We are to have no more letters! As in the time of the siege, if you
desire to obtain news of your mother or your wife, you have no other
alternative than to consult a somnambulist or a fortune-teller. This is
not at all a complicated operation; of course you possess a ribbon or a
look of hair, something appertaining to the absent person. This
suffices to keep you informed, hour by hour, of what she says, does,
and thinks. Perhaps you would prefer the ordinary course of things, and
that you would rather receive a letter than consult a charlatan. But if
so, I would advise you not to say so. They would accuse you of being,
what you are doubtless, a reactionist, and you might get into trouble.
Yesterday a young man was walking in the Champs Elysées, a Guard
National stalked up to him and asked him for a light for his cigar.—“I
am really very sorry,” said he, “but my cigar has gone out.”—“Oh! your
cigar is out, is it? Oh! so you blush to render a service to a patriot!
Reactionist that you are!” Thereupon a torrent of invectives was poured
on the poor young man, who was quickly surrounded by a crowd of eager
faces: One charming young person exclaimed, “Why, he is a disguised
sergent-de-ville!”—“Yes, yes; he is a gendarme!” is echoed on all
sides.—“I think he looks like Ernest Picard,” says one.—“Throw him into
the Seine,” says another.—“To the Seine, to the Seine, the spy!” and
the unfortunate victim is pushed, jostled, and hurried off. A dense
crowd of National Guards, women, and children had by this time
collected, all crying out at the top of their voices, and without any
idea of what was the matter, “Shoot him! throw him the water! hang
him!” Superstitious individuals leaned towards hanging for the sake of
the cords. As to the original cause of the commotion, no one seemed to
remember anything about it. I overheard one man say,—“It appears that
they arrested him just as he was setting fire to the ambulance at the
Palais de l’Industrie!” As to what became of the young man I do not
know; I trust he was neither hanged, shot, nor drowned. At any rate,
let it be a lesson to others not to get embroiled in dangerous
adventures of that kind; and whatever your anxiety may be concerning
your family or affairs, you would do well to hide it carefully under a
smiling exterior. Suppose you meet one of your friends, who says to
you, “My dear fellow, how anxious you must be?” You must answer,
“Anxious! oh, not at all. On the contrary, I never felt more free of
care in my life.”—“Oh! I thought your aunt was ill, and as you do not
receive any letters ...”—“Not receive any letters!” you continue in the
same strain, “who told you that? Not receive any letters! why, I have
more than I want! what an idea!”—“Then you must be strangely favoured,”
says your mystified companion; “for since Citizen Theiz[45] has taken
possession of the Post-office, the communications are stopped.”—“Don’t
believe it. It is a rumour set on float by the reactionists. Why, those
terrible reactionists go so far as to pretend that the Commune has
imprisoned the priests, arrested journalists, and stopped the
newspapers!”—“Well, you may say what you please, but a proclamation of
Citizen Theiz announces that communication with the departments will
not be re-established for some days.”—“Nothing but modesty on his part;
he has only to show himself at the Post-office, and the service, which
has been put out of order by those wretched reactionists, will be
immediately reorganised.”—“So I am to understand that you have news
every day of your aunt.”—“Of course.”—“Well, I am delighted to hear it;
for one of my friends, who arrived from Marseilles this morning, told
me that your aunt was dead.”—“Dead, good heavens! what do you mean? Now
I think of it, I did not get a letter this morning.”—“There you see!”
You must not, however, allow your sorrow to carry you away, at the risk
of your personal safety, but answer readily. “I see it all, for a
wonder I did not get a letter this morning; Citizen Theiz is a
kind-hearted man, and did not want to make me unhappy.”