherie,
rie, rie.
"On nous massacra,
ra, ra,
Comme des rats,
Comme des rats.
Comme Bismarck rira!
rira!"
An officer commanding a fort applied for re-enforcements to relieve
his exhausted men. They sent him a battalion of our Belleville
gentlemen. The next day he sent them back, saying they had been
drunk and fought in the trenches all night, and that he preferred to
get along as well as he could with his overworked garrison.
Trochu planned a sortie to the south-east. It was necessary to cross
the Marne. The troops arrived at the appointed hour, but the pontoons
did not. A whole day was lost, and the sortie was _une affaire
manquée_. Outside, things were nearly as badly managed. No serious
effort was ever made to cut the German lines of communication.
The railways to the east were all-important to them, not so much
for provisions (for they drew these mostly from France), but for
ammunition. With the enormous guns in use, the transportation of
ammunition was a serious matter, taxing the railroad facilities
of the Germans to the uttermost. An interruption might have
compelled them to raise the siege. Sheridan, who, being at the
King's head-quarters, and treated with the greatest kindness and
attention, naturally sympathized with the Germans, could not help
exclaiming that if he had been outside with thirty thousand cavalry,
he would have made the King * * * Well, it is not worth while to quote
Sheridan's exact words; they were a little in the style, of the
commander of the Imperial Guard at Waterloo; but the substance of
them was, that an active officer with a good cavalry force could have
so broken up the communications of the German army as to compel it
to raise the siege. For the Germans are not particularly handy at
repairing a broken road or bridge; and a German general does not, as
the rebel soldier said of Sherman, carry a duplicate tunnel in his
pocket.
As I am quoting Sheridan, let me here record his opinion of the
German army. He _believed_ that they were brave soldiers. They were
well disciplined, well led, and had every appearance of thorough
soldiers; but he could not say so positively, for, so far as his
observation went, they had never met with any serious resistance. He
looked upon the German army as in no respect superior to one of our
great armies at the close of the war--the Army of the Potomac, for
instance--except as regards the staff. That was far superior to ours,
and to any staff in Europe. Their field telegraph, too, excited his
admiration. It had been borrowed from us, but improved.