It cannot be true. I will not believe it. It cannot be possible that
Paris is to be again bombarded: and by whom? By Frenchmen! In spite of
the danger I was told there was to be apprehended near Neuilly, I
wished to see with my own eyes what was going on. So this morning, the
8th April, I went to the Champs Elysées.
Until I reached the Rond Point there was nothing unusual, only perhaps
fewer people to be seen about. The omnibus does not go any farther than
the corner of the Avenue Marigny. An Englishwoman, whom the conductor
had just helped down, came up to me and asked me the way; she wanted to
go to the Rue Galilée, but did not like to walk up the wide avenue. I
pointed out to her a side-street, and continued my way. A little higher
up a line of National Guards, standing about ten feet distant from each
other, had orders to stop passengers from going any farther. “You can’t
pass.”—“But ...,” and I stopped to think of some plausible motive to
justify my curiosity. However, I was saved the trouble. Although I had
only uttered a hesitating “but,” the sentinel seemed to consider that
sufficient, and replied, “Oh, very well, you can pass.”
The avenue seemed more and more deserted as I advanced. The shutters of
all the houses were closed. Here and there a passenger slipped along
close to the walls of the houses, ready to take refuge within the
street-doors, which had been left open by order, directly they heard
the whizzing of a shell. In front of the shop of a carriage-builder,
securely closed, were piled heaps of rifles; most of the National
Guards were stretched on the pavement fast asleep, while some few were
walking up and down smoking their pipes, and others playing at the
plebeian game of “bouchon.”[46] I was told that a shell had burst a
quarter of an hour before at the corner of the Rue de Morny. A captain
was seated there on the ground beside his wife, who had just brought
him his breakfast; the poor fellow was literally cut in two, and the
woman had been carried away to a neighbouring chemist’s shop
dangerously wounded. I was told she was still there, so I turned my
steps in that direction. A small group of people were assembled before
the door. I managed to get near, but saw nothing, as the poor thing had
been carried into the surgery. They told me that she had been wounded
in the neck by a bit of the shell, and that she was now under the care
of one of the surgeons of the Press Ambulance. I then continued my walk
up the avenue. The cannonading, which had seemed to cease for some
little time, now began again with greater intensity than ever. Clouds
of white smoke arose in the direction of the Porte Maillot, while bombs
from Mont Valérien burst over the Arc de Triomphe. On the right and
left of me were companies of Federals. A little further on a battalion,
fully equipped, with blankets and saucepans strapped to their
knapsacks, and loaves of bread stuck aloft on their bayonets, moved in
the direction of Porte Maillot. By the side of the captain in command
of the first company marched a woman in a strange costume, the skirt of
a vivandière and the jacket of a National Guard, a Phrygian cap on her
head, a chassepot in her hand, and a revolver stuck in her belt. From
the distance at which I was standing she looked both young and pretty.
I asked some Federals who she was; one told me she was the wife of
Citizen Eudes,[47] a member of the Commune, and another that she was a
newspaper seller in the Avenue des Ternes, whose child had been killed
in the Rue des Acacias the night before by a fragment of a shell, and
that she had sworn to revenge him. It appeared the battalion was on its
way to support the combatants at Neuilly, who were in want of help.
From what I hear the gendarmes and sergents de ville had fought their
way as far as the Rue des Huissiers. Now I had no doubt the Versailles
generals had made use of the gendarmes and sergents de ville, who were
most of them old and tried soldiers, but if in very truth they were
wherever the imagination of the Federals persisted in placing them,
they must either have been as numerous as the grains of sand on the
sea-shore, or else their leaders must have found out a way of making
them serve in several places at once. Having followed the battalion, I
found myself a few yards in front of the Arc de Triomphe. Suddenly a
hissing, whizzing sound is heard in the distance, and rapidly
approaches us; it sounds very much like the noise of a sky-rocket. “A
shell!” cried the sergeant, and the whole battalion to a man, threw
itself on the ground with a load jingling of saucepans and bayonets.
Indeed there was some danger. The terrible projectile lowered as it
approached, and then fell with a terrific noise a little way from us,
in front of the last house on the left-hand side of the avenue. I had
never seen a shell burst so near me before; a good idea of what it is
like may be had from those sinister looking paintings, that one sees
sometimes suspended round the necks of certain blind beggars, supposed
to represent an explosion in a mine. I think no one was hurt, and the
mischief done seemed to consist in a Wide hole in the asphalte and a
door reduced to splinters. The National Guards got up from the ground,
and several of them proceeded to pick up fragments of the shell. They
had, however, not gone many yards when another cry of alarm was given,
and again we heard the ominous Whizzing sound; in an instant we were
all on our faces. The second shell burst, but we did not see it; we
only saw at the top of the house that had already been struck, a window
open suddenly and broken panes fall to the ground. The shell had most
likely gone through the roof and burst in the attic. Was there anyone
in those upper stories? However, we were on our legs again and had
doubled the Arc de Triomphe. I had succeeded in ingratiating myself
with the men of the rear-guard, and I hoped to be able to go as far
with them as I pleased. Strange enough, and I confess it with _naif_
delight, I did not feel at all afraid. Although half an inch difference
in the inclination of the cannon might have cost me my life, still I
felt inclined to proceed on my way. I begin to think that it is not
difficult to be brave when one is not naturally a coward! Beneath the
great arch were assembled a hundred or so of persons who seemed to
consider themselves in safety, and who from time to time ventured a few
steps forward, for the purpose of examining the damage done to Etex’s
sculptured group by three successive shells. But in the Avenue de la
Grande Armée only three Federals were to be seen, and I think I was the
only man in plain clothes they had allowed to go so far. I could
distinctly perceive a small barricade erected in front of the Porte
Maillot on this side of the ramparts. The bastion to the right was hard
at work cannonading the heights of Courbevoie; great columns of smoke,
succeeded by terrific explosions, testified to the zeal of the
Communist artillerymen. Beyond the ramparts the Avenue de Neuilly
extended, dusty and deserted. Unfortunately the sun blinded me, and I
could not distinguish well what was going on in the distance. By this
time the sound of musketry was heard distinctly. I was told they were
fighting principally at Saint James and in the park of Neuilly. I tried
to pass out of the gates with the battalion, but an officer caught
sight of me, and in no measured tones ordered me back. I ought not to
complain, however, he rendered me good service; for although the fire
of the Versaillais had somewhat diminished, I do not think the place
could have been much longer tenable, to judge from the quantities of
bits of shell that strewed the road; from the numerous litters that
were being borne away with their bloody burthens; from the
railway-station in ruins, and the condition of the neighbouring houses,
which had nearly all of them great black holes in their fronts. The
Federals did not seem at all impressed by their critical position;
sounds of laughter reached me from the interior of a casemate, from the
chimney of which smoke was arising, and guards running hither and
thither were whistling merrily the _Chant du Départ_, with a look of
complete satisfaction.
[Illustration: The Arc de Triomphe, East Side (the Finest), Uninjured.]
Damaged on the other side. During the Prussian siege it was defended
from injury, though no shells reached it. Uncovered before the civil
war.
I managed to reach the Rue du Débarcadère, which is situated close to
the ramparts. An acquaintance of mine lives there. I knew he was away,
but I thought the porter would recognise and allow me to take up a
position at one of the windows. Next door, the corner house, I found a
shell had gone into a wine-merchant’s shop there, who could very well
have dispensed with such a visitor, and had behaved in the most unruly
fashion, breaking the glass, smashing the tables and counter, but
neither killing nor wounding anybody. The porter knew me quite well,
and invited me to walk upstairs to the apartments of my friend,
situated on the third floor. From the windows I could not see the
bastion, which was hidden by the station; but to the left, in the
distance, beyond the Bois de Boulogne, wherein I fancied I perceived
troops moving between the branches, but whether Versaillais or
Parisians I could not tell, arose the tremendous Mont Valérien bathed
in sunlight. The flashes from the cannon, which in daylight have a pale
silver tint, succeeded each other rapidly; the explosions were
formidable, and the fort was crowned with a wreath of smoke. They
appeared to be firing in the direction of Levallois, rather than on the
Porte Maillot. The Federals did not seem to attempt to reply. Turning
myself towards the right I could scan nearly the whole length of the
Avenue de Neuilly. The bare piece of ground which constitutes the
military zone was completely deserted; several shells fell there that
had been aimed doubtless at the Porte Maillot or the bastion. The
position I had taken up at the window was rather a perilous one. I was
just behind the bastion. Beyond the military zone most of the houses
seemed uninhabited, but I saw distinctly the National Guards in front
of the Restaurant Gilet, making their soup on the side-walk. I was too
far away to judge of the extent of the mischief done by the
cannonading, but I was told that several roofs had fallen in and many
walls had been thrown down in that quarter. All that I could see of the
market-place was empty; but the sound of musketry, and the smoke which
issued from the houses on one side of it, told me that the Federals
were there in sufficient numbers. A little further on I saw the barrels
of the rifles sticking out of the windows, with little wreaths of smoke
curling out of them; small knots of armed men every now and then
marched hurriedly across the avenue, and disappeared into the opposite
houses. Partly on account of the distance, and partly on account of the
blinding sun, and partly, perhaps, on account of the emotion I
experienced, which made me desire and yet fear to see, I could
distinguish the bridge but indistinctly, with the dark line of a
barricade in front of it. What surprised me most in the battle which I
was busily observing, was the extraordinarily small number of
combatants that were visible, when suddenly—it was about two o’clock in
the afternoon—the Versailles batteries at Courbevoie, which had been
silent for some time, began firing furiously. The horrid screech of the
mitrailleuse drowned the hissing of the shells; the whole breadth of
the long avenue was covered by a kind of white mist. The bastion in
front of me replied energetically. It seemed to me as if the interior
part of my ear was being rent asunder, when suddenly I heard a dull
heavy sound, such as I had not heard before, and I felt the house
tremble beneath me. Loud cries arose from the National Guards on the
ramparts. I fancied that a rain of shot and shell had destroyed the
drawbridge of the Porte Maillot; but it was not so; in the distance I
saw that the clouds of smoke were rolling nearer and nearer, and that
the roar of the musketry, which had greatly increased, sounded close
by. I felt sure that a rush was being made from Courbevoie—that the
Versaillais were advancing. The shells were flying over our heads in
the direction of the Champs Elysées. I began to distinguish that a
tumultuous mass of human beings were marching on in the smoke, in the
dust, in the sun. The guns on the bastion now thundered forth
incessantly. There was no mistaking by this time, there were the
Versaillais; I could see the red trowsers of the men of the line. The
Federals were shooting them down from the windows. Then I saw the
advanced guard stop, hesitate beneath the balls which seemed to rain on
them from the Place du Marché, and presently retire. Whereupon a large
number of Federals poured forth from the houses, and, walking close to
the walls, to be as much as possible out of the way of the projectiles,
hurried after the retreating enemy. But suddenly, when they had arrived
a little too far for me to distinguish anything very clearly, they in
their turn came to a standstill, and then retraced their steps, and
returned to their positions within the houses. The fire from the
Versaillais then sensibly diminished, but that of the bastions
continued its furious attack. It was thus that I witnessed one of those
_chassé-croisés_ under fire, which have become so frequent since this
dreadful civil war was concentrated at Neuilly.
[Illustration: Horse Chasseur acting as a communist artillery man,
attended by a gamin sponger.]
As it would have been most imprudent to follow the railway cutting, or
to have gone back by the Avenue de la Grande Armée, where the
Versailles shells were still falling, I walked up the Rue du
Débarcadère, and then turned into the Rue Saint-Ferdinand, and soon
found myself in the Place des Ternes, in front of the church. There was
a most dismal aspect about the whole of this quarter. Situated close to
the ramparts, it is very much exposed, and had suffered greatly. Nearly
all the shops were shut; some of the doors, however, of those where
wine or provisions, are sold, were standing open, while on the shutters
of others were inscribed in chalk, “The entrance is beneath the
gateway.” I was astonished to see that the church was open, a rare
sight in these days. Why, is it possible that the Commune has committed
the unqualifiable imprudence of not arresting the curé of
Saint-Ferdinand, and that she is weak enough—may she not have to regret
it!—to permit the inhabitants of Ternes to be baptised, married, and
buried according to the deplorable rites and ceremonies of Catholicism,
which has happily fallen into disuse in the other quarters of Paris? I
can now understand why the shells fall so persistently in this poor
arrondissement: the anger of the goddess of Reason (shall we not soon
have a goddess of Reason?) lies heavily on this quarter, the shame of
the capital, where the inhabitants still try to look as if they
believed in heaven! In spite of everything, however, I entered the
church; there were a great many women on their knees, and several men
too. The prayers of the dead were being said over the coffin of a woman
who, I was told, was killed yesterday by a ball in the chest, whilst
crossing the Avenue des Ternes, just a little above the railway bridge.
A ball, how strange! yet I was assured such was the case. It is pretty
evident, then, that the Versaillais were considerably nearer to Paris,
on this side at least, than the official despatches lead us to suppose.
On returning to the street I directed my steps in the direction of the
Place d’Eylau. Two National Guards passed me, bearing a litter between
them.—“Oh, you can look if you like,” said one. So I drew back the
checked curtain. On the 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
sleeve was stained with blood; the hand had been carried away.—“Where
were they wounded?” I asked.—“Wounded! they are dead. It is 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 good service.”
It was therefore quite true, certain, incontestable. The balls and
shells of the Versaillais were not content with killing the combatants
and knocking down the forts and ramparts. They were also killing women
and children, ordinary passers-by; not only those who were attracted by
an imprudent curiosity to go where they had no business, but
unfortunates who were necessarily obliged to venture into the
neighbouring streets, for the purpose of buying bread. Not only do the
shells of the National Assembly reach the buildings situated close to
the city walls, but they often fall considerably farther in, crushing
inoffensive houses, and breaking the sculpture on the public monuments.
No one can deny this. I have seen it with my own eyes. Anyhow, the
projectiles fall nearer and nearer the centre. Yesterday they fell in
the Avenue de la Grande Armée; to-day they fly over the Arc de
Triomphe, and fall in the Place d’Eylau and the Avenue d’Uhrich. Who
knows but what to-morrow they will have reached the Place de la
Concorde, and the next day perhaps I may be killed by one on the
Boulevard Montmartre? Paris bombarded! Take care, gentlemen of the
National Assembly! What the Prussians did, and what gave rise to such a
clamour of indignation on the part of the Government of the 4th
September, it will be both infamous and imprudent for you to attempt.
You kill Frenchmen who are in arms against their countrymen,—alas! that
is a horrible necessity in civil war,—but spare the lives and the
dwellings of those who are not arrayed against you, and who are perhaps
your allies. It is all very well to argue that guns are not endowed
with the gifts of intelligence and mercy, and that one cannot make them
do exactly what one likes; but what have you done with those marvellous
marksmen who, during the siege, continually threw down the enemy’s
batteries and interrupted his works with such extraordinary precision,
and who pretended that at a distance of seven thousand metres they
could hit the gilded spike of a Prussian helmet? Wherefore have they
become so clumsy since they changed places with their adversaries?
Joking apart, in a word, you are doing yourself the greatest injury in
being so uselessly cruel; every shell overleaping the fortifications is
not only a crime, but a great mistake. Remember, that in this horrible
duel which is going on, victory will not really remain with that party
which shall have triumphed over the other, by the force of arms (yours
undoubtedly), but to the one who, by his conduct, shall have succeeded
in proving to the neutral population, which observes and judges, that
right was on his side. I do not say but what your cause is the best;
for although we may have to reproach you with an imprudent resistance,
unnecessary attacks, and a wilful obstinacy not to see what was
legitimate and honourable in the wishes of the Parisians, still we must
consider that you represent, legally, the whole of France. I do not
say, therefore, but what your cause is the best; frankly though, can
you hope to bring over to your side that large body of citizens, whose
confidence you had shaken, by massacring innocent people in the
streets, and destroying their dwellings? If this bombardment continues,
if it increases in violence as it seems likely to do, you will become
odious, and then, were you a hundred times in the right, you will still
be in the wrong. Therefore, it is most urgent that you give orders to
the artillerymen of Courbevoie and Mont Valérien, to moderate their
zeal, if you do not desire that Paris—neutral Paris—should make
dangerous comparisons between the Assembly which flings us its shells,
and the Commune which launches its decrees, and come to the conclusion
that decrees are less dangerous missiles than cannon-balls. As to the
legality of the thing, we do not much care about that; we have seen so
many governments, more or less legal, that we are somewhat _blasés_ on
that point; and a few millions of votes have scarcely power enough to
put us in good humour with shot and shell. Certainly the Commune, such
as the men at the Hôtel de Ville have constituted it, is not a
brilliant prospect. It arrests priests, stops newspapers, wishes to
incorporate us, in spite of ourselves, in the National Guard; robs
us—so we are told; lies inveterately—that is incontestable, and
altogether makes itself a great bore; but what does that matter?—human
nature is full of weaknesses, and prefers to be bored than bombarded.
[Illustration: Marine Gunner and Street-boy.]
During the Prussian siege the sailors of the French navy played an
important part, their bravery, activity, and ingenuity being much
esteemed by the Parisians. Some, of them took the red side, and manned
the gun-boats on the Seine. Knowing the prestige attached to the brave
marines, the Communist generals made use of the naval clothes found in
the marine stores, and dressed therein some of the valliant heroes of
Belleville and Montmartre.