THE COMMUNE
As already mentioned, I returned to Versailles during the last days of
January, and, except a short visit to Paris, whither I went to see after
my household gods which had been left to their fate during the siege,
and to inquire after the friends who had remained in the capital during
those anxious months, I stayed there until I left for Bordeaux, where
the National Assembly met in order to ratify the conditions of the peace
that was ultimately to be signed in Frankfurt.
At Bordeaux, to my great surprise, I found that the sole topic of
popular conversation was the declaration of the overthrow of the
Bonaparte dynasty. It seemed as if that was the principal object of the
elections that had taken place, and that it was far more important than
the establishing of an understanding with Germany. The ambitions of the
different parties which divided public opinion in France had been newly
awakened at the unforeseen chances which they suddenly saw looming
before them. Orleanists, Legitimists and Republicans were all eager to
come forward with schemes to take the place of the regime that had so
recently come to a tragic close. I remember that one evening after
dinner I was sitting together with some friends in one of the most
elegant restaurants of Bordeaux, and we listened to a discussion that
was taking place at the next table, and during which the chances of the
different parties that the country had sent to represent it at the
National Assembly were enumerated. What struck me in this conversation
was that France itself was not even mentioned; it seemed as if the
catastrophes that had accompanied the war had swept it from the face of
the earth, and had only left political parties and political
convictions, the leaders of which wanted to find some personal advantage
out of the general disasters. Another thing I also observed that
appeared even then strange to me, and it seems stranger still to-day--it
is that very few people believed the Republic would be able to maintain
itself. On the contrary, they felt convinced that France was standing
upon the threshold of a Monarchist restoration. The Orleans princes had
a considerable number of adherents, and were made much of in certain
quarters, where the courage displayed by the Duc de Chartres and the
Prince de Joinville, who had joined the Republican armies as volunteers,
was extolled at every opportunity; whilst the Legitimists kept hoping
that the Comte de Chambord would seize the opportunity and rally himself
to the tricolour flag, thus to clear his path to the throne of his
ancestors. The Republicans seemed still surprised and dazed by the
unexpected events that had raised them to power, and did not believe
that their party would succeed in maintaining itself at the head of the
country. I believe that if the Orleans princes had been generous enough
to forgo the millions that had been confiscated under Napoleon III., and
which they hastened to claim from the State, they would have been able
easily to provoke a manifestation in their favour that would eventually
have led to a restoration of their dynasty. The government was
thoroughly discredited, in spite of the great influence wielded by Leon
Gambetta, in whom everyone saw the man of the future, and it was
generally felt that it would not be strong enough to compel the country
to accept the heavy peace conditions which Germany was determined to
enforce. Unfortunately, among all the representatives of the nation who
met at Bordeaux, there was not a man daring enough, and brave enough, to
suggest the recall of any of the pretenders. On the other hand, the
Bonapartes had still a considerable number of partisans, who did their
best to paralyse every effort to substitute another dynasty. They hoped
that, in spite of Sedan, France would remember the eighteen years of
prosperity which it had just gone through, and would recall the child
who had been so popular, under the name of “le petit Prince,” until the
catastrophe that had sent him together with his parents in exile on
British shores.
The only one who appreciated rightly the intricacies of the situation
such as it presented itself, and who very cleverly played his cards, in
such a manner that he made himself indispensable, was M. Thiers. He
flattered everybody, promised everything that was required of him, gave
every pledge that he was asked for, and finally secured his own
unanimous election at Bordeaux, by the National Assembly, as chief of
the executive power--one did not dare yet to use the term President of
the French Republic.
The new head of the government very soon made himself the master of the
situation, and his influence became in a short time paramount in
everything. He rapidly brought to a close the peace negotiations with
Germany, and on the 26th of February its preliminaries were signed at
Versailles.
M. Thiers returned to Paris, determined to settle down to the task of
mending the many sores and wounds which the months that had just elapsed
had left behind them. Unhappily he found himself confronted by a
situation far more dangerous than he had expected, owing to the want of
foresight of Jules Favre, who had not had the courage to resist the
foolish demands of the mob, and who, obeying the orders which he had
received from the leaders of the extreme Radical party, had during the
peace negotiations with Prince Bismarck insisted upon the Parisian
population being allowed to retain their rifles, and the National Guards
not being disarmed. In a curious book called “Journal d’un Officier
d’Ordonnance,” an aide-de-camp of General Trochu, Comte d’Hérisson,
relates that Bismarck replied to these demands with the prophetic words:
“I am willing to accede to your request, but believe me you are acting
stupidly.”
Stupidity or not, the National Guard was left in possession of its
weapons, and the first thought of M. Thiers when he reached Paris was to
take them away. But this was not so easy; the National Guard was for the
greater part composed of excitable men who dreamed only of the
sovereignty of the mob. When the hour for laying down their arms
arrived, the Guard refused to do so, and the rebellious feelings which
had been brewing ever since the revolution of the 4th of September broke
out at last into a fury that culminated in the brutal assassination of
two generals, Clément Thomas and Lecomte, who had been sent by the
government to disarm the National Guard.
Much has been written about the day which saw the beginning of the
Commune; I will merely add a few quite personal remarks, which, perhaps,
will make the reader understand more clearly than a long narrative the
state of mind of the Parisian population at that particular moment.
The insurrection of the 18th of March had come quite unawares upon the
authorities, who had neither foreseen it nor attempted to crush it,
which would have been easier than generally believed, but unfortunately
everybody seemed so overpowered by surprise that the simplest measures
of precaution were disregarded, and what was at first but a revolt was
soon transformed into a revolution through the negligence of the very
people who ought to have been guiltless of carelessness at this grave
juncture.
This is not an historical book, consequently I am not going to relate
the details of the flight of M. Thiers to Versailles as soon as he heard
of the revolt of Montmartre, and of the assassination of Clément Thomas
and Lecomte, but I am going to speak of what I myself had occasion to
observe on that memorable 18th of March which marked the beginning of
the Commune.
I had gone out of my house on the morning of that day, quite unconscious
that anything like a revolution, or even a mutiny, was in the air. As
chance would have it, I had the necessity to go to Montmartre to see an
old servant who had been in the army and was severely wounded at that
sortie which Ducrot had attempted just before Paris capitulated. The man
was living not far from the Rue des Rosiers, which was to become so
memorable. When I reached the last-mentioned street I found it invaded
by a most threatening and angry crowd, which kept howling: “Vive la
Commune! Vive la révolution sociale!” Realising that matters were
getting dangerous, I hastily retraced my steps, and hoped that I should
succeed in escaping the attention of the mob, when one of the National
Guard stopped me and asked what I was seeking and why I had come there.
He would not listen to my explanations, and suddenly said: “Toi tu me
fais l’effet d’être un Prussien, montres donc tes papiers” (“You look
like a Prussian, just show me your papers”). When I said I had not got
them about me, he took me by the arm and said: “Toi, mon garçon, tu iras
t’expliquer au poste, allons, marche en avant, ou sinon----” (“Now, my
lad, you will go and explain yourself at the guardhouse, march, or
else----”) He showed me his rifle. Seeing that things were getting
serious, I told my tormentor that if he wanted to be reassured as to my
identity, he had better take me to the mayor of the 12th arrondissement,
M. Clemenceau, who knew me personally and could vouch that I was not a
Prussian spy, which he was taking me for. The man looked at me sharply,
and then said: “Clemenceau, Clemenceau, mais avec celui là on ne sait
jamais ce qu’il va faire, ce n’est pas un pur” (“Clemenceau, Clemenceau,
one never knows what he is up to, he isn’t straight”). I have never
forgotten this remark, which perhaps explains better than anything else
the strange attitude of M. Clemenceau on that day, and the timidity
which he displayed. He has, I know but too well, been bitterly accused
of having witnessed, without trying to save them, the execution of the
two unfortunate generals. In justice to him, I must say, first of all,
that he arrived upon the scene when the executions were already over,
and secondly, that his efforts would have probably been quite useless,
as at that time he was himself held in suspicion by the leaders of the
rebellious movement.
I do not know how my adventure would have ended if by chance one of the
National Guard gathered on the spot had not recognised me as a foreign
diplomat. Formerly he had been a butler at the Russian Embassy, and of
course had seen me there. It is to his intervention that I owed my
liberty, which without him would probably have been difficult to obtain.
He further gave me an escort, to whom he gave orders to take me safely
back to my own house, which, however, they did not do, much to my joy;
they left me in the Rue Lafayette, where probably they thought it was
not safe for them to venture, owing to their torn and dirty clothes and
the loaded rifles which they carried. I made my way on to the
boulevards and met at once some friends, to whom I expressed my
apprehensions that the revolutionary movement which had broken out would
prove much more serious than those of a like nature that had taken place
on the 31st of October and the 22nd of January preceding. We were still
talking when we were joined by General d’Abzac, one of the aides-de-camp
of Marshal MacMahon, of whom I shall have more to say by and by. He told
us that M. Thiers had either left or was leaving for Versailles, where
it was intended to remove the seat of government.
No one understood why this decision had been taken, and especially taken
with such haste. I was afterwards assured, by a person who was in a
position to be well informed, that one of the reasons which had induced
M. Thiers’ precipitancy was that he believed he would with greater
facility be able to disarm the population of Paris if he could excuse
this measure by the dread of a revolution breaking out, if it were not
resorted to at once.
Nevertheless the revolution did break out, and for once the government
found itself utterly unable to crush it. There was no army, and, what
was worse, there were no leaders. The troops taken captive at Sedan and
at Metz were only just returning, and it was to be dreaded that, very
justly infuriated against their former generals and commanders, they
would not feel disposed to listen to them or to follow them, especially
if they were ordered to fight against their fellow men, and this,
furthermore, in presence almost of the enemy who had not yet left
Versailles or its neighbourhood.
I left Paris at the end of March, indeed I was one of the last of the
diplomatic corps to go away. I went to Versailles, as everybody else
did, and happened to be present at the first review held by MacMahon of
the troops that had just returned from their German captivity. This
review had been rather dreaded, because it was uncertain how the
soldiers would receive the unfortunate chief, to whose military mistakes
they owed their misfortunes. Nevertheless the ceremony went off
comparatively well, though the troops preserved an absolute silence and
did not greet their former commander either with enthusiasm or with
disapproval. Afterwards I had occasion to ask an officer how it was that
this review had taken place without the slightest manifestation of any
kind. He replied to me that the soldiers did not want to give way to
their feelings in presence, as it were, of the enemy, and that it had
been very wise to hold this first meeting between them and MacMahon
under circumstances that excluded the possibility of any attempt to make
him aware of the angry feelings which were entertained in regard to him
by the troops whom he had led to defeat and to a shameful surrender.
During the two months which I spent in Versailles, until the end of the
Commune, I found many opportunities of talking with leading French
politicians gathered there, as to the future prospects of the country.
They were unanimous in maintaining that the Republic would not be able
to hold out very long, and that a monarchical restoration was imminent.
Some went even so far as to believe that the Empire still had many
partisans, and that, provided Napoleon III. himself consented to give up
his rights and pretensions to his son, the Bonapartes might still
reascend the throne. They had kept their popularity among the working
classes, who undoubtedly had reaped great advantages from the solicitude
concerning their welfare which the Emperor had exercised on their behalf
ever since he became the Head of the State. Whatever may be said now,
the idea of a Republic becoming permanent was not then congenial to the
mass of the nation, who felt more in unison with a Sovereign, no matter
who that Sovereign might be. The only one who saw clearly the future was
M. Thiers, who, in one of his conversations with an intimate friend,
forgot himself so far as to say that “The Republic has long years of
life before it this time.” He did not add that he thought so because he
was himself at its head.
I do not think that any nightmare can be more awful than the last four
days which preceded the entry of the troops of Versailles into Paris. I
will only mention briefly the assassination of the Archbishop, Monsignor
Darboy, together with other victims, and the desperate resistance which
was offered on the heights of Père-la-Chaise to the army of M. Thiers by
the remaining Communards, who had fled there for safety, the interior of
Paris no longer offering asylum to them. All these things are matters of
history, but, to the stranger who had seen the capital in all its glory
during the last years of the Empire, it seemed that the effect of the
cataclysm which had taken place would never be erased, nor the gay city
ever recover the appearance of peace and prosperity it had enjoyed
before the horrors of the Commune had occurred. There was something too
sinister for words in the sight of the ruins which greeted the troops of
Versailles when at last they occupied the town. The sight of the
destroyed Tuileries and the burned streets, which testified to the
horrors which they had witnessed, appeared as things almost too terrible
to be true.
But, even in those days of terror, the indifference of the French people
to everything that did not personally concern them, could not fail to
strike one. As soon as order was more or less restored, life began as
usual, and the only lamentations which one heard were directed towards
individual misfortunes and losses, rather than towards the misfortunes
of the nation, the prestige which had been destroyed, and the
humiliations that had been endured. Having one day the opportunity of
discussing with a tradesman in my neighbourhood the sad and terrible
events which had occurred, I asked him whether the change of government
had affected commerce and industry, and I was very much surprised to
hear him reply that it had not, because the Germans had spent so much
money that one had not been able to perceive any difference. When I
expressed my wonder that France had accepted their money with the
satisfaction which he seemed to feel, he simply remarked that “C’est
bien égal à qui nous vendons nos pommes de terre; l’important c’est de
les vendre, et nous en avons vendu bien plus pendant l’année qui vient
de s’écouler que nous ne l’avions jamais fait auparavant” (“It is quite
indifferent to whom we sell our potatoes; the only important thing is to
sell them, and we have sold ever so many more during the last year than
we had ever done before”).
In fact, satisfaction at the profits which private people had derived
from German occupation had quite taken the upper hand of the sorrow the
nation felt at the misfortunes that had fallen upon her.
This statement of mine will probably be questioned far and wide, but I
shall always maintain it, in spite of any denials it may meet with.
Patriotism with Frenchmen is mostly a question of words; it rarely goes
beyond phrases, full of enthusiasm but devoid of real meaning. The
country is essentially egoistical, and it is perhaps for that very
reason that it has not only survived its disasters, but has emerged from
them far more prosperous, in the material sense of the word only, than
before the Germans overran the fair land of France.
One of the painful sights, in the days which followed immediately upon
the occupation of Paris by the troops of Versailles, was the ferocious
way in which the members of the Commune were hunted and executed. Awful
scenes, in which private vengeances played a part perhaps even more
important than public reasons, were enacted. The work of repression was
a terrible one in the worst sense of the word, and the wanton cruelty
which accompanied it will ever remain a dark page in the career of M.
Thiers and of the members of his government. It is to be questioned
whether it was indispensable, or even necessary, to exercise such
utterly ruthless cruelty. The only explanation that can be given for
such ferocious tyranny is that people in authority grew frightened and
thought that, in order to hide their fear from the public, extreme
severity was best, as it would at least have the advantage of instilling
dread into the hearts of those who otherwise might have felt tempted to
follow the example of Rossel, Raoul Rigault, and others.
When all was over and order restored, M. Thiers, who was still residing
at Versailles, came to Paris for a few hours, just to see for himself
the damage which his house in the Rue St. Georges had suffered, and to
pay a brief visit to the Elysée, which he had left with such alacrity on
the 18th of March, as soon as he had heard of the incidents that had
taken place at Montmartre. The reason for this hurried appearance at the
palace was, so he said, to see whether some important papers he had
locked up in a safe, in his study there, had not been seized by the
members of the Commune. As luck would have it, no one had discovered
them, and the First President of the Third Republic was able to regain
possession of his property.
A friend of his, to whom he mentioned the incident, asked him of what
nature were those papers about which he had been so anxious during the
whole of the two months the Commune had lasted. M. Thiers smiled, and
replied simply: “They were not of any particular importance, but that
was just the reason why I was afraid that the Commune should get hold of
them. I had told everybody that they were of a most compromising nature
for some of the people actually in power, and for the pretenders to the
crown of this country. Imagine how compromised _I_ would have been had
it been found out that they were merely tradesmen’s bills!”