_December 25th._
Real Christmas weather--that is to say, the earth is as hard as a
brickbat, and the wind freezes one to the very marrow. To the rich man,
with a good coal fire in his grate, turkey, roast beef, plum pudding,
and mince pies on his table, and his family gorging themselves on the
solid eatables, a frost at Christmas is very pleasant. Poor people
cowering in their rags before the door of a union, cold, hungry, and
forlorn, or munching their dry bread in some cheerless garret, may not
perhaps so fully appreciate its advantages; but then we all know that
poor people never are contented, and seldom understand the fitness of
things. Here in Paris, the numbed soldiers out in the open fields, and
the women and children, who have no fires and hardly any food, bitterly
complain of the "seasonable" weather. With plenty of money, with warm
clothes, and a good house, a hard frost has its charms, without them it
is not quite so agreeable. For my part I confess that I never have seen
a paterfamilias with his coat tails raised, basking himself before his
fire, and prating about the delights of winter, and the healthy glow
which is caused by a sharp frost, without feeling an irresistible desire
to transplant him stark naked to the highest peak of Mont Blanc, in
order to teach by experience what winter means to thousands of his
fellow-creatures. We are not having a "merry Christmas," and we are not
likely to have a happy new year. Christmas is not here the great holiday
of the year, as it is in England. Still, everyone in ordinary times
tries to have a better dinner than usual, and usually where there are
children in a family some attempt is made to amuse them. Among the
bourgeoisie they are told to put their shoes in the grate on
Christmas-eve, and the next morning some present is found in them, which
is supposed to have been left during the night by the Infant Jesus.
Since the Empire introduced English ways here, plum-pudding and
mincepies have been eaten, and even Christmas-trees have flourished.
This year these festive shrubs, as an invention of the detested foe,
have been rigidly tabooed. Plum-puddings and mincepies, too, will appear
on few tables. In order to comfort the children, the girls are to be
given soup tickets to distribute to beggars, and the boys are to have
their choice between French and German wooden soldiers. The former will
be treasured up, the latter will be subjected to fearful tortures. Even
the midnight mass, which is usually celebrated on Christmas-eve, took
place in very few churches last night. We have, indeed, too much on our
hands to attend either to fasts or festivals, although in the opinion of
the _Univers_, the last sortie would have been far more successful had
it taken place on the 7th of the month, the anniversary of the
promulgation of the Immaculate Conception. Among fine people New
Year's-day is more of a fête than Christmas. Its approach is regarded
with dark misgivings by many, for every gentleman is expected to make a
call upon all the ladies of his acquaintance, and to leave them a box of
sugarplums. This is a heavy tax upon those who have more friends than
money--300fr. is not considered an extraordinary sum to spend upon these
bonbonnières. A friend of mine, indeed, assured me that he yearly spent
1000fr., but then he was a notorious liar, so very possibly he was not
telling the truth. "Thank Heaven," says the men, "at least we shall get
off the sugarplum tax this year." But the ladies are not to be done out
of their rights this way, and they throw out very strong hints that if
sugarplums are out of season, anything solid is very much in season. A
dandy who is known to have a stock of sausages, is overwhelmed with
compliments by his fair friends. A good leg of mutton would, I am sure,
win the heart of the proudest beauty, and by the gift of half-a-dozen
potatoes you might make a friend for life. The English here are making
feeble attempts to celebrate Christmas correctly. In an English
restaurant two turkeys had been treasured up for the important occasion,
but unfortunately a few days ago they anticipated their fate, and most
ill-naturedly insisted upon dying. One fortunate Briton has got ten
pounds of camel, and has invited about twenty of his countrymen to aid
him in devouring this singular substitute for turkey. Another gives
himself airs because he has some potted turkey, which is solemnly to be
consumed to-day spread on bread. I am myself going to dine with the
correspondent of one of your contemporaries. On the same floor as
himself lives a family who left Paris before the commencement of the
siege. Necessity knows no law; so the other day he opened their door
with a certain amount of gentle violence, and after a diligent search,
discovered in the larder two onions, some potatoes, and a ham. These,
with a fowl, which I believe has been procured honestly, are to
constitute our Christmas dinner.
It is very strange what opposite opinions one hears about the condition
of the poor. Some persons say that there is no distress, others that it
cannot be greater. The fact is, the men were never better off, the women
and children never so badly off. Every man can have enough to eat and
too much to drink by dawdling about with a gun. As his home is cold and
cheerless, when he is not on duty he lives at a pothouse. He brings no
money to his wife and children, who consequently only just keep body and
soul together by going to the national cantines, where they get soup,
and to the Mairies, where they occasionally get an order for bread.
Almost all their clothes are in pawn, so how it is they do not
positively die of cold I cannot understand. As for fuel even the wealthy
find it difficult to procure it. The Government talks of cutting down
all the trees and of giving up all the clothes in pawn; but, with its
usual procrastination, it puts off both these measures from day to day.
This morning all the firewood was requisitioned. At a meeting of the
Mayors of Paris two days ago, it was stated that above 400,000 persons
are in receipt of parish relief.
The troops outside Paris are gradually being brought back inside. A
trench has been dug almost continuously from Drancy to Aubervilliers,
and an attempt has been made to approach Le Bourget by flying sap. The
ground, is, however, so hard, that it is much like attempting to cut
through a rock. To my mind the whole thing is merely undertaken in order
to persuade the Parisians that something is being done. For the moment
they are satisfied. "The Prussians," they say, "have besieged us; we are
besieging the Prussians now." What they will say when they find that
even these operations are suspended, I do not know. The troops have
suffered terribly from the cold during these last few days. Twelve
degrees of frost "centigrade" is no joke. I was talking to some officers
of Zouaves who had been twenty hours at the outposts. They said that
during all this time they had not ventured to light a fire, and that
this morning their wine and bread were both frozen. In the tents there
are small stoves, but they give out little warmth. Even inside the
deserted houses it is almost as cold as outside. The windows and the
doors have been converted into firewood, and the wind whistles through
them. The ambulance waggons of the Press alone have brought in nearly
500 men frost-bitten, or taken suddenly ill. From the batteries at Bondy
and Avron there has been some sharp firing, the object of which has been
to oblige the Prussians to keep inside the Forest of Bondy, and to
disquiet them whenever they take to digging anywhere outside it. The
plain of Avron is a very important position as it commands the whole
country round. The end of Le Bourget, towards Paris appears entirely
deserted. An ambulance cart went up to a barricade this morning which
crosses the main street, when a Prussian sentinel emerged and ordered it
to go back immediately. Behind Le Bourget, a little to the right, is a
heavy Prussian battery at Le Blanc Mesnel which entirely commands it.
The Line and the Mobiles bitterly complain that they, and not the
marching battalions, are exposed to every danger. The soldiers, and
particularly those of the Mobiles, say that if they are to go on
fighting for Paris, the Parisians must take their fair share in the
battles. As for the marching battalions, they are, as soldiers, worth
absolutely nothing. The idea of their assaulting, with any prospect of
success, any positions held by artillery, is simply ludicrous. The
system of dividing an army into different categories, is subjected to a
different discipline, is fatal for any united offensive operations. It
is to be hoped that Trochu will at last perceive this, and limit his
efforts to keeping the Prussians out of Paris, and harassing them by
frequent and partial sorties. I hear that General Ducrot wanted to
attempt a second assault of Le Bourget, but this was overruled at a
council of war which was held on Thursday.
_December 26th._
The _Journal Officiel_ announces that military operations are over for
the present, owing to the cold, and that the army is to be brought
inside Paris, leaving outside only those necessary for the defence. This
is a wise measure, although somewhat tardily taken. The Parisians will
no doubt be very indignant; for if they do not like fighting themselves,
they insist that the Line and the Mobiles should have no repose.
M. Felix Pyat gives the following account of Christmas in
England:--"Christmas is the great English fête--the Protestant
Carnival--an Anglo-Saxon gala--a gross, pagan, monstrous orgie--a Roman
feast, in which the vomitorium is not wanting. And the eaters of 'bif'
laugh at us for eating frogs! Singular nation! the most Biblical and the
most material of Europe--the best Christians and the greatest gluttons.
They cannot celebrate a religious fête without eating. On Holy Friday
they eat buns, and for this reason they call it Good Friday. Good,
indeed, for them, if not for God. They pronounce messe mass, and boudin
pudding. Their pudding is made of suet, sugar, currants, and tea. The
mess is boiled for fifteen days, sometimes for six months; then it is
considered delicious. No pudding, no Christmas. The repast is sacred,
and the English meditate over it for six months in advance--they are the
only people who put money in a savings'-bank for a dinner. Poor families
economise for months, and take a shilling to a publican every Saturday
of the year, in return for which on Christmas Day they gorge themselves,
and are sick for a week after. This is their religion--thus they adore
their God." M. Pyat goes on to describe the butchers' shops before
Christmas; one of them, he says, is kept by a butcher clergyman, and
over his door is a text.
The _Gaulois_ gives an extract of a letter of mine from a German paper,
in which I venture to assert that the Parisians do not know that
Champigny is within the range of the guns of their forts, and
accompanies it with the following note:--"The journal which has fallen
into our hands has been torn, and consequently we are unable to give the
remainder of this letter. What we have given is sufficient to prove
that our Government is tolerating within our walls correspondents who
furnish the enemy with daily information. What they say is absurd,
perhaps, but it ought not to be allowed." Does the _Gaulois_ really
imagine that the German generals would have raised the siege in despair
had they not learnt that, as a rule, the Parisians do not study the map
of the environs of the city?
Old Vinoy has issued an order of the day denouncing the conduct of the
soldiers and officers who ran away when the Prussians issued from the
cellars at Villa Evrard. It requires a great deal of courage just now to
praise the Line, and to find fault with the National Guard. But General
Vinoy is a thorough soldier, and stands no nonsense. If anything happens
to Trochu, and he assumes the command-in-chief, I suspect the waverers
of the National Guard will have to choose between fighting and taking
off their uniforms. The General is above seventy--a hale and hearty old
man; sticks to his profession, and utterly ignores politics. He has a
most unsurrendering face, but I do not think that he would either hold
out vain hopes to the Parisians, or flatter their vanity. He would tell
them the truth, and with perfect indifference as to the consequences. He
is a favourite both with the soldiers and the officers, and hardly
conceals his contempt for the military capacity of Trochu, or the
military qualities of Trochu's civic heroes.
_December 28th._
The proverbial obstinacy of the donkey has been introduced into our
systems, owing to the number of these long-eared quadrupeds which we
have eaten. We "don't care" for anything. We don't care if the armies of
the provinces have been beaten, we don't care if we have been forced to
suspend offensive operations, we don't care if the Prussians bombard us,
we don't care if eventually we have to capitulate. We have ceased to
reason or to calculate. We are in the don't-care mood. How long this
will last with so impulsive a people it is impossible to say. Our
stomachs have become omnivorous; they digest anything now; and even if
in the end they be invited to digest the leek, as we shall not be called
upon to eat this vegetable either to-morrow or the next day, we don't
care. The cold is terrible, and the absence of firewood causes great
suffering. The Government is cutting down trees as fast as possible, and
by the time it thaws there will be an abundance of fuel. In the meantime
it denounces in the _Official Journal_ the bands of marauders who issue
forth and cut down trees, park benches, and garden palings. I must say
that I don't blame them. When the thermometer is as low as it is now,
and when there is no fire in the grate, the sanctity of property as
regards fuel becomes a mere abstraction. Yesterday the Prussians
unmasked several batteries, and opened fire against the plateau of Avron
and the eastern forts. They fired above 3000 shells, but little damage
was done. We had only thirty-eight killed and wounded. One shell fell
into a house where eight people were dining and killed six of them. The
firing is going on to-day, but not so heavily. The newspapers seem to be
under the impression that we ought to rejoice greatly over this
cannonade. Some say that it proves that the Prussians have given up in
despair the idea of reducing us by famine; others that it is a clear
evidence that Prince Frederick Charles has been beaten by General
Chanzy. On Monday, Admiral La Roncière received a letter from a general
whose name could not be deciphered about an exchange of prisoners. In
this letter there was an allusion to a defeat which our troops in the
North had sustained. But this we consider a mere wile of our insidious
foe.
The _Gaulois_ continues its crusade against the English Correspondents
in Paris. They are all, it says, animated by a hostile feeling towards
France. "We give them warning, and we hope that they will profit by it."
Now, we know pretty well what French journalists term a hostile feeling
towards their country. We were told at the commencement of the war that
the English press was sold to Prussia, because it declined to believe in
the Imperial bulletins of victories. That a correspondent should simply
tell the truth, without fear or favour, never enters into the mind of a
Gaul. For my part, I confess that my sympathies are with France; and I
am glad to hear, on so good authority, that these sympathies have not
biassed my recital of events. Notwithstanding the denunciations of the
_Gaulois_, I have not the remotest intention to describe the National
Guards as a force of any real value for offensive operations. If, as the
_Gaulois_ insists, they are more numerous and better armed than the
Prussians, and if the French artillery is superior to the Prussians,
they will be able to raise the siege; and then I will acknowledge that I
have been wrong in my estimate of them. As yet they have only blown
their own trumpets, as though this would cause the Prussian redoubts,
like the walls of Jericho, to fall down. I make no imputation on their
individual courage; but I say that this siege proves once more the truth
of the fact, that unless citizen soldiers consent to merge for a time
the citizen in the soldier, and to submit to discipline, as troops they
are worthless. The _Gaulois_ wishes to anticipate the historical romance
which will, perhaps, be handed down to future generations. Posterity
may, if it pleases, believe that the Parisians were Spartans, and that
they fought with desperate valour outside their walls. I, who happen to
see myself what goes on, know that all the fighting is done by the Line
and the Mobiles, and that the Parisians are not Spartans. They are
showing great tenacity, and suffering for the sake of the cause of their
country many hardships. That General Trochu should pander to their
vanity, by telling them that they are able to cope outside with the
Prussians, is his affair. I do not blame him. He best knows how to deal
with his fellow-countrymen. I am not, however, under the necessity of
following his example.
The usual stalls which appear at this season of the year have been
erected on the Boulevards. They are filled with toys and New Year's
gifts. But a woolly sheep is a bitter mockery, and a "complete farmyard"
in green and blue wood only reminds one painfully of what one would
prefer to see in the flesh. The customers are few and far between. I was
looking to-day at a fine church in chalk, with real windows, price 6fr.,
and was thinking that one must be a Mark Tapley to buy it, and walk home
with it under one's arm under present circumstances. Many of the
stallkeepers have in despair deserted the toy business, and gone in for
comforters, kepis, and list soles.
Until the weather set in so bitterly cold, elderly sportsmen, who did
not care to stalk the human game outside, were to be seen from morning
to night pursuing the exciting sport of gudgeon-fishing along the banks
of the Seine. Each one was always surrounded by a crowd deeply
interested in the chase. Whenever a fish was hooked, there was as much
excitement as when a whale is harpooned in more northern latitudes. The
fisherman would play it for some five minutes, and then, in the midst of
the solemn silence of the lookers-on, the precious capture would be
landed. Once safe on the bank, the happy possessor would be patted on
the back, and there would be cries of "Bravo!" The times being out of
joint for fishing in the Seine, the disciples of Isaac Walton have
fallen back on the sewers. The _Paris Journal_ gives them the following
directions how to pursue their new game:--"Take a long, strong line, and
a large hook, bait with tallow, and gently agitate the rod. In a few
minutes a rat will come and smell the savoury morsel. It will be some
time before he decides to swallow it, for his nature is cunning. When
he does, leave him five minutes to meditate over it; then pull strongly
and steadily. He will make convulsive jumps; but be calm, and do not let
his excitement gain on you, draw him up, _et voilà votre dîner_."
_December 29th._
So we have withdrawn from the plateau of Avron. Our artillery, says the
_Journal Officiel_, could not cope with the Krupp cannons, and,
therefore, it was thought wise to withdraw them. The fire which the
Prussians have rained for the last two days upon this position has not
been very destructive of human life. It is calculated that every man
killed has cost the Prussians 24,000lbs. of iron. We are still
speculating upon the reasons which induced the Prussians at last to
become the assailants. That they wished to drive us from this plateau,
which overlooks many of their positions, is far too simple an
explanation to meet with favour. The _Vérité_ of this morning contains
an announcement that a Christmas Session of the House of Commons has
turned out Mr. Gladstone by a hostile vote, and that he has been
succeeded by a "War Minister." We are inclined to think that the
Prussians, being aware of this, have been attempting to terrify us, in
order that we may surrender before Sir Disraeli and Milord Pakington
come to our rescue. The Parisians, intelligent and clever as they are,
are absolutely wanting in plain common sense. I am convinced that if 500
of them were boiled down, it would be impossible to extract from the
stew as much of this homely, but useful quality, as there is in the
skull of the dullest tallow-chandler's apprentice in London.
The vital question of food is now rarely alluded to in the journals. The
Government is, however, called to task for not showing greater energy,
and the feeling against the unfortunate Trochu is growing stronger. He
is held responsible for everything--the frost, the dearth of food, the
ill-success of our sorties, and the defeats of the armies of succour. I
am sorry for him, for he is a well-meaning man, although unfitted for
such troubled waters. But to a great extent he has himself to thank for
what is occurring. He has risked his all upon the success of his plan,
and he has encouraged the notion that he could force the Prussians to
raise the siege. In the meantime no one broaches the question as to what
is to be done when our provisions fail. The members of the Government
still keep up the theory that a capitulation is an impossible
contingency. The nearer the fatal moment approaches the less anyone
speaks of it, just as a man, when he is growing old, avoids the subject
of death. Frenchmen have far more physical than civic courage. They
prefer to shut their eyes to what is unpleasant than to grapple with it.
How long our stores of flour will last it is difficult to say, but if
our rulers wait to treat until they are exhausted, they will perforce be
obliged to accept any terms; and, for no satisfactory object, they will
be the cause that many will starve before the town can be revictualled.
They call this, here, sublime. I call it folly. Its sublimity is beyond
me. As is the case with a sick man given over by the physicians, the
quacks are ready with their nostrums. The Ultra journals recommend that
the Government should be handed over to a commune. The Ultra clubs
demand that all generals and colonels should be cashiered, and others
elected in their place. One club has subscribed 1,600frs. for Greek
fire; another club suggests blowing up the Hôtel de Ville; another
sending a deputation clothed in white to offer the King of Prussia the
presidency of the Universal Republic; another--and this comes home to
me--passed a vote yesterday evening demanding the immediate arrest of
all English correspondents.
I am looking forward with horrible misgivings to the moment when I shall
have no more money, so that perhaps I shall be thankful for being lodged
and fed at the public expense. My banker has withdrawn from Paris, and
his representative declines to look at my bill, although I offer ruinous
interest. As for friends, they are all in a like condition, for no one
expected the siege to last so long. At my hotel, need I observe that I
do not pay my bill, but in hotels the guests may ring in vain now for
food. I sleep on credit in a gorgeous bed, a pauper. The room is large.
I wish it were smaller, for the firewood comes from trees just cut down,
and it takes an hour to get the logs to light, and then they only
smoulder, and emit no heat. The thermometer in my grand room, with its
silken curtains, is usually at freezing point. Then my clothes--I am
seedy, very seedy. When I call upon a friend, the porter eyes me
distrustfully. In the streets the beggars never ask me for alms; on the
contrary, they eye me suspiciously when I approach them, as a possible
competitor. The other day I had some newspapers in my hand, an old
gentleman took one from me and paid me for it. I had read it, so I
pocketed the halfpence. My wardrobe is scanty, like the sage _omnia mea
mecum porto_. I had been absent from Paris before the siege, and I
returned with a small bag. It is difficult to find a tailor who will
work, and even if he did I could not send him my one suit to mend, for
what should I wear in the meantime? Decency forbids it. My pea jacket is
torn and threadbare, my trousers are frayed at the bottom, and of many
colours--like Joseph's coat. As for my linen, I will only say that the
washerwomen have struck work, as they have no fuel. I believe my shirt
was once white, but I am not sure. I invested a few weeks ago in a pair
of cheap boots. They are my torment. They have split in various places,
and I wear a pair of gaiters--purple, like those of a respectable
ecclesiastic, to cover the rents. I bought them on the Boulevard, and at
the same stall I bought a bright blue handkerchief which was going
cheap; this I wear round my neck. My upper man resembles that of a
dog-stealer, my lower man that of a bishop. My buttons are turning my
hair grey. When I had more than one change of raiment these appendages
remained in their places, now they drop off as though I were a moulting
fowl. I have to pin myself together elaborately, and whenever I want to
get anything out of my pocket I have cautiously to unpin myself, with
the dread of falling to pieces before my eyes. For my food, I allowance
myself, in order to eke out as long as possible my resources. I dine and
breakfast at a second-class restaurant. Cat, dog, rat, and horse are
very well as novelties, but taken habitually, they do not assimilate
with my inner man. Horse, doctors say, is heating; I only wish it would
heat me. I give this description of my existence, as it is that of many
others. Those who have means, and those who have none, unless these
means are in Paris, row in the same boat.
The society at my second-class restaurant is varied. Many are regular
customers, and we all know each other. There are officers who come there
whenever they get leave from outside--hardy, well-set fellows, who take
matters philosophically and professionally. They make the most of their
holiday, and enjoy themselves without much thought of the morrow. Then
there are tradesmen who wear kepis, as they belong to the National
Guard. They are not in such good spirits. Their fortunes are ebbing
away, and in their hearts I think they would, although their cry is
still "no surrender," be glad if all were over. They talk in low tones,
and pocket a lump of the sugar which they are given with their coffee.
Occasionally an ex-dandy comes in. I see him look anxiously around to
make sure that no other dandy sees him in so unfashionable a resort. The
dandy keeps to himself, and eyes us haughtily, for we are too common
folk for the like of him. Traviatas, too, are not wanting in the
second-class restaurant. Sitting by me yesterday was a girl who in times
gone by I had often seen driving in a splendid carriage in the Bois.
Her silks and satins, her jewellery and her carriage, had vanished.
There are no more Russian Princes, no more Boyards, no more Milords to
minister to her extravagances. She was eating her horse as though she
had been "poor but honest" all her life; and as I watched her washing
the noble steed down with a pint of vin ordinaire, I realized the
alteration which this siege was effecting in the condition of all
classes. But the strangest _habitués_ of the restaurant are certain
stalwart, middle-aged men, who seem to consider that their function in
life is to grieve over their country, and to do nothing else for it.
They walk in as though they were the soldiers of Leonidas on the high
road to Thermopylæ--they sit down as though their stools were curule
chairs--they scowl at anyone who ventures to smile, as though he were
guilty of a crime--and they talk to each other in accents of gloomy
resolve. When anyone ventures to hint at a capitulation, they bound in
their seats, and cry, _On verra_. Sorrow does not seem to have disturbed
their appetites, and, as far as I can discover, they have managed to
escape all military duty. No human being can be so unhappy, however, as
they look. They remind me of the heir at the funeral of a rich relative.
Speaking of funerals reminds me that the newspapers propose that the
undertakers, like the butchers, should be tariffed. They are making too
good a thing out of the siege. They have raised their prices so
exorbitantly that the poor complain that it is becoming impossible for
them even to die.
A letter found, or supposed to be found, in the pocket of a dead German
from his Gretchen is published to-day. "If you should happen to pillage
a jeweller's shop," says this practical young lady, "don't forget me,
but get me a pretty pair of earrings." The family of this warrior
appears to be inclined to look after the main chance; for the letter
goes on to say that his mother had knitted him a jacket, but having
done so, has worn it herself ever since instead of sending it to him.
Gretchen will never get her earrings, and the mother may wear her jacket
now without feeling that she is depriving her son of it, for the poor
fellow lies under three feet of soil near Le Bourget.
_December 30th._
I hear that a story respecting a council which was held a few days ago,
at which Trochu was requested to resign, is perfectly true. Picard and
Jules Favre said that if he did resign they should do so also, and the
discussion was closed by the General himself saying, "I feel myself
equal to the situation, and I shall remain." Yesterday evening there
were groups everywhere, discussing the withdrawal of the troops from
Avron. It was so bitterly cold, however, that they soon broke up. This
morning the newspapers, one and all, abuse Trochu. Somehow or other,
they say, he always fails in everything he undertakes. I hear from
military men that the feeling in the army is very strong against him.
While the bombardment was going on at Avron he exposed himself freely to
the fire, but instead of superintending the operations he attitudinized
and made speeches. General Ducrot, who was there, and between whom and
Trochu a certain coldness has sprung up, declared that he had always
been opposed to any attempt to retain this position. The behaviour of
Vinoy was that of a soldier. He was everywhere encouraging his men. What
I cannot understand is why, if Avron was to be held, it was not
fortified. It must have been known that the Prussians could, if they
pleased, bring a heavy concentric fire from large siege guns to bear
upon it. Casemates and strong earthworks might have been made--but
nothing was done. I was up there the other day, and I then asked an
engineer officer why due precautions were not being taken; but he only
shrugged his shoulders in reply. General Vinoy, who was in the Crimea,
says that all that the French, English, and Russians did there was
child's play in comparison with the Prussian artillery. From the size of
the unburst shells which have been picked up, their cannon must be
enormous. The question now is, whether the forts will be able to hold
out against them. The following account of what has taken place from the
_Vérité_ is by far the best which has been published:--
"Notwithstanding that the fire of the enemy slackened on the 26th, the
Prussians were not losing their time. Thanks to the hardness of the
soil, and to the fog, they had got their guns into position in all their
batteries from Villenomble to Montfermeil. The injury done to the park
of Drancy by the precision of the aim of our artillery at Fort Nogent
was repaired; cannon were brought to the trenches which the day before
we had occupied at Ville Evrart; and, as well as it was possible, twelve
new batteries, armed with cannon of long range, were unmasked. All
through the 28th the fire continued; shells fell thickly on our
batteries, and in the village of Rosny. The roof of the station was
knocked in, and several Mobiles were killed in the main street. The
evacuation of the church, which had been converted into an ambulance,
was thought advisable. All this, however, was nothing in comparison with
the fire which was poured in during the night. The plateau of Avron was
literally inundated with shells, many of them of far larger size than
had previously been fired. The range of the guns was too great, and it
was evident that the Prussians had rectified their aim. Their
projectiles no longer fell wide in the field; they almost all burst
close to the trenches. Two guns in battery No. 2 were struck; the same
thing soon occurred in battery No. 3. Every moment the wheels of some
ammunition waggon were struck, or one of the horses killed. Several men
were wounded in the trenches, which were so shallow as to afford little
protection. Two shells bursting at the same moment killed a naval
officer and three men at one of the guns. All who were so imprudent as
to venture to attempt to cross the plateau were struck down. It was a
sad and terrible spectacle to see these sailors coolly endeavouring to
point their guns, undisturbed by the rain of fire; while their officers,
who were encouraging them, were falling every moment, covering those
round them with their blood. The infantry and the Mobiles were, too,
without shelter; for the Krupp guns swept the portion of the plateau on
which they were drawn up within supporting distance. Most of them made
the best of it, and laughed when they heard the shells whistling above
their heads and bursting near them. Many, however, were so terrified,
that they fell back, and spread abroad in their rear disquieting
reports, which the terrified air of the narrators rendered still more
alarming. The National Guard were drawn up on the heights in advance of
the village of Rosny; a few shells reached their ranks. An officer and a
soldier of the 114th were slightly wounded; but they remained firm.
Every hour the Prussian cannonade became heavier. On our side our fire
slackened; then ceased entirely. An _estafette_ came with an order to
evacuate the plateau, and to save the artillery. No time was lost.
Fortunately, at this moment the enemy's fire also slackened; and the
preparations for a retreat were hurriedly made. The guns were taken from
their carriages, the baggage was laden on the carts, and the munition on
the waggons. The soldiers strapped on their knapsacks, struck their
tents, and harnessed the horses. All this was not accomplished without
difficulty, for it had to be done noiselessly and in the dark, for all
the fires had been put out. General Trochu, seated on a horse, issued
his directions, and every moment received information of what was taking
place. Notwithstanding the expostulations of his staff, the General
refused to withdraw from this exposed point. 'No, gentlemen,' he said,
'I shall not withdraw from here until the cannon are in safety.' At two
in the morning all was ready; the long train began to move; the cannon
of 7 and the mitrailleuses of Commandant Pothier took the lead. Then
followed the heavy naval guns, then the munition and baggage waggons;
the troops of the Line, the Marines, and the National Guard were ordered
to cover the retreat. It was no easy matter to descend from the plateau
to Rosny. The frost had made the road a literal ice-hill. The drivers
walked by the side of their animals, holding the reins and pulling them
up when they stumbled. Until four o'clock, however, everything went
well. The march slowly continued, and the Prussian batteries were
comparatively calm. Their shells fell still occasionally where our guns
had been. The noise of the wheels, however, and the absence of all
cannonade on our parts, at length awakened the suspicions of the enemy.
Their fire was now directed on the fort of Rosny, and the road from the
plateau leading to it. At this moment the line of guns and waggons was
passing through the village, and only carts with baggage were still on
the plateau. At first the shells fell wide; then they killed some
horses; some of the drivers were hit; a certain confusion took place.
That portion of our line of march which was in Rosny was in imminent
danger. Fortunately, our chiefs did not lose their heads. The guns whose
horses were untouched passed those which were obliged to stop. Some of
them took to the fields; the men pushed the wheels, and, thanks to their
efforts, our artillery was saved. As soon as the guns had been dragged
up the hill opposite the plateau, the horses started off at a gallop,
and did not stop until they were out of the range of the enemy's fire.
The guns were soon in safety at Vincennes and Montreuil. The troops held
good, the men lying down on their stomachs, the officers standing up and
smoking their cigars until the last waggon had passed. Day had broken
when they received orders to withdraw. The National Guard went back
into Paris, and the Line, after a short halt at Montreuil, camped in the
barracks of St. Maur. At eight o'clock, the evacuation of the plateau
was complete; but the Prussian shells still fell upon the deserted
houses and some of the gun-carriages which had been abandoned. The enemy
then turned their attention to the forts of Rosny and Noisy. It hailed
shot on these two forts, and had they not been solidly built they would
not have withstood it. The noise of this cannonade was so loud that it
could be heard in the centre of Paris. Around the Fort of Noisy the
projectiles sank into the frozen ground to a depth of two and a half
metres, and raised blocks of earth weighing 30lbs. Shells fell as far as
Romainville. In the Rue de Pantin a drummer had his head carried off;
his comrades buried him on the spot. In the court of Fort Noisy three
men, hearing the hissing of a shell, threw themselves on the ground. It
was a bad inspiration; the shell fell on the one in the middle, and
killed all three. These were the only casualties in the fort, and at ten
o'clock the enemy's batteries ceased firing on it. All their efforts
were then directed against the Fort of Rosny. The shells swept the open
court, broke in the roof of the barracks, and tore down the peach-trees
whose fruit is so dear to the Parisians. From eleven o'clock, it was
impossible to pass along the road to Montreuil in safety. In that
village, the few persons who are still left sought shelter in their
cellars. At three o'clock the sun came out, and I passed along the
strategical road to Noisy. I met several regiments--Zouaves, Infantry,
and Marines--coming from Noisy and Bondy. I could distinctly see the
enemy's batteries. Their centre is in Rancy, and the guns seem to be in
the houses. The destruction in Bondy commenced by the French artillery
has been completed by the Prussians. From three batteries in the park of
Rancy they have destroyed the wall of the cemetery, behind which one
battery was posted and an earthwork. What remained of the church has
been literally reduced to dust. Except sentinels hid in the interior of
the houses, all our troops had been withdrawn. Some few persons, out of
curiosity, had adjourned to the Grande Place; their curiosity nearly
cost them dear, and they had to creep away. At three o'clock the enemy's
fire had redoubled; some of our Mobiles, in relieving guard, were
killed; and from that hour no one ventured into the streets. 9 P.M. The
moon has risen, and shines brightly--the ground is covered with snow,
and it is almost like daylight. The Prussian positions can distinctly be
seen. The cannon cannot be distinguished, but all along the line between
Villenomble and Gagny tongues of fire appear, followed by long columns
of smoke. The fire on Rosny is increasing in violence; the village of
Noisy is being bombarded."