subjects that if they should remain in Paris it would be at their own risk
and peril. The British colony was not then so large as it is now,
nevertheless it was a considerable one. A good many members of it
undoubtedly departed on their own initiative. Few, if any, saw Lord
Lyons's notice, for it was purely and simply conveyed to them through the
medium of _Galignani's Messenger_, which, though it was patronized by
tourists staying at the hotels, was seldom seen by genuine British
residents, most of whom read London newspapers.
The morrow of Lord Lyons's departure, Sunday, September 18, was our last
day of liberty. The weather was splendid, the temperature as warm as that
of June. All Paris was out of doors. We were not without women-folk
and children. Not only were there the wives and offspring of the
working-classes; but the better halves of many tradespeople and bourgeois
had remained in the city, together with a good many ladies of higher
social rank. Thus, in spite of all the departures, "papa, mamma, and baby"
were still to be met in many directions on that last day preceding the
investment. There were gay crowds everywhere, on the Boulevards, on the
squares, along the quays, and along the roads skirting the ramparts. These
last were the "great attraction," and thousands of people strolled about
watching the work which was in progress. Stone casements were being roofed
with earth, platforms were being prepared for guns, gabions were being set
in position at the embrasures, sandbags were being carried to the
parapets, stakes were being pointed for the many _pièges-à-loups_, and
smooth earthworks were being planted with an infinity of spikes. Some guns
were already in position, others, big naval guns from Brest or Cherbourg,
were still lying on the turf. Meanwhile, at the various city gates, the
very last vehicles laden with furniture and forage were arriving from the
suburbs. And up and down went all the promenaders, chatting, laughing,
examining this and that work of defence or engine of destruction in such a
good-humoured, light-hearted way that the whole _chemin-de-ronde_ seemed
to be a vast fair, held solely for the amusement of the most volatile
people that the world has ever known.
Access to the Bois de Boulogne was forbidden. Acres of timber had already
been felled there, and from the open spaces the mild September breeze
occasionally wafted the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, and the
grunting of pigs. Our live stock consisted of 30,000 oxen, 175,000 sheep,
8,800 pigs, and 6,000 milch-cows. Little did we think how soon those
animals (apart from the milch-cows) would be consumed! Few of us were
aware that, according to Maxime Ducamp's great work on Paris, we had
hitherto consumed, on an average, every day of the year, 935 oxen, 4680
sheep, 570 pigs, and 600 calves, to say nothing of 46,000 head of poultry,
game, etc., 50 tons of fish, and 670,000 eggs.
Turning from the Bois de Boulogne, which had become our principal ranch
and sheep-walk, one found companies of National Guards learning the
"goose-step" in the Champs Elysées and the Cours-la-Reine. Regulars were
appropriately encamped both in the Avenue de la Grande Armée and on the
Champ de Mars. Field-guns and caissons filled the Tuileries garden, whilst
in the grounds of the Luxembourg Palace one again found cattle and sheep;
yet other members of the bovine and ovine species being installed,
singularly enough, almost cheek by jowl with the hungry wild beasts of the
Jardin des Plantes, whose mouths fairly watered at the sight of their
natural prey. If you followed the quays of the Seine you there found
sightseers gazing at the little gunboats and floating batteries on the
water; and if you climbed to Montmartre you there came upon people
watching "The Neptune," the captive balloon which Nadar, the aeronaut and
photographer, had already provided for purposes of military observation. I
shall have occasion to speak of him and his balloons again.
Among all that I myself saw on that memorable Sunday, I was perhaps most
struck by the solemn celebration of Mass in front of the statue of
Strasbourg on the Place de la Concorde. The capital of Alsace had been
besieged since the middle of August, but was still offering a firm
resistance to the enemy. Its chief defenders, General Uhrich and Edmond
Valentin, were the most popular heroes of the hour. The latter had been
appointed Prefect of the city by the Government of National Defence, and,
resolving to reach his post in spite of the siege which was being actively
prosecuted, had disguised himself and passed successfully through the
German lines, escaping the shots which were fired at him. In Paris the
statue of Strasbourg had become a place of pilgrimage, a sacred shrine, as
it were, adorned with banners and with wreaths innumerable. Yet I
certainly had not expected to see an altar set up and Mass celebrated in
front of it, as if it had been, indeed, a statue of the Blessed Virgin.
At this stage of affairs there was no general hostility to the Church in
Paris. The _bourgeoisie_--I speak of its masculine element--was as
sceptical then as it is now, but it knew that General Trochu, in whom it
placed its trust, was a practising and fervent Catholic, and that in
taking the Presidency of the Government he had made it one of his
conditions that religion should be respected. Such animosity as was shown
against the priesthood emanated from some of the public clubs where the
future Communards perorated. It was only as time went on, and the defence
grew more and more hopeless, that Trochu himself was denounced as a
_cagot_ and a _souteneur de soutanes_; and not until the Commune did the
Extremists give full rein to their hatred of the Church and its ministers.
In connection with religion, there was another sight which impressed me on
that same Sunday. I was on the point of leaving the Place de la Concorde
when a large body of Mobiles debouched either from the Rue Royale or the
Rue de Rivoli, and I noticed, with some astonishment, that not only were
they accompanied by their chaplains, but that they bore aloft several
processional religious banners. They were Bretons, and had been to Mass, I
ascertained, at the church of Notre Dame des Victoires--the favourite
church of the Empress Eugénie, who often attended early Mass there--and
were now returning to their quarters in the arches of the railway viaduct
of the Point-du-Jour. Many people uncovered as they thus went by
processionally, carrying on high their banners of the Virgin, she who is
invoked by the Catholic soldier as "Auzilium Christianorum." For a moment
my thoughts strayed back to Brittany, where, during my holidays the
previous year, I had witnessed the "Pardon" of Guingamp,
In the evening I went to the Boulevards with my father, and we afterwards
dropped into one or two of the public clubs. The Boulevard promenaders had
a good deal to talk about. General Ambert, who under the Empire had been
mayor of our arrondissement, had fallen out with his men, through speaking
contemptuously of the Republic, and after being summarily arrested by some
of them, had been deprived of his command. Further, the _Official Journal_
had published a circular addressed by Bismarck to the German diplomatists
abroad, in which he stated formally that if France desired peace she would
have to give "material guarantees." That idea, however, was vigorously
pooh-poohed by the Boulevardiers, particularly as rumours of sudden French
successes, originating nobody knew how, were once more in the air.
Scandal, however, secured the attention of many of the people seated in
the cafés, for the _Rappel_--Victor Hugo's organ--had that day printed a
letter addressed to Napoleon III by his mistress Marguerite Bellenger, who
admitted in it that she had deceived her imperial lover with respect to
the paternity of her child.
However, we went, my father and I, from the Boulevards to the
Folies-Bergere, which had been turned for the time into a public club, and
there we listened awhile to Citizen Lermina, who, taking Thiers's mission
and Bismarck's despatch as his text, protested against France concluding
any peace or even any armistice so long as the Germans had not withdrawn
across the frontier. There was still no little talk of that description.
The old agitator Auguste Blanqui--long confined in one of the cages of
Mont Saint-Michel, but now once more in Paris--never wearied of opposing
peace in the discourses that he delivered at his own particular club,
which, like the newspaper he inspired, was called "La Patrie en Danger."
In other directions, for instance at the Club du Maine, the Extremists
were already attacking the new Government for its delay in distributing
cartridges to the National Guards, being, no doubt, already impatient to
seize authority themselves.
Whilst other people were promenading or perorating, Trochu, in his room at
the Louvre, was receiving telegram after telegram informing him that the
Germans were now fast closing round the city. He himself, it appears, had
no idea of preventing it; but at the urgent suggestion of his old friend
and comrade General Ducrot, he had consented that an effort should be made
to delay, at any rate, a complete investment. In an earlier chapter I had
occasion to mention Ducrot in connexion with the warnings which Napoleon
III received respecting the military preparations of Prussia. At this
time, 1870, the general was fifty-three years old, and therefore still in
his prime. As commander of a part of MacMahon's forces he had
distinguished himself at the battle of Wörth, and when the Marshal was
wounded at Sedan, it was he who, by right of seniority, at first assumed
command of the army, being afterwards compelled, however, to relinquish
the poet to Wimpfen, in accordance with an order from Palikao which
Wimpfen produced. Included at the capitulation, among the prisoners taken
by the Germans, Ducrot subsequently escaped--the Germans contending that
he had broken his parole in doing so, though this does not appear to have
been the case. Immediately afterwards he repaired to Paris to place
himself at Trochu's disposal. At Wörth he had suggested certain tactics
which might have benefited the French army; at Sedan he had wished to make
a supreme effort to cut through the German lines; and now in Paris he
proposed to Trochu a plan which if successful might, he thought, retard
the investment and momentarily cut the German forces in halves.
In attempting to carry out this scheme (September 19) Ducrot took with him
most of Vinoy's corps, that is four divisions of infantry, some cavalry,
and no little artillery, having indeed, according to his own account,
seventy-two guns with him. The action was fought on the plateau of
Châtillon (south of Paris), where the French had been constructing a
redoubt, which was still, however, in a very unfinished state. At daybreak
that morning all the districts of Paris lying on the left bank of the
Seine were roused by the loud booming of guns. The noise was at times
almost deafening, and it is certain that the French fired a vast number of
projectiles, though, assuredly, the number--25,000--given in a copy of the
official report which I have before me must be a clerical error. In any
case, the Germans replied with an even more terrific fire than that of the
French, and, as had previously happened at Sedan and elsewhere, the French
ordnance proved to be no match for that emanating from Krupp's renowned
workshops. The French defeat was, however, precipitated by a sudden panic
which arose among a provisional regiment of Zouaves, who suddenly turned
tail and fled. Panic is often, if not always, contagious, and so it proved
to be on this occasion. Though some of the Gardes Mobiles, notably the
Bretons of Ile-et-Vilaine, fought well, thanks to the support of the
artillery (which is so essential in the case of untried troops), other men
weakened, and imitated the example of the Zouaves. Duorot soon realized
that it was useless to prolong the encounter, and after spiking the guns
set up in the Châtillon redoubt, he retired under the protection of the
Forts of Vanves and Montrouge.
My father and I had hastened to the southern side of Paris as soon as the
cannonade apprised us that an engagement was going on. Pitiful was the
spectacle presented by the disbanded soldiers as they rushed down the
Chaussée du Maine. Many had flung away their weapons. Some went on
dejectedly; others burst into wine-shops, demanded drink with threats, and
presently emerged swearing, cursing and shouting, "Nous sommes trahis!"
Riderless horses went by, instinctively following the men, and here and
there one saw a bewildered and indignant officer, whose orders were
scouted with jeers. The whole scene was of evil augury for the defence of
Paris.
At a later hour, when we reached the Boulevards, we found the wildest
rumours in circulation there. Nobody knew exactly what had happened, but
there was talk of 20,000 French troops having been annihilated by five
times that number of Germans. At last a proclamation emanating from
Gambetta was posted up and eagerly perused. It supplied no details of the
fighting, but urged the Parisians to give way neither to excitement nor to
despondency, and reminded them that a court-martial had been instituted to
deal with cowards and deserters. Thereupon the excitement seemed to
subside, and people went to dinner. An hour afterwards the Boulevards were
as gay as ever, thronged once more with promenaders, among whom were many
officers of the Garde Mobile and the usual regiment of painted women.
Cynicism and frivolity were once more the order of the day. But in the
midst of it there came an unexpected incident. Some of the National Guards
of the district were not unnaturally disgusted by the spectacle which the
Boulevards presented only a few hours after misfortune had fallen on the
French arms. Forming, therefore, into a body, they marched along, loudly
calling upon the cafés to close. Particularly were they indignant when, on
reaching Brébant's Restaurant at the corner of the Faubourg Montmartre,
they heard somebody playing a lively Offenbachian air on a piano there. A
party of heedless _viveurs_ and _demoiselles_ of the half-world were
enjoying themselves together as in the palmy imperial days. But the piano
was soon silenced, the cafés and restaurants were compelled to close, and
the Boulevardian world went home in a slightly chastened mood. The Siege
of Paris had begun.
V
BESIEGED
The Surrender of Versailles--Captain Johnson, Queen's Messenger--No more
Paris Fashions!--Prussians versus Germans--Bismarck's Hard Terms for
Peace--Attempts to pass through the German Lines--Chartreuse Verte as an
Explosive!--Tommy Webb's Party and the Germans--Couriers and Early
Balloons--Our Arrangements with Nadar--Gambetta's Departure and Balloon
Journey--The Amusing Verses of Albert Millaud--Siege Jokes and Satire--The
Spy and Signal Craze--Amazons to the Rescue!
It was at one o'clock on the afternoon of September 19 that the telegraph
wires between Paris and Versailles, the last which linked us to the
outside world, were suddenly cut by the enemy; the town so closely
associated with the Grand Monarque and his magnificence having then
surrendered to a very small force of Germans, although it had a couple of
thousand men--Mobile and National Guards--to defend it. The capitulation
which was arranged between the mayor and the enemy was flagrantly violated
by the latter almost as soon as it had been concluded, tins being only one
of many such instances which occurred during the war. Versailles was
required to provide the invader with a number of oxen, to be slaughtered
for food, numerous casks of wine, the purpose of which was obvious, and a
large supply of forage valued at £12,000. After all, however, that was a
mere trifle in comparison with what the present Kaiser's forces would
probably demand on landing at Hull or Grimsby or Harwich, should they some
day do so. By the terms of the surrender of Versailles, however, the local
National Guards were to have remained armed and entrusted with the
internal police of the town, and, moreover, there were to have been no
further requisitions. But Bismarck and Moltke pooh-poohed all such
stipulations, and the Versaillese had to submit to many indignities.
In Paris that day the National Defence Government was busy in various
ways, first in imposing fines, according to an ascending scale, on all
absentees who ought to have remained in the city and taken their share of
military duty; and, secondly, in decreeing that nobody with any money
lodged in the Savings Bank should be entitled to draw out more than fifty
francs, otherwise two pounds, leaving the entire balance of his or her
deposit at the Government's disposal. This measure provoked no little
dissatisfaction. It was also on September 19, the first day of the siege,
that the last diplomatic courier entered Paris. I well remember the
incident. Whilst I was walking along the Faubourg Saint Honoré I suddenly
perceived an open _calèche_, drawn by a pair of horses, bestriding one of
which was a postillion arrayed in the traditional costume--hair à la
Catogan, jacket with scarlet facings, gold-banded hat, huge boots, and all
the other appurtenances which one saw during long years on the stage in
Adolphe Adam's sprightly but "impossible" opéra-comique "Le Postillon de
Longjumeau." For an instant, indeed, I felt inclined to hum the famous
refrain, "Oh, oh, oh, oh, qu'il était beau"--but many National Guards and
others regarded the equipage with great suspicion, particularly as it was
occupied by on individual in semi-military attire. Quite a number of
people decided in their own minds that this personage must be a Prussian
spy, and therefore desired to stop his carriage and march him off to
prison. As a matter of fact, however, he was a British officer, Captain
Johnson, discharging the duties of a Queen's Messenger; and as he
repeatedly flourished a cane in a very menacing manner, and the
door-porter of the British Embassy--a German, I believe--energetically
came to his assistance, he escaped actual molestation, and drove in
triumph into the courtyard of the ambassadorial mansion.
At this time a great shock was awaiting the Parisians. During the same
week the Vicomtesse de Renneville issued an announcement stating that in
presence of the events which were occurring she was constrained to suspend
the publication of her renowned journal of fashions, _La Gazette Rose_.
This was a tragic blow both for the Parisians themselves and for all the
world beyond them. There would be no more Paris fashions! To what despair
would not millions of women be reduced? How would they dress, even
supposing that they should contrive to dress at all? The thought was
appalling; and as one and another great _couturier_ closed his doors,
Paris began to realize that her prestige was indeed in jeopardy.
A day or two after the investment the city became very restless on account
of Thiers's mission to foreign Courts and Jules Favre's visit to the
German headquarters, it being reported by the extremists that the
Government did not intend to be a Government of National Defence but one
of Capitulation. In reply to those rumours the authorities issued the
famous proclamation in which they said;
"The Government's policy is that formulated in these terms:
Not an Inch of our Territory.
Not a Stone of our Fortresses.
The Government will maintain it to the end."
On the morrow, September 21, Gambetta personally reminded us that it was
the seventy-eighth anniversary of the foundation of the first French
Republic, and, after recalling to the Parisians what their fathers had
then accomplished, he exhorted them to follow that illustrious example,
and to "secure victory by confronting death." That same evening the clubs
decided that a great demonstration should be made on the morrow by way of
insisting that no treaty should be discussed until the Germans had been
driven out of France, that no territory, fort, vessel, or treasure should
be surrendered, that all elections should be adjourned, and that a _levée
en masse_ should be decreed. Jules Favre responded that he and his
colleagues personified Defence and not Surrender, and Rochefort--poor
Rochefort!--solemnly promised that the barricades of Paris should be begun
that very night. That undertaking mightily pleased the agitators, though
the use of the said barricades was not apparent; and the demonstrators
dispersed with the usual shouts of "Vive la République! Mort aux
Prussiens!"
In connexion with that last cry it was a curious circumstance that from
the beginning to the end of the war the French persistently ignored the
presence of Saxons, Würtembergers, Hessians, Badeners, and so forth in the
invading armies. Moreover, on only one or two occasions (such as the
Bazeilles episode of the battle of Sedan) did they evince any particular
animosity against the Bavarians. I must have heard "Death to the
Prussians!" shouted at least a thousand times; but most certainly I never
once heard a single cry of "Death to the Germans!" Still in the same
connexion, let me mention that it was in Paris, during the siege, that the
eminent naturalist and biologist Quatrefages de Bréau wrote that curious
little book of his, "La Race Prussienne," in which he contended that the
Prussians were not Germans at all. There was at least some measure of
truth in the views which he enunciated.
As I previously indicated, Jules Favre, the Foreign Minister of the
National Defence, had gone to the German headquarters in order to discuss
the position with Prince (then Count) Bismarck. He met him twice, first at
the Comte de Rillac's Château de la Haute Maison, and secondly at Baron de
Rothschild's Château de Ferrières--the German staff usually installing
itself in the lordly "pleasure-houses" of the French noble or financial
aristocracy, and leaving them as dirty as possible, and, naturally, bereft
of their timepieces. Baron Alphonse de Rothschild told me in later years
that sixteen clocks were carried off from Ferrières whilst King
(afterwards the Emperor) William and Bismarck were staying there. I
presume that they now decorate some of the salons of the schloss at
Berlin, or possibly those of Varzin and Friedrichsruhe. Bismarck
personally had an inordinate passion for clocks, as all who ever visited
his quarters in the Wilhelmstrasse, when he was German Chancellor, will
well remember.
But he was not content with the clocks of Ferrières. He told Jules Favre
that if France desired peace she must surrender the two departments of the
Upper and the Lower Rhine, a part of the department of the Moselle,
together with Metz, Chateau Salins, and Soissons; and he would only grant
an armistice (to allow of the election of a French National Assembly to
decide the question of War or Peace) on condition that the Germans should
occupy Strasbourg, Toul, and Phalsburg, together with a fortress, such as
Mont Valerien, commanding the city of Paris. Such conditions naturally
stiffened the backs of the French, and for a time there was no more talk
of negotiating.