CHAPTER XVI.

PARIS, January 1st, 1871.

Our forts still, like breakwaters before a coast, keep back the storm which the Prussians are directing against us. I went out yesterday by the Vincennes gate to see how matters were looking. In the Bois de Vincennes there were troops of every description, and a large number of guns. The usual scenes of camp life were going on, although, owing to the cold, everyone seemed gloomy and depressed. I confess that if I were called upon to camp out in this weather under a tente d'abri, and only given some very smoky green wood to keep me warm, I should not be quite so valorous as I should wish to be. Passing through the Bois, which is rapidly becoming a treeless waste, I went forward in the direction of Fontenay. As the Prussian bombs, however, were falling thickly into the village, I executed a strategical movement to the left, and fell back by a cross road into Montreuil. In this village several regiments were installed. It is just behind Fort Rosny, and on the upper portion, towards the fort, the Prussian shells fell. It is very singular what little real danger there is to life and limb from a bombardment. Shells make a hissing noise as they come through the air. Directly this warning hiss is heard, down everyone throws himself on the ground. The shell passes over and falls somewhere near, it sinks about two feet into the hard ground, and then bursts, throwing up great clouds of earth, like a small mine. The Prussians are unmasking fresh batteries every day, and approaching nearer and nearer to the forts. Their fire now extends from behind Le Bourget to the Marne, and at some points reaches to within a mile of the ramparts. Bondy is little more than a heap of ruins. As for the forts, we are told that, with the exception of their barracks having been made untenable, no harm has been done. Standing behind and looking at the shells falling into them, they certainly do not give one the idea of places in which anyone would wish to be, unless he were obliged; and they seemed yesterday to be replying but feebly to the fire of the enemy. I suppose that the Prussians know their own business, and that they really intend wholly to destroy Fort Rosny. Before you get this letter the duel between earth and iron will be decided, so it is useless my speculating on the result. If Rosny or Nogent fall, there will be nothing to protect Belleville from a bombardment. Many military sages imagine that this bombardment is only a prelude to an attack upon Mont Valerien. About 3,500 metres from that fort there is a very awkward plateau called La Bergerie. It is somewhat higher than the hill on which Valerien stands. The Prussians are known to have guns on it in position, and as Valerien is of granite, if bombarded, the value of granite as a material for fortifications will be tested.

Since the Prussians have opened fire, there have been numerous councils of war, and still more numerous proclamations. General Trochu has issued an appeal to the city to be calm, and not to believe that differences of opinion exist among the members of the Government. General Clement Thomas has issued an address to the National Guards, telling them that the country is going to demand great sacrifices of them. In fact, after the manner of the Gauls, everybody is addressing everybody. Toujours des proclamations et rien que cela, say the people, who are at last getting tired of this nonsense. Yesterday there was a great council of all the generals and commanders. General Trochu, it is said, was in favour of an attempt to pierce the Prussian lines; the majority being in favour of a number of small sorties. What will happen no one seems to know, and I doubt even if our rulers have themselves any very definite notion. The Ultra journals clamour for a sortie en masse, which of course would result in a stampede en masse. One and all the newspapers either abuse Trochu, or damn him with faint praise. It is so very much a matter of chance whether a man goes down to posterity as a sage or a fool, that it is by no means easy to form an opinion as to what will be the verdict of history on Trochu. If he simply wished to keep the Prussians out of Paris, and to keep order inside until the provisions were exhausted, he has succeeded. If he wished to force them to raise the siege he has failed. His military critics complain that, admitting he could not do the latter, he ought, by frequent sorties, to have endeavoured to prevent them sending troops to their covering armies. One thing is certain, that all his sorties have failed not only in the result, but in the conception. As a consequence of this, the French soldiers, who more than any other troops in the world require, in order to fight well, to have faith in their leader, have lost all confidence in him.

We have had no pigeon for the last eighteen days, and the anxiety to obtain news from without is very strong. A few days ago a messenger was reported to have got through the Prussian lines with news of a French victory. The next day a Saxon officer was said, with his last breath, to have confided to his doctor that Frederick Charles had been defeated. Yesterday Jules Favre told the mayor that there was a report that Chanzy had gained a victory. Everything now depends upon what Chanzy is doing, and, for all we know, he may have ceased to exist for the last week.

A census which has just been made of the population within the lines, makes the number, exclusive of the Line, Mobiles, and sailors, 2,000,500. No attempt has yet been made to ration the bread, but it is to be mixed with oats and rice. The mayor of this quarter says that in this arrondissement—the richest in Paris—he is certain that there is food for two months. Should very good news come from the provinces, and it appear that by holding out for two months more the necessity for a capitulation would be avoided, I think that we should hold on until the end of February, if we have to eat the soles of our boots. If bad news comes, we shall not take to this food; but we shall give in when everything except bread fails, and we shall then consider that our honour is saved if nothing else is. M. Louis Blanc to-day publishes a letter to Victor Hugo, in which he tells the Parisians that if they do capitulate they will gain nothing by it, for the Prussians will neither allow them to quit Paris, nor, if the war continues, allow food to enter it.

As yet there are no signs of a real outbreak; and if a successful one does occur, it will be owing to the weakness of the Government, which has ample means to repress it. The Parisian press is always adjuring the working men not to cut either each others' or their neighbours' throats, and congratulating them on their noble conduct in not having done so. This sort of praise seems to me little better than an insult. I see no reason why the working men should be considered to be less patriotic than others. That they are not satisfied with Trochu, and that they entertain different political and social opinions to those of the bourgeoisie, is very possible. Opinions, however, are free, and they have shown as yet that they are willing to subordinate the expression of theirs to the exigencies of the national defence. I go a good deal among them, and while many of them wish for a general system of rationing, because they think that it will make the provisions last longer, they have no desire to pillage or to provoke a conflict with the Government. I regard them myself, in every quality which makes a good citizen, as infinitely superior to the journalists who lecture them, and who would do far better to shoulder a musket and to fall into the ranks, than to waste paper in reviling the Prussians and bragging of their own heroism. As soldiers, the fault of the working men is that they will not submit to discipline; but this is more the fault of the Government than of them. As citizens, no one can complain of them. To talk with one of them after reading the leading article of a newspaper is a relief. A French journalist robes himself in his toga, gets upon a pedestal, and talks unmeaning, unpractical claptrap. A French workman is, perhaps, too much inclined to regard every one except himself, and some particular idol which he has set up, as a fool; but he is by no means wanting in the power to take a plain practical view, both of his own interests, and those of his country. Since the commencement of the siege, forty-nine new journals have appeared. Many of them have already ceased to exist, but counting old and new newspapers, there must at least be sixty published every day. How they manage to find paper is to me a mystery. Some of them are printed upon sheets intended for books, others upon sheets which are so thick that I imagine they were designed to wrap up sugar and other groceries. Those which were the strongest in favour of the Empire, are now the strongest in favour of the Republic. Editors and writers whose dream it was a few months ago to obtain an invitation at the Tuileries or to the Palais Royal, or to merit by the basest of flatteries the Legion of Honour, now have become perfect Catos, and denounce courts and courtiers, Bonapartists and Orleanists. War they regard as the most wicked of crimes, and they appear entirely to have forgotten that they welcomed with shouts of ecstacy in July last the commencement of the triumphal march to Berlin.

January 2nd.

Yesterday evening, notwithstanding the cold, there were groups on the Boulevards shouting "a bas Trochu." It is understood that henceforward no military operation is to take place before it has been discussed by a Council of War, consisting of generals and admirals. As the moment approaches when we shall, unless relieved, be obliged to capitulate, everyone is attempting to shift from himself all responsibility. This is the consequence of the scapegoat system which has so long prevailed in France. Addresses are published from the commanders outside congratulating the National Guard who have been under their orders. The Verite, in alluding to them, asks the following questions:—"Why are battalions which are accused by General Thomas, their direct superior, of chronic drunkenness, thus placed upon a pinnacle by real military men? Why do distinguished generals, unless forced by circumstances, declare the mere act of passing four or five cold nights in the trenches heroic? Why is so great a publicity given to such contradictory orders of the day?"

The Journal Officiel contains a long address to the Parisians. Beyond the statement that no news had been received since the 14th ult., this document contains nothing but empty words. Between the lines one may, perhaps, read a desire to bring before the population the terrible realities of the situation.

The deaths for the last week amount to 3,280, an increase on the previous week of 552. I am told that these bills of mortality do not include those who die in the public hospitals. Small-pox is on the increase—454 as against 388 the previous week.

Nothing new outside. The bombardment of the eastern forts still continues. It is, however, becoming more intermittent. Every now and then it almost ceases, then it breaks out with fresh fury. The Prussians are supposed to be at work at Chatillon. If they have heavy guns there, it will go hard with the Fort of Vanves. The rations are becoming in some of the arrondissements smaller by degrees and beautifully less. In the 18th (Montmartre) the inhabitants only receive two sous worth of horse-flesh per diem. The rations are different in each arrondissement, as the Mayor of each tries to get hold of all he can, and some are more successful than others. These differences cause great dissatisfaction. The feeling to-day seems to be that if Trochu wishes to avoid riots, he must make a sortie very shortly.

The Gaulois says:—

"How sad has been our New Year's-day! Among ourselves we may own it, although we have bravely supported it, like men of sense, determined to hold good against bad fortune, and to laugh in the face of misery. It is hard not to have had the baby brought to our bedside in the morning; not to have seen him clap his hands with pleasure on receiving some toy; not to have pressed the hands of those we love best, and not to have embraced them and been able to say—'The year which has passed has had its joys and its sorrows, sun and shadow—but what matters it? We have shared them together. The year which is commencing cannot bring with it any sorrows that by remaining united we shall not be able to support?' Most of us breakfasted this morning—the New Year's breakfast, usually so gay—alone and solitary; a few smoky logs our only companions. There are sorrows which no philosophy can console. On other days one may forget them, but on New Year's-day our isolation comes home to us, and, do what we may, we are sad and silent. Where are they now? What are they doing now? is the thought which rises in every breast. The father's thoughts are with his children; he dimly sees before him their rosy faces, and their mother who is dressing them. How weary, too, must the long days be for her, separated from her husband. Last year she had taught the baby to repeat a fable, and she brought him all trembling to recite it to the father. She, too, trembles like a child. She follows him with her looks, she whispers to him a word when he hesitates, but so low that he reads it on her lips, and the father hears nothing. Poor man! Sorry indeed he would have been to have had it supposed that he had perceived the mother's trick. He was himself trembling, too, lest the child should not know his lesson. What a disappointment it would have been to the mother! For a fortnight before she had taken baby every night on her knees and said, 'Now begin your fable.' She had taught it him verse by verse with the patience of an angel, and she had encouraged him to learn it with many a sugarplum. 'He is beginning to know his fable,' she said a hundred times to her husband. 'Really,' he answered, with an air of doubt. The honest fellow was as interested in it as his wife, and he only appeared to doubt it in order to make her triumph greater. He knew that baby would know the fable on New Year's morn. You Prussian beggars, you Prussian scoundrels, you bandits, and you Vandals, you have taken everything from us; you have ruined us; you are starving us; you are bombarding us; and we have a right to hate you with a royal hatred. Well, perhaps one day we might have forgiven you your rapine and your murders; our towns that you have sacked; your heavy yokes; your infamous treasons. The French race is so light of heart, so kindly, that we might perhaps in time have forgotten our resentments. What we never shall forget will be this New Year's Day, which we have been forced to pass without news from our families. You at least have had letters from your Gretchens, astounding letters, very likely, in which the melancholy blends with blue eyes, make a wonderful literary salad, composed of sour-krout, Berlin wool, forget-me-nots, pillage, bombardment, pure love, and transcendental philosophy. But you like all this just as you like jam with your mutton. You have what pleases you. Your ugly faces receive kisses by the post. But you kill our pigeons, you intercept our letters, you shoot at our balloons with your absurd fusils de rempart, and you burst out into a heavy German grin when you get hold of one of our bags, which are carrying to those we love our vows, our hopes, our remembrance, our regrets, and our hearts. It is a merry farce, is it not? Ah, if ever we can render you half the sufferings which we are enduring, you will see des grises. Perhaps you don't know what the word means, and, like one of Gavarni's children, you will say, 'What! des grises?' You will, I trust, one of these days learn what is the signification of the term at your own cost. One of your absurd pretensions is to be the only people in the world who understand how to love, or who care for domestic ties. You will see, by the hatred which we shall ever bear to you, that we too know how to love—our time will come some day, be assured. This January 1 of the year 1871 inaugurates a terrible era of bloody revenge. Poor philosophers of universal peace, you see now the value of your grand phrases and of your humanitarian dreams! Vainly you imagined that the world was entering into a period of everlasting peace and progress. A wonderful progress, indeed, has 1870 brought us! You never calculated on the existence of these Huns. We are back again now in the midst of all the miseries of the 13th and 14th centuries. The memory of to-day will be written on the hearts of our children. 'It was the year,' they will say, 'when we received no presents, when we did not kiss our father, because of the Prussians. They shall pay for it!' Let us hope that the payment will commence this very day. But if we are still to be vanquished, we will leave to our children the memory of our wrongs, and the care to avenge them."

The following article is from the Verite:—

"What troubles would not have been spared to our unhappy country if only it had been told the truth. If only anyone had been courageous enough to tell us what were our resources when Grammont made his famous declaration from the tribune, the war would not have taken place. On the 4th of September, many members of the new Government were under no delusions, but as it was necessary to say that we were strong, in order to be popular, they did not hesitate to proclaim that the Republic would save France. To-day the situation has not changed. On the faith of the assertions of their rulers, the population of Paris imagines that ultimate victory is certain, and that our provisions can never be exhausted. They have no idea that if we are not succoured we must eventually succumb. What a surprise—and perhaps what a catastrophe—it will be when they learn that there is no more bread, and no chance of victory. The people will complain that they have been deceived, and they will be right. They will shout 'treason,' and seek for vengeance. Will they be entirely in the wrong? If the Government defends itself, what future awaits us! If it does not defend itself, through what scenes shall we pass before falling into the hands of the Prussians! The Republic, like the Empire, has made mendacity the great system of government. The Press has chosen to follow the same course. Great efforts are being made to destroy the reciprocal sentiments of union and confidence, to which we owe it that Paris still resists, after 100 days of siege. The enemy, despairing to deliver over Paris to Germany, as it had solemnly promised, on Christmas, adds now the bombardment of our advanced posts and our forts to the other means of intimidation by which it has endeavoured to enervate the defence. Use is being made, before public opinion, of the deceptions which an extraordinary winter and infinite sufferings and fatigues are causing us. It is said, indeed, that the members of the Government are divided in their views respecting the great interests the direction of which has been confided to them. The army has suffered great trials, and it required a short repose, which the enemy endeavours to dispute by a bombardment more violent than any troops were ever exposed to. The army is preparing for action with the aid of the National Guards, and all together we shall do our duty. I declare that there are no differences in the councils of the Government, and that we are all closely united in the presence of the agonies and the perils of the country, and in the thought and the hope of its deliverance."

La Patrie, of Jan. 2, says:—

"Perhaps Bourbaki has gone to meet General von Werder. If he is victorious, the road to Paris by the valley of the Seine will be open to him, or the road to Southern Germany by Besancon and Belfort, and the bridge of Bale, the neutrality of which we are not obliged to respect any more than that of Belgium, since Europe has allowed Bismarck to violate that of Luxemburg. Ah! if Bourbaki were a Tortensen, a Wrangel, or a Turenne—perhaps he is—what a grand campaign we might have in a few weeks on the Danube, the Lech, and the Saar."

The Liberte, of Jan. 2, says:—

"A great manifestation is being organised against the Government. The object is to substitute in its place the college of Mayors of Paris and their adjuncts. The manifestation, if it occurs, will not get further than the Boulevards. General Trochu is in no fear from Mayor Mothe, but he must understand that the moment for action has arrived. His proclamation has only imperfectly replied to the apprehensions of Paris. A capitulation, the very idea of which the Government recoils from, and which would only become possible when cold, hunger, and a bombardment have made further resistance impossible, besieges the minds of all, and presses all the hearts which beat for a resistance a outrance in a vice of steel. Trochu should reply to these agonies no longer by proclamations, but by acts."

January 4th.

It is said, I know not with what truth, that there always are, on an average, 5000 families who are in destitute circumstances, because their chiefs never would play out their trumps at whist until it became too late to use them effectively. If Trochu really was under the impression that he had trumps in his hand good enough to enable him to win the game he is playing against the Prussians, he has kept them back so long that they are worthless. If he could not break through the Prussian lines a month ago, a fortiori, he will not be able to do so now. They are stronger, and he is weaker; for the inaction of the last few weeks, and the surrender of Avron, would have been enough to damp the ardour of far more veteran troops than those which he has under his command. The outcry against this excellent but vain man grows stronger every day, and sorry, indeed, must he be that he "rushed in where others feared to tread." "Action, speedy action," shout the newspapers, much as the Americans did before Bull's Run, or as M. Felix Pyat always calls it, Run Bull. The generals well know that if they yield to the cry, there will most assuredly be a French edition of that battle. In fact, the situation may be summed up in a very few words. The generals have no faith in their troops, and the troops have no faith in their generals. Go outside the walls and talk to the officers and the soldiers who are doing the real fighting, and who pass the day dodging shells, and the night freezing in their tents. They tell you that they are prepared to do their duty, but that they are doubtful of ultimate success. Come inside, and talk to some hero who has never yet got beyond the ramparts, Cato at Utica is a joke to him, Palafox at Saragossa a whining coward. Since the forts have been bombarded, he has persuaded himself that he is eating, drinking, and sleeping under the fire of the enemy. "Human nature is a rum 'un," said Mr. Richard Swiveller; and most assuredly this is true of French nature. That real civil courage and spirit of self-sacrifice which the Parisians have shown, in submitting to hardship and ruin rather than consent to the dismemberment of their country, they regard as no title to respect. Nothing which does not strike the imagination has any value in their eyes. A uniform does not make a soldier; and although they have all arrayed themselves in uniform, they are far worse soldiers than the peasantry who have been enrolled in the Mobiles. To tell them this, however, would make them highly indignant. Military glory is their passion, and it is an unfortunate one. To admire the pomp and pride of glorious war no more makes a warrior than to admire poetry makes a poet. The Parisian is not a coward; but his individuality is so strongly developed that he objects to that individuality being destroyed by some stray shot. To die with thousands looking on is one thing; to die obscurely is another. French courage is not the same as that of the many branches of the great Saxon family. A Saxon has a dogged stubbornness which gives him an every-day and every-hour courage. That of the Frenchman is more dependent upon external circumstances. He must have confidence in his leader, he must have been encouraged by success, and he must be treated with severity tempered with judicious flattery. Give him a sword, and let him prance about on a horse like a circus rider, and, provided there are a sufficient number of spectators, he will do wonders, but he will not consent to perish obscurely for the sake of anything or anyone. Trochu has utterly failed in exciting enthusiasm in those under his command; he issues many proclamations, but they fail to strike the right chord. Instead of keeping up discipline by judicious severity, he endeavours to do so by lecturing like a schoolmaster. And then, since the commencement of the siege he has been unsuccessful in all his offensive movements. I am not a military man, but although I can understand the reasons against a sortie en masse, it does appear to me strange that the Prussians are not more frequently disquieted by attacks which at least would oblige them to make many a weary march round the outer circle, and would prevent them from detaching troops for service elsewhere.

Not an hour passes without some new rumour respecting the armies of the Provinces being put in circulation. A letter in which General Chanzy is said to be playing with Frederick Charles as a cat plays with a mouse, and which is attributed to Mr. Odo Russell, English Under-Secretary of State, and Correspondent of the Times, has been read by some one, and this morning all the newspapers are jubilant over it. A copy of the Moniteur de Versailles of the 1st has found its way in; there is nothing in it about Frederick Charles, but this we consider evidence that he has sustained a defeat. Then somebody has found a bottle in the Seine with a letter in it; this letter alludes to a great French victory. Mr. Washburne has the English papers up to the 22nd, but he keeps grim guard over them, and allows no one to have a glimpse of them; since our worthy friend Otto von Bismarck sent in to him an extract from a letter of mine, in which I alluded to the contents of some of them which had reached us. He passes his existence, however, staving off insidious questions. His very looks are commented on. "We saw him to-day," says an evening paper I have just bought; "he smiled! Good sign! Our victory must have been overwhelming if John Bull is obliged to confess it." Another newspaper asks him whether, considering the circumstances, he does not consider it a duty to violate his promise to Count Bismarck, and to hand over his newspapers to the Government. In this way, thinks this tempter, the debt which America owes to France for aiding her during her revolution will be repaid. "We gave you Lafayette and Rochambeau, in return we only ask for one copy of an English paper." The anxiety for news is weighing heavier on the population than the absence of provisions or the cold. Every day, and all day, there are crowds standing upon the elevated points in the city, peering through glasses, in the wild hope of witnessing the advent of Chanzy, who is apparently expected to prick in with Faidherbe by his side, each upon a gorgeously caparisoned steed, like the heroes in the romances of the late Mr. G.P.R. James. Many pretend to distinguish, above the noise of the cannon of our forts and the Prussian batteries, the echoes of distant artillery, and rush off to announce to their friends that the army of succour has fallen on the besiegers from the rear. In the meantime the bombardment of the forts and villages to the east of the city is continuing, and with that passion for system in everything which distinguishes the Germans, it is being methodized. A fixed number of shells are fired off every minute, and at certain hours in the day there are long pauses. What is happening in the forts is, of course, kept very secret. The official bulletins say that no damage in them has yet been done. As for the villages round them, they are, I presume, shelled merely in order to make them untenable.

The Government appears now as anxious to find others to share responsibility with it as heretofore it has been averse to any division of power. The Mayors of the city are to meet with their deputies once a week at the Hotel de Ville to express their opinions respecting municipal matters, and once a week at the Ministry of the Interior to discuss the political situation. As there are twenty mayors and forty adjuncts, they, when together, are almost numerous enough to form a species of Parliament. The all important food question remains in statu quo. It is, however, beginning to be hinted in semi-official organs, that perhaps the bread will have to be rationed; I may be wrong, but I am inclined to think that the population will not submit to this. Government makes no statement with respect to the amount of corn in store. Some say that there is not enough for two weeks, others that there is enough for two months' consumption; M. Dorien assured a friend of mine yesterday that, to the best of his belief, there is enough to carry us into March. Landlords and tenants are as much at loggerheads here as they are in Ireland; the Government has issued three decrees to regulate the question. By the first is suspended all judicial proceedings on the part of landlords for their rent; by the second, it granted a delay of three months to all persons unable to pay the October term; by the third, it required all those who wished to profit by the second to make a declaration of inability to pay before a magistrate. To-day a fourth decree has been issued, again suspending the October term, and making the three previous decrees applicable to the January term, but giving to landlords a right to dispute the truth of the allegation of poverty on the part of their tenants; the question is a very serious one, for on the payment of rent depends directly or indirectly the means of livelihood of half the nation. Thus the landlords say that if the tenants do not pay them they cannot pay the interest of the mortgages on their properties. If this interest be not paid, however, the shareholders of the Credit Foncier and other great mortgage banks get nothing. Paris, under the fostering care of the Emperor, had become, next to St. Petersburgh, the dearest capital in Europe. Its property was artificial, and was dependent upon a long chain of connecting links remaining unbroken. In the industrial quarters money was made by the manufacture of Articles de Paris, and for these, as soon as the communications are reopened, there will be the same market as heretofore. As a city of pleasure, however, its prosperity must depend, like a huge watering-place, upon its being able to attract strangers. If they do not return, a reduction in prices will take place, which will ruin most of the shopkeepers, proprietors of houses, and hotel keepers; but this, although unpleasant to individuals, would be to the advantage of the world at large. Extravagance in Paris makes extravagance the fashion everywhere; under the Empire, to spend money was the readiest road to social distinction. The old bourgeoisie still retained the careful habits of the days of Louis Philippe, and made fortunes by cheeseparing. Imperial Paris was far above this. Families were obliged to spend 20 per cent, of their incomes in order to lodge themselves; shops in favoured quarters were let for fabulous prices, and charged fabulous prices for their wares. Cocodettes of the Court, cocottes of the Bois, wives of speculators, shoddy squaws from New York, Calmues recently imported from their native steppes, doubtful Italian Princesses, gushing Polish Countesses, and foolish Englishwomen, merrily raced along the road to ruin. Good taste was lost in tinsel and glitter; what a thing cost was the only standard of its beauty. Great gingerbread palaces were everywhere run up, and let even before they were out of the builder's hands. It was deemed fashionable to drive about in a carriage with four horses, with perhaps a black man to drive, and an Arab sitting on the box by his side. Dresses by milliners in vogue gave a ready currency to their wearers. The Raphael of his trade gave himself all the airs of a distinguished artist; he received his clients with vulgar condescension, and they—no matter what their rank—submitted to his insolence in the hope that he would enable them to outshine their rivals. Ambassadors' wives and Court ladies used to go to take tea with the fellow, and dispute the honour of filling his cup or putting sugar into it. I once went into his shop—a sort of drawing-room hung round with dresses; I found him lolling on a chair, his legs crossed before the fire. Around him were a bevy of women, some pretty, some ugly, listening to his observations with the rapt attention of the disciples of a sage. He called them up before him like school girls, and after inspecting them, praised or blamed their dresses. One, a pretty young girl, found favour in his eyes, and he told her that he must dream and meditate several days over her, in order to find the inspiration to make a gown worthy of her. "Why do you wear these ugly gloves?" he said to another, "never let me see you in gloves of that colour again." She was a very grand lady, but she slipped off her gloves, and put them in her pocket with a guilty look. When there was going to be a ball at Court, ladies used to go down on their knees to him to make them beautiful. For some time he declined to dress any longer the wife of a great Imperial dignitary who had not been sufficiently humble towards him; she came to him in tears, but he was obdurate, and he only consented at last to make a gown for her on condition that she would put it on for the first time in his shop. The Empress, who dealt with him, sent to tell him that if he did not abate his prices she would leave him. "You cannot," he replied, and in fact she could not, for she stood by him to the last. A morning dress by this artist, worth in reality about 4l., cost 30l.; an evening dress, tawdry with flounces, ribbons, and bad lace could not be had under 70. There are about thirty shops in Paris where, as at this man-milliner's, the goods are not better than elsewhere, but where they cost about ten times their value. They are patronised by fools with more money than wits, and chiefly by foreign fools. The proprietor of one of these establishments was complaining to me the other day of what he was losing by the siege; I told him that I sympathised with him about as much as I should with a Greek brigand, bewailing a falling off of wealthy strangers in the district where he was in the habit of carrying on his commercial operations. Whenever the communications are again open to Paris, and English return to it, I would give them this piece of advice—never deal where ici on parle Anglais is written up; it means ici on vole les Anglais. The only tradesmen in Paris who are making a good thing out of their country's misfortunes are the liquor sellers and the grocers; their stores seem inexhaustible, but they are sold at famine prices. "I who speak to you, I owe myself to my country. There is no sacrifice I would not make rather than capitulate to those Huns, those Vandals," said a grocer to me, with a most sand-the-sugar face, this morning, as he pocketed about ten times the value of a trifle—candles, in fact, which have risen twenty-five per cent. in the last two days—and folding his arms, scowled from under his kepi into futurity, with stern but vacuous resolution.

January 6th.

I have just returned from Point-du-Jour, where I went with Mr. Frank Lawley in order to see myself what truth there was in the announcement that we were being bombarded. Point-du-Jour is the point where the Seine issues from Paris. The circular railroad passes over the river here on a high brick viaduct, which makes a species of fortification. The hills outside the city form a sort of amphitheatre, in which are situated the towns of Sevres and Meudon. To the right of the river is Mont Valerien and the batteries in the Bois de Boulogne; to the left the Fort of Issy. The noise of the cannonade was very loud; but very little could be seen, owing to the sun shining on the hills outside. Speculators, however, with telescopes, were offering to show the Prussian artillerymen for one sou—one of them offered to let me see a general for two sous. When I got within about half a mile of the ramparts I began to hear the whistling of the shells. Here the sightseers were not so numerous. Whenever a shell was heard, there was a rush behind walls and houses. Some people threw themselves down, others seemed to imagine that the smallest tree would protect them, and congregated behind the thinnest saplings. Boys were running about picking up pieces of shells, and offering them for sale. Women were standing at their doors, and peeping their heads out: "Brigands, bandits, they dare to bombard us; wait till to-morrow, we will make them rue it." This, and expressions of a similar nature, was the tone of the small talk. My own impression is, that the Prussians were firing at the ramparts, and that, as often occurs, their projectiles overshot the mark. I did not see anyone either killed or wounded, and it seems to me that the most astonishing thing in a bombardment is the little damage it does to life and limb. I saw a bit of iron cut away a branch from one of the trees, and one shell I saw burst on the road by the river. In 15 minutes we counted 11 shells whizzing through the air, over our heads, which fell I presume somewhere behind us. The newspaper which I have just bought, I see, says that two shells have fallen close by the Invalides, and that they have been coming in pretty thickly all along the zone near the southern ramparts. This may or may not be the case. Like Herodotus in Egypt, I make a distinction between what I am told and what I see, and only guarantee the authenticity of the latter. The only house which as far as I could perceive had been struck was a small one. A chimney-stack had been knocked over; an old lady who inhabited it pointed this out to me. She seemed to be under the impression that this was the result of design, and plaintively asked me what she had done to "William" and to Bismarck that they should knock over her chimney. On the ramparts no damage seemed to have been done. The National Guard on duty were in the casemates. The noise, however, was tremendous. Issy, Valerien, the guns of the bastions and those of the cannon-boats were firing as hard as they could, and the Prussian batteries were returning their fire with a will. After the sun went down the dark hills opposite were lit up with the flashes of light which issued every second from the batteries.

The Government has issued a proclamation; in it is announced that we are to be relieved by the Army of the North. Another proclamation has been posted, purporting to proceed from the "delegates of the twenty arrondissements," calling upon the population to turn out Trochu. It has attracted little notice. Several mayors, too, it is reported, have threatened to resign unless more energetic counsels prevail in high places. Frenchmen, however, as one of their statesmen said, cannot grasp two ideas at a time, and for to-day at least the bombardment is the all-absorbing idea. Whether Frederick Charles has been really defeated I do not know, but we are all assured that he has been. Paris journals state that he has been wounded, and that 45,000 of his army have surrendered. It is asserted, too, that the prisoners who were taken yesterday admit that one of their armies has had a very serious reverse. The bombardment of the forts still continues, and it has extended to the southern ones. With respect to its effect, I will say nothing, lest I be accused of giving aid and comfort to the enemy. La Verite of yesterday already calls upon the Government to open and either suppress or expurgate the letters of English correspondents.

The vin ordinaire is giving out. It has already risen nearly 60 per cent. in price. This is a very serious thing for the poor, who not only drink it, but warm it and make with bread a soup out of it. Yesterday, I had a slice of Pollux for dinner. Pollux and his brother Castor are two elephants, which have been killed. It was tough, coarse, and oily, and I do not recommend English families to eat elephant as long as they can get beef or mutton. Many of the restaurants are closed owing to want of fuel. They are recommended to use lamps; but although French cooks can do wonders with very poor materials, when they are called upon to cook an elephant with a spirit lamp the thing is almost beyond their ingenuity. Castor and Pollux's trunks sold for 45fr. a lb.; the other parts of the interesting twins fetched about 10fr. a lb. It is a good deal warmer to-day, and has been thawing in the sun; if the cold and the siege had continued much longer, the Prussians would have found us all in bed. It is a far easier thing to cut down a tree than to make it burn. Proverbs are not always true; and I have found to my bitter experience of late that the proverb that "there is no smoke without a fire" is untrue. The Tupper who made it never tried to burn green wood.



CHAPTER XVII.

January 7th.

The attempt of the "Ultras" to force Trochu to resign has been a failure. On Friday bands issuing from the outer Faubourgs marched through the streets shouting "No capitulation!" A manifesto was posted on the walls, signed by the delegates of the 20 arrondissements, calling on the people to rise. At the weekly meeting of the Mayors M. Delescluze, the Mayor of the 19th arrondissement, proposed that Trochu and Le Flo should be called upon to resign, and that a supreme council should be established in which the "civil element should not be subordinated to the military element." M. Gustave Flourens published a letter from his prison suggesting that the people should choose as their leader a young energetic Democrat—that is to say himself. M. Felix Pyat, on the other hand, explained that generals are tyrants, and that the best thing would be to carry on the operations of the siege without one. The "bombardment" is, however, still the absorbing question of the day; and all these incipient attempts at revolution have failed. Trochu issued a proclamation, in which he said, "The Governor of Paris will never capitulate." M. Delescluze has resigned, and several arrests have been made. The Government, however, owes its triumph, not so much to its own inherent merits, as to the demerits of those who wished to supplant it. Everyone complains of Trochu's strange inaction, and distrusts his colleagues, who seem to be playing fast-and-loose with the Commune, and to be anxious by a little gentle violence to be restored to private life. The cry still is, "We will not capitulate!" and the nearer the moment approaches that the provisions must fail, the louder is it shouted. Notwithstanding the bitter experience which the Parisians have had of the vanity of mere words to conjure disaster, they still seem to suppose that if they only cry out loud enough that the Prussians cannot, will not, shall not, enter Paris, their men of war will be convinced that the task is beyond their powers, and go home in despair. We are like a tribe of Africans beating tom-toms and howling in order to avert a threatening storm. Yesterday a great council of war was held, at which not only the generals of division and admirals, but even generals of brigade, were present. Although it is a military dictum that "councils of war never fight," I think that in a few days we shall have a sortie, as that anonymous general "public opinion" insists upon it.

We are still without news from the provinces. The Gazette Officiale to-day publishes an extract from a German paper which hardly seems to bear out the assertion of the Government that the Army of the North is advancing to our succour. As evidence that our affairs are looking up in the provinces La France contains the following: "A foreigner who knows exactly the situation of our departments said yesterday, 'These damned French, in spite of their asinine qualities, are getting the better of the Prussians.'" We are forced to live to-day upon this crumb of comfort which has fallen from the lips of a great unknown. Hope is the last feeling which dies out in the human breast, and rightly or wrongly nine persons out of ten believe that Chanzy will shortly force the Prussians to raise the siege. The bombardment is supposed to mask their having been obliged to send heavy reinforcements to Frederick Charles, who regularly every morning is either killed, wounded, or taken prisoner.

It is almost needless to say that the newspapers are filled with wondrous tales respecting the bombardment; with denunciations against the Prussians for their sacrilege in venturing upon it; and with congratulations to the population on their heroism in supporting it. The number of persons who have been all but hit by shells is enormous. I went to the left bank of the Seine in order to see myself the state of affairs. At Point-du-Jour there is a hot corner sparsely inhabited. The Prussians are evidently here firing at the viaduct which crosses the river. From there I followed the ramparts as close as I could as far as Montrouge. I heard of many shells which had fallen, but except at Point-du-Jour I did not myself either see any fall, or hear any whiz through the air. I then went to the Observatory, where according to the Soir the shells were falling very freely. A citizen who was sweeping before the gate told me that he knew nothing about them. In the Rue d'Enfer, just behind, there was a house which had been struck during the night, and close by there was a cantiniere, on her way to be buried, who had been killed by one. At the garden of the Luxembourg and at the artesian well near the Invalides I heard of shells, but could not find out where they had struck. As far as I can make out, the Prussians aim at the bastions, and occasionally, but rarely, at some public building. Probably about 50 shells have been sent with malice prepense inside the town. Just behind a bastion it is a little dangerous; but in Grenelle, Vaugirard, and Montrouge, the risk to each individual is not so great as it would be to go over a crowded crossing in London. In these quarters I saw a few people moving away with their goods and chattels; but the population generally seemed rather pleased than otherwise with what was going on. Except close in by the ramparts, there was no excitement. Almost the whole of the portion of the town on the left bank of the Seine is now under fire; but even should it be seriously bombarded, I doubt if the effect will be at all commensurate with the expense of powder and projectiles. When shells fall over a very large area, the odds against each separate person being hit by them are so large that no one thinks that—happen what may to others—he will be wounded.

January 11th.

The spy mania, which raged with such intensity at the commencement of the siege, has again broken out. Every day persons are arrested because they are supposed, by lighted candles and other mysterious devices, to be in communication with the enemy. Sergeant Hoff, who used to kill his couple of brace of Germans every day, and who disappeared after Champigny, it is now said was a spy; and instead of mourning over his wife, who had been slain by the Prussians, kept a mistress in splendour, like a fine gentleman. Foreigners are looked upon suspiciously in the streets. Very black looks are cast upon the Americans who have established and kept up the best ambulance there is in Paris at their own cost. Even the French ambulances are suspected, since some of their members, during a suspension of arms, broke bread with the Prussians; for it is held that any one who does not hate a German must be in the pay of Bismarck. But this is not all: the newspapers hint that there are spies at headquarters. General Schmitz has a valet who has a wife, and this wife is a German. What more clear than that General Schmitz confides what passes at councils of war to his valet—generals usually do; that the valet confides it to his wife, who, in some mysterious manner, confides it to Bismarck. Then General Trochu has an aide-de-camp, a Prince Bibesco. He is a Wallachian, and a son of an ex-Hospodar—I never yet heard of a Wallachian who was not more or less. Can a doubt exist in the mind of any reasonable being that this young gentleman, a harmless lad, who had passed the greater part of his existence dancing cotillons at Paris, is in direct communication with the Prussians outside? A day or two ago two National Guards were exchanging their strategical views in a cafe, when they observed a stranger write down something. He was immediately arrested, as he evidently intended to transmit the opinions of these two military sages to General Moltke. I was myself down at Montrouge yesterday, when I was requested by two National Guards to accompany them to the nearest commissary. I asked why, and was told that a woman had heard me speak German. I replied that I was English. "Zat ve saal soon zee," said one of my captors. "I spek Anglish like an Anglishman, address to me the vord in Anglish." I replied that the gentleman spoke English with so perfect an accent that I thought he must be a fellow-countryman. The worthy fellow was disarmed by the compliment, and told a crowd which had collected round us to do prompt justice on the spy, that I not only was an Englishman, but un Cockne; that is to say, he explained, an inhabitant of London. He shook me by the hand; his friend shook me by the hand; and several ladies and gentlemen also shook me by the hand; and then we parted. Yesterday evening on the Boulevards there were groups discussing "the traitors." Some said that General Schmitz had been arrested; others that he ought to be arrested. A patriot observed to me that all foreigners in Paris ought, as a precautionary measure, to be extirpated. "Parbleu," I replied, and you may depend upon it I rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders in true Gallic fashion. This morning General Trochu has published a proclamation, denouncing all attacks upon his staff, and making himself responsible for its members. It is an honest, manly protest, and by far the best document which this prolific writer has issued for some time. Another complaint is made against the generals who damp the popular enthusiasm by throwing doubts upon ultimate victory. In fact, we have got to such a condition that a military man dares not venture to express his real opinion upon military matters for fear of being denounced. We are, indeed, still in a most unsurrendering mood. I was talking to-day to a banker—a friend who would do anything for me except cash my bill. In business he is a clear-headed, sensible man. I asked him what would occur if our provisions gave out before the armies of the provinces arrived to our succour. He replied that the Government would announce the fact, and call upon all able-bodied men to make a dash at the Prussian lines; that 300,000 at least would respond to that call, and would either be killed or force their way out. This will give you an idea of the present tone of the population. Nine men out of ten believe that we have enough provisions to last at least until the end of February. The only official utterance respecting the provisions is contained in a paragraph in the Journal Officiel to-day, in which we are informed that there are 15,000 oxen and 40,000 sheep in Bordeaux waiting for marching orders to Paris. This is much like telling a starving man in the Strand that figs are plentiful in Palestine, and only waiting to be picked.

The bombardment has diminished in intensity. The Government has put the Prussian prisoners in the ambulances on the left bank of the Seine. It appears to me that it would have been wiser to have moved the ambulances to the right bank. By day few shells fall into the town beyond the immediate vicinity of the ramparts. At night they are more plentiful, and seem to be aimed promiscuously. I suppose about ten people are hit every twenty-four hours. Now as above fifty people die every day in Paris of bronchitis, there is far more danger from the latter than from the batteries of the disciples of Geist outside. It is not worse to die by a bomb than of a cold. Indeed I am by no means sure that of two evils the latter is not the least; yet a person being suddenly struck down in the streets of a capital by a piece of iron from a cannon will always produce a more startling effect upon the mind than a rise in the bills of mortality from natural causes. Those who are out of the reach of the Prussian guns are becoming accustomed to the bombardment. "You naughty child," I heard a woman who was walking before me say to her daughter, "if you do not behave better I will not take you to see the bombardment." "It is better than a vaudeville," said a girl near me on the Trocadero, and she clapped her hands. A man at Point-du-Jour showed me two great holes which had been made in his garden the night before by two bombs close by his front door. He, his wife, and his children seemed to be rather proud of them. I asked him why he did not move into the interior of the town, and he said that he could not afford it. In a German paper which recently found its way in, it was stated that the bombardment of Paris would commence when the psychological moment had arrived. We are intensely indignant at this term; we consider it so cold-blooded. It is like a doctor standing by a man on the rack, and feeling his pulse to see how many more turns of the screw he can bear. All the forts outside are still holding their own against the Prussian batteries. Issy has had as yet the greatest amount of attention paid to it by the besiegers. There is a battery at Meudon which seems never to tire of throwing shells into it. It is said, however, that the enemy is endeavouring to establish breaching guns at a closer range, in order to make his balls strike the ground and then bound into the fort—a mode of firing which was very successful at Strasburg.

The sensation news of to-day is that Faidherbe has driven Manteuffel across the Belgian frontier, and that Frederick Charles, who always seems to come to life after being killed, has been recalled from Orleans to Paris. The funds rose to-day one per cent. upon these rumours. Our chief confidence, however, just now is in Bourbaki; we think that he has joined Garibaldi, and that these two will force the Prussians to raise the siege by throwing themselves on their communications. I only hope they may.

Mr. Washburne has not been allowed to send out his weekly bag. I presume, however, that this embargo will not be kept up. The Government has not yet announced its intention with respect to M. Jules Favre proceeding to London to represent France in the conferences on the Eastern Question. Most of the newspapers seem to be of opinion that until the Republic has been officially recognised, it is not consistent with her dignity to take part in any European Conference. The diplomatists, who have been a little thrown in the background of late, by wars and generals, must be delighted to find their old friend, the "Eastern Question," cropping up. The settlement of the Schleswig-Holstein question was a heavy blow to them; but for many a year they will have an opportunity to prose and protocol over Turkey. An Austrian wit—indeed the only wit that Austria ever produced—used to say that Englishmen could only talk about the weather, and that if by some dispensation of Providence there ever should be no such thing as weather, the whole English nation would become dumb. What the weather is to Englishmen the Eastern Question is to diplomatists. For their sakes, let us hope that it never will be satisfactorily settled. Diplomatists, like many other apparently useless beings, must live.

January 15th.

Yesterday we were made comparatively happy by a report that the Prussian funds had fallen 3 per cent. at Berlin. To-day we are told that Bourbaki has gained a great victory, raised the siege of Belfort, and is about to enter Germany. German newspapers up to the 7th have been seized at the advanced posts, but whatever in them tells against us we put down to a general conspiracy on the part of Europe to deceive us. It is somewhat curious to watch the transmutations of the names of English statesmen after they have passed through a German and a French translation. Thus the latest news from London is that Mr. Hackington is made Irish Secretary, and that Mr. Floresko is Minister of Commerce.

The diplomatists and consuls still at Paris have sent a collective note to Count Bismarck, complaining that the notice of the bombardment was not given, and asking him to afford them the means to place the persons and the property of their respective countrymen out of danger. The minnows sign with the whales. Mr. Washburne's name is inserted between that of the representative of Monaco and that of the Charge d'Affaires of Honduras.

The bombardment still continues. The cannon now make one continuous noise. Each particular discharge cannot be distinguished. The shells fall on the left bank to a distance of about a mile from the ramparts. A return of the Official Journal gives 138 wounded and 51 killed up to the 13th. Among the killed are 18 children and 12 women; among the wounded, 21 children and 45 women. Waggons and hand-carts packed with household goods are streaming in from the left to the right bank. In the bombarded quarters many shops are closed. Some householders have made a sort of casemate reaching to the first story of their houses; others sleep in their cellars. The streets are, however, full of people, even in the most exposed districts; and all the heights from which a view is to be had of the Prussian batteries are crowded with sightseers. Every now and then one comes across some house through which a shell has passed. The public buildings have, as yet, suffered very slightly. The dome of the Pantheon, which we presume is used as a mark for the aim of the Prussian artillerymen, has been hit once. The shell has made a round hole in the roof, and it burst inside the church. In the Jardin des Plantes all the glass of the conservatories has been shattered by the concussion of the air, and the orchids and other tropical plants are dying. Although war and its horrors are thus brought home to our very doors, it is even still difficult to realise that great events are passing around us which history will celebrate in its most solemn and dignified style. Distance in battles lends grandeur to the view. Had the charge of Balaclava taken place on Clapham Common, or had our gallant swordsmen replaced the donkeys on Hampstead Heath, even Tennyson would have been unable to poetise their exploits. When one sees stuck up in an omnibus-office that omnibuses "will have to make a circuit from cause de bombardement;" when shells burst in restaurants and maim the waiters; when the trenches are in tea-gardens; and when one is invited for a sou to look through a telescope at the enemy firing off their guns, there is a homely domestic air about the whole thing which is quite inconsistent with "the pomp and pride of glorious war."

On Friday night there was an abortive sortie at Clamart. Some of the newspapers say that the troops engaged in it were kept too long waiting, and that they warmed their feet by stamping, and made so much noise that the Prussians caught wind of the gathering. Be this as it may, as soon as they got into Clamart they were received with volleys of musketry, and withdrew. I am told that the marching battalions of the National Guard, now in the trenches, are doing their work better than was expected. The generals in command are satisfied with them, but whether they will be of any great use for offensive operations, is a question yet to be solved. The clubs still keep up their outcry for "La Commune," which they imagine will prove a panacea for every evil. In the club of the Rue Arras last night, a speaker went a step still further, and demanded "the establishment of anarchy as the ruling power." Trochu is still either attacked, or feebly defended, in the newspapers. The French are so accustomed to the State doing everything for them, that their ruler is made responsible for everything which goes wrong. The demand for a sortie en masse is not so strong. Every one is anxious not to surrender, and no one precisely knows how a surrender is to be avoided. Successes on paper have so long done duty for successes in the field, that no one, even yet, can believe that this paper currency has been so depreciated that bankruptcy must ensue. Is it possible, each man asks, that 500,000 armed Frenchmen will have to surrender to half the number of Germans? And as they reply that it is impossible, they come to the conclusion that treason must be at work, and look round for the traitor. Trochu, who is as honest and upright as a man as he is incompetent as a general, will probably share the fate of the "Man of Sedan" and the "Man of Metz," as they are called. "He is a Laocoon," says M. Felix Pyat in his newspaper, with some confusion of metaphor, "who will strangle the Republic."

We hear now that Government is undertaking an inquiry to discover precisely how long our stock of provisions will last. Matters are managed so carelessly, that I doubt whether the Minister of Commerce himself knows to within ten days the precise date when we shall be starved out. The rations of meat now amount to 1-27th of a pound per diem for each adult. At the fashionable restaurants the supply is unlimited, and the price as unlimited. Two cutlets of donkey cost 18 francs, and everything else in the way of animal food is in proportion. The real vital question, however, is how long the bread will last. In some arrondissements the supply fails after 8 o'clock in the morning; at others, each resident receives 1 lb. upon production of a carte de subsistance. The distribution has been thrown into disorder by the people from the bombarded quarters flocking into the central ones, and wanting to be fed. The bread itself is poor stuff. Only one kind is allowed to be manufactured; it is dark in colour, heavy, pasty, and gritty. There is as little corn in it as there is malt in London beer when barley is dear. The misery among the poorer classes is every day on the increase. Most of the men manage to get on with their 1fr. 50c. a day. In the morning they go to exercise, and afterwards loll about until night in cafes and pothouses, making up with liquids for the absence of solids. As for doing regular work, they scoff at the idea. Master tailors and others tell me that it is almost impossible to get hands to do the few orders which are now given. They are warmly clad in uniforms by the State, and except those belonging to the marching battalions really doing duty outside, I do not pity them. With the women and children the case is different. The latter, owing to bad nourishment and exposure, are dying off like rotten sheep; the former have but just enough food to keep body and soul together, and to obtain even this they have to stand for hours before the doors of the butchers and bakers, waiting for their turn to be served. And yet they make no complaints, but patiently suffer, buoyed up, poor people, by the conviction that by so doing they will prevent the Prussians from entering the town. If one of them ventures to hint at a capitulation, she is set on by her neighbours. Self-assertion, however, carries the day. Jules and Jaques will hereafter quaff many a petit verre to their own heroism; and many a story will they inflict upon their long-suffering friends redounding to their own special glory. Their wives will be told that they ought to be proud to have such men for husbands. But Jules and Jacques are in reality but arrant humbugs. Whilst they boozed, their wives starved; whilst they were warmly clad, their wives were in rags; whilst they were drinking confusion to their enemies in some snug room, their wives were freezing at the baker's door for their ration of bread. In Paris the women—I speak of those of the poorer classes—are of more sterling stuff than the men. They suffer far more, and they repine much less. I admire the crowd of silent, patient women, huddling together for warmth every morning, as they wait until their pittance is doled out to them, far more than the martial heroes who foot it behind a drum and a trumpet to crown a statue, to visit a tomb, and to take their turn on the ramparts; or the heroes of the pen, who day after day, from some cosy office, issue a manifesto announcing that victory is certain, because they have made a pact with death.

January 16th.

If I am to believe the Paris papers, the Fort of Issy is gradually extinguishing the guns of the Prussian batteries which bear on it. If I am to believe my eyes, the Fort of Issy is not replying at all to these said guns; and if I am to believe competent military authorities, in about eighteen days from now at the latest the Fort of Issy will cease to be a fort. The batteries at Meudon appeared to-day to be of opinion that its guns were effectually silenced; shells fell thick and fast on the bastions at Point-du-Jour; and so well aimed were they, that between the bastions a looker-on was in comparative safety. The noise, however, of the duel between the bastions and the batteries was so deafening, that it was literally impossible for two persons to hear each other speak at a few feet distance; the shells, too, which were passing to the right and left, seemed to give the whole air a tremulous motion. At the bastions the artillerymen were working their guns, but the National Guards on duty were under cover. The houses, on both sides of the Seine, within the city, for about half a mile from the viaduct are deserted; not above a dozen of them, I should imagine, are still inhabited. Outside, in the villages of Vanvres and Issy, several fires have broken out, but they have been promptly extinguished, and there has been no general conflagration. The most dangerous spot in this direction is a road which runs behind the Forts of Vanvres and Montrouge; as troops are frequently marching along it the Prussians direct their guns from Clamart and Chatillon on it. In the trenches the danger is not great, and there are but few casualties; the shells pass over them. If anyone, however, exposes himself, a ball about the size of an egg, from a canon de rampart, whizzes by him, as a gentle reminder to keep under cover. The area of the bombardment is slightly extending, and will, I presume, very soon reach the right bank. More people are killed in the daytime than at night, because they will stand in groups, notwithstanding every warning, and stare at any house which has been damaged.

The bill of mortality for the week ending January 13th, gives an increase on the previous week of 302; the number of deaths registered is 3982. This is at the rate of above twenty per cent. per annum, and it must be remembered that in this return those who die in the public hospitals, or of the direct effect of the war, are not included. Small-pox is about stationary, bronchitis and pneumonia largely on the increase.

Bourbaki, we are told to-day, is at Freiburg, in the Grand Duchy of Baden. The latest German papers announce that Mezieres has fallen, and it seems to occur to no one that Gambetta's last pigeon despatch informed us that the siege of this place had been raised. La Liberte thus sums up the situation:—"Nancy menaced; Belfort freed; Baden invaded; Hamburg about to be bombarded. This is the reply of France to the bombardment of Paris. The hour has arrived; the Prussians brought to bay, hope to find refuge in Paris. This is their last hope; their last resource."

In order to encourage us to put up with our short commons, we are now perpetually being told that the Government has in reserve vast stores of potted meats, cheese, butter, and other luxuries, of which we have almost forgotten the very taste; and that when things come to the worst we shall turn the corner, and enter into a period of universal abundance. These stores seem to me much like the mirage which lures on the traveller of the desert, and which perpetually recedes as he advances. But the great difficulty of the moment is to procure fuel. I am ready, as some one said, to eat the soles of my boots for the sake of my country; but then they must be cooked. All the mills are on the Marne, and cannot be approached. Steam mills have been put up, but they work slowly; and whatever may be the amount of corn yet in store, it is almost impossible to grind enough of it to meet the daily requirements.

A good deal of discussion is going on as to the time which it will take to revictual Paris; it is thought that it can be done in seven days, but I do not myself see how it is to be done in anything like this time. One of the principal English bankers here has, I understand, sent an agent by balloon to buy boats of small draught in England, in order to bring provisions up the Seine. As a speculation, I should imagine that the best plan would be to amass them on the Belgian or Luxemburg frontier. About two-thirds of the population will be without means to buy food, even if the food were at their doors. Trade and industry will not revive for some time; they will consequently be entirely dependent upon the State for their means of subsistence. Even if work is offered to them, many of them not be able at once to reassume their habits of daily industry; the Bohemian life which they have led for the last four months, and which they are still leading, is against it. A siege is so abnormal a condition of things, that the State has been obliged to pay them for doing practically nothing, as otherwise they would have fallen into the hands of the anarchists; but this pottering about from day to day with a gun, doing nothing except play at billiards and drink, has been very demoralising, and it will be long before its effect ceases to be felt.

The newspapers are somewhat irreverent over the diplomatic protest against the bombardment. They say that while Paris is deserted by the Great European Powers, it is a source of pleasure to think that the Principality of Monaco and the Republics of San Marino and Honduras still stand by her. They suggest that M. Jules Favre should go to Andorre to endeavour to induce that republic also to reason with the Prussians upon the bombardment. I am told that the "proud young porter," who now the sheep is dead, represents alone the Majesty of England at the British Embassy is indignant at not having been invited to add his signature to the protest. He considers—and justly I think—that he is a far more important personage than the Plenipotentiary of his Highness of Monaco; a despot who exercises sway over about 20 acres of orange trees, 60 houses, and two roulette tables. The diplomatists are not, however, alone in their protest. Everybody has protested, and is still protesting. If it is a necessity of war to throw shells into a densely populated town like this; it is—to say the least—a barbarous necessity; but it seems to me that it is but waste of time and paper to register protests against it; and if it be thought desirable to do so, it would be far more reasonable to protest against human beings—women and children—being exposed to its effects, than to indite plaintive elegies about the possibility of the Venus de Milo being damaged, or the orchids in the hot-houses being killed. I know that, for my part, I would rather that every statue and every plant in the world were smashed to atoms by shells, than that I were. This, in an aesthetical point of view, is selfish; but it is none the less true. Chacun pour soi. The Pantheon was struck yesterday. What desecration! everyone cries; and I am very sorry for the Pantheon, but very glad that it was the Pantheon, and not me. The world at large very likely would lose more by the destruction of the Pantheon than of any particular individual; but each particular individual prefers his own humble self to all the edifices that architects have raised on the face of the globe.

I have been endeavouring to discover, whether in the councils of our rulers, the question as to what is to be done in the possible contingency of a capitulation becoming necessary, has been raised. As far as I can hear, the contingency is not yet officially recognised as within the realms of possibility, and it has never been alluded to. General Trochu has officially announced "that the Governor of Paris will never capitulate." His colleagues have periodically said much the same thing. The most practical of them, M. Ernest Picard, has, I believe, once or twice endeavoured to lead up to the subject, but he has failed in the attempt. Newspaper articles and Government proclamations tell the population every day that they only have to persevere in order ultimately to triumph. If the end must come, it is difficult to see how it will come. I have asked many intelligent persons what they think will happen, but no one seems to have a very distinct notion respecting it. Some think the Government will issue some day a notice to say that there are only provisions for a week longer; and that at the end of this time the gates of the city will be opened, and the Prussians told that, if they insist upon entering, there will be nothing to prevent them. Others think that the Government will resign their power into the hands of the mayors, as the direct representatives of Paris. Trochu rides about a good deal outside, and says to the soldiers, "Courage, my children, the moment is coming." But to what moment he alludes no one is aware. No word is more abused in the French language than "sublime." To call a folly a sublime folly is considered a justification of any species of absurdity. We call this refusal to anticipate a contingency which certainly is possible, if not probable, sublime. We are proud of it, and sleep on in our fool's paradise as though it were to last for ever.



CHAPTER XVII.

January 17th.

The papers publish reports of the meetings of the clubs. The following is from the Debats of to-day:—

"At the extremity of the Rue Faubourg St. Antoine is a dark passage, and in a room which opens into this passage is the Club de la Revendication. The audience is small, and consists mainly of women, who come there to keep warm. The club is peaceable—hardly revolutionary—for Rome is Rome no more, and the Faubourg St. Antoine, formerly so turbulent, has resigned in favour of Belleville and La Villette. Yesterday evening the Club de la Revendication was occupied, as usual, in discussing the misery of the situation, and the necessity of electing a Commune. An orator, whose patriotic enthusiasm attained almost to frenzy, declared that as for himself he scorned hams and sausages in plenty, and that he preferred to live on the air of liberty. (The women sigh.) Another speaker is of opinion that if there were a Commune there would also be hams and sausages in plenty. We still pay, he says, the budget of the clergy, as though Bonaparte were still on the throne, instead of having rationed the large appetites and forced every one to live on 1fr. 50c. a day. In order to make his meaning clear the orator uses the following comparison. Suppose, he says, that I am a peasant, and that I have fattened a chicken. (Excitement.) Were I obliged to give the wings to the clergy, the legs to the military, and the carcass to civil functionaries, there would be nothing of my chicken left for me. Well, this is our case. We fatten chickens; others eat them. It would be far wiser for us to keep them for ourselves. (Yes, yes.) A Pole, the Citizen Strassnowski, undertakes to defend the Government. He obtains a hearing, but not without difficulty. You complain that the Government, he says, has not cast more cannon. Where were the artillerymen? (Ourselves.) But three months ago you were citizens, you were not soldiers. In making you march and counter-march in the streets and on the ramparts you have been converted into soldiers. The Government was right therefore to wait. (Murmurs.) The orator is not angry with the German nation; he is angry only with the potentates who force the people to kill each other; and he hopes that the day will come when the European nations will shake hands over the Pyrenees, the Alps, the Balkan, and the mountains of Carpathia. (Feeble applause and murmurs.) A citizen begs the audience to have patience with the Citizen Strassnowski, who is a worthy man and a volunteer; but the citizen then reproaches the worthy man for having attempted to defend a Government whose incapacity is a matter of notoriety. Come now, Citizen Strassnowski, he says, what has the Government done to merit your praise? It has armed us and exercised us; but why? To deliver us over with our guns and our cannons to the Prussians after we have all caught cold on the ramparts. Has it tried to utilise us? No, it has passively looked on whilst the Prussians surrounded Paris with a triple circle of citadels. We are told every day that the armies of the provinces will deliver us. We do not see them. We are not even secure in Paris. Every kind of story is afloat. Yesterday it was reported that General Schmitz had betrayed us; to-day it is an actress who has arrested a spy whose cook was on intimate terms with a cook of the member of the Government. Why these reports? Because the Government has no moral support, and no one feels confidence in it. In the meantime the food gets less and less, and this morning at eight o'clock all the bakers in this arrondissement had closed their shops. (True, true; we waited five hours at the closed doors.) When we get the bread, it is more like plaster than bread. In the third arrondissement, on the other hand, it is good and plentiful. So much for the organising spirit of the Government. We have to wait hours for bread, hours for wood, and hours for meat; and frequently we do not get either bread, meat, or wood. Things cannot last long like this, my worthy Strassnowski. The speaker concludes by urging the people to take the direction of their affairs into their own hands. (Cries of "Vive la Commune.") The President urges his hearers to subscribe towards a society, the object of which is civic instruction. The club breaks up, the President is applauded."

Here is another description of a club meeting from the same journal:—

"The laurels of Belleville prevented La Villette from sleeping. La Villette, therefore, determined to have, like her rival, a central democratic and social club, and yesterday she inaugurated in the Salle Marseillaise an opposition to the "Club Favie." In some respects the Marseillaise club is even more democratic than her parent. The Salle is a sort of barn, and the sans culottes themselves, notwithstanding their horror of all luxury, hardly found its comforts sufficient for them. The Club Favie, with its paintings on the walls and its lustres, has a most aristocratic air in comparison with this new hall of democracy. To judge by its first seance, the Club Marseillaise promises well. Last night enough treasons were unveiled to make the fortune of most other clubs for a week at least. From the commencement of the war we have been in the meshes of a vast network of treason; and these meshes can only be broken through by the Commune and the Republic. The conspiracy was hatched long ago between the Emperors and the Kings, and the other enemies of the people. The war had been arranged amongst them, and it is an error to suppose that we were beaten at Rhichshofen or Sedan. "No," cried an orator, with conviction, "we have never been defeated; but we have been betrayed." ("True." Applause. "We are still betrayed.") The men of the Hotel de Ville imitate Bonaparte, and, like him, they have an understanding with the Prussians, to enslave the people, after having betrayed the country. To whom then must we turn to save the country? To the Legitimists? To the Orleanists?" (No, no.) The orator does not hesitate to avow that he would turn to them if they could save France. (Impossible.) Yes, it is impossible for them. The orator admits it; and all the more because Legitimists and Orleanists are enrolled in the conspiracy against the nation. The people can be the only saviours of the people, by the establishment of the commune; and this is why the men of the Hotel de Ville and the Reactionists are opposed to its establishment. A second speaker abandons the question of the Commune and of the conspiracy, in order to call attention to the resignation of Citizen Delescluze, late mayor of the nineteenth arrondissement. While this orator thinks that it would be unjust to accuse the patriot Delescluze of treason, he ought not the less to be blamed for having abandoned a post to which he had been called by his fellow citizens. The people elected him, and he had no right to put his resignation in the hands of the men of the Hotel de Ville in the critical circumstances in which we find ourselves—at a moment when the tide of misery is mounting—when the mayors have a great mission to fulfil. What has been the consequence of this act of weakness? The men of the Hotel de Ville have named a commission to administer the nineteenth arrondissement exactly as was done under Bonaparte. This is what we citizens of Belleville have gained by the desertion of Delescluze. (Applause.) A citizen pushes his way to the tribune to justify the mayor. He admits that at first sight it is difficult to approve of a magistrate who has been elected by the people resigning his office at the very moment when the people have the greatest need of him, but—and again we get into the dark mystery of the conspiracy—if he gave in his resignation, it was because he would not be an accomplice of treason. In a meeting presided over by Jules Favre, what do you suppose the mayors were asked to do? (Here the orator pauses a moment to take breath. The curiosity of the audience is intense.) They were asked to take part in the capitulation. (Violent murmurs—Infamous.) Well yes—Delescluze would have nothing to do with this infamy, and he withdrew. Besides, there was another reason. In the division of the succour afforded to necessitous citizens the nineteenth arrondissement was only supposed to have 4000 indigent persons, whilst in reality the number is 50,000, and by this means it was hoped that the popularity of this pure Republican would suffer, and perhaps riots break out which would be put down—(the divulgation of this plot against the mayor of the nineteenth arrondissement is received in different ways. A person near us observes—"All the same, he ought not to have resigned.") This incident over, the discussion goes back to the treasons of the Hotel de Ville. It is well known, says a speaker, that a sortie had been determined on in a Council composed of four generals, presided over by Trochu, and that the next morning the Prussians were informed of it. Who told them, who betrayed us. Was it Schmitz, or another general. (A voice: "It was the man who eats pheasants." Indignation.) In any case, Trochu is responsible, even if he was not the traitor himself. ("Yes, yes; it was Trochu!") Another citizen, not personally known to the audience, but who announces that he lives in the Rue Chasson, says that he has received by accident a confidential communication which, perhaps, may throw some light on the affair. This citizen has some friends who are the friends of Ledru Rollin and of the citizen Tibaldi; and one of these friends heard a friend say that either Ledru Rollin or Tibaldi had heard Trochu say that it was impossible to save Paris; but that he would have 30,000 men killed, and then capitulate. (Murmurs of indignation.) The citizen of the Rue Chasson has received a second confidential communication, which corroborates the first. He has been told by one of his neighbours that everything is ready for a capitulation, and he thinks that he will soon be enabled to communicate something still more important on this subject; but in the meanwhile he entreats the energetic citizens of Belleville—(indignation "This is not Belleville")—pardon, of La Villette and of the other Republican faubourgs, to keep their eyes on the Government. They must have no confidence in the quartiers inside the town. The Rue Chasson, in which he lives, is utterly demoralised. La Villette, with Belleville and Montmartre, must save Paris. (Applause.) Another citizen says that he has of late frequently heard the odious word capitulation. How can it be otherwise? Everything is being done to make it necessary. We, the National Guard, who receive 1fr. 50c. a-day, are called the indigent. What do the robbers and the beggars who thus insult us do? They indulge in orgies in the fashionable restaurants. The Zoological Gardens have been shut. Why? Because the elephants, the tigers, and other rare animals have been sold in order to enable wretches who laugh at the public misery to gorge themselves. What can we, the indigent, as they call us, do with 30 sous, when a few potatoes cost 30fr., and a piece of celery 2fr. And they talk now of capitulating, because they have grown rich on the war. Every one knows that it was made in order that speculators should make fortunes. As long as they had goods to sell at ten times their value they were for resistance to the death. Now that they have nothing more to sell, they talk of capitulating. Ah! when one thinks of these scandals one is almost inclined to blow one's brains out. (Laughter and applause.) A fourth citizen takes up the same theme with the same energy and conviction. He knows, he says, a restaurant which is frequented by bank clerks, and where last week there were eaten two cows and a calf, whilst the ambulance opposite was without fresh meat. (Violent murmurs.) This is a part of the system, of Trochu and his colleagues. They starve us and they betray us. Trochu, it is true, has said that he would not capitulate, but we know what that means. When we are worn out and demoralised he will demand a fresh plebiscite on the question of a capitulation, and then he will say that the people, and not he, capitulated. ("True, he is a Jesuit.") We must make an end of these speculators and traitors. ("Yes, yes, it is time,") We must have the Commune. We have not more than eighteen days of provisions, and we want fifteen of them, to revictual. If the Commune is not proclaimed in three days we are lost ("True. La Commune! La Commune!") The orator explains how the Commune will save Paris. It will establish domiciliary visits not only among the shopkeepers, but among private persons who have stores of provisions. Besides, he adds, when all the dogs are eaten we will eat the traitors. (Laughter and applause.) The Commune will organise at the same time a sortie en masse, the success of which is infallible. From statistics furnished by Gambetta it results that at this moment there are not above 75,000 Prussians round Paris. And shall our army of 500,000 men remain stationary before this handful of Germans? Absurd. The Commune will burst through this pretended circle of iron. It will put an end to treason. It will place two commissaries by the side of each general. (The evening before, at the club in the Rue Blanche, one commissary with a revolver had been proposed. At the Marseillaise two were thought requisite. This evening, probably at the Club Favie, in order to beat La Villette, three will be the number. The position of a general of the Commune will not be an easy one.) These commissaries, continues the orator, will watch all the movements of the general. At the first sign he gives of yielding, they will blow his brains out. Inexorably placed between victory and death, he will choose the former. (General approbation.) The hour is getting late, but before concluding the sitting, the President announces that the moment is approaching when Republicans must stand shoulder to shoulder. Patriots are invited to give in their names and addresses, in order to be found when they are wanted. This proposal is adopted by acclamation. A certain number of citizens register their names, and then the meeting breaks up with a shout of "Vive la Commune de Paris!"

January 19th.

All yesterday artillery was rolling and troops were marching through Paris on their way to the Porte de Neuilly. The soldiers of the line were worn and ragged; the marching battalions of the National Guards, spick and span in their new uniforms. All seemed in good spirits, the soldiers, after the wont of their countrymen, were making jokes with each other, and with everyone else—the National Guards were singing songs. In some instances they were accompanied by their wives and sweethearts, who carried their muskets or clung to their arms. Most of them looked strong, well-built men, and I have no doubt that in three or four months, under a good general, they would make excellent soldiers. In the Champs Elysees, there were large crowds to see them pass. "Pauvres garcons," I heard many girls say, "who knows how many will return!" And it was indeed a sad sight, these honest bourgeois, who ought to be in their shops or at their counters, ill-drilled, unused to war, marching forth with stout hearts, but with little hope of success, to do battle for their native city, against the iron legions which are beleaguering it. They went along the Avenue de la Grande Armee, crossed the bridge of Neuilly over the Seine, and bivouacked for the night in what is called the "Peninsula of Genevilliers." This peninsula is formed by a loop in the Seine. Maps of the environs of Paris must be plentiful in London, and a glance at one will make the topography of to-day's proceedings far clearer than any description. The opening of the loop is hilly, and the hills run along the St. Cloud side of the loop as far as Mont Valerien, and on the other side as far as Rueil. About half a mile from Mont Valerien following the river is St. Cloud; and between St. Cloud and the Park of the same name is Montretout, a redoubt which was commenced by the French, but which, since the siege began, has been held by the Prussians. The enemy's line extends across the loop from Montretout through Garches to La Malmaison. The latter lies just below Rueil, which is a species of neutral village. The troops passed the night in the upper part of the loop. In numbers they were about 90,000, as far as I can ascertain, and they had with them a formidable field artillery. The object of the sortie was a vague idea to push forward, if possible, to Versailles. Most of the generals were opposed to it, and thought that it would be wiser to make frequent sudden attacks on the enemy's lines; but General Public Opinion insisted upon a grand operation; and this anonymous but all powerful General, as usual, carried the day. The plan appears to have been this: one half the army was under General Vinoy, the other half under General Ducrot. The former was to attack Montretout and Garches, the latter was to push forward through Rueil and La Malmaison, carry the heights of La Jonchere, and then unite with Vinoy at Garches. General Trochu, from an observatory in Mont Valerien, commanded the whole movement. At 7 o'clock troops were pushed forward against Montretout. This redoubt was held by about 200 Poles from Posen; and they made so determined a resistance that the place was not taken until 9.30. No guns were found in the redoubt. At the same time General Bellemare, who commands one of Vinoy's divisions, advanced on Garches, and occupied the wood and park of Buzenval, driving in the Prussian outposts. Here several battalions of the National Guards were engaged. Although their further advance was arrested by a stone wall, from behind which the Prussians fired, they maintained themselves in the wood and the park. The Prussians now opened a heavy fire along the line. At Montretout it was impossible to get a single gun into position. This went on until a little after three o'clock. By this time reinforcements had come up from Versailles, and were pushed forward against the centre of the French line. At the same time shells fell upon the reserves, which consisted of National Guards, and which were drawn up upon the incline of the heights looking towards Paris. They were young troops, and for young troops nothing is so trying as being shelled without being allowed to move. They broke and fell back. Their companions who were in advance, and who held the crest of the heights, saw themselves deserted, and at the same time saw the attacking column coming forward, and they too fell back. The centre of the position was thus lost. A hurried consultation was held, and Montretout and Buzenval were evacuated. As night closed the French troops were falling back to their bivouacs of the previous night, and the Prussians were recrossing the trench which formed their advanced posts in the morning. The day was misty, the mud was so deep that walking was difficult, and I could not follow very clearly the movements of the troops from the house in which I had ensconced myself. What became of General Ducrot no one seemed to know. I have since learnt that he advanced with little resistance through Rueil and La Malmaison, and that he then fought during the day at La Jonchere, detaching a body of troops towards the Park of Buzenval. He appears, however, to have failed in taking La Celle St. Cloud, and from thence flanking La Bergerie, and marching on Garches. Everything is consequently very much where it was this morning before the engagement took place. It has been the old story. The Prussians did not defend their first line, but fell back on their fixed batteries, there keeping up a heavy fire until reinforcements had had time to be brought up. More troops are ordered out for to-morrow; so I presume that the battle is to be renewed. If it ends in a defeat, the consequences will be serious, for the artillery can only be brought back to Paris by one bridge. The wounded are numerous. In the American ambulance, which is close by in the Champs Elysees, there are about seventy. In the Grand Hotel they are arriving every moment. The National Guard at Buzenval behaved very fairly under fire. Many of them had not been above a few days in uniform. Their officers were in many cases as inexperienced as the men. During the fight entire companies were wandering about looking for their battalions, and men for their companies. As citizen soldiers they did their best, and individually they were made of good stuff; but the moral is—do not employ citizen soldiers for offensive operations. When I returned into the town at about 5 o'clock this afternoon, the peninsula of Gennevilliers resembled the course at Epsom on a wet Derby Day. To my civilian eyes, cavalry, artillery, and infantry, seemed to be in inextricable confusion.