THE SIEGE OF PARIS.
Though the surrender of the emperor and his army at Sedan took place
on September 2, nothing whatever was known of it by the Parisian
public until the evening of September 4, when a reporter arrived
at the office of the "Gaulois" with a Belgian newspaper in his
pocket. The "Gaulois" dared not be the first sheet to publish the
news of such a disaster; but despatches had already reached the
Government, and by degrees rumors of what had happened crept through
the streets of the capital. No one knew any details of the calamity,
but every one soon understood that something terrible had occurred.
The Legislative Assembly held a midnight session; but nothing was
determined on until the morning, when the Empire was voted out,
and a Republic voted in.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Every Parisian was in the street,
and, wonderful to say, all faces seemed to express satisfaction. The
loss of an army, the surrender of the emperor, the national disgrace,
the prospect of a siege, the advance of the Prussians,--were things
apparently forgotten. Paris was charmed to have got rid of so unlucky
a ruler,--the emperor for whom more than seven millions of Frenchmen
had passed a vote of confidence a few months before. He seemed to
have no longer a single friend, or rather he had _one:_ in the
Assembly an elderly deputy stood up in his place and boldly said that
he had taken an oath to be faithful to the Emperor Napoleon, and
did not think himself absolved from it by his misfortunes.
[Illustration: _JULES SIMON._]
It was almost in a moment, almost without a breath of opposition,
that on the morning of Sept. 5, 1870, the Empire was voted at an
end, and a Republic put in its place. The duty of governing was
at once confided to seven men, called the Committee of Defence. Of
these, Arago, Crémieux, and Gamier-Pagès had been members of the
Provisional Government in 1848, while Léon Gambetta, Jules Favre,
Jules Ferry, and Jules Simon afterwards distinguished themselves.
Rochefort, the insurrectionist, made but one step from prison to
the council board, and was admitted among the new rulers. But the
two chief men in the Committee of Defence were Jules Favre and
Gambetta.
Gambetta, who before that time had been little known, was from
the South of France, and of Italian origin. He was a man full of
enthusiasm, vehement, irascible, and impulsive. The day came when
these qualities, tempered and refined, did good service to France,
when he also proved himself one of those great men in history who
are capable of supreme self-sacrifice. At present he was untried.
Jules Favre was respected for his unstained reputation and perfect
integrity, his disinterestedness and civic virtues, as also for
his fluency of speech. In person he was a small, thin man, with
a head that was said to resemble the popular portraits of General
Jackson.
General Jules Trochu, who was confirmed as military commander of
Paris, had written a book, previous to the war, regarding the
inefficiency of the French army; he had been therefore no favorite
with the emperor. His chief defect, it was said, was that he talked
so well that he was fond of talking, and too readily admitted many
to his confidence.
The Council of Regency had in the night melted away. A mob was
surging round the Tuileries. Where had the empress-regent fled?
When disasters had followed fast upon one another, the empress
had in her bewilderment found it hard to realize that the end of
the empire was at hand. Bazaine was the man whom she relied on.
She had no great liking for Marshal MacMahon, and she does not
appear to have been conscious that all was lost till, on the night
of September 4, she found M. Conti, the emperor's secretary, busy
destroying his private papers. To burn them was impossible; they
were torn into small bits and put in a bath-tub, then hot water
was poured over them, which reduced them to pulp. Vast quantities,
however, remained undestroyed, some of them compromising to their
writers.
When the truth of the situation broke upon the empress, she was
very much frightened. Her dread was that she might be torn in pieces
by a mob that would invade the Tuileries. In a fortnight her fair
face had become haggard, and white streaks showed themselves in
her beautiful hair.
It is safest in such cases to trust foreigners rather than subjects.
Two foreigners occupied themselves with plans for the empress's
personal safety. The first idea was that if flight became inevitable,
she should take refuge with the Sisters of the Sacré Cœur, in their
convent in the Rue Picpus; and arrangements had been made for this
contingency.
The life of the empress was strange and piteous during her last
days upon the throne. She was up every morning by seven, and heard
mass. Her dress was black cashmere, with a white linen collar and
cuffs. All day she was the victim of every person who claimed an
audience, all talking, protesting, gesticulating, and generally
begging. The day the false rumor arrived that the Prussians had
been defeated at the Quarries of Jaumont she flew down to the
guard-room, where the soldiers off duty were lounging on their beds,
waving the telegram over her head.
The news of the capitulation at Sedan and of the decree deposing the
emperor, roused the Parisian populace. By one o'clock on September 5
the mob began to threaten the Tuileries. Then the Italian ambassador,
Signor Nigra, and the Austrian ambassador, Prince Richard Metternich,
insisted that the empress must seek a place of safety. As it was
impossible to reach the street from the Tuileries, they made their
way through the long galleries of the Louvre, and gained the entrance
opposite the parish church of Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois.[1] The
street was blocked with people uttering cries against the emperor.
A _gamin_ recognized the fugitives, and shouted, "Here comes the
empress!" De Nigra gave him a kick, and asked him how he dared to
cry: "Vive l'Empereur?" At this the crowd turned upon the boy,
and in the confusion the empress and her lady-in-waiting were put
into a cab, driven, it is said, by Gamble, the emperor's faithful
English coachman. If this were so, the empress did not recognize
him, for after proceeding a little way, she and Madame le Breton,
her companion, finding they had but three francs between them, and
dreading an altercation with the cabman if this were not enough
to pay their fare, got out, and proceeded on foot to the house of
the American dentist, Dr. Thomas Evans. There they had to wait
till admitted to his operating-room. The doctor's amazement when
he saw them was great; he had not been aware of what was passing
at the Tuileries, but he took his hat, and went out to collect
information. Soon he returned to tell the empress that she had not
escaped a moment too soon.
[Footnote 1: Temple Bar, 1883.]
His wife was at Deauville, a fashionable watering-place in Normandy.
The doctor placed her wardrobe at the disposal of the empress,
who had saved nothing of her own but a few jewels. It is said she
owned three hundred dresses, and her collection of fans, laces,
etc., was probably unique. Her own servants had begun to pillage
her wardrobe before she left the Tuileries. It is said that she
would have gone forth on horseback and have put herself at the head
of the troops, but that no riding-habit had been left her, except
a gay green-and-gold hunting dress worn by her at Fontainebleau.
That morning no servant in the Tuileries could be found to bring
her breakfast to her chamber.
The next day Dr. Evans, in his own carriage, took her safely out
of Paris, in the character of a lady of unsound mind whom he and
Madame le Breton were conveying to friends in the country. Two
days later they reached Deauville after several narrow escapes,
the empress, on one occasion, having nearly betrayed herself by
an effort to stop a man who was cruelly beating his horse.
There were two English yachts lying at Deauville. On board of one
of these Dr. Evans went. It belonged to Sir John Burgoyne, grandson
of the General Burgoyne who surrendered at Saratoga. Sir John,
with his wife, was on a pleasure cruise. His yacht, the "Gazelle,"
was very small, only forty-five tons' burden, and carried a crew
of six men.
As soon as Sir John Burgoyne had satisfied himself that it was
really the empress who was thus thrown on his protection, he placed
himself and his yacht at her disposal, insisting, however, that she
must not come on board till nearly midnight, when he would meet
her on the _quai_. It was fortunate that he made this arrangement,
for, after dark, a police agent and a Russian spy came on board
and searched every corner of the little vessel. When at last they
departed, Sir John went on to the _quai_, and shortly afterwards
met two ladies, and a gentleman who carried a hand-bag. One of the
ladies stepped up to him and said, "I believe you are the English
gentleman who will take me to England. I am the empress." She then
burst into tears. On reaching the yacht, her first eager demand
was for newspapers. Happily Lady Burgoyne could tell her that the
Prince Imperial was safe in England; from the English papers she also
learned particulars of the disaster at Sedan, of the proclamation of
the Republic in the Corps Législatif at Paris, and of the treatment
of the emperor.
It was an anxious time for all on board the "Gazelle," for the
tide would not serve to leave the harbor till seven o'clock the
next morning, and Deauville was wildly riotous all night. At last
they worked out of the harbor and were at sea; but a tempest was
raging in the Channel, and so violent was it that at half-past one
the next morning the great English ironclad "Captain," commanded
by Sir Hugh Burgoyne, Sir John's cousin, went down, with all on
board, not far from where the little "Gazelle" was battling with
the gale. The "Gazelle" had a terrible passage, shipping tremendous
seas. She danced and rolled like a cork; but the ladies were brave,
and were encouraged by Lady Burgoyne's composure. "There was no
affectation of courage in Lady Burgoyne," said the empress afterwards;
"she simply acted as if nothing were the matter."
After about eighteen hours of this stormy passage the "Gazelle"
was safe at anchor off Ryde, in the Isle of Wight. The empress was
anxious that no one should know she was in England; but Sir John
told her it was his duty to inform the Foreign Office immediately.
An answer was at once returned by Lord Granville, assuring the
empress of welcome and protection; but he added in a postscript
to Sir John: "Don't you think you may have been imposed upon?"
The fact was that the Foreign Office had already received news
of the escape of the empress by way of Ostend, under the charge
of two English gentlemen, who had been themselves deceived. The
ladies they had assisted to leave Paris were Princess Clotilde
and an attendant.
After the emperor's release from Wilhelmshöhe he received Sir John
Burgoyne at Chiselhurst, and thanked him, with tears in his eyes,
for his care of the empress, adding that no sailors but the English
could have got across the Channel on such a night in so small a
craft.
After peace had been signed between Prussia and France, the emperor
landed at Dover, where he was touched by the kindly and respectful
reception he met with from the English people. The next day he
was visited by Lord Malmesbury, an old friend in the days of his
youth, before he entered on his life of adventure. Lord Malmesbury
says:
"He came into the room alone to meet me, with that remarkable smile
that could light up his dark countenance. I confess I never was more
moved. His quiet and calm dignity, and absence of all nervousness
or irritability, were grand examples of moral courage. All the
past rushed to my memory. He must have seen what I felt, for he
said: '_À la guerre comme à la guerre_. It is very good of you
to come to see me.' In a quiet, natural way he then praised the
kindness of the Germans at Wilhelmshöhe, nor did a single plaint
escape him during our conversation. He said he had been deceived as
to the force and preparation of his armies, but without mentioning
names, nor did he abuse anybody, till I mentioned Trochu, who had
abandoned the empress, whom he had sworn to defend. During half an
hour he conversed with me as in the best days of his life, with
dignity and resignation, but when I saw him again he was much more
depressed. He was grieving at the destruction of Paris, and at the
anarchy prevailing over France, far more than he had done over
his own misfortunes. That the Communists should have committed such
horrors in the presence of their enemies, the Prussians, seemed
to him the very acme of humiliation and national infamy."
On Jan. 9, 1873, he died at Chiselhurst, in the presence of the
empress, who never left him, released from the storms of a fitful
existence and from intense physical suffering.
Let us return now to Paris and the Committee of Defence, its new
Republican Government. Though the people of Paris, in the excitement
consequent on the proclamation of a Republic, seemed to have forgotten
the Prussians, the prospect of their speedy arrival stared the
Government in the face. It was a Government, not of France, but
of Paris. France had had no voice in making this new Republic, nor
was it at all likely that it would be popular in the Provinces;
but meanwhile work of every kind was pressing on its hands. The
fortifications of Paris were unmanned, and, indeed, were not even
completed, and there were hardly any soldiers in the capital.
The first thing to be done was to bring provisions into the city.
Cattle, grain, salt, hay, preserved meats, in short, everything
edible that could be imagined, poured in so long as the railroads
remained open. All public buildings became storehouses, but affairs
were conducted with such recklessness and disorder that the live-stock
suffered terribly, and half the hay was wasted. As to troops, General
Vinoy arrived with twenty thousand soldiers, who had been stationed
between Belgium and Sedan. They had never fought the Pussians, but
were impatient of discipline and utterly demoralized. Stragglers
and fugitives from Sedan came in also, but these were still less
to be depended on. The National Guard had never enjoyed the favor
of the emperor, and had been suffered to fall to pieces. It was now
reorganized and armed as well as the Government was able. There was
a body of Mobiles who had been sent away from the army by Marshal
MacMahon because they were so insubordinate that he did not know
what to do with them. Ninety thousand Mobiles came up from the
Provinces before the gates of Paris closed,--excellent material for
soldiers but wholly uninstructed,--and finally about ten thousand
sailors arrived from Brest, who were kept in strict line by their
officers, and were the most reliable part garrison.
The male population of Paris remained in the city, almost to a
man, except those known to the police as thieves or ex-convicts,
who were all sent away. Women and children also were removed, if
their husbands and fathers could afford places of safety.
Around the city was a wall twelve yards high, forming a polygonal
inclosure. At each corner of the polygon was a bastion, in which
were stationed the big guns. The wall connecting the bastions is
called a curtain. The bastions protected the curtains, and were
themselves protected by sixteen detached forts, built on all the
eminences around Paris. The most celebrated of these forts lies to
the west of Paris, between it and Versailles, and is called Fort
Valérien It is erected on a steep hill long called Mont Calvaire,
from which is a magnificent view of the city. This and stony hill
for several centuries used to be ascended by pilgrims on their
knees; the mount, where once stood an altar of the Druids, became
a consecrated place before the Revolution.
Louis Philippe, in 1841, had planned the fortifications of Paris,
but in his time they had been only partially constructed. Even
in 1870, as I have said, they were not complete. When the siege
became imminent, the first thing to be done was to put them in good
order; but for a week the working-men in Paris were so intoxicated
with the idea of having a republic that they could not be made to
do steady work upon anything. It was also considered necessary to
cut down all trees and to destroy all villages between the forts
and the walls of the city, so that they might afford no shelter
to the Prussians. The poor inhabitants of these villages flocked
into Paris, bringing with them carts piled with their household
goods, their wives and children peeping out aghast between the
chairs and beds. The beautiful trees in the Bois de Boulogne were
cut down; the deer and the swans and other wild fowl on the lakes
(long the pets of the Parisian holiday makers) were shot by parties
of Mobiles sent out for that purpose.
No military man believed that Paris, defended by uncompleted
fortifications, could withstand a direct attack from the Prussians;
no one dreamed of a blockade, for it was thought that it would
take a million and a quarter of men to invest the city, and the
Prussians were known not to have that number for the purpose. The
idea was that the enemy would choose some point, would attack it
with all his forces, would lose probably thirty thousand men, and
would take the city. But Bismarck and King William and Von Moltke
had no idea of losing thirty thousand men. They were certain that
there would be risings and disturbances in Paris. They believed that
their forces might even be called in to save respectable Parisians
from the outrages of the Reds. They knew that rural France, having
little love for Paris or the Republic, was not likely to accept
the Government formed without its own consent, nor march to the
assistance of the capital. Even should the provincial population
bestir itself, the troops it could send would be only raw levies,
and there was no great leader to animate or to direct popular
enthusiasm.
It was quite true that the respectable classes in Paris had as
much to fear from the Reds as from the Prussians. The mob of Paris
was wild for a commune.
It is not always known what is meant by a commune, and I may be
pardoned if I pause to define it here.
In feudal times cities all over Europe won for themselves charters.
By these charters they acquired the right to govern themselves;
that is, the burghers elected their own mayor and their councilor
aldermen, and this body governing the community was called the
commune. When the feudal system fell in France, and all power was
centralized in the king, city governments were established by royal
edict only. Paris, for instance, was governed by the Prefect of the
Seine,--he had under him the _maires_ of twenty Arrondissements;
and thus it was in every French city. All public offices in France
were in the gift of the Throne.
To Americans, who have mayors and city councils in every city,
municipal taxation, municipal elections, and municipal laws, a
commune appears the best mode of city government. But if we can
imagine one of our large cities possessing the same power over
the United States that Paris wields over France, we shall take a
different view of the matter. Paris governed by a commune, that
commune being elected by a mob and aspiring to give laws to France,
might well indeed have alarmed all Frenchmen. We may judge of its
feeling towards the Provinces from the indignation expressed by
Parisian Communists when during the Commune, Lyons and some other
cities talked of setting up communes of their own.
In olden times, in France, Italy, and Germany (as in Great Britain
at the present day), it was not the mob, but the burghers, whose
interests depended upon the prosperity of their city, who voted
in municipal elections. France had established universal suffrage,
and the restless "men of Belleville,"--the "white blouses,"--were
liable in any time of excitement to be joined by roughs from other
cities, and by all working-men out of employment. These apprehensions
of the respectable citizens of Paris were horribly realized in
1871. The new Republic, meantime, was not Red, not Communistic,
not Socialistic, but Republican.
During the Revolution of 1848 there had been little intoxication
in Paris; but in the twenty-two years that followed, the French
had learned to drink absinthe and to frequent such places as
"L'Assommoir." All accounts speak of the drunkenness in France during
the Franco-Prussian war.
Meantime, during the two weeks that preceded the arrival of the
Prussians, the streets of Paris were crowded with men in every
variety of uniform,--_francs-tireurs_ in their Opéra Comique costume,
cuirassiers, artillerymen, lancers, regulars, National Guards, and
Mobiles. Carriages were mixed up with heavy wagons loaded sometimes
with worthless household goods, sometimes with supplies. Peasants'
carts were seen in the midst of frightened flocks of sheep driven
by bewildered shepherds. Everybody was in some one's way. All was
confusion, excitement,--and exhilaration.
Till September 19 the railways continued to run. Then the fifty-one
gates of Paris were closed, the railroad entrances were walled
up, and the following notice appeared upon the walls:--
"Citizens! The last lines which connected Paris with France and
Europe were cut yesterday evening. Paris is left to herself. She
has now only her own courage and her own resources to rely on.
Europe, which has received so much enlightenment from this great
city, and has always felt a certain jealousy of her glory, now
abandons her. But Paris, we are persuaded, will prove that she has
not ceased to be the most solid rampart of French independence."
To _hold out_ was the determination of all classes; but the very
next day the Reds put forth a manifesto demanding a commune, the
dismissal of the police, the sequestration of the property of all
rich or influential men, and a public declaration that the king of
Prussia would not be treated with so long as his armies occupied
one foot of French soil. "Nothing less than these things," said
the document, "will satisfy the people."
Here we see the usual assumption of the Parisian Communists that
they are "the people." They have always assumed that thirty-two
millions of Frenchmen outside the walls of Paris counted for nothing.
As the Prussian armies passed to the southward of Paris to take
possession of Versailles, an attack, authorized by General Trochu
and by General Ducrot (who had escaped from Sedan), was made upon
the German columns. The Zouaves, who had come back to Paris under
General Vinoy, demoralized by the disasters of their comrades, were
the first to break and run. The poor little Mobiles stood firm
and did their duty.
The official report said: "Some of our soldiers took to flight
with regrettable haste,"--a phrase which became a great joke among
the Parisians.
That night the Reds breathed fire and fury against the Government,
"and the respectable part of Paris," says M. de Sarcey, the great
dramatic critic, "saw themselves between two dangers. It would
be hard to say which of them they dreaded most. They hated the
Prussians very much, but they feared the men of Belleville more."
Meantime Jules Favre, who had been appointed Minister for Foreign
Affairs, had procured a safe-conduct from the Prussians, and had
gone out to see Count Bismarck and King William, who had their
headquarters at Baron Rothschild's beautiful country seat of Ferrières.
His object was to obtain an armistice, that a National Assembly
might be convoked which would consider the terms of peace with
the Prussians.
The Chancellor of North Germany declared that he did not recognize
the Committee of Defence, represented by Julus Favre, as a legitimate
government of France competent to offer or to consider terms of
peace. He treated M. Favre with the greatest haughtiness, utterly
refusing any armistice, but at the close of their first interview
he consented to see him again the next day.
"I was," says Jules Favre, "at the Château de Ferrières by eleven
A. M., but Count Bismarck did not leave the king's apartments before
twelve. I then gathered from him the conditions that he demanded
for an armistice. They were written in German, and he read them
over to me. He desired to occupy, as a guarantee, Strasburg, Toul,
and Phalsbourg;[1] and as I had the day before named Paris as the
place for the meeting of the Assembly, he wished in that case to
have possession of some fort commanding the city. He named Fort
Valérien. Here I interrupted him. 'You had better ask for Paris at
once,' I said. 'How can a French Assembly be expected to deliberate
when covered by your guns? I hardly know whether I dare to inform
my Government that you have made such a proposal.' Tours was then
named as a place for the Assembly. 'But,' said Bismarck, 'Strasburg
must be surrendered. It is about to fall into our hands. All I
ask is that the garrison shall constitute themselves prisoners
of war.' At this I could restrain myself no longer. I sprang to
my feet and said: 'Count Bismarck, you forget you are speaking
to a Frenchman! To sacrifice an heroic garrison which has won our
admiration and that of the whole world, would be an act of cowardice.
Nor will I even promise to mention that you ever made such a demand.'
He answered that he had not meant to wound my feelings, he was
acting in conformity with the laws of war; but he would see what
the king said about the matter. He returned in a quarter of an
hour, and said that his master accepted my proposal as to Tours,
but insisted on the surrender of the garrison of Strasburg."
[Footnote 1: Places still holding out against the Germans.]
At this, the negotiation was broken off, Jules Favre concluding
by saying that "the inhabitants of Paris were resolved on making
any sacrifices, and that their heroism might change the current
of events."
The publication of this account of the interview with Bismarck
produced through Paris a shiver of indignation. For a moment all
parties were united, the very Reds crying out that there must be
no more parties, only Frenchmen; and a slight success in a skirmish
in one of the suburbs of Paris roused enthusiasm to its height in
a few hours.
The National Guard now did duty as police, and was also placed
on guard on the ramparts. Each man received thirty sous a day.
The Guard was divided into the Old Battalions and the New. The
Old Battalions were composed almost entirely of gentlemen and
_bourgeois_, who returned their pay to the Government; the New
Battalions, which were fresh levies of working-men, preferred in
general a franc and a half a day for doing nothing, to higher wages
for making shoes, guns, and uniforms. In vain the Government put
forth proclamations assuring the people that the man who made a
chassepot rifle was more of a patriot than he who carried one.
All through September the weather was delightful, and mounting
guard upon the ramparts was like taking a pleasant stroll. The
Mobiles occupied the forts outside of Paris, and were forbidden
to come into the city in uniform. Of course there was much hunting
for Prussian spies, and many people were arrested and maltreated,
though only one genuine spy seems to have been found. The French
in any popular excitement seem to have treachery upon the brain.
One phase of their mania was the belief that any light seen moving
in the upper stories of a house was a signal to the Prussians;
and sometimes a whole district was disturbed because some quiet
student had sat reading late at night with a green shade over his
lamp, or a mother had been nursing a sick child.
As October went on, it became a sore trial to the Parisians to
be cut off from all outside news. Not a letter nor a newspaper
crossed the lines. Even the agents of Foreign Governments, and Mr.
Washburne, the only foreign ambassador in Paris, were prohibited
from hearing from their Governments, unless all communications
were read by Bismarck before being forwarded to them. One great
source of suffering to the men in Paris who had sent away their
families was the knowledge that they must be in want of money.
No one had anticipated a prolonged blockade.
Before the gates had been closed, two elderly members of the Committee
of Defence--Crémieux and Garnier-Pagès--had been sent out to govern
the Provinces. M. Thiers was visiting all the capitals of Europe,
as a sort of ambassador-at-large, to enlist foreign diplomatic
sympathy, and in October it was resolved to send out M. Gambetta,
in the hope that he might organize a National Assembly, or perhaps
induce the Southern Provinces (where he had great influence) to
make a demonstration for the relief of the capital. Provincial
France had long chafed under the idea that its government was made
and unmade by the Parisians, and there was no great sympathy in the
Provinces for Paris in her struggle with the Prussians, until it
was shown how nobly the city and its inhabitants bore the hardships
of the siege.
Small sorties continued to be made during October, chiefly with
a view of accustoming raw troops to stand fire. On October 28,
came news of the surrender of Bazaine at Metz to the Prussians
with his army (including officers) of nearly one hundred and ninety
thousand men. The universal cry was "Treachery!" The same day that
the Prussians forwarded this news into Paris, a small body of German
troops was worsted in a sortie beyond St. Denis. These two events
roused the turbulent part of the population of Paris almost to
frenzy, and resulted in a rising called the _émeute_ of October
31.
The disorderly classes living in the suburbs of Belleville and
Montmartre (which have taken the place of the old Faubourg
Saint-Antoine), assuming "The Commune" for their war-cry, were led
on by such men as Ledru-Rollin, Blanqui, and Félix Pyat.
"The party of the Commune," says M. de Sarcey, "was composed partly
of charlatans, partly of dupes,--that is, the real members of the
Commune as a party. The rank and file were simply roughs, ready
for any mischief, and, we may add, for any plunder."
On the morning of October 31, a great crowd of these men assembled
before the Hôtel-de-Ville, then the seat of government. General
Trochu, Jules Favre, the Maire of Paris, and even Rochefort, who
was a member of the Committee of Defence, harangued them for hours
without producing any impression. The days were passed when the
mob of Paris could be controlled by a harangue. Finally, the crowd
made its way into the Hôtel-de-Ville, and endeavored to force the
Committee of Defence to issue a proclamation which would convene the
citizens to vote for a commune. The windows of the Hôtel-de-Ville
were flung open, in spite of the efforts of the members of the
Government, and lists of the proposed Communistic rulers were flung
out to the mob.
Meantime the members of the existing Government were imprisoned in
their council chamber, and threatened by armed men. Jules Favre sat
quietly in his chair; Jules Simon sketched upon his blotting-paper;
rifles were pointed at General Trochu. "Escape, General!" cried
some one in the crowd. "I am a soldier, Citizen," he answered,
"and my duty is to die at my post." One member of the Committee
managed, however to escape, and summoned the National Guard to
the assistance of his colleagues.
It was eight o'clock in the evening when the troops arrived. At
sight of their guns and bayonets the populace, grown weary of its
day's excitement, melted away. Before daylight, order was restored.
"Thus," says an American then in Paris, "in twelve hours Paris
had one Republican Government taken prisoner, another set up, and
the first restored."
So peace, after a fashion, returned; but Count Bismarck, learning
of these events, was strengthened in his determination to keep
Paris shut up within her gates till the factions in the city, in
the coming days of famine and distress, should destroy one another.
M. Thiers had almost concluded an agreement for an armistice of
thirty days, during which Paris was to be fed, while an election
should be held all over France for a National Assembly; but after
the disorders of October 31, Count Bismarck refused to hear of
any food being supplied to Paris, negotiations were broken off,
and the war went on.
Up to this time bread in Paris had been sufficient for its needs,
and not too dear. Wine was plenty, but meat was growing scarce.
Horses were requisitioned for food. It was the upper classes who
ate horse-flesh and queer animals out of the Jardin des Plantes;
the working-classes would not touch such things till driven to
eat them by absolute famine.
Butter rose to five dollars a pound, cabbages were sold by the
leaf. Early in the siege, eggs were three dollars a dozen, and milk
soon became unattainable. "Poor little babies died like flies," says
an eye-witness. Fuel, too, was growing very scarce and very dear.
The women supported their privations bravely, but it is terrible
to think what must have been the sufferings of mothers deprived
of wholesome food for their little children. The firmness and
self-sacrifice of the _bourgeoisie_ were above all praise.
All kinds of meats were eaten. Mule was said to be delicious,--far
superior to beef. Antelope cost eighteen francs a pound, but was
not as good as stewed rabbit; elephant's trunk was eight dollars
a pound, it being esteemed a delicacy. Bear, kangaroo, ostrich,
yak, etc., varied the bill of fare for those who could afford to
eat them.
Men of wealth who had lost everything, took their misfortunes
cheerfully. While the worst qualities of the Parisians came out
in some classes, the best traits of the French character shone
forth in others. A great deal of charity was dispensed, both public
and private and on the whole, the very poorest class was but little
the worse for the privations of the siege.
The houses left empty by their owners were made over to the refugees
from the villages, and many amusing stories are told of their
embarrassment when surrounded by objects of art, and articles of
furniture whose use was unknown to them.
At first the theatres were closed, and some of them were turned
into military hospitals; but by the beginning of November it was
thought better to reopen them. At one theatre, Victor Hugo's "Les
Châtiments" was recited,--that bitterest arraignment of Napoleon
III. and the Second Empire; at another, Beethoven and Mendelssohn
were played, with apologies for their being Germans.
The hospital parts of the theatres were railed off, and in the
corridors ballet-girls, actors, and sisters of charity mingled together.
Victor Hugo was in Paris during the siege, but he lent his name
to no party or demonstration. The recitation of his verses at the
theatre afforded him great delight, but the triumph was short-lived.
The attraction of "Les Châtiments" soon died away.
The most popular places of resort for idle men were the clubs. On
November 21, one of these was visited by our American observer.
He says,--
"The hall was filled to suffocation. Every man present had a pipe
or cigar in his mouth. It was a sulphurous place, a Pandemonium,
a Zoological Garden, a Pantomime, a Comedy, a Backwoods Fourth of
July, and a Donnybrook Fair, all combined. Women too were there,
the fiercest in the place. Orators roared, and fingers were shaken.
One speech was on the infringement of the liberties of the citizen
because soldiers were made to march left or right according to the
will of their officers. Another considered that the sluggards who
went on hospital service with red crosses on their caps were no
better than cowards. Then they discovered a spy (as they supposed)
in their midst, and time was consumed in hustling him out. Lastly
an orator concluded his speech with awful blasphemy, wishing that
he were a Titan, and could drive a dagger into the Christian's
God."
The most terrible suffering in Paris during the siege was probably
mental, suffering from the want of news; but by the middle of November
the balloon and pigeon postal service was organized. Balloons were
manufactured in Paris, and sent out whenever the wind was favorable.
It was found necessary, however, to send them off by night, lest they
should be fired into by the Germans. A balloon generally carried
one or two passengers, and was sent up from one of the now empty
railroad stations. It also generally took five small cages, each
containing thirty-six pigeons. These pigeons were of various colors,
and all named. They were expected to return soon to their homes,
unless cold, fog, a hawk, or a Prnssian bullet should stop them on
the way. Each would bring back a small quill fastened by threads to
one of its tail-feathers and containing a minute square of flexible,
waterproof paper, on which had been photographed messages in characters
so small as to be deciphered only by a microscope. Some of these
would be official despatches, some private messages. One pigeon
would carry as much as, printed in ordinary type, would fill one
sheet of a newspaper. The Parisians looked upon the pigeons with
a kind of veneration; when one, drooping and weary, alighted on
some roof, a crowd would collect and watch it anxiously. Sometimes
they were caught by the Germans, and sent back into Paris with
false news.
On November 15 a pigeon brought a despatch saying that the South of
France had raised an army for the relief of Paris, and that it was
in motion under an old general with the romantic name of Aurelles des
Paladines, that it had driven the Prussians out of Orleans, and was
coming on with all speed to the capital. The Parisians were eager
to make a sortie and to join this relieving army. General Trochu was
not so eager, having no great confidence in his _francs-tireurs_, his
National Guard, and his Mobiles. They numbered in all four hundred
thousand men; but eighty thousand serviceable soldiers would have
been worth far more.
On November 28, however, the sortie was made; and had the expected
army been at hand, it might have been successful. The Parisians
crossed the Marne, and fought the Prussians so desperately that in
two days they had lost more men than in the battles at Gravelotte.
But on the third day an order was given to return to Paris; the
Government had received reliable information that the Army of the
Loire (under Aurelles des Paladines) had met with a reverse, and
would form no junction with the Parisian forces.
By the end of November cannon had been cast in the beleaguered city,
paid for, not by the Government, but by individual subscription.
These guns were subsequently to playa tragic part in the history
of the city. Some carried farther than the Prussian guns. All of
them had names. The favorite was called Josephine, and was a great
pet with the people.
Christmas Day of that sad year arrived at last, and New Year's
Day, the great and joyful fête-day in all French families. A few
confectioners kept their stores open, and a few boxes of bonbons
were sold; but presents of potatoes, or small packages of coffee,
were by this time more acceptable gifts. Nothing was plenty in
Paris but champagne and Colman's mustard. The rows upon rows of the
last-named article in the otherwise empty windows of the grocers
reminded Englishmen and Americans of Grumio's cruel offer to poor
Katherine of the mustard without the beef, since she could not
have the beef with the mustard.
Here is the bill-of-fare of a dinner given at a French restaurant
upon that Christmas Day:--
Soup from horse meat.
Mince of cat.
Shoulder of dog with tomato sauce.
Jugged cat with mushrooms.
Roast donkey and potatoes.
Rat, peas, and celery.
Mice on toast.
Plum pudding.
One remarkable feature of the siege was that everybody's appetite
increased enormously. Thinking about food stimulated the craving
for it, and by New Year's Day there were serious apprehensions of
famine. The reckless waste of bread and breadstuffs in the earlier
days of the siege was now repented of. Flour had to be eked out with
all sorts of things, and the bread eaten during the last weeks of the
siege was a black and sticky mixture made up of almost anything but
flour. All Paris was rationed. Poor mothers, leaving sick children
at home, stood for hours in the streets, in the bitter cold, to
obtain a ration of horseflesh, or a few ounces of this unnutritious
bread.
After news came of the retreat of the Army of the Loire, great
discouragement crept over the garrison. The Mobiles from the country,
who had never expected to be shut up in Paris for months, began to
pine for their families and villages. What might not be happening
to them? and they far away!
Every day there was a panic of some kind in the beleaguered city,--some
rumor, true or false, to stir men's souls. Besides this, the garrison
had for months been idle, and was consumed with _ennui_. Among the
prevailing complaints was one that General Trochu was too pious!
They might have said of him with truth, that, though brave and
determined when once in action, he was wanting in decision. The
garrison in Paris had no general who could stir their hearts,--no
leader of men. General Trochu, and the rulers under him, waited to
be moved by public opinion. They were ready to do what the masses
would dictate, but seemed not to be able to lead them. In a besieged
city the population generally bends to the will of one man; in
this case it was one man, or a small body of men, who bent to the
will of the people.
The winter of 1871 was the coldest that had been known for twenty
years. Fuel and warm clothing grew scarce. The Rothschilds distributed
$20,000 worth of winter garments among the suffering; and others
followed their example, till there was no warm clothing left to buy;
but the suffering in every home was intense, and at last soldiers
were brought in frozen from the ramparts. There was of course no
gas, and the city was dimly lighted by petroleum. Very great zeal
was shown throughout Paris for hospital service. French military
hospitals and the service connected with them are called "ambulances."
"We were all full of recollections," says M. de Sarcey, "of the
exertions made on both sides in the American Civil War. Our model
hospital was formed on the American Plan."
The American Sanitary Commission had sent out specimens of hospital
appliances to the Exposition Universelle of 1867. These had remained
in Paris, and the hospital under canvas, when set up, excited great
admiration. Everything was for use; nothing for show. "The four
great medicines that we recognize," said the American surgeon in
charge, "are fresh air, hot and cold water, opium, and quinine."
Among the bravest and most active litter-bearers were the Christian
Brothers,--men not priests, but vowed to poverty, celibacy, and
the work of education. "They advanced wherever bullets fell," says
M. de Sarcey, "to pick up the dead or wounded; recoiling from no
task, however laborious or distasteful; never complaining of their
food, drinking only water; and after their stretcher-work was done,
returning to their humble vocation of teachers, without dreaming
that they had played the part of heroes."
Before Bazaine surrendered at Metz, eager hopes had been entertained
that the army raised in the South by Chanzy and Gambetta might
unite with his one hundred and seventy-two thousand soldiers in
Metz, and march to the relief of Paris; but to this day no one
knows precisely why Bazaine took no steps in furtherance of this
plan, but, instead, surrendered ignominiously to the Germans. It
is supposed that being attached to the emperor, and dreading a
Republic, he declined to fight for France if it was to benefit
"the rabble Government of Paris," as he called the Committee of
Public Defence. He seems to have thought that the Germans, after
taking Paris, would make peace, exacting Alsace and Lorraine, and
then restore the emperor.
Nothing could have been braver or more brilliant than the efforts
of Chanzy and Gambetta on the Loire. At one time they were actually
near compelling the Prussians to raise the siege of Paris; for
two hundred and fifty thousand men was a small army to invest so
large a city. But the one hundred and fifty thousand German soldiers
who were besieging Metz were enabled by Bazaine's surrender to
reinforce the troops beleaguering the capital.
Gambetta seems to have been at that time the only man in France
who showed himself to be a true leader of men, and amidst numerous
disadvantages he did nobly. He and Chanzy died twelve years later,
within a week of each other.
From September 19, when the siege began, up to December 27, the
Parisian soldiers, four hundred thousand in number (such as they
were) had never, except in occasional sorties, encountered the
Prussians, nor had any shot from Prussian guns entered their city.
On the night of December 27 the bombardment began. It commenced
by clearing what was called the Plateau d'Avron, to the east of
Paris. The weather was intensely cold, the earth as hard as iron
and as slippery as glass. The French do not rough their horses
even in ordinary times, and slipperiness is a public calamity in
a French city. The troops, stationed with little shelter on the
Plateau d'Avron, had no notion that the Germans had been preparing
masked batteries. The first shells that fell among them produced
indescribable confusion. The men rushed to their own guns to reply,
but their balls fell short about five hundred yards. It became
evident that the Plateau d'Avron must be abandoned, and that night,
in the cold and the darkness, together with the slippery condition
of the ground, which was worst of all, General Trochu superintended
the removal of all the cannon. The Prussian batteries were admirably
placed and admirably served.
But tremendous as the bombardment was (sometimes a shell every two
minutes), it is astonishing how little real damage it did to the
city. The streets were wide, the open spaces numerous, the houses
solidly built, with large courtyards. In the middle of January,
when the extreme cold moderated, hundreds of people would assemble
in the Place de la Concorde, looking skyward. A black object would
appear, with a small bright spot in it, and making a graceful curve
in the air, with a whizzing, humming sound, would drop suddenly,
with a resounding boom, in some distant quarter in the city. Then
the spectators, greatly interested in the sight, waited for another.
The shells, which the Parisians called "obus," were like an
old-fashioned sugar-loaf, and weighed sometimes one hundred and
fifty pounds. But though, by reason of the great distance of the
Prussian batteries, the damage was by no means in proportion to
the number of shells sent into the city, many of them struck public
buildings, hospitals, and orphan asylums, in spite of the Red Cross
flags displayed above them.
By January 19, when the siege had lasted four months, and the
bombardment three weeks, the end seemed to be drawing near. Another
sortie was attempted; but there was a dense fog, the usual accompaniment
of a January thaw, and its only result was the loss of some very
valuable lives.
Then General Trochu asked for an armistice of two days to bury
the dead; but his real object was that Jules Favre might enter the
Prussian lines and endeavor to negotiate. Before this took place,
however, Trochu himself resigned his post as military governor. He
had sworn that under him Paris should never capitulate. General
Vinoy took his command.
The moment the Government of Defence was known to be in extreme
difficulty, the Communists issued proclamations and provoked risings.
The Hôtel-de-Ville was again attacked. In this rising famished
women took a prominent part. Twenty-six people were killed in the
_émeute_, and only twenty-eight by that day's bombardment.
On January 23 Jules Favre went out to Versailles. Paris was hushed.
It was not known that negotiations were going on, but all felt
that the end was near at hand. No one, dared to say the word
"capitulate," though some of the papers admitted that by February
3 there would not be a mouthful of bread in the city.
On January 27 the Parisians learned their fate. The following
announcement appeared in the official journal:
"So long as the Government could count on an army of relief, it was
their duty to neglect nothing that could conduce to the prolongation
of the defence of Paris. At present our armies, though still in
existence, have been driven back by the fortune of war.... Under
these circumstances the Government has been absolutely compelled to
negotiate. We have reason to believe that the principle of national
sovereignty will be kept intact by the speedy calling of an Assembly;
that during the armistice the German army will occupy our forts;
that we shall preserve intact our National Guards and one division
of our army; and that none of our soldiers will be conveyed beyond
our frontier as prisoners of war."
The result was so inevitable that it did not spread the grief and
consternation we have known in many modern cases of surrender.
Those who suffered most from the sorrow of defeat were not the
Red brawlers of Belleville, who cried loudest that they had been
betrayed, but the honest, steady-going _bourgeoisie_, who for love
of their country had for four months borne the burden and distress
of resistance.
During the four months of siege sixty-five thousand persons perished
in Paris: ten thousand died in hospitals, three thousand were killed
in battle, sixty-six hundred were destroyed by small-pox, and as
many by bronchitis and pneumonia. The babies, who died chiefly
for want of proper food, numbered three thousand,--just as many
as the soldiers who fell in battle.
Two sad weeks passed, the Parisians meanwhile waiting for the meeting
of a National Assembly. During those weeks the blockade of Paris
continued, and the arrival of provisions was frequently retarded
at the Prussian outposts; nor were provision-carts safe when they
had passed beyond the Prussian lines, for there were many turbulent
Parisians lying in wait to rob them. All Paris was eager for fresh
fish and for white bread. The moment the gates were opened, twenty-five
thousand persons poured out of the city, most of whom were in a
state of anxiety and uncertainty where to find their families.
At last peace was made. One of its conditions was that the Germans
were to occupy two of the forts that commanded Paris until that city
paid two hundred millions of francs ($40,000,000) as its ransom. It
was also stipulated that the Prussian army was to make a triumphal
entry into the city, not going farther, however, than the Place
de la Concorde.
This took place March I, 1871, but was witnessed by none of the
respectable Parisians, although the German soldiers were surrounded
by a hooting crowd, whom they seemed to regard with little attention.
Thus ended the siege of Paris, and the day afterwards the homeward
march of the Germans was begun.