THE DISASTER
When the war broke out, I had just obtained a long leave which I
intended to spend in Russia, and immediately after my return to Paris
began to make preparations for my departure. The situation, however, was
getting so very interesting that I kept putting off my vacation from day
to day, especially after the first reverses had proved to every
impartial observer that the days of the Bonaparte dynasty were numbered.
No one, however, imagined that the campaign would so very quickly decide
the momentous questions that were hanging in the balance. The government
was doing its very best to prevent news from leaking out and to hide
from Paris, as well as from the country in general, the extent of the
first reverses that the French army had encountered. This was a great
mistake in more senses than one, because it allowed the wildest rumours
to get about, which would not have been possible had the truth been made
known at once. Had she only shown frankness and decision, the Regent
might still have succeeded in rallying around her a considerable
proportion of the people desirous of maintaining public order. To secure
that, her best course would have been to appeal publicly to the whole
nation; to point out that the refusal of the Chambers to grant the
necessary military credits the government had asked for a year before
had contributed to the disaster that had overtaken France; and then to
declare that she was going to do her best to negotiate an honourable
peace. Above all things she should never have convoked the Chambers, the
more so that constitutionally she had no real right to do so. The
Emperor himself pointed this out later on, in a memorandum which he
wrote for one of his great friends, Le Comte de la Chapelle, and he very
justly remarked that by doing it a pretext was given for revolution to
break out. But the impulsive Empress only thought that the return of
Napoleon, vanquished and defeated in his capital, would expose him to
insult, and endanger the dynasty; therefore, she urged him to keep away.
Émile Ollivier, who had judged differently, entreated her to insist on
Napoleon’s return to Paris, but Eugénie, instead of listening to his
advice, did her best to thwart it, under the mistaken idea that with
another Cabinet she had more chances to meet the difficulties of the
situation. From some strange reasoning she interfered with MacMahon’s
plan to draw his army back towards Paris in order to defend the capital,
and gave him peremptory command to join Marshal Bazaine’s army. Stranger
still, MacMahon, who, being responsible for his troops, should not have
allowed politics to interfere with his plan of campaign, acceded to her
request, and marched to his destruction in the direction of Sedan.
That initial mistake of the Regent was the principal cause of the
revolution which followed upon the surrender of the French army to the
Prussians. I do not mean to say that this revolution might have been
averted in the long run, but certainly it might have been delayed, and
some attempts might have been made to save the dynasty. Unfortunately
the Empress thought she was acting very cleverly by seeming to give no
thought to that dynasty, and affecting indifference as to its fate. She
allowed the romantic side of her character to take the upper hand even
in that supreme disaster of her life, and refused to give the necessary
orders that might, perhaps, have averted a catastrophe not only where
the Imperial regime was concerned, but also to the country. She refused
to defend the Tuileries; she refused to defend the cause of order which
she represented; she refused to defend her throne and that of her son;
she refused to act energetically, in order to subdue the insurrection
that was already making itself heard under her windows; she refused to
meet the mob that was invading the palace; and ultimately she fled.
It has been said that she was betrayed by those upon whose devotion she
had the right to count. It is not to be contested that the conduct of
General Trochu was cowardly, but the misfortune of Eugénie was that she
had never succeeded in inspiring any other feeling than admiration for
her beauty.
It is extraordinary, when one remembers all that happened at that time,
to realise how each and all lost their heads. There was still a
government in Paris on the 4th of September, there was an army, a
responsible ministry that might have appealed to it, and yet no one
seemed to have thought it possible to resist the demands of the mob--and
such a mob, too. I think I may affirm that none were more surprised at
the easy way the Empire was overturned than the members of the
government that succeeded to the administration of the country. As a
proof of this, I may mention a remark made to me many years later by
Gambetta in the course of a conversation which we had on the subject: “I
did not know when I left the Hotel de Ville after the proclamation of
the new government, whether I should not find the police waiting to
arrest me when I reached my home,” was what he said.
Had the Empress personally gone to the Corps Législatif and given orders
to sweep away the mob about to invade it, and to arrest Trochu, it is
probable that the Parisians, cowed by her personal courage, would have
acclaimed her, and cried out: “Vive l’Impératrice!” It is certain that
no one would have harmed her, but Eugénie lost her presence of mind upon
finding herself so utterly abandoned, and fled from the Tuileries,
forgetting everything in the disorder of that moment.
Vague news concerning the disaster of Sedan had reached Paris in the
course of the evening of the 2nd of September, rumours with no official
authority to explain them, but which, nevertheless, circulated
everywhere. Later on the Empress was reproached for not acting at once
upon them by rallying around her the few partisans that were still left
to the Empire. But she was not to blame for this apparent inactivity,
because it was only the next day that she received the telegram from the
Emperor confirming the dreadful news.
Among the diplomatic corps it had been known earlier, and commented upon
as it deserved. In the late afternoon of the 3rd of September, I went
out, and directed my steps towards the Tuileries. The palace seemed
quite peaceful. The usual sentinels that were guarding it were all at
their posts, and a crowd on the Place de la Concorde was neither
numerous nor hostile, certainly nothing that pointed to insurrection.
Among the curious people that were standing in front of the palace I
could hear remarks and comments on the catastrophe of the day before,
but what struck me was that these remarks were not hostile to the
Empire; on the contrary, words of regret were continually expressed, and
many sympathised with the Emperor, and especially the Prince Imperial.
After having waited for some time I turned my steps towards the Cercle
de la Rue Royale, where, meeting some friends, I told them that I was
surprised to find the capital so quiet, and that I thought that the
Empress would be well advised if she took advantage of this sympathetic
attitude of the public, to attempt to negotiate a peace. Every
well-wisher of France felt that peace was indispensable in order to
avoid worse calamities. I was very much surprised when a man whom I knew
to be well informed as a rule, replied that very probably the next day
would see a proposition promulgated to depose the Emperor. He added the
remarkable news--which surely was absurd--that this would be done at the
secret instigation of the Regent, who believed the Prince Imperial’s
only chance of ascending the throne consisted in the removal of his
father from the political scene.
I could not bring myself to believe such an unfair canard. Whatever has
been said to the contrary since, Napoleon was always popular with a
large section of people; the Parisian workmen especially liked him, and
felt grateful for the care with which he had seen to their welfare. It
is true there were some who screamed that he was responsible for the
military disasters which had overtaken the country, but these belonged
to that section of unruly spirits that take every possible opportunity
to attack every government. It must not be forgotten that in spite of
the _Lanterne_ and other revolutionary organs of the same kind, the
influence wielded by the press had not reached the power it now
possesses; after eighteen years of Imperialistic rule, the country was
disciplined and trained to obedience, and it is most probable that had
the Emperor personally been able to make an appeal to it, it would have
responded heartily. If the Regent could have obtained the liberation of
her husband, and so secured his help to conclude peace with Prussia,
such an ending to the campaign might have been possible at that
particular moment--it was certainly not the time to talk of the
sovereignty of the people and of bowing to the will of the country.
The evening passed off quietly. I walked along the boulevards after
eleven o’clock; the night was beautiful, and the streets as animated as
usual. I could not discern much consternation among the crowds, everyone
seemed only to be more subdued than had been the case lately. And when I
left my house on the morning of the 4th there were certainly no signs
whatever of a revolution in the streets, nor any atmosphere of impending
disaster.
I was living in the Avenue de l’Impératrice, now Avenue du Bois de
Boulogne, and as I reached the Champs Elysées, I found that everything
was as quiet as usual. The fountains were playing in front of the Palais
de l’Industrie, children were romping in the walks, and there was no
indication that anything unusual was going on. I went to breakfast at
the Cercle, and it was only after leaving that I was accosted by a
friend on the Place de la Concorde who told me that the Corps Législatif
had been invaded by the mob. Curious as I am by nature, I turned my
steps towards the Palais Bourbon, and found really an enormous crowd
assembled there; but even then, there was nothing hostile in its
attitude, it was rather good-humoured than anything else. Some leaders,
however, were shouting: “La déchéance! La déchéance,” at the top of
their voices. No one seemed to offer any resistance, and the attitude of
the deputies, when I managed to enter the gallery reserved to the Corps
Diplomatique in order to obtain a view of what was going on inside the
House, was rather one of surprise than anything else. Amidst the hum of
voices could be heard the deep tones of M. Jules Ferry urging those
present to go to the Hotel de Ville and to proclaim the Republic, but
with the exception of Jules Favre, and of M. de Kératry, no one seemed
to share his opinion. I am convinced that if, at that moment, the Regent
had occupied the Palais Bourbon with a military force, the Revolution
would never have succeeded, and to this day I fail to understand how it
was that no member of the government had the presence of mind to take
upon himself the responsibility for such a measure, which might have
changed the whole history of France. It is quite certain that even when
the three leaders of the Revolutionary movement started for the Hotel de
Ville, they did not possess the sympathy of many of their colleagues,
rather, the latter only wanted the support of the government then in
power, to get rid of them. None would have objected to the arrest of
these three men, had there been found but one person strong enough to
put such a measure into execution.
The fact is, the majority of the members of the Corps Législatif seemed
to be quite dazed by what was happening; they did not at all understand
what was going on. I am convinced that they left the hall where the
sitting had taken place, without having realised that it was for the
last time. As soon, however, as they had done so, the mob invaded the
Palais; but the scenes of disorder that are asserted to have followed,
never took place. I remained some time unobserved at my post, and failed
to see the excesses of which some speak as occurring. Of course, shouts
were heard, a boy of about eighteen years old sat down in the
Presidential armchair, and rang the bell with all his might, but this
was done more in childish amusement than anything else. I repeat that
the slightest appearance of a military force would have restored order
at once, and this makes the subsequent events more unpardonable still.
After having spent about an hour watching the scenes that attended the
end of the Legislature which, under Napoleon III., had ruled France for
eighteen years, I left the Palais Bourbon and turned my steps towards
the Tuileries. There the crowd was more hostile, especially the Garde
Nationale. The men had turned their rifles upside down, and some of
them were screaming aloud they would never fire against “la nation.” Now
and then a cry resounded: “La déchéance! La déchéance,” and the accents
of the Marseillaise made themselves heard; but it must be remarked that
no cries of “Vive la République!” were to be noticed, at least I did not
hear any. Another strange feature of this pacific revolution was that
the mutineers were in small bands, which were each followed by a
considerable crowd of onlookers, which probably would have dispersed at
sight of the first company of soldiers. The police had mysteriously
vanished, and the whole aspect of the crowd was good-natured in the
extreme; it was composed of as many women, children and dogs as of
_insurgés_, and seemed more on amusement bent than on anything else.
Even when the gates of the Tuileries were at last forced, and the mob
found itself in the big courtyard, it did not attempt to enter the
interior of the Palace; the people merely walked about the garden and
the inner courtyard that led from the Carrousel to the private gardens.
Had the Empress remained she would not even have noticed the invasion,
and the best proof of what I say here lies in the fact that when the
members of the new government arrived a few hours later in the
Tuileries, they found everything in the same state as usual; nothing had
been disturbed, and even the papers forgotten by the Empress on her
writing table had been left untouched, the servants were all there, but
had only taken care to take off their liveries, with the alacrity which
people of their class always display in turning against their former
masters as soon as misfortune comes in any shape or form.
I was one of the persons who visited the Tuileries on the evening of
that memorable 4th of September, which saw the fall of Napoleon III.’s
dynasty. No one knew at that moment what had happened to the Empress,
nor where she had fled, and rumours were going about in some quarters
that she had tried to join the Emperor, and in others that she had
directed her steps towards Metz with the intention of seeking a refuge
with the army of Bazaine, and establishing there the seat of government.
When I visited the Palace I found that no one there believed she had
gone away for ever; indeed--and this is a detail that I believe has
never been recorded elsewhere--I found one of her maids preparing her
bed just as usual! It was evident the flight had been a hurried one. In
the private rooms, letters never meant to be seen by a stranger’s eye
were scattered about; a gold locket with the portrait of a lovely woman,
the Duchesse d’Albe; another one with that of a baby in long robes, the
first picture of the Prince Imperial; one small golden crucifix; a note
just begun, and addressed no one knows now to whom, but of which the
first words ran thus: “Dans la terrible position où je me trouve, je
ne----” The writing stopped there; evidently she who had started it
had been interrupted by the bearer of some evil message, and there it
lay forgotten, in the midst of the tragedy which had put an end to so
many things and to so many hopes.
The Revolution of the 4th of September was especially remarkable for the
inconsiderable impression it produced in Paris itself. Life went on just
as usual, and save for a few expressions of wonder, no one seemed quite
to realise the importance of it. The capital began to prepare for the
siege, rather with mirth than anything else. To tell the truth no one
seemed to believe in its possibility, and I remember one day, when
visiting a friend who was living on the Quai Malaquais, she pointed to
the Seine flowing softly under her windows, saying at the same time:
“Croyez-vous que les Prussiens arriveront devant mes fenêtres comme les
Normands jadis sont entrés à Paris?” (“Do you think that the Prussians
will arrive in front of my windows as the Normans entered Paris in days
of yore?”)
I reproduce this remark just to show how very little those in the
capital realised either the present or the future at this particular
moment.
Another thing which struck me, was that existence out of doors seemed to
go on much as usual, in spite of the bad news that continued to pour in.
The theatres were full, and people seemed to make the most of the late
summer days that were coming to a close. There was very little
excitement, and the feeling that predominated was one of curiosity. Some
people were departing, but not in large numbers, and it was only towards
the end of September that people began seriously to look at the
situation. By that time I had already left Paris. I went on the 15th of
September, hoping to return in January, not suspecting then that the war
would drag on as it did. I, together with many reasonable people, still
hoped that the new government would see the necessity of ending a
hopeless struggle before it was too late.
All my suppositions turned out to be wrong, however, and it was only
towards the end of February that I was once more to find myself at my
old post, by which time the unfortunate Emperor, languishing in
captivity, seemed to be forgotten, and the Republic had grown to be an
established fact.