into Paris. I went out yesterday to St. Denis. Along the road there were
a few people coming into Paris with their beds and tables in hand-carts.
In the town the bombardment, although not so heavy as it had been, was
far too heavy to be pleasant. Most of the people still remaining have
established themselves in their cellars, and every moment one came
against some chimney emerging from the soil. Some were still on the
ground-floor of their houses, and had heaped up mattresses against their
windows. The inhabitants occasionally ran from one house to another,
like rabbits in a warren from hole to hole. All the doors were open, and
whenever one heard the premonitory whistle which announced the arrival
of one of the messengers of our psychological friends outside, one had
to dodge into some door. I did not see any one hit. The houses were a
good deal knocked about; the cathedral, it was said, had been hit, but
as shells were falling in the Place before it, I reserved investigations
for a more quiet moment. Some of the garrison told me that the forts had
been "scratched," but as to how far this scratching process had been
carried I cannot say from personal observation, as I thought I might be
scratched myself if I pushed my reconnaissance farther. I am not a
military man, and do not profess to know anything about bombs
technically, but it seems to me, considering that it is their object to
burst, and considering the number of scientific persons who have devoted
their time to make them burst, it is very strange how very few do burst.
I am told that one reason for this is the following:--when they lose the
velocity of the impelling force they turn over in the air, and as the
percussion cap is on the lighter end, the heavier one strikes the
ground. Many of these, too, which have fallen in the town, and which
have burst, have done no mischief, because the lead in which they are
enveloped has kept the pieces together. The danger, indeed, to life and
limb of a bombardment is very slight. I would at any time prefer to be
for 24 hours in the most exposed portion of a bombarded town, than walk
24 times across Oxford Street in the middle of the day. A bomb is a joke
in comparison with those great heavy wagons which are hurled at
pedestrians by their drivers in the streets of London.
_January 28th._
The Government has not yet made up its mind to bell the cat, and to let
us know the terms of the armistice or capitulation, whichever it is to
be called. We hear that it is expected that trains will run to England
on Tuesday or Wednesday, and by the first train I for one shall
endeavour to get out of this prison. It will be such a relief to find
oneself once more among people who have glimpses of common sense, who
are not all in uniform, and who did not insist so very strongly on their
sublime attitude. Yesterday evening there were a series of open-air
clubs held on the Boulevards and other public places. The orators were
in most instances women or aged men. These Joans of Arc and ancient
Pistols talked very loudly of making a revolution in order to prevent
the capitulation; and it seemed to me that among their hearers,
precisely those who whilst they had an opportunity to fight thought it
wise not to do so, were most vociferous in their applause. The language
of the National Guard is indeed most warlike. Several hundred of their
officers have indulged in the cheap patriotism of signing a declaration
that they wish to die rather than yield. This morning many battalions of
the National Guard are under arms, and are hanging about in the streets
with their arms stacked before them. Many of the men, however, have not
answered to the rappel, and are remaining at home, as a mode of
protesting against what is passing. General Vinoy has a body of troops
ready to act, and as he is a man of energy I do not anticipate serious
disturbances for the moment. As for the soldiers and the Mobiles, they
are wandering about in twos and threes without arms, and do not affect
to conceal that they are heartily glad that all is over. Poor fellows,
their torn and tattered uniforms contrast with the spick and span
military gear of the National Guard. They have had during the siege hard
work, and they have done good duty, with but little thanks for it. The
newspapers are one and all down on the Government. It is of course held
to be their fault that the lines of the besiegers have not been forced.
General Trochu is not a military genius, and his colleagues have not
proved themselves better administrators than half a dozen lawyers who
have got themselves elected to a legislative assembly by the gift of the
gab were likely to be; but still this system of sacrificing the leaders
whenever any disaster takes place, and accusing them of treachery and
incompetence, is one of the worst features in the French character. If
it continues, eventually every man of rank will be dubbed by his own
countrymen either a knave or a fool.
_January 31st._
_Finita la Comedia._ Let fall the curtain. The siege of Paris is over;
the last balloon has carried our letters through the clouds; the last
shot has been fired. The Prussians are in the forts, and the Prussian
armies are only not in the streets because they prefer to keep watch and
guard outside the vanquished city. What will be the verdict of history
on the defence? Who knows! On the one hand the Parisians have kept a
powerful army at bay far longer than was anticipated; on the other hand,
every sortie that they have made has been unsuccessful--every attempt to
arrest the approach of the besiegers has failed. Passively and inertly
they have allowed their store of provisions to grow less and less, until
they have been forced to capitulate, without their defences having been
stormed, or the cannon silenced. The General complains of his soldiers,
the soldiers complain of their General; and on both sides there is cause
of complaint. Trochu is not a Todleben. His best friends describe him as
a sort of military Hamlet, wise of speech, but weak and hesitating in
action--making plans, and then criticising them instead of accomplishing
them. As a commander, his task was a difficult one; when the siege
commenced he had no army; when the army was formed, it was encompassed
by earthworks and redoubts so strong that even better soldiers would
have failed to carry them. As a statesman, he never was the master of
the situation. He followed rather than led public opinion, and
subordinated everything to the dread of displeasing any section of a
population, which, to be ruled--even in quiet times--must be ruled with
a rod of iron. Success is the criterion of ability in this country, and
poor Trochu is as politically dead as though he never had lived. His
enemies call him a traitor; his friends defend him from the charge by
saying that he is only a vain fool.
As regards the armed force, the sailors have behaved so well that I
wonder at the ease with which our own tars have always beaten them. They
have been kept under a rigid discipline by their naval commanders. The
line, composed of depôt battalions, and of the regiments which Vinoy
brought back from Mézières, without being equal to old seasoned troops,
have fought creditably. Their great defect has been an absence of strict
discipline. The Mobiles, raw peasants fresh from their homes, have shown
themselves brave in action, and have supported the hardship of lengthy
outpost duty without a murmur. Unfortunately they elected their own
officers, and this weakened their efficiency for offensive purposes.
When the siege commenced, every citizen indiscriminately assumed the
uniform of the National Guard. Each battalion of this motley force
elected its officers, and both men and officers united in despising
discipline as a restraint to natural valour. The National Guard mounted
guard occasionally on the ramparts, and the rest of their time they
passed in parading the streets, drinking in the pothouses, and
discussing the conduct of their military superiors. General Trochu soon
discovered that this force was, for all purposes of war, absolutely
useless. He called for volunteers, and he anticipated that 100,000 men
would answer to the appeal; not 10,000 did so. He then ordered a
marching company to be formed from each battalion. Complaints
innumerable arose. Instead of a generous emulation to fight, each man
sought for an excuse to avoid it. This man had a mother, that man a
daughter; one had weak lungs, and another weak legs. At length, by dint
of pressure and coaxing, the marching battalions were formed. Farewell
suppers were offered them by their comrades. They were given new coats,
new trousers, and new saucepans to strap on their haversacks. They have
done some duty in the trenches, but they were always kept away from
serious fighting, and only gave a "moral support" to those engaged in
the conflict, until the fiasco in the Isthmus of Gennevilliers a
fortnight ago. Then, near the walls of Buzanval, the few companies which
were in action fought fairly if not successfully, whilst in another part
of the field of battle, those who formed the reserves broke and fled as
soon as the Prussian bombs fell into their ranks. The entire National
Guard, sedentary and marching battalions, has not, I imagine, lost 500
men during its four months' campaign. This can hardly be called fighting
to the death _pro aris et focis_, and sublimity is hardly the word to
apply to these warriors. If the 300 at Thermopylæ had, after exhausting
their food, surrendered to the Persian armies, after the loss of less
than one per cent. of their number--say of three men, they might have
been very worthy fellows, but history would not have embalmed their act.
Politically, with the exception of the riot on October 31, the
Government of National Defence has met with no opposition since
September last. There are several reasons for this. Among the
bourgeoisie there was little of either love or confidence felt in Trochu
and his colleagues, but they represented the cause of order, and were
indeed the only barrier against absolute anarchy. Among the poorer
classes everyone who liked was clothed, was fed, and was paid by
Government for doing nothing, and consequently many who otherwise would
have been ready to join in a revolt, thought it well not to disturb a
state of things so eminently to their satisfaction. Among the Ultras,
there was a very strong distaste to face the fire either of Prussians or
of Frenchmen. They had, too, no leaders worthy of the name, and many of
them were determined not to justify Count Bismarck's taunt that the
"populace" would aid him by exciting civil discord. The Government of
September, consequently, is still the Government of to-day, although its
chief has shown himself a poor general, and its members, one and all,
have shown themselves wretched administrators. In unblushing mendacity
they have equalled, if not surpassed, their immediate predecessor, the
virtuous Palikao. The only two of them who would have had a chance of
figuring in England, even as vestrymen, are M. Jules Favre and M. Ernest
Picard. The former has all the brilliancy and all the faults of an able
lawyer--the latter, although a lawyer, is not without a certain modicum
of that plain practical common sense, which we are apt to regard as
peculiarly an English characteristic.
The sufferings caused by the dearth of provisions and of fuel have
fallen almost exclusively on the women and children. Among the
well-to-do classes, there has been an absence of many of those luxuries
which habit had made almost necessaries, but this is all. The men of the
poorer classes, as a rule, preferred to idle away their time on the 1fr.
50c. which they received from the Government, rather than gain 4 or 5fr.
a day by working at their trades; consequently if they drank more and
ate less than was good for them, they have had only themselves to thank
for it. Their wives and children have been very miserable. Scantily
clad, ill fed, without fuel, they have been obliged to pass half the day
before the bakers' doors, waiting for their pittance of bread. The
mortality and the suffering have been very great among them, and yet, it
must be said to their credit, they have neither repined nor complained.
Business has, of course, been at a standstill since last September. At
the Bourse the transactions have been of the most trifling description,
much to the disgust of the many thousands who live here by peddling
gains and doubtful speculations in this temple of filthy lucre. By a
series of decrees payment of rent and of bills of exchange has been
deferred from month to month. Most of the wholesale exporting houses
have been absolutely closed. In the retail shops nothing has been sold
except by the grocers, who must have made large profits. Whether the
city has a recuperative power strong enough to enable it to recover
from this period of stagnation, and to pay its taxation, which
henceforward will be enormous, has yet to be seen. The world is the
market for _articles de Paris_, but then to preserve this market, the
prices of these articles must be low. Foreigners, too, will not come
here if the cost of living is too exorbitant, and yet I do not see how
it is to be otherwise. The talk of the people now is, that they mean to
become serious--no longer to pander to the extravagances of strangers,
and no longer to encourage their presence amongst them. If they carry
out these intentions, I am afraid that, however their morals may be
improved, their material interests will suffer. Gambling tables may not
be an advantage to Europe, but without them Homburg and Baden would go
to the wall. Paris is a city of pleasure--a cosmopolitan city; it has
made its profit out of the follies and the vices of the world. Its
prices are too high, its houses are too large, its promenades and its
public places have cost too much for it to be able to pay its way as the
sober, decent capital of a moderate-sized country, where there are few
great fortunes. If the Parisians decide to become poor and respectable,
they are to be congratulated upon the resolve, but the present notion
seems to be that they are to become rich and respectable--a thing more
difficult. Paris--the Paris of the Empire and of Haussmann--is a house
of cards. Its prosperity was a forced and artificial one. The war and
the siege have knocked down the cards, and it is doubtful whether they
will ever serve to build a new house.
As regards public opinion, I cannot see that it has changed one iota for
the better since the fall of the Empire, or that common sense has made
any headway. There are of course sensible men in Paris, but either they
hold their tongues, or their voices are lost in the chorus of blatant
nonsense, which is dinned into the public ears. _Mutatis mutandis_ the
newspapers, with some few exceptions, are much what they were when they
worshipped Cæsar, chronicled the doings of the _demi-monde_, clamoured
for the Rhine, and invented Imperial victories. Their ignorance
respecting everything beyond the frontiers of France is such, that a
charity-schoolboy in England or Germany would be deservedly whipped for
it. _La Liberté_ has, I am told, the largest circulation at present.
Every day since the commencement of the siege I have invested two sous
in this journal, and I may say, without exaggeration, that never
once--except one evening when it was burnt on the boulevard for
inadvertently telling the truth--have I been able to discover in its
columns one single line of common sense. Its facts are sensational--its
articles gross appeals to popular folly, popular ignorance, and popular
vanity. Every petty skirmish of the National Guard has been magnified
into a stupendous victory; every battalion which visited a tomb, crowned
a statue, or signed some manifesto pre-eminent in its absurdity, has
been lauded in language which would have been exaggerated if applied to
the veterans of the first Napoleon. The editor is, I believe, the author
of the "pact with death," which has been so deservedly ridiculed in the
German newspapers. The orators of the clubs have not been wiser than the
journalists. At the Ultra gatherings, a man who says that he is a
republican is regarded as the possessor of every virtue. The remedy for
all the ills of France has been held to be, to copy exactly what was
done during the First Revolution. "Citizens, we must have a _Commune_,
and then we shall drive the Prussians out of France," was always
received with a round of sympathetic applause, although I have never yet
found two persons to agree in their explanation of what is meant by the
word "_Commune_." At the Moderate clubs, the speeches generally
consisted of ignorant abuse of Germany, attempts to disprove
well-established facts, and extravagant self-laudation. I have attended
many clubs--Ultra and Moderate--and I never heard a speaker at one of
them who would have been tolerated for five minutes by an ordinary
English political meeting.
The best minister whom the Parisians have, is M. Dorian. He is a
manufacturer, and as hard-headed and practical as a Scotsman. Thanks to
his energy and business qualities, cannon have been cast, old muskets
converted into breechloaders, and ammunition fabricated. He has had
endless difficulties to overcome, and has overcome them. The French are
entirely without what New Englanders call shiftiness. As long as all the
wheels of an administration work well, the administrative coach moves
on, but let the smallest wheel of the machine get out of order, and
everything stands still. To move on again takes a month's discussion and
a hundred despatches. A redoubt which the Americans during their civil
war would have thrown up in a night has taken the Parisians weeks to
make. Their advanced batteries usually were without traverses, because
they were too idle to form them. Although in modern sieges the spade
ought to play as important a part as the cannon, they seem to have
considered it beneath their dignity to dig--500 navvies would have done
more for the defence of the town than 500,000 National Guards did do. At
the commencement of October, ridiculous barricades were made far inside
the ramparts, and although the generals have complained ever since that
they impeded the movements of their troops, they have never been
removed.
I like the Parisians and I like the French. They have much of the old
Latin _urbanitas_, many kindly qualities, and most of the minor virtues
which do duty as the small change of social intercourse. But for the
sake of France, I am glad that Paris has lost its _prestige_, for its
rule has been a blight and a curse to the entire country; and for the
sake of Europe, I am glad that France has lost her military prestige,
for this prestige has been the cause of most of the wars of Europe
during the last 150 years. It is impossible so to adapt the equilibrium
of power, that every great European Power shall be co-equal in strength.
The balance tips now to the side of Germany. That country has attained
the unity after which she has so long sighed, and I do not think she
will embroil the continent in wars, waged for conquest, for an "idea,"
or for the dynastic interests of her princes. The Germans are a brave
race, but not a war-loving race. Much, therefore, as I regret that
French provinces should against the will of their inhabitants become
German, and strongly as I sympathise with my poor friends here in the
overthrow of all their illusions, I console myself with the thought that
the result of the present war will be to consolidate peace. France will
no doubt look wistfully after her lost possessions, and talk loudly of
her intention to re-conquer them. But the difficulty of the task will
prevent the attempt. Until now, to the majority of Frenchmen, a war
meant a successful military promenade, a plentiful distribution of
decorations, and an inscription on some triumphal arch. Germany was to
them the Germany of Jena and Austerlitz. Their surprise at seeing the
Prussians victors at the doors of Paris, is much that which the
Americans would feel if a war with the Sioux Indians were to bring these
savages to the suburbs of New York. The French have now learnt that they
are not invincible, and that if war may mean victory, it may also mean
defeat, invasion, and ruin. When, therefore, they have paid the bill for
their _à Berlin_ folly, they will think twice before they open a fresh
account with fortune.
I would recommend sightseers to defer their visit to Paris for the
present, as during the armistice it will not be a very pleasant
residence for foreigners. I doubt whether the elections will go off, and
the decisions of the National Assembly be known without disturbances.
The vainest of the vain, irritable to madness by their disasters, the
Parisians are in no humour to welcome strangers. The world has held
aloof whilst the "capital of civilisation" has been bombarded by the
"hordes of Attila," and there is consequently, just now, no very
friendly feeling towards the world.
Of news, there is very little. We are in a state of physical and moral
collapse. The groups of patriots which invested the Boulevards on the
first announcement of the capitulation have disappeared; and the
gatherings of National Guards, who announced their intention to die
rather than submit, have discontinued their sittings, owing it, as they
said, to their country to live for her. No one hardly now affects to
conceal his joy that all is over. Every citizen with whom one speaks,
tells you that it will be the lasting shame of Paris that with its
numerous army it not only failed to force the Prussians to raise the
siege, but also allowed them whenever they pleased to detach corps
d'armée against the French generals in the provinces. This, of course,
is the fault of the Government of Trochu and of the Republic, and having
thus washed his hands of everything that has occurred, the citizen goes
on his way rejoicing. The Mobiles make no secret of their delight at the
thought of getting back to their homes. Whatever the Parisians may think
of them, they do not think much of the Parisians. The army, and more
particularly the officers, are very indignant at the terms of the
armistice. They bitterly say that they would far rather have preferred
to have been made prisoners of war at once, and they feel that they are
in pawn in Paris, a pledge that peace will be made. M. Jules Ferry was
treated so coldly the other day by General Vinoy's staff, when he went
upon some business to the headquarters of the Commander-in-Chief, that
he asked the cause, and was told in plain terms that he and his
colleagues had trifled with the honour of the army. The armistice was,
as you are aware, concluded by M. Jules Favre in person. It was then
thought necessary to send a General to confer with Count Moltke on
matters of detail. General Trochu seized upon this occasion to assert
himself, and requested to be allowed to send a General of his choice,
saying that his book which he published in 1867 must be so well known at
the German headquarters, that probably his envoy would meet with
peculiar respect. To this General Vinoy acceded, but Count Moltke
refused to treat with Trochu's General, who was drunk, and the chief of
General Vinoy's staff had to be substituted. General Ducrot is still
here. He resigned his command, not as is generally supposed, because the
Prussians insisted upon it in consequence of his evasion from Sedan, but
because General Vinoy on assuming the command of the army gave him a
very strong hint to do so. "I did not"' observed Vinoy, "think your
position sufficiently _en règle_ to serve under _you_, and so----"
The question of the revictualling is the most important one of the
moment. The railroad kings, who had an interview with Count Bismarck at
Versailles, seem to be under the impression that this exceedingly
wide-awake statesman intends to throw impediments in the way of Paris
getting provisions from England, in order that the Germans may turn an
honest penny by supplying the requirements of the town. He has thrown
out hints that he himself can revictual us for a short time, if it
really be a question of life and death. Even when the lines are opened
to traffic and passengers, the journey to England, _viâ_ Amiens, Rouen,
and Dieppe will be a tedious one. The Seine, we learn, has been rendered
impassable by the boats which have been sunk in it.
We have as yet had no news from outside. The English here find the want
of a consul more than ever. The Foreign Office has sent in an acting
commission to Mr. Blount, a gentleman who may be an excellent banker,
but knows nothing of consular business, notwithstanding his courtesy. As
whenever any negotiation is to take place at a foreign court a Special
Envoy is sent, and, as it now appears, whenever a Consul is particularly
wanted in a town a Special Consul is appointed, would it not be as well
at once to suppress the large staff of permanent ambassadors, ministers,
and consuls who eat their heads off at a heavy cost to the country. I
should be curious to know how many years it would take to reduce the
intelligence of an ordinary banker's clerk to the level of a Foreign
Office bureaucrat. How the long-suffering English public can continue to
support the incompetency and the supercilious contempt with which these
gentry treat their employers is to me a mystery. Bureaucrats are bad
enough in all conscience, but a nest of fine gentleman bureaucrats is a
public curse, when thousands are subjected to their whims, their
ignorance, and their airs.
The Republic is in very bad odour just now. It has failed to save
France, and it is rendered responsible for this failure. Were the Comte
de Paris a man of any mark, he would probably be made King. As it is,
there is a strong feeling in favour of his family, and more particularly
in favour of the Duc d'Aumale. Some talk of him as President of the
Republic, others suggest that he should be elected King. The
Bonapartists are very busy, but as regards Paris there is no chance
either for the Emperor or the Empress Regent. As for Henri V., he is, in
sporting phraseology, a dark horse. Among politicians, the general
opinion is that a moderate Republic will be tried for a short time, and
that then we shall gravitate into a Constitutional Monarchy.
Little heed is taken of the elections which are so close at hand. No one
seems to care who is elected. As it is not known whether the National
Assembly will simply register the terms of peace proposed by Germany,
and then dissolve itself, or whether it will constitute itself into an
_Assemblée Constituante_, and decide upon the future form of government,
there is no Very great desire among politicians to be elected to it.
Several Electoral Committees have been formed, each of which puts
forward its own list--that which sits under the Presidency of M.
Dufaure, an Orleanist, at the Grand Hotel, is the most important of
them. Its list is intended to include the most practical men of all
parties; the rallying cry is to be France, and in theory its chiefs are
supposed to be moderate Republicans.
The ceremony of the giving up of the forts has passed over very quietly.
The Prussians entered them without noise or parade. At St. Denis, the
mayor of which said that no Prussian would be safe in it, friends and
foes, I am told by a person who has just returned, have fraternised, and
are pledging each other in every species of liquor. The ramparts are
being dismantled of their guns; the National Guard no longer does duty
on them, and crowds assemble and stare vaguely into the country outside.
During the whole siege Paris has not been so dismal and so dreary as it
is now. There is no longer the excitement of the contest, and yet we are
prisoners. The only consolation is that a few weeks will put an end to
this state of things.
CHAPTER XIX.
_February 1st._
The Government of National Defence has almost disappeared from notice.
It has become a Committee to preside over public order. The world may
calumniate us, they said in a proclamation the other day. It would be
impossible, replied the newspapers. Trochu and Gambetta, once the idols
of the Parisians, are now the best abused men in France. Trochu (a
friend of his told me to-day) deserted by all, makes speeches in the
bosom of his family. No more speeches, no more lawyers; is the cry of
the journals. And then they spin out phrases of exaggerated Spartanism
by the yard, and suggest some lawyer as the rising hope of the country.
The cannon have been taken from the ramparts. The soldiers--Line and
Mobile--wander about unarmed, with their hands in their pockets, staring
at the shop-windows. They are very undemonstrative, and more like
peaceful villagers than rough troopers. They pass most of their time
losing their way and trying to find it again; and the Mobiles are
longing to get back to their homes. It appears now that there was an
error in the statistics published by the Government respecting the stock
of grain in hand. Two accounts, which were one and the same, were added
together. The bread is getting less like bread every day. Besides peas,
rice, and hay, starch is now ground up with it. In the eighth
arrondissement yesterday, there were no rations. The Northern Company do
not expect a provision train from Dieppe before Friday, and do not think
they will be able to carry passengers before Saturday. We are in want of
fuel as much as of food. A very good thing is to be made by any
speculator who can manage to send us coal or charcoal.
More than 23,000 persons have applied for permits to quit Paris, on the
ground that they are provincial candidates for the Assembly. Of course
this is a mere pretext. A commission, as acting British Consul, has been
sent to Mr. Blount, a banker. Will some M.P. move that the Estimates be
reduced by the salary of the Consul, who seems to consider Paris _in
partibus infidelium_?
The only outsider who has penetrated through the double cordon of
Prussians and French, is your Correspondent at the Headquarters of the
Crown Prince of Saxony. He startled us quite as much as Friday did
Robinson Crusoe. He was enthusiastically welcomed, for he had English
newspapers in one pocket, and some slices of ham in the other.
VERSAILLES, _February 6th._
I am not intoxicated, but I feel so heavy from having imbibed during the
last twenty-four hours more milk than I did during the first six months
which I passed in this planet, that I have some difficulty in collecting
my thoughts in order to write a letter. Yesterday I arrived here in
order to breathe for a moment the air of freedom. In vain my hospitable
friends, who have put me up, have offered me wine to drink, and this and
that delicacy to eat--I have stuck to eggs, butter, and milk. Pats of
butter I have bolted with a greasy greediness which would have done
honour to Pickwick's fat boy; and quarts of milk I have drunk with the
eagerness of a calf long separated from its maternal parent.
Although during the last few months I have seen but two or three numbers
of English papers, I make no doubt that so many good, bad, and
indifferent descriptions of every corner and every alley in this town
have appeared in print, that Londoners are by this time as well
acquainted with it as they are with Richmond or Clapham. Versailles
must, indeed, be a household word--not to say a household nuisance--in
England. It has been a dull, stupid place, haunted by its ancient
grandeurs; with too large a palace, too large streets, and too large
houses, for many a year; and while the presence of a Prussian army and a
Prussian Emperor may render it more interesting, they fail to make it
more lively. Of the English correspondents, some have gone into Paris in
quest of "phases" and impressions; many, however, still remain here,
battening upon the fat of the land, in the midst of kings and princes,
counts and Freiherrs. I myself have seldom got beyond a distant view of
such grand beings. What I know even of the nobility of my native land,
is derived from perusing the accounts of their journeys in the
fashionable newspapers, and from the whispered confidences of their
third cousins. To find myself in familiar intercourse with people who
habitually hobnob at Royal tables, and who invite Royal Highnesses to
drop in promiscuously and smoke a cigar, almost turns my head. To-morrow
I shall return to Paris, because I feel, were I to remain long in such
grand company, I should become proud and haughty; and, perhaps, give
myself airs when restored to the society of my relatives, who are honest
but humble. There is at present no difficulty in leaving Paris. A pass
is given at the Prefecture to all who ask for one, and it is an "open
sesame" to the Prussian lines. I came by way of Issy, dragged along by
an aged Rosinante, so weak from low living that I was obliged to get out
and walk the greater part of the way, as he positively declined to draw
me and the chaise.
This beast I have only been allowed to bring out of Paris after having
given my word of honour that I would bring him back, in order, if
necessary, to be slain and eaten, though I very much doubt whether a
tolerably hungry rat would find meat enough on his bones for a dinner.
I have been this morning sitting with a friend who, under the promise of
the strictest secrecy, has given me an account of the condition of
affairs here. I trust, therefore, that no one will mention anything that
may be found in this letter, directly or indirectly relating to the
Prussians. The old King, it appears, is by no means happy as an Emperor.
He was only persuaded to accept this title for the sake of his son, "Our
Fritz," and he goes about much like some English squire of long descent,
who has been induced to allow himself to be converted into a bran new
peer, over-persuaded by his ambitious progeny. William is one of that
numerous class of persons endowed with more heart than brains. Putting
aside, or regarding rather as the delusion of a diseased brain, his
notion that he is an instrument of Heaven, and that he is born to rule
over Prussian souls by right divine, the old man is by no means a bad
specimen of a good-natured, well-meaning, narrow-minded soldier of the
S.U.S.C. type; and between Bismarck and Moltke he has of late had by no
means an easy time. These two worthies, instead of being, as we imagined
in Paris, the best of friends, abominate each other. During the siege
Moltke would not allow Bismarck to have a seat at any council of war;
and in order to return the compliment, Bismarck has not allowed Moltke
to take any part in the negotiations respecting the armistice, except on
the points which were exclusively military. Bismarck tells the French
that had it not been for him, Paris would have been utterly destroyed,
while Moltke grumbles because it has not been destroyed; an achievement
which this talented captain somewhat singularly imagines would fittingly
crown his military career. But this is not the only domestic jar which
destroys the harmony of the happy German family at Versailles. In
Prussia it has been the habit, from time immemorial, for the heir to the
throne to coquet with the Liberals, and to be supposed to entertain
progressive opinions. The Crown Prince pursues this hereditary policy of
his family. He has surrounded himself with intelligent men, hostile to
the present state of things, and who understand that in the present age
110 country can be great and powerful, where all who are not country
gentlemen, chamberlains, or officers, are excluded from all share in its
government. Bismarck, on the other hand, is the representative, or
rather the business man, of the squirearchy and of the Vons--much in the
same way as Mr. Disraeli is of the Conservatives in England; and, like
the latter, he despises his own friends, and scoffs at the prejudices, a
pretended belief in which has served them as a stepping-stone to power.
The consequence of this divergency of opinion is, that Bismarck and "Our
Fritz" are very nearly what schoolboys call "cuts," and consequently
when the old King dies, Bismarck's power will die with him, unless he is
wise enough to withdraw beforehand from public life. "Our Fritz," I
hear, has done his best to prevent the Prussian batteries from doing any
serious damage to Paris, and has not concealed from his friends that he
considers that the bombardment was, in the words of Fouché, worse than a
crime--an error.
I find many of the Prussian officers improved by success. Those with
whom I have come in personal contact have been remarkably civil and
polite, but I confess that--speaking of course generally--the sight of
these mechanical instruments of war, brought to the highest state of
perfection in the trade of butchery, lording it in France, is to me most
offensive. I abhor everything which they admire. They are proud of
walking about in uniform with a knife by their side. I prefer the man
without the uniform and without the knife. They despise all who are
engaged in commercial pursuits. I regard merchants and traders as the
best citizens of a free country. They imagine that the man whose
ancestors have from generation to generation obscurely vegetated upon
some dozen acres, is the superior of the man who has made himself great
without the adventitious aid of birth; I do not. When Jules Favre met
Bismarck over here the other day, the latter spoke of Bourbaki as a
traitor, because he had been untrue to his oath to Napoleon. "And was
his country to count for nothing?" answered Favre. "In Germany king and
country are one and the same," replied Bismarck. This is the abominable
creed which is inculcated by the military squires who now hold the
destinies of France and of Germany in their hands; and on this
detestable heresy they dream of building up a new code of political
ethics in Europe. Liberalism and common sense are spreading even in the
army; but take a Tory squire, a Groom of the Chamber, and a
Life-guardsman, boil them down, and you will obtain the ordinary type of
the Prussian officer. For my part, I look with grim satisfaction to the
future. The unity of Germany has been brought about by the union of
Prussian Feudalists and German Radicals. The object is now attained, and
I sincerely hope that the former will find themselves in the position of
cats who have drawn the chestnuts out of the fire for others to eat. If
"Our Fritz," still following in the steps of his ancestors, throws off
his Liberalism with his Crown Princedom, his throne will not be a bed of
roses; it is fortunate, therefore, for him, that he is a man of good
sense. I am greatly mistaken if the Germans will long submit to the
horde of squires, of princes, of officers, and of court flunkeys, who
together, at present, form the ruling class. Among the politicians here
there is a strong feeling of dislike to the establishment of a Republic
in France. If they could have their own way they would re-establish the
Empire. But those who imagine that this is possible understand very
little of the French character. The Napoleonic legend was the result of
an epoch of military glory; the capitulation of Sedan not only scotched
it, but killed it. A Frenchman still believes in the military
superiority of his race over every other race, as firmly as he believes
in his own existence. If a French army is defeated, it is owing to the
treachery or the incapacity of the commander. If a battle be lost, the
General must pay the penalty for it; for his soldiers are invincible. It
is Napoleon, according to the received theory, who has succumbed in the
present war; not the French nation. If Napoleon be restored to power,
the nation will accept the responsibility which they now lay to his
door. The pride and vanity of every Frenchman are consequently the
strongest securities against an Imperial Restoration. Were I a betting
man, I would bet twenty to one against the Bonapartes; even against a
Republic lasting for two years; and I would take five to one against the
Comte de Paris becoming King of the French, and three to one against the
Duc d'Aumale being elected President of the Republic. This would be my
"book" upon the political French Derby.
The Prussians are making diligent use of the armistice to complete their
engineering work round Paris, and they appear to consider it possible
that they may yet have trouble with the city. If this be their opinion I
can only say that they are badly served by their spies. The resistance
_à outrance_ men in Paris, who never did anything but talk, will very
possibly still threaten to continue the struggle; but they will not
fight themselves, and most assuredly they will not find others to fight
for them. If the preliminaries of peace be signed at Bordeaux, Paris
will not protest; if they are rejected, Paris will not expose itself to
certain destruction by any attempt at further resistance, but will
capitulate, not as the capital of France, but as a besieged French town.
General Vinoy is absolute master of the situation; he is a calm,
sensible man, and will listen to no nonsense either from the "patriots,"
or his predecessors, or from Gambetta. From the tone of the decree of
the latter of the 3rd instant, he seems to be under the impression that
he is still the idol of the Parisians. Never did a man labour under so
complete a delusion. Before by a lucky speech he was pitchforked into
the Corps Législatif, he was a briefless lawyer, who used to talk very
loudly and with vast emphasis at the Café de Madrid. He is now regarded
as a pothouse politician, who ought never to have been allowed to get
beyond the pothouse.
The Germans appear to be carrying on the war upon the same principles of
international law which formed many thousand years ago the rule of
conquest among the Israelites. They are spoiling the Egyptians with a
vengeance. Even in this town, under the very eyes of the King, there is
one street--the Boulevard de la Reine--in which almost every house is
absolutely gutted. This, I hear, was done by the Bavarians. The German
army may have many excellent qualities, but chivalry is not among them.
War with them is a business. When a nation is conquered, there is no
sentimental pity for it, but as much is to be made out of it as
possible. Like the elephants, which can crush a tree or pick up a
needle, they conquer a province and they pick a pocket. As soon as a
German is quartered in a room he sends for a box and some straw;
carefully and methodically packs up the clock on the mantelpiece, and
all the stray ornaments which he can lay his hands on; and then, with a
tear glistening in his eye for his absent family, directs them either to
his mother, his wife, or his lady-love. In vain the proprietor protests;
the philosophical warrior utters the most noble sentiments respecting
the horrors of war; ponderously explains that the French do not
sufficiently appreciate the blessings of peace; and that he is one of
the humble instruments whose mission it is to make these blessings clear
to them. Then he rings the bell, and in a mild and gentle voice, orders
his box of loot to be carried off by his military servant. Ben Butler
and his New Englanders in New Orleans might have profitably taken
lessons from these all-devouring locusts. Nothing escapes them. They
have long rods which they thrust into the ground to see whether anything
of value has been buried in the gardens. Sometimes they confiscate a
house, and then re-sell it to the proprietor. Sometimes they cart off
the furniture. Pianos they are very fond of. When they see one, they
first sit down and play a few sentimental ditties, then they go away,
requisition a cart, and minstrel and instrument disappear together. They
are a singular mixture of bravery and meanness. No one can deny that
they possess the former quality, but they are courageous without one
spark of heroism. After fighting all day, they will rifle the corpses of
their fallen foes of every article they can lay their hands on, and will
return to their camp equally happy because they have won a great victory
for Fatherland, and stolen a watch from one of the enemies of
Fatherland. They have got now into such a habit of appropriating other
people's property, that I confess I tremble when one of them fixes his
cold glassy eye upon me. I see that he is meditating some new
philosophical doctrine, which, some way or other, will transfer what is
in my pocket into his. His mind, however, fortunately, works but slowly,
and I am far away from him before he has elaborated to his own
satisfaction a system of confiscation applicable to my watch or
purse.[2]
PARIS, _February 7th_.
Rosinante has brought me back with much wheezing from Versailles to
Paris; and with me he brought General Duff, U.S.A., and a leg of mutton.
At the gate of Versailles we were stopped by the sentinels, who told us
that no meat could be allowed to leave the town. I protested; but in
vain. Mild blue-eyed Teutons with porcelain pipes in their mouths bore
off my mutton. The General protested too, but the protest of the citizen
of the Free Republic fared like mine. I followed my mutton into the
guard-house, where I found a youthful officer, who looked so pleasant
that I determined to appeal to the heart which beat beneath his uniform.
I attacked the heart on its weak side. I explained to him that it was
the fate of all to love. The warrior assented, and heaved a great sigh
to his absent Gretchen. I pursued my advantage, and passed from
generalities to particulars. "My lady love," I said, "is in Paris. Long
have I sighed in vain. I am taking her now a leg of mutton. On this leg
hang all my hopes of bliss. If I present myself to her with this token
of my affection, she may yield to my suit. Oh, full-of-feeling,
loved-of-beauteous-women, German warrior, can you refuse me?" He "gazed
on the joint that caused his shame; gazed and looked, then looked
again." The battle was won; the vanquished victor stalked forth,
forgetting the soldier in the man, and gave order that the General, the
Englishman, and the leg of mutton should be allowed to go forth in
peace. Rosinante toiled along towards Paris; we passed through St.
Cloud, now a heap of ruins, and we arrived at the Bridge of Neuilly.
Here our passes were examined by a German official, who was explaining
every moment to a French crowd in his native language that they could
not be allowed to pass into Paris without permits. The crowd was mainly
made up of women, who were carrying in bags, pocket handkerchiefs, and
baskets of loaves, eggs, and butter to their beleaguered friends. "Is it
not too bad of him that he will pretend not to understand French?" said
an old lady to me. "He looks like a fiend," said another lady, looking
up at the good-natured face of the stolid military gaoler. The contrast
between the shrieking, gesticulating, excited French, and the calm,
cool, indifferent air of the German, was a curious one. It was typical
of that between the two races. Having reached Paris, I consigned poor
old long Rosinante to his fate--the knackers, and, with my leg of mutton
under my arm, walked down the Boulevard. I was mobbed, positively
mobbed. "Sir," said one man, "allow me to smell it." With my usual
generosity I did so. How I reached my hotel with my precious burthen in
safety is a perfect mystery. N.B. The mutton was for a friend of mine;
Gretchen was a pious fraud; all being fair in love and war.
In the quarter in which I live I find that the rations have neither been
increased nor diminished. They still remain at 3-5ths lb. of bread, and
1-25th lb. of meat per diem. In some other districts a little beef has
been distributed. Some flour has come in from Orleans, and it is
expected that in the course of a few days the bread will cease to be
made of the peas, potatoes, and oats which we now eat. In the
restaurants, beef--real beef--is to be obtained for little more than
three times its normal price. Fish, too, in considerable quantities has
been introduced by some enterprising speculator. The two delegates,
also, of the Lord Mayor's Relief Fund have arrived with provisions, &c.
This evening they are to telegraph to London for more. These gentlemen
are somewhat at sea with respect to what is wanted, and by what means it
is to be distributed. One of them did me the honour to consult me this
afternoon on these two points. With respect to the first, I recommended
him to take the advice of Mr. Herbert--to whose energy it is due that
during the siege above one thousand English have not been starved--and
of the Archbishop of Paris, who is a man of sterling benevolence, with a
minimum of sectarianism. With respect to the latter, I recommended
Liebig, milk, and bacon. The great point appears to me to be that the
relief should be bestowed on the right persons. The women and children
have been the greatest sufferers of late. The mortality is still very
great among them; not because they are absolutely without food, for the
rations are distributed to all; but because they are in want of
something more strengthening than the rations. Coal is wanted here as
much as food. The poorer classes are without the means of cooking
whatever meat they may obtain, and it is almost impossible for them, on
account of the same reason, to make soup. If I might venture a
suggestion to the charitable in England, it would be to send over a
supply of fuel.
I had some conversation with a gentleman connected with the Government
this evening respecting the political situation. He tells me that Arago,
Pelletan, and Garnier Pagès were delighted to leave Paris, and that it
was only the absolute necessity of their being as soon as possible at
Bordeaux, that induced General Vinoy to consent to their departure. As
for Gambetta, he says, it is not probable that he has now many adherents
in the provinces; and it is certain that he has very few here. When a
patient is given up by the faculty a quack is called in; if the quack
effects a cure he is lauded to the skies; if he fails, he is regarded as
a _charlatan_, and this is now the case with M. Gambetta. My informant
is of opinion that a large number of Ultra-Radicals will be elected in
Paris; this will be because the Moderates are split up into small
cliques, and each clique insists upon its own candidates being
supported, whereas the _Internationale_ commands 60,000 votes, which
will all be cast for the list adopted by the heads of that society, and
because the National Guard are averse to all real work, and hope that
the Ultras will force the National Assembly to continue to pay them the
1f. 50c. which they now receive, for an indefinite period. Gambetta, in
his desire to exclude from political power a numerous category of his
fellow-citizens, has many imitators here. Some of the journals insist
that not only the Bonapartists, but also the Legitimists and the
Orleanists should be disfranchised. They consider that as a preliminary
step to electing a National Assembly to decide whether a Republic is
henceforward to be the form of government of the country, it is
desirable, as well as just, to oblige all candidates to swear that it
shall be. The fact is, the French, no matter what their opinions may be,
seem to have no idea of political questions being decided by a majority;
or of a minority submitting to the fiat of this majority. Each citizen
belongs to a party; to the creed of this party, either through
conviction or personal motives, he adheres, and regards every one who
ventures to entertain other views as a scoundrel, an idiot, or a
traitor. I confess that I have always regarded a Republican form of
government as the best, wherever it is possible. But in France it is not
possible. The people are not sufficiently educated, and have not
sufficient common sense for it. Were I a Frenchman a Republic would be
my dream of the future; for the present I should be in favour of a
Constitutional Monarchy. A Republic would soon result in anarchy or in
despotism; and without any great love for Kings of any kind, I prefer a
Constitutional Monarch to either Anarchy or a Cæsar. One must take a
practical view of things in this world, and not sacrifice what is good
by a vain attempt to attain at once what is better.
Will the Prussians enter Paris? is the question which I have been asked
by every Frenchman to whom I have mentioned that I have been at
Versailles. This question overshadows every other; and I am fully
convinced that this vain, silly population would rather that King
William should double the indemnity which he demands from France than
march with his troops down the Rue Rivoli. The fact that they have been
conquered is not so bitter to the Parisians as the idea of that fact
being brought home to them by the presence of their conquerors even for
half-an-hour within the walls of the sacred city. I have no very great
sympathy with the desire of the Prussians to march through Paris; and I
have no great sympathy with the horror which is felt by the Parisians at
their intention to do so. The Prussian flag waves over the forts, and
consequently to all intents and purposes Paris has capitulated. A
triumphal march along the main streets will not mend matters, nor mar
matters. "Attila, without, stands before vanquished Paris, as the
Cimbrian slave did before Marius. The sword drops from his hand; awed by
the majesty of the past, he flees and dares not strike," is the way in
which a newspaper I have just bought deals with the question. It is
precisely this sort of nonsense which makes the Prussians determined
that the Parisians shall drink the cup of humiliation to its last dregs.
I was told at Versailles that St. Cloud had been set on fire on the
morning after the last sortie, and that although many houses were still
burning when the armistice was signed, none had subsequently been either
pillaged or burnt. This act of vandalism has greatly incensed the
French, and I understand that the King of Prussia himself regrets it,
and throws the blame of it on one of his generals, who acted without
orders. A lady who was to-day at St. Cloud tells me that she found
Germans eating in every room of her house. Both officers and men were
very civil to her. They told her that she might take away anything that
belonged to her, and helped to carry to her carriage some valuable
china; which, by good luck, had not been smashed. With respect to the
charge of looting private property, which is brought by the French
against their invaders, no unprejudiced person can, after looking into
the evidence, doubt that whilst in the German Army there are many
officers, and even privates, who have done their best to prevent
pillage, many articles of value have disappeared from houses which have
been occupied by the German troops, and much wanton damage has been
committed in them. I assert the fact, without raising the question
whether or not these are the necessary consequences of war. It is absurd
for the Germans to pretend that the French Francs-tireurs are the
culprits and not they. Francs-tireurs were never in the Boulevard de la
Reine at Versailles, and yet the houses in this street have been gutted
of everything available.
I venture to repeat a question which I have already frequently
asked--Where is the gentleman who enjoys an annual salary as British
Consul at Paris? Why was he absent during the siege? Why is he absent
now? Why is a banker, who has other matters to attend to, discharging
his duties? I am a taxpayer and an elector; if "my member" does not
obtain a reply to these queries from the official representative of the
Foreign Office in the House of Commons, I give him fair notice that he
will shake me by the hand, ask after my health, and affect a deep
interest in my reply, in vain at the next general election; he will not
have my vote.
The _Electeur Libre_, the journal of M. Picard, has put forth a species
of political programme, or rather a political defence of the wing of the
Government of National Defence to which that gentleman belongs. For a
French politician to praise himself in his own organ, and to say under
the editorial "we" that he intends to vote for himself, and that he has
the greatest confidence in his own wisdom, is regarded here as nothing
but natural.
PARIS, _February 9th._
"We have been conquered in the field, but we have gained a moral
victory." What this phrase means I have not the remotest idea; but as it
consoles those who utter it, they are quite right to do so. For the last
two days long lines of cannon have issued from the city gates, and have
been, without noise or parade, handed over to the Prussians at Issy and
Sevran. Few are aware of what has taken place, or know that their
surrender had been agreed to by M. Jules Favre. Representations having
been made to Count Bismarck that 10,000 armed soldiers were insufficient
for the maintenance of the peace of the capital, by an additional secret
clause added to the armistice the number has been increased to 25,000.
The greatest ill-feeling exists between the Army and the National Guards
in the most populous quarters. A general quartered in one of the outer
faubourgs went yesterday to General Vinoy, and told him that if he and
his men were to be subjected to insults whenever they showed themselves
in the streets, he could not continue to be responsible for either his
or their conduct. Most persons of sense appear to consider that the
armistice was an error, and that the wiser policy would have been to
have surrendered without conditions. M. Jules Favre is blamed for not
having profited by the occasion, to disarm the National Guards. Many of
their battalions, as long as they have arms, and receive pay for doing
nothing, will be a standing danger to order. The sailors have been paid
off; and the fears that were entertained of their getting drunk and
uproarious have not been confirmed. They are peaceably and sentimentally
spending their money with the "black-eyed Susans" of their affections.
The principal journalists are formally agitating the plan of a combined
movement to urge the population to protest against the Prussian
triumphal march through the city, by absence from the streets through
which the invading army is to defile. Several are, however, opposed to
any action, as they fear that their advice will not be followed.
Curiosity is one of the strongest passions of the Parisians, and it will
be almost impossible for them to keep away from the "sight." Even in
Coventry one Peeping Tom was found, and here there are many Peeping
Toms. Mr. Moore and Colonel Stuart Wortley, the delegates of the London
Relief Fund, have handed over 5,000l. of provisions to the Mayors to be
distributed. They could scarcely have found worse agents. The Mayors
have proved themselves thoroughly inefficient administrators, and most
of them are noisy, unpractical humbugs. Colonel Stuart Wortley and Mr.
Moore are very anxious to find means to approach what are called here
_les pauvres honteux_; that is to say, persons who are in want of
assistance, but who are ashamed to ask for it. From what they told me
yesterday evening, they are going to obtain two or three names of
well-known charitable persons in each arrondissement, and ask them to
make the distribution of the rest of their provisions in store here, and
of those which are expected shortly to arrive. Many families from the
villages in the neighbourhood of Paris have been driven within its walls
by the invaders, and are utterly destitute. In the opinion of these
gentlemen they are fitting objects for charity. The fact is, the
difficulty is not so much to find people in want of relief, but to find
relief for the thousands who require it. Ten, twenty, or thirty thousand
pounds are a mere drop in the ocean, so wide spread is the distress. "I
have committed many sins," said a Bishop of the Church of England, "but
when I appear before my Maker, and say that I never gave to one single
beggar in the streets they will be forgiven." There are many persons in
England who, like this prelate, are afraid to give to beggars, lest
their charity should be ill applied. No money, no food, no clothes, and
no fuel, if distributed with ordinary discretion, can be misapplied at
present in Paris. The French complain that all they ever get from
England is good advice and sterile sympathy. Now is the moment for us to
prove to them that, if we were not prepared to go to war in order to
protect them from the consequences of their own folly, we pity them in
their distress; and that our pity means something more than words and
phrases which feed no one, clothe no one, and warm no one.
The Prussian authorities appear to be deliberately setting to work to
render the armistice as unpleasant to the Parisians as possible, in
order to force them to consent to no matter what terms of peace in order
to get rid of them; and I must congratulate them upon the success of
their efforts. They refuse now to accept passes signed by the Prefect of
the Police, and only recognise those bearing the name of General Valdan,
the chief of the Staff. To-morrow very likely they will require some
fresh signature. Whenever a French railroad company advertises the
departure of a train at a particular hour, comes an order from the
Prussians to alter that hour. Every Frenchman who quits Paris is
subjected to a hundred small, teasing vexations from these military
bureaucrats, and made to feel at every step he takes that he is a
prisoner on leave of absence, and only breathes the air of his native
land by the goodwill of his conquerors. The English public must not
forget that direct postal communications between Paris and foreign
countries are not re-established. Letters from and to England must be
addressed to some agent at Versailles or elsewhere, and from thence
re-addressed to Paris. As in a day or two trains will run pretty
regularly between Paris and London, had our diplomatic wiseacres been
worth in pence what they cost us in pounds, by this time they would have
made some arrangement to ensure a daily mailbag to England leaving
Paris.
News was received yesterday that Gambetta had resigned, and it has been
published this morning in the _Journal Officiel_. A witness of the
Council at which it was agreed to send the three old women of the
Government to Bordeaux to replace him, tells me that everybody kissed
and hugged everybody for half an hour. The old women were ordered to
arrest Gambetta if he attempted resistance. It was much like telling a
street-sweeper to arrest a stalwart Guardsman. "Do not be rash," cried
Trochu. "We will not," replied the old women; "we will remain in one of
the suburbs of Bordeaux, until we learn that we can enter it with
safety." This reply removed from the minds of their friends any fear
that they would incur unnecessary risks in carrying out their mission.
Provisions are arriving pretty freely. All fear of absolute famine has
disappeared. To-day the bread is far better than any we have had of
late. Some sheep and oxen were seen yesterday in the streets.
The walls are covered with the professions of faith of citizens who
aspire to the honour of a seat in the National Assembly. We have the
candidate averse to public affairs, but yielding to the request of a
large number of supporters; the candidate who feels within himself the
power to save the country, and comes forward to do so; the candidate who
is young and vigorous, although as yet untried; the candidate who is
old and wise, but still vigorous; the man of business candidate; the man
of leisure candidate, who will devote his days and nights to the service
of the country; then there is the military candidate, whose name, he
modestly flatters himself, has been heard above the din of battle, and
typifies armed France. I recommend to would-be M.P.'s at home, the plan
of M. Maronini. He has as yet done nothing to entitle him to the
suffrages of the electors beyond making printing presses, which are
excellent and very cheap; so he heads his posters with a likeness of
himself. Why an elector should vote for a man because he has an ugly
face, I am not aware; but the Citizen Maronini seems to be under the
impression that, from a fellow-feeling at least, all ugly men will do
so; and perhaps he is right. Another candidate commences his address:
"_Citoyens, je suis le representant du_ go ahead." In the clubs last
night everyone was talking, and no one was listening. Even the Citizen
Sans, with his eternal scarlet shawl girt round his waist, could not
obtain a hearing. The Citizen Beaurepaire in vain shouted that, if
elected, he would rather hew off his own arm than sign away Alsace and
Lorraine. This noble figure of rhetoric, which has never been uttered by
a club orator during the siege without eliciting shouts of applause, was
received with jeers. The absurdity of the proceedings at this electoral
gathering is, that a candidate considers himself insulted if any elector
ventures to ask him a question. The president, too, loses his temper
half a dozen times every hour, and shakes his fist, screams and jabbers,
like an irate chimpanzee, at the audience. If the preliminary electoral
meetings are ridiculous, the system of voting, on the other hand, is
perfect in comparison with ours. Paris to-day in the midst of a general
election is by far more orderly than any English rotten village on the
polling-day. Three days ago each elector received at his own house a
card, telling him where he was to vote. Those who were entitled to the
suffrage, and by accident did not get one of these cards, went the next
day to their respective mairies to obtain one. I have just come from one
of the rooms in which the votes are taken. I say rooms; for the
Parisians do not follow our silly example, and build up sheds at the
cost of the candidate. At one end of this room was a long table. A box
was in the middle of it, and behind the box sat an employé. To his right
sat another. The elector went up to this latter, gave in his electoral
card, and wrote his name; he then handed to the central employé his list
of names, folded up. This the employé put into the box. About thirty
National Guards were on duty in or about the room. The box will remain
on the table until to-night, and the National Guards during this time
will not lose sight of it; they will then carry it to the Hôtel de
Ville, where it, and all other voting boxes, will be publicly opened,
the votes counted up, and the result, as soon as it is ascertained,
announced. How very un-English, some Briton will observe. I can only say
that I regret it is un-English. Our elections are a disgrace to our
civilisation, and to that common-sense of which we are for ever boasting
that we possess so large a share. Last year I was in New York during a
general election; this year I am in Paris during one; and both New York
and Paris are far ahead of us in their mode of registering the votes of
electors.
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 2: Several complaints having been received from Germans
respecting these charges against the German armies, the following
extract from an Article--quoted by the _Pall Mall Gazette_--in his new
paper _Im Neuen Reich_, by the well-known German author, Herr Gustav
Freytag, will prove that they are not unfounded:--"Officers and
soldiers," he says, "have been living for months under the bronze
clocks, marble tables, damask hangings, artistic furniture,
oil-paintings, and costly engravings of Parisian industry. The
musketeers of Posen and Silesia broke up the velvet sofas to make soft
beds, destroyed the richly inlaid tables, and took the books out of the
book-cases for fuel in the cold winter evenings.... It was lamentable to
see the beautiful picture of a celebrated painter smeared over by our
soldiers with coal dust, a Hebe with her arms knocked off, a priceless
Buddhist manuscript lying torn in the chimney grate.... Then people
began to think it would be a good thing to obtain such beautiful and
tasteful articles for one's friends. A system of 'salvage' was thus
introduced, which it is said even eminent and distinguished men in the
army winked at. Soldiers bargained for them with the Jews and hucksters
who swarm at Versailles; officers thought of the adornment of their own
houses; and such things as could be easily packed, such as engravings
and oil-paintings, were in danger of being cut out of their frames and
rolled up for home consumption." Herr Freytag then points out that these
articles are private property, and that the officers and soldiers had no
right to appropriate them to their own use. "We are proud and happy," he
concludes, addressing them, "at your warlike deeds; behave worthily and
honourably also as men. Come back to us from this terrible war with pure
consciences and clean hands."]
CHAPTER XX.
CALAIS, _February 10th._
At 4 o'clock p.m. on Wednesday I took my departure from Paris, leaving,
much with the feelings of Daniel when he emerged from the lions' den,
its inhabitants wending their way to the electoral "urns;" the many
revolving in their minds how France and Paris were to manage to pay the
little bill which their creditor outside is making up against them; the
few--the very few--still determined to die rather than yield, sitting in
the cafés on the boulevard, which is to be, I presume, their "last
ditch." Many correspondents, "special," "our own," and "occasional," had
arrived, and were girding up their loins for the benefit of the British
public. Baron Rothschild had been kind enough to give me a pass which
enabled me to take the Amiens train at the goods station within the
walls of the city, instead of driving, as those less fortunate were
obliged to do, to Gonesse. My pass had been signed by the proper
authorities, and the proper authorities, for reasons best known to
themselves--I presume because they had elections on the brain--had
dubbed me "Member of the House of Commons, rendering himself to England
to assist at the conferences of the Parliament." I have serious thoughts
of tendering this document to the doorkeeper of the august sanctuary of
the collective wisdom of my country, to discover whether he will
recognise its validity.
The train was drawn up before a shed in the midst of an ocean of mud. It
consisted of one passenger carriage, and of about half a mile of empty
bullock vans. The former was already filled; so, as a bullock, I
embarked--I may add, as an ill-used bullock; for I had no straw to sit
on. At St. Denis, a Prussian official inspected our passes, and at
Gonesse about 200 passengers struggled into the bullock vans. We reached
Creil, a distance of thirty miles, at 11.30. I and my fellow-bullocks
here made a rush at the buffet. But it was closed. So we had to return
to our vans, very hungry, very thirsty, very sulky, and very wet; for it
was raining hard. In this pleasant condition we remained until 9 o'clock
on Thursday; occasionally slowly progressing for a few miles; then
making a halt of an hour or two. Why? No one--not even the guard--could
tell. All he knew was, that the Prussians had hung out a signal ordering
us, their slaves, to halt, and therefore halt we must. We did the forty
miles between Creil and Breteuil in ten hours. There, in a small inn, we
found some eggs and bread, which we devoured like a flight of famished
locusts. It was very cold, and several of us sought shelter in a room at
the station, where there was a fire. In the middle of this room there
were two chairs, on one of them sat a Prussian soldier, on the other
reposed his legs. He was a big red-haired fellow, and evidently in some
corner of his Fatherland passed as a man of wit and humour. He was good
enough to explain to us, with a pleasant smile, that in his eyes we were
a very contemptible sort of people, and that if we did not consent to
all the terms of peace which were proposed by "the Bismarck," he and his
fellow warriors would burn our houses over our heads, and in many other
ways make things generally uncomfortable to us. "Ah! speak to me of
Manteuffel," he occasionally said: and as no one did speak to him of
Manteuffel, he did so himself, and narrated to us many tales of the
wondrous skill and intelligence of that eminent general. As he called,
after the manner of his nation, a _batterie_ a _paderie_, and otherwise
Germanized the French language, much of his interesting conversation was
unintelligible.
We had been at Breteuil about an hour when a Prussian train came puffing
up. I managed to induce an official to allow me to get into the luggage
van; and thus, having started from Paris as a bullock, I reached Amiens
at twelve o'clock as a carpet-bag. The Amiens station, a very large one
covered in with glass, was crowded with Prussian soldiers; and for one
hour I stood there the witness of and sufferer from unmitigated
ruffianism. The French were knocked about, and pushed about. Never were
negro slaves treated with more contempt and brutality than they were by
their conquerors. I could not stand on any spot for two minutes without
being gruffly ordered to stand on another by some officer. Twice two
soldiers raised their muskets with a general notion of staving in my
skull "pour passer le temps." Frenchmen, whatever may be their faults,
are always extremely courteous in all their relations with each other,
and with strangers. In their wildest moments of excitement they are
civil. They may poison you, or run a hook through you; but they will do
it, as Isaac Walton did with the worm, "as though they loved" you. They
were perfectly cowed with the rough bullying of their masters. It is
most astonishing--considering how good-natured Germans are when at home,
that they should make themselves so offensive in France, even during a
truce. At one o'clock I left this orgie of German terrorism in a train,
and from thence to Calais all was straight sailing. At Abbeville we
passed from the Prussian into the French lines. Calais we reached at
seven p.m., and right glad was I to eat a Calais supper and to sleep in
a Calais bed.
THE END.
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
_Now published_,
NEW COPYRIGHT EDITIONS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS AND POEMS.
_Shakespeare's Plays and Poems._
EDITED BY
CHARLES AND MARY COWDEN CLARKE
In Four Volumes, Demy Octavo, price £1 11s. 6d.
ALSO,
_The Same Text._
In One Volume, Royal Octavo, price 12s.
LONDON: BICKERS & SON, 1 LEICESTER SQUARE.
The PUBLISHERS have much pleasure in announcing the publication of the
above Editions of Shakespeare's Plays and Poems. Mrs Cowden Clarke's
Edition of Shakespeare, recently published by Messrs Appleton & Co. of
New York, has been made the basis of Mr and Mrs Cowden Clarke's joint
labours. The original Edition, produced after long and careful
preparation, has met with great and deserved success in America. As the
present issue, in addition to the careful revision of Mrs Cowden Clarke,
has had the benefit of the labours of Mr Charles Cowden Clarke, one of
the most zealous and successful illustrators of the great Dramatist now
living, they believe they are presenting Editions of Shakespeare's Works
distinguished by an amount of mature judgment in collating the earlier
copies which will vindicate their claim to the rank of STANDARD
EDITIONS.
In projecting Editions of Shakespeare without note or comment, the
PUBLISHERS believe that they will be acceptable to the general public
who desire to become acquainted with the writings of the author, free
from the distraction which a multiplicity of notes is so apt to produce,
and to those also who prefer being their own interpreters of the meaning
of the passages which appear obscure.
As the value of these Editions will lie in the discrimination exercised
in the selection of the text by the Editors, it will be conceded that
the life-long devotion of Mr and Mrs Cowden Clarke to the study of
Shakespeare, their thorough knowledge of the various readings, and their
ability to adopt in all cases the reading which appears to be in keeping
with the style and general treatment of his subject by the author, form
a guarantee that the Editions will present, as nearly as possible, a
pure text.
Both Editions will include reprints from the American Edition, of Mrs
Cowden Clarke's valuable Introductory Essay, Glossary, &c., carefully
revised and amplified. The Four-volume Edition will be printed from a
new fount of Longprimer Ancient type, on fine toned paper, and will form
four compact and handsome volumes. The One-volume edition will be
printed from a new fount of Brevier Ancient type, on toned paper, and
will be the most compact and readable edition of Shakespeare ever issued
in a single volume. The PUBLISHERS are confident that no Copyright
Editions of Shakespeare, of corresponding value and importance, have
ever been offered to the public at such moderate prices.
LONDON, _November_ 1863.
Complete in Eight Vols., Demy Octavo, published at £4, 4s.,
_The Poetical and Prose Works of John Milton._
CAREFULLY REPRINTED FROM THE AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL COPIES.
Including a Facsimile of the Agreement for the Sale of PARADISE LOST to
SAMUEL SYMMONS for the sum of £20; together with a Pedigree of the
Family of Milton; and a complete History of the Poet's Life by the Rev.
JOHN MITFORD.
The Poet's own peculiar orthography and punctuation have been carefully
preserved, and every care has been exercised to render this the most
attractive, as it is the most complete Edition extant. It is printed in
a fine large ancient type, and upon thick toned paper; and whether
judged as a specimen of printing and typography, or as an evidence of
the ability and perseverance of the Editor, it will be found one of the
most perfect books ever issued to the public.
_Just published, in large 12mo, cloth, uncut edges, price 10s.; in
emblematically gilt cloth and gilt edges, or in morocco, emblematically
tooled, 18s.; and in best plain morocco, 21s.,_
THE
BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER,
COMMONLY CALLED
"Queen Elizabeth's Prayer Book."
[Illustration:
The BOOK of Common Prayer and Administration of the _SACRAMENTS_ and
other _Rites_ and _Ceremonies_ of the CHURCH according to the use of the
UNITED CHURCH OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND Together with the _Psalter_ or
_Psalms_ of _David_ Pointed as they are to be sung or said in Churches.
LONDON BICKERS AND SON]
With all the latest alterations, and finely executed Woodcut Borders
round every page; exactly copied from "Queen Elizabeth's Prayer Book,"
with Additions, and comprising ALBERT DURER'S "Life of Christ;"
HOLBEIN'S "Dance of Death;" "The Cardinal Virtues;" and on the back of
the Title, a Portrait of Queen Elizabeth on her knees.
LONDON: BICKERS & SON, LEICESTER SQUARE.
JUST PUBLISHED,
_In small 8vo, extra smooth bevelled cloth, extra gilt, gilt edges,
price 3s. 6d._
WITH A REPRODUCTION OF FORTY-NINE GRAPHIC ILLUSTRATIONS, HEAD AND
TAILPIECES, DRAWN ON WOOD, WHICH APPEARED IN A UNIQUE EDITION OF
BUNYAN'S WORKS, PUBLISHED IN 1767.
[Illustration: Divine Emblems, OR, TEMPORAL THINGS SPIRITUALISED, &c.
WITH PREFACE BY ALEXANDER SMITH, AUTHOR OF "DREAMTHORP," ETC.
LONDON: BICKERS & SON
_JOHN ADAM_]
LONDON: BICKERS & SON, 1 LEICESTER SQUARE.