PARIS IN 1870: JULY, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER.
As soon as relations became "strained" between France and Germany,
according to the term used in diplomacy, the king of Prussia ordered
home all his subjects who had found employment in France, especially
those in Alsace and Lorraine.[1] Long before this, those provinces
had been overrun with photographers, pedlers, and travelling workmen,
commissioned to make themselves fully acquainted with the roads,
the by-paths, the resources of the villages, and the character
of the rural officials. In the case of France, however, though
all the reports concerning military stores looked well on paper,
the old guns mounted on the frontier fortresses were worthless,
and the organization of the army was so imperfect that scarcely
more than two hundred thousand troops could be sent to defend the
French frontier from Switzerland to Luxemburg; while Germany, with
an army that could be mobilized in eleven days, was ready by the
1st of August to pour five hundred thousand men across the Rhine.
The emperor placed great reliance on his _mitrailleuses_,--a new
engine of war that would fire a volley of musketry at once, but
which, though horribly murderous, has not proved of great value in
actual warfare. Towards the Rhine were hurried soldiers, recruits,
cannon, horses, artillery, ammunition, wagons full of biscuit and
all manner of munitions of war. The roads between Strasburg and
Belfort were blocked up, and in the disorder nobody seemed to know
what should be done. Every one was trying to get orders. The telegraph
lines were reserved for the Government. Quartermasters were roaming
about in search of their depots, colonels were looking for their
regiments, generals for their brigades or divisions. There were
loud outcries for salt, sugar, coffee, bacon, and bridles. Maps
of Germany as far as the shores of the Baltic were being issued
to soldiers who, alas! were never to pass their own frontier. But
while this was the situation near the seat of war, in other parts
of France the scene was different, especially in Brest and other
seaports. These towns were crowded with soldiers and sailors; the
streets were filled with half-drunken recruits bawling patriotic
sentiments in tipsy songs. And now, for the first time since the
Empire came into existence, might be heard the unaccustomed strains
of the "Marseillaise." It had been long suppressed in France; but
when war became imminent, it was encouraged for the purpose of
exciting military ardor.
[Footnote 1: Erckmann-Chatrian, La Plébiscite.]
Every day in the provincial towns the war fever grew fiercer. The
bugle sounded incessantly in the streets of any place where there
were troops in garrison. Regiment followed regiment on its way
into Paris, changing quarters or marching to depots to receive
equipments. Orderlies galloped madly about, and heavy ammunition
wagons lumbered noisily over the pavements. Everybody shouted "A
Berlin," and took up the chorus of the "Marseillaise." The post-offices
and telegraph-offices were crowded with soldiers openly dictating
their messages to patient officials who put them into shape, and
it was said that nearly every telegram contained the words, "Please
send me..." Alas, poor fellows! it is probable that nothing sent
them in reply was ever received.[1]
[Footnote 1: I am indebted for much in this chapter to a private
journal.]
Parisians or residents in Paris all believed at that time in the
prestige of the French army; only here and there a German exile
muttered in his beard something about Sadowa.
On July 27 all Paris assembled on the Boulevards to see the Garde
Impériale take its departure for the frontier. This Imperial Guard
was a choice corps created by Napoleon III. at the outset of the
Crimean War. It was a force numbering nominally twenty thousand
infantry and three thousand cavalry. It was a very popular corps,
and the war with Germany was popular; consequently the march from
its barracks to the railroad station was one continued triumph.
At every halt the Parisians pressed into the ranks with gifts of
money, wine, and cigars. "Vive l'armée!" shouted the multitude.
"A Berlin!" responded the troops; and now and then, as the bands
struck up the "Marseillaise," the population and the troops burst
out in chorus with the solemn, spirit-stirring words.
At the head of this brilliant host rode Marshal Le Bœuf, who was
minister of war and military tutor to the Prince Imperial. After
the departure of the main body of the corps, large detachments
of cavalry and artillery which belonged to it were expected to
follow; but they remained behind in the provinces, because Lyons,
Marseilles, and Algeria, all centres of the revolutionary spirit,
could not, it was found, be left without armed protection. Therefore
only a portion of the crack corps of the French army went forward to
the frontier,--a fact never suspected by the public until events,
a few weeks later, made it known.
Paris was jubilant. The theatres especially became centres of patriotic
demonstrations. At the Grand Opera House, Auber's "Massaniello"
(called in France the "Muette de Portici") was announced. For many
years its performance had been interdicted under the Second Empire,
the story being one of heroic revolt. The time had come, however,
when its ardent patriotism entitled it to resuscitation. Faure,
the most remarkable baritone singer of the period, suddenly, at the
beginning of the second act, which opens with a chorus of fishermen
inciting each other to resist oppression, appeared upon the stage
bearing the French flag. The chorus ranged themselves to right
and left as he strode forward and waved the tricolor above the
footlights. The house broke into wild uproar, cheer after cheer
rose for the flag, for the singer, for France.
"The violence of the applause," says one who was present, "continued
until all were breathless; then a sudden silence preceded the great
event of the evening. In clear, firm tones, Faure launched forth the
first notes of the 'Marseillaise;' and as the first verse ended,
he bounded forward, and unfurling the flag to its full length and
breadth, he waved it high above his head as he electrified the
audience with the cry, 'Aux armes citoyens!' and subsequently, when
in the last verse he sank upon one knee, and folding the standard
to his heart, raised his eyes towards heaven, he drew all hearts
with him; tears flowed, hand grasped hand, and deeply solemn was
the intonation of the volunteer chorus following the call to arms!
"The month of July was drawing to a close when the emperor took his
departure for Metz, where he was to assume the post of generalissimo.
With him went gayly the young Prince Imperial, then fourteen years
old. Their starting-point was the small rustic summer-house in
the park of Saint-Cloud, the termination of a miniature branch
railroad connecting with the great lines of travel. There the father
and son parted from the empress, who removed the same day to the
Tuileries, where she administered the imperial government under
the title of empress-regent.
"It would have been injudicious for the emperor at this time to
risk a public departure from Paris. The Parisians were so full of
confidence and enthusiasm that he might have received an inconvenient
ovation in advance."
Skirmishing had been going on along the frontier between the French
and German outposts since July 21. On August 2 the campaign began
in earnest. After luncheon on that day, the emperor and the Prince
Imperial set out by rail from Metz, and returned to Metz to dinner,
having invaded German territory and opened the war. They had alighted
at Forbach, and proceeded thence to make a reconnaissance into the
enemy's territory near Saarbrück,--a small town of two thousand
inhabitants, where, strange to say, an International Peace Congress
had held its session not many months before. This place had an
ordinary frontier garrison, and lay two and a half miles beyond the
boundary of France. General Frossard, under the emperor's direction
and supervision, led on his men to attack the place. The first
gun was fired by the Prince Imperial, who here, as his father's
telegram that night reported to the empress, received his "baptism
of fire." The garrison returned the fire, and then, having lost
two officers and seventy-two men, it retired, leaving the French
in possession of the heights above the town. Poor Prince Imperial!
Some harsh lines concerning his first exploit were published in
the London "Spectator:"--
"'How jolly, papa! how funny!
How the blue men tumble about!
Huzza! there's a fellow's head off,--
How the dark red blood spouts out!
And look, what a jolly bonfire!--
Wants nothing but colored light!
Oh, papa, burn a lot of cities,
And burn the next one at night!'
"'Yes, child, it _is_ operatic;
But don't forget, in your glee,
That for your sake this play is playing,
That you may be worthy of me.
They baptized you in Jordan water,--
Baptized as a Christian, I mean,--
But you come of the race of Cæsar,
And thus have their baptisms been.
Baptized in true Cæsar fashion,
Remember, through all your years,
That the font was a burning city,
And the water was widows' tears,'"
When these lines were written, how little could any man have foreseen
the fate of the poor lad, lying bloody and stark on a hillside of
South Africa, deserted by his comrades, and above all by a degenerate
descendant of Sir Walter Raleigh, who should have risked his life
to defend his charge!
The day after the attack on Saarbrück compact masses of Germans were
moving across the frontier into France, and the next day (August 4),
a division of MacMahon's army corps was surprised at Wissembourg,
while their commander was at Metz in conference with the emperor.
The French troops were cut to pieces, and the fugitives spread
themselves all over the country. The battle had been fought on
ground covered with vineyards, and the movements of the French
cavalry had been impeded by the vines. In this battle the French
were without artillery, but they took eight cannon from the enemy.
The Prussians, however, being speedily reinforced, recovered their
advantage and gained a complete victory. Wissembourg, a small town
in Alsace, was bombarded and set on fire. There seemed no officer
among the defeated French to restore order. They had never anticipated
such a rout, and were, especially the cavalry, utterly demoralized.
The French army was divided into seven army corps, the German into
twelve. Each German army corps was greatly stronger in men, and
incomparably better officered and equipped, than the French. The
Germans began the war with nearly a million men; the French with
little more than two hundred thousand on the frontier, though their
army was five hundred thousand strong on the official records. The
habit of the War Office had been to let rich men who were drawn
for the conscription pay four hundred francs for a substitute,
which substitute was seldom purchased, the money going into the
pockets of dishonest officials.
The two hundred thousand French were stretched in a thin line from
Belgium to the mountains of Dauphiné. A German army corps could break
this line at almost any point; and throughout the whole campaign
the French suffered from the lack of reliable information as to
the movements of the enemy.
On August 6, two days after the defeat at Wissembourg, the battle
of Wörth, or Reichshofen, was fought between the German _corps
d'armée_ under the Prussian Crown Prince and the corps of MacMahon,
which was completely defeated, and only enabled to leave the field
of battle in retreat rather than rout, by brilliant charges of
cavalry. The French lost six mitrailleuses, thirty guns, and four
thousand unwounded prisoners. On the same day the German reserves
retook Saarbrück, and put to flight General Frossard's division.
After these reverses Napoleon III. proposed to retreat on Paris and
to cover the capital. This also was the counsel of MacMahon; but
the empress-regent opposed it strongly, considering it a movement
that must prove fatal to the dynasty. She even refused to receive
back her son. And indeed it did not seem unlikely that the good
people of Paris, who ten days before had cheered clamorously their
beloved emperor, might have tom him in pieces, had he come back
to them after such a succession of disasters.
On the 7th of August, the very day after the battle of Worth, while
MacMahon was retreating before the victorious army of the Prussian
Crown Prince, the Parisians were made victims of an extraordinary
deception. A great battle was reported, in which the Crown Prince
had been made prisoner, together with twenty-six thousand of his
men.
All Paris turned into the streets to exult over this victory; everyone
rushed in the direction of the Bourse, where details of the great
victory were said to have been posted. In every street, from every
house, people were summoned to hang out flags and banners. An excited
crowd filled up the Bourse, many men clinging to the railings, all
shouting, singing, and embracing each other. No one for a long
time had any clear idea what the rejoicing was about, yet the crowd
went on shouting and singing choruses, waving hats, and reiterating
the "Marseillaise." The carriage of Madame Marie Sasse, the prima
donna, who was on her way to a rehearsal at the Grand Opera House,
was stopped, and she was requested to sing the "Marseillaise."
She stood up on the seat of her carriage and complied at once.
"There was profound silence," wrote a gentleman who was in the
crowd, "when she gave the first notes of the 'Marseillaise;' but
all Paris seemed to take up the chorus after each stanza. There was
uproarious applause. The last verse was even more moving than when
Faure had sung it, on account of the novelty of the surroundings
and the spontaneous feeling of the people. There were real tears
in the singer's eyes, and her voice trembled with genuine emotion
as she came to the thrilling appeal to _Liberté_."
At the same moment Capoul also was singing the "Marseillaise" in
another street, and in the Rue Richelieu the mob, having stopped a
beer cart and borrowed some glasses from a restaurant, were drinking
healths to the army and the emperor.
"All this time," says the American, who mingled in the crowd and
shouted with the rest in his excitement, "it never occurred to me
to doubt the accuracy of the news that had so stirred up Paris;
for the newspapers on the preceding days had prepared us to expect
something of the kind. All at once, upon the Boulevard, I was aware
of a violent altercation going on between a respectable-looking man
and a number of infuriated bystanders. He seemed to be insisting
that the whole story of the victory was untrue, and that despatches
had been received announcing heavy disasters. I saw that unlucky
citizen hustled about, and finally collared and led off by a policeman,
the people pursuing him with cries of 'Prussian!' But some time
later in the day some persons in a cab drove down the Boulevards
with a white banner, inscribed: THE AUTHOR OF THE FALSE NEWS IS
ARRESTED! This, however, was not the case, for the news was never
traced to any person."
The mob as soon as it began to believe that it had been the victim
of some stockjobbing operators, rushed to the Bourse, determined to
pull everything to pieces; but the military were there beforehand,
and it had to content itself with requiring all householders to
pull down the flags which two hours before it had insisted must
be hung out.
The Parisians were not easily appeased after this cruel deception,
and took their revenge by spreading damaging reports about the
Government of the regency, especially accusing the ministers of
basely suppressing bulletins from the army, that they might gamble
on the stock-exchange. The chief of the cabinet, Émile Ollivier,
was very nearly mobbed; but he pacified the people by a speech
made from the balcony of his residence. He was at the time really
unaware that more than one defeat had been sustained.
Hour after hour alarming reports kept coming in; and at last, on
August 9, the fatal news of three successive defeats was posted
all over the city. Soon an ominous message, sent by Napoleon III.,
revealed the full horror of the situation: "Hasten preparations
for the defence of Paris."
The greatest dismay prevailed. The Chambers were summoned to an
evening session. The legislators were guarded by cavalry from the
mob which surged round the Chamber. Ollivier and his cabinet were
forced to resign, and a new cabinet was hastily installed in office,
calling itself the Ministry of National Defence. Its head was Count
Montauban, a man seventy-five years old, who had gained the title
of Count Palikao by his notorious campaign in China in 1860, when
he sacked the summer palace at Pekin. M. Thiers had pronounced him
far more of a soldier than a statesman. He was in command of the
fourth army corps at Lyons when summoned by the empress-regent to
take up the reins of government; but in the course of the unvaried
succession of misfortunes which made up the history of the French
arms during the month of August, the public statements of Palikao
proved as unreliable as those of his predecessor. His favorite way
of meeting inquiries was to say oracularly: "If Paris knew what
I know, the city would be illuminated."
Confidence increased after the empress-regent had proclaimed a
_levée en masse_. There were no arms for those who responded to
the call, and most of them had to be sent back to their homes; but
it was considered certain that the mere idea of a general call to
arms would intimidate the Prussians. Indeed, there was a popular
delusion, shared even by foreigners, that the Prussian soldiery, on
their march to Paris, would be cut to pieces by the peasantry. The
conduct of the peasantry proved exactly the reverse of belligerent.
The penalties inflicted by the invaders for irregular warfare,
and the profits made by individuals who remained neutral, were
cleverly calculated to render the peasantry, not only harmless,
but actually useful to the enemy.
Meantime the French were rapidly evacuating Alsace, and preparing
to make their stand on the Moselle. General Failly's corps of thirty
thousand men, which had failed to come up in time to help MacMahon
at Wörth, were in full retreat, without exchanging a shot with
the enemy.
The Germans continued to march steadily on. The country was
systematically requisitioned for supplies. The _maire_ or other high
official of each village was informed twenty-four hours beforehand
how many men he was expected to provide with rations; namely, to
each man daily, 1-1/2 lb. bread, 1 lb. Meat, 1/4 lb. coffee, five
cigars, or their equivalent in tobacco, a pint of wine or a quart
of beer, and horse feed. If these demands were not complied with,
he was assured that the village would be set on fire; and after a
few examples had been made, the villagers became so intimidated
that they furnished all that was required of them.
Here is a description of one night's work done by a Prussian general.
It is taken from a work by Erckmann-Chatrian;[1] but those graphic
writers took all their descriptions from the mouths of Alsatian
peasants who had been eye-witnesses of the scenes which they
described:--
[Footnote 1: La Plébiscite.]
"The first thing the Prussian commander did on entering his chamber
in a cottage where he had quarters for the night, was to make three
or four soldiers turn out every article of furniture. Then he spread
out on the floor an enormous map of the country. He took off his
boots and lay down on the map flat on his stomach. Then he called
in six or seven officers, all captains or lieutenants. Each man
pulled out a small map. The general called to one of them by name:
'Have you got the road from here to Metting?' 'Yes, General.' 'Name
all the places between here and there.' Then the officer, without
hesitation, told the names of all the villages, farms, streams,
bridges, and woods, the turnings of the roads, the very cow-paths.
The general followed him on the large map with his finger. 'That's
all right. Take twenty men and go as far as St. Jean by such a
road. You will reconnoitre. If you want any assistance, send me
word.' And so on, one by one, to all the others."
Such was the system and order of the Germans; while the French,
full of amazement at their own defeat, unled, unofficered, and
disorganized, are thus described by Edmond About as he saw them
entering Saverne after the disastrous day at Wörth.
"There were cuirassiers," he says, "without cuirasses, fusileers
without guns, horsemen on foot, and infantry on horseback. The
roads taken by the army in its flight were blocked by trains of
wagons loaded with provisions and clothing, and the woods were
filled with stragglers wandering about in a purposeless way. Among
the spoils of that day which fell into the hands of the Prussians
were several railroad freight-cars loaded with Paris confectionery:
and two days after the battle it was easier to obtain a hundredweight
of bonbons at Forbach than a loaf of bread."
All this happened in one week, from August 2 to August 6. During
this week the emperor stayed at Metz, having been implored by his
generals to keep away from the army.
A week later, Strasburg was besieged. MacMahon, the remnants of
whose corps had been driven out of Alsace by the Crown Prince, was
endeavoring to effect a juncture with the army corps of De Failly.
The object of the emperor and Marshal MacMahon was to concentrate
as large a force as possible before the very strongly fortified
city of Metz. But as soon as they reached Metz the armies of General
Steinmetz and Prince Frederic Charles, two hundred and fifty thousand
strong, began to close in upon them. There seemed no safety but
in further retreat. The emperor wanted to give up Lorraine, and
to concentrate all his forces in an intrenched camp at Châlons;
but advices from Paris warned him that a revolt would break out
in the capital if he did so. He therefore resigned his position
as commander-in-chief to Marshal Bazaine. He was coldly received
in the camp at Châlons, and his presence with several thousand
men as a body-guard was an impediment to military operations. He
was therefore virtually dropped out of the army, and from August
18, when this news was known in Paris, his authority in France
was practically at an end. On the same day (August 18) Bazaine's
army was driven into Metz after the battle of Gravelotte, at which
battle the French, though defeated, distinguished themselves by
their bravery. Bazaine had one hundred and seventy thousand men
with him when he retired behind the walls of Metz. Here he was
closely besieged till October 27, when he surrendered.
The news that reached Paris of these events (just one month after
the emperor had signed the declaration of war) not only resulted in
his practical deposition, but caused a notoriously anti-Bonapartist
general to be appointed military governor of the capital. Imperialism
remained an empty name. France was without one ally, nor had the
emperor one friend. Meantime Palikao, to appease the irritation
of the public, continued to announce victory after victory. Of
all his fantastic inventions, the most fantastic was one published
immediately after Bazaine had shut himself up with his army in Metz.
A despatch was published, and universally accepted with confidence
and enthusiasm, announcing that three German army corps had been
overthrown at the Quarries of Jaumont. There are no quarries at
Jaumont, there were no Prussians anywhere near the spot, and none
had been defeated; but the Parisians were well satisfied.
After the first panic caused by the despatch that Paris must prepare
for defence, means were taken for provisioning the city. Clément
Duvernois, an ex-radical, an ex-Bonapartist, and one of the members
of the Ministry of Defence, gave ignorant and reckless orders for
supplies, which, in spite of the gravity of the situation, amused
the Parisians immensely.
Droves of cattle passed all day along the Boulevards, going to
be pastured in the Bois de Boulogne, where they were tended by
Gardes Mobiles from the rural districts. The cattle, the camps,
and the fortifications attracted crowds of curious spectators.
The tap of the drum was wellnigh incessant in the city; and while
the enemy was drawing near, and bloody defeats followed each other
in rapid succession, the Parisians seemed chiefly stimulated to
write fresh libels in the newspapers, and to amuse each other with
caricatures and satires.
Among other foolish measures was that of ordering all firemen from
the departments up to Paris. They remained in the city a week,
and were then sent home. In their absurd and heavy uniforms, and
with nothing whatever to do, the poor country fellows presented
a miserable appearance as they sat in rows along the curbstones
of the avenues, with their helmets glittering in the August sun,
"looking," as some one remarked, "like so many rare beetles on
exhibition," the spectacle being all the more ludicrous from the
extreme dejection of the innocent heroes.
Troops were always on the move. The Gardes Mobiles, formed into
companies, were not wanted anywhere. Being too raw as yet for active
service, they were transferred from one barrack to another, and
were drilled in the open streets and in the public squares. The
forts absorbed a number of them; others were employed as shepherds
and drovers. The surplus was billeted on the citizens.
Towards the end of August there began to be a notion that the city
was full of spies, and all suspected persons were called Prussians.
The mania for spy-hunting became general, and was frequently very
inconvenient to Americans and Englishmen. Germans in Paris, many of
whom had intermarried with the French, naturally found themselves
in a most unhappy situation. At first they were strictly forbidden
to leave Paris; then suddenly they were ordered away, on three
days' notice, under penalty of being treated as prisoners of war.
This decree affected eighty thousand persons in France, nearly all
of whom were connected by family ties or business relations with
the country of their adoption. The outcry raised by the English and
German Press about this summary expulsion procured some modification
of the order,--not, however, without a protest from the radicals,
who clamored for the rigor of the law. Mr. Washburne, the American
minister, the only foreign ambassador who remained in Paris during
the siege, had accepted the charge of these unhappy Germans, and
heart-breaking scenes took place daily at the American Legation.
Soon after the defeats in the first week in August, Mr. Washburne
had his last interview with the Empress Eugénie.
"She had evidently," he says, "passed a sleepless and agitated
night, and was in great distress of mind. She at once began to
speak of the terrible news she had received, and the effect it
would have on the French people. I suggested to her that the news
might not be quite so bad as was reported (alas! it was far worse),
and that the consequences might in the end be far better than present
circumstances indicated. I spoke to her about the first battle of
Bull Run, and the defeat that the Union army had there suffered,
which had only stimulated the country to greater exertions. She
replied: 'I only wish the French in these respects were like you
Americans; but I am afraid they will get too much discouraged,
and give up too soon.'"[1]
[Footnote 1: Recollections of a Minister to France.]
All this time the "Figaro" was publishing articles that held out
hopes of victory and flattered the self-confidence of the Parisians.
Marshals MacMahon and Bazaine were represented as leading the enemy
craftily into a snare, and the illusion was kept up that the Germans
would be cut to pieces by the peasantry "before they could lay
their sacrilegious hands," said Victor Hugo, "upon the Mecca of
civilization." Instead of this, the Crown Prince's army was marching
in pursuit of MacMahon's forces through the great plains of Champagne.
MacMahon had some design of turning back, uniting with another
army corps, and attacking the Prussians in the rear, thus hemming
in part of their army between himself and the troops of Bazaine
in Metz; but he seems to have been really in the position of a
pawn driven about a chess-board by an experienced player.
Continually retreating, the emperor, who was with MacMahon's army,
at last found himself at Sedan, safe, as he hoped, for a brief
breathing space, from the attacks of the two Prussian army corps
which were following in his rear. He had been warned repeatedly
that he must not return to Paris without a victory. "The language
of reason," he remarked, "is no longer understood at the capital."
On Aug. 30, 1870, the retreating French were concentrated, or rather
massed, under the walls of Sedan,[1] in a valley commonly called
the Sink of Givonne. The army consisted of twenty-nine brigades,
fifteen divisions, and four _corps d'armée_, numbering ninety thousand
men.
[Footnote 1: Victor Hugo, Choses vues.]
"It was there," says Victor Hugo, "no one could guess what for,
without order, without discipline, a mere crowd of men, waiting,
as it seemed, to be seized by an immensely powerful hand. It seemed
to be under no particular anxiety. The men who composed it knew,
or thought they knew, that the enemy was far away. Calculating
four leagues as a day's march, they believed the Germans to be at
three days distance. The commanders, however, towards nightfall,
made some preparations for safety. The whole army formed a sort
of horse-shoe, its point turning towards Sedan. This disposition
proved that its chiefs believed themselves in safety. The valley
was one of those which the Emperor Napoleon used to call a 'bowl,'
and which Admiral Van Tromp designated by a less polite name. No
place could have been better calculated to shut in an army. Its very
numbers were against it. Once in, if the way out were blocked, it
could never leave it again. Some of the generals,--General Wimpfen
among them--saw this, and were uneasy; but the little court around
the emperor was confident of safety. 'At worst,' they said, 'we
can always reach the Belgian frontier.' The commonest military
precautions were neglected. The army slept soundly on the night
of August 31. At the worst they believed themselves to have a line
of retreat open to Mézières, a town on the frontier of Belgium.
No cavalry reconnoissance was made that night; the guards were
not doubled. The French believed themselves more than forty miles
from the German army. They behaved as if they thought that army
unconcentrated and ill-informed, attempting vaguely several things
at once, and incapable of converging on one point, namely, Sedan.
They thought they knew that the column under the Prince of Saxony
was marching upon Châlons, and that the Crown Prince of Prussia
was marching upon Metz.
"But that night, while the French army, in fancied security, was
sleeping at Sedan, this is what was passing among the enemy.
"By a quarter to two A. M. the army of the Prince of Saxony was
on its march eastward, with orders not to fire a shot till five
o'clock, and to make as little noise as possible. They marched
without baggage of any kind. At the same hour another division of
the Prussian army marched, with equal noiselessness, from another
direction, on Sedan, while the Würtemburgers secured the road to
Mézières, thereby cutting off the possibility of a retreat into
Belgium.
"At the same moment, namely, five o'clock,--on all the hills around
Sedan, at all points of the compass, appeared a dense, dark mass
of German troops, with their commanders and artillery. Not one
sound had been heard by the French army, not even an order. Two
hundred and fifty thousand men were in a circle on the heights round
the Sink of Givonne. They had come as stealthily and as silently as
serpents. They were there when the sun rose, and the French army
were prisoners."
The battle was one of artillery. The German guns commanded every
part of the crowded valley. Indeed, the fight was simply a massacre.
There was no hope for the French, though they fought bravely. Their
best troops, the Garde Impériale, were with Bazaine at Metz. Marshal
MacMahon was wounded very early in the day. The command passed
first to General Ducrot, who was also disabled, and afterwards to
Wimpfen, a brave African general who had hurried from Algeria just
in time to take part in this disastrous day. He told the emperor
that the only hope was for the troops to cut their way out of the
valley; but the army was too closely crowded, too disorganized,
to make this practicable. One Zouave regiment accomplished this
feat, and reached Belgium.
That night--the night of September 1--an aide-de-camp of the Emperor
Napoleon carried this note to the camp of the king of Prussia:--
MONSIEUR MON FRÈRE,--Not having been able to die in midst of my
troops, it only remains for me to place my sword in the hands of
your Majesty.
I am your Majesty's good brother,
NAPOLEON.
The king of Prussia replied,--
MONSIEUR MON FRÈRE,--Regretting the circumstances under which we
meet, I accept the sword of your Majesty, and I invite you to designate
one of your officers, provided with full powers, to treat for the
capitulation of the army which has so bravely fought under your
command. On my side I have named General von Moltke for that purpose.
I am your Majesty's good brother,
WILLIAM.
Before Sedan, Sept. 1, 1870.
"The next morning early, a carriage containing four French officers
drove out from Sedan, and came into the German lines. The carriage
had an escort of only three horsemen. When it had reached the Germans,
one of its occupants put out his head and asked, in German, for
Count von Bismarck? The Germans replied that he was at Donchéry.
Thither the carriage dashed away. It contained the French emperor."
With Napoleon III. fell not only his own reputation as a ruler,
but the glory of his uncle and the prestige of his name.
The fallen emperor and Bismarck met in a little house upon the
banks of the Meuse. Chairs were brought out, and they talked in
the open air. It was a glorious autumn morning. The emperor looked
care-worn, as well he might. He wished to see the king of Prussia
before the articles of capitulation were drawn up: but King William
declined the interview. When the capitulation was signed, however,
he drove over to visit the captive emperor at a château where the
latter had taken refuge.
Their interview was private; only the two sovereigns were present.
The French emperor afterwards expressed to the Crown Prince of Prussia
his deep sense of the courtesy shown him. He was desirous of passing
as unnoticed as possible through French territory, where, indeed,
exasperation against him, as the first cause of the misfortunes of
France, was so great that his life would have been in peril. The
next day he proceeded to the beautiful palace at Cassel called
Wilhelmshöhe, or William's Rest. It had been built at ruinous expense
by Jérôme Bonaparte while king of Westphalia, and was then called
Napoleon's Rest.
Every consideration that the German royal family could show their
former friend and gracious host was shown to Louis Napoleon. This
told against him with the French. Was the man who had led them into
such misfortunes to be honored and comforted while they were suffering
the consequences of his selfishness, recklessness, negligence, and
incapacity?
Thus eighty thousand men capitulated at Sedan, and were marched
as prisoners into Germany; one hundred and seventy-five thousand
French soldiers remained shut up in Metz, besides a few thousands
more in Strasburg, Phalsbourg, Toul, and Belfort. But the road
was open to Paris, and thither the various German armies marched,
leaving the Landwehr, which could not be ordered to serve beyond the
limits of Germany, to hold Alsace and Lorraine, already considered
a part of the Fatherland. The Prussians did not reach Paris till
September 19, two weeks after the surrender at Sedan,--which seemed
rather a lull in the military operations of a war in which so much
had occurred during one short month.