The bulletins du jour are sometimes set forth in gentler terms; but we have chosen a fair average specimen between the lukewarm and the most violent.

Then comes the solid, serious article, generally written by a pen invested with all due authority, by the man who has the most head in the place. The subject varies according to circumstances; but the main point of the article is generally to show that Paris has never been so rich, so free, nor so happy, as under the government of the Commune; and this is a truth that is certainly not difficult to prove. Is not the fact of being able to live without working the best possible proof that people are well off? Well! look at the National Guards; they have not touched a tool for a whole month, and they have such a supply of money that they are obliged to make over some of it to the wineshop-keepers in exchange for an unlimited number of litres and sealed bottles. Then, who could say that we are not free? The journals that allowed themselves to assert the contrary have been prudently suppressed. Besides, is it not being free to have shaken off the shameful yoke of the men who sold France; to be no longer subjected to the oppression of snobs, reactionaires, and traitors? And as to the most perfect happiness, it stands to reason, since we are both free and rich, that we must be in the incontestable enjoyment of it. Finally, after the official dispatches edited in the style you are acquainted with, and after the accounts of the last battles, come the miscellaneous news, the faits divers; and here it is that the ingenuity of the writers displays itself to the greatest advantage.

"Yesterday evening, towards ten o'clock, the attention of the passers-by in the Rue St. Denis was attracted by cries which seemed to proceed from a four-storied house situated at the corner of the Rue Sainte-Apolline. The cries were evidently cries of despair. Some people went to the nearest guardhouse to make the fact known, and four National Guards, preceded by their corporal, entered the house. Guided by the sound of the cries they arrived at the fourth storey, and broke open the door. A horrible spectacle was then exposed to the view of the Guards and of the persons who had followed them in their quest. Three young children lay stretched on the floor of the room, the disorder of which denoted a recent struggle. The poor little things were without any covering whatever, and there were traces of blows upon their bodies; one of them had a cut across the forehead. The National Guards questioned the children with an almost maternal kindness. They had not eaten for four days, and, in consequence of this prolonged fast, they were in such a state of moral and physical abasement that no precise information could be obtained from them. The corporal then addressed himself to the neighbours, and soon became acquainted with a part of the terrible truth.

"In this room lived a poor work-girl, young and pretty. One day, as she was carrying back her work to the shop, she observed that she was followed by a well-dressed man, whose physiognomy indicated the lowest passions. He spoke to her, and was at first repulsed; but, like the tempter Faust offering jewels to Marguerite, he tempted her with bright promises, and the poor girl, to whom work did not always come, listened to the base seducer. Blame her not too harshly, pity her rather, and reserve all your indignation for the wretch who betrayed her.

"After three years, which were but anguish and remorse to the miserable woman, and during which she had no other consolation but the smiles of the children whose very existence was a crime, she was becoming reconciled at last to her life, when the father of her children deserted her.

"This desertion coincided with the glorious revolution of the 18th of March; and the poor work-girl, who had still room in her heart for patriotism, found some consolation in reflecting that the day, so miserable for her, had at least brought happiness to France.

"A fortnight passed, the poor abandoned mother had given up all hope of ever seeing the father of her three children again, when one evening—it was last Friday—a man, wrapped in a black cloak, introduced himself into the house, and made inquiries of the concierge—a great patriot, and commander of the 114th Battalion—whether Mademoiselle O... were at home? Upon an answer in the affirmative from the heroic defender of Right and Liberties of Paris, the man mounted the stairs to the poor workwoman's rooms. It was he—the seducer; the concierge had recognised him. What passed between the murderer and his victims? That will be known, perhaps—never! But certain it is, that an hour afterwards he went out, still enveloped in his black mantle.

"The next day, and the days following, the concierge was much astonished not to see his lodger of the fourth floor, who was accustomed to stop and talk with him on her way to fetch her cafe au lait. But his deep sense of duty as commander of the 114th Battalion occupied his mind so thoroughly, that he paid but little attention to the incident. Neither did he regard the sighs and sobs which were heard from the upper stories. He can scarcely be blamed for this negligence; he was studying his vade-mecum.

"On the fourth day, however, the cries were so violent that they began to inspire the passers-by with alarm, and we have related how four men, headed by their caporal, were sought for to inquire into the cause.

"We have already told what was seen and heard, but the explanations of the neighbours were not sufficient to clear up the darkest side of the mystery, and perhaps the truth would never have been known if the caporal—exhibiting, by a rare proof of intelligence, how far he was worthy of the grade with which his comrades had honoured him—had not been inspired with the idea of lifting up the curtain of the bed.

"Horror! Upon the bed lay stretched the corpse of the unhappy mother, a dagger plunged into her heart, and in her clutched hand was found a paper upon which the victim, before rendering her last breath, had traced the following lines:—

"'I die, murdered by him who has betrayed me; he would have murdered also my three children, if a noise in the next room had not caused him to take flight. He had come from Versailles for the express purpose of accomplishing this quadruple crime, and, by this means, obliterate every trace of his past villany. His name is Jules Ferry. You who read this, revenge me!'"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 72: Vermesch, who was born at Lille, in 1846, though not an official member of the Commune, was one of its most powerful champions. He was founder and principal editor of the Pere Duchesne, a poor imitation of the journal, published under the same title, by Hebert, in the time of the first Revolution. This paper, one of the most characteristic of the Commune, was filled with trivialities, in the vilest taste and slang, which cannot be rendered in English. The first number of Vermesch's journal was published on the 6th of March, but was suppressed by General Vinoy; it re-appeared, however, on the eighteenth of the same month, and met with such prodigious success, that even its editor himself was astonished. Intoxicated with the result, the writers became more and more virulent, and not content with penning the vilest personal abuse, Vermesch assumed the role of public informer. For instance, he denounced M. Gustave Chaudey, a writer in the Siecle, in the Pere Duchesne of the 12th of April, and that journalist was arrested in consequence on the following day. The journal became, not only the medium of all kinds of personal abuse and vengeance, but did the duty of inquisitor for the Communal Government, for whom it produced a terrible crop of victims. The Official Journal contained a number of decrees, the drafts of which at first appeared in Pere Duchesne.

Amongst other acts, Vermesch organised what he called the battalion of the Enfants of the Pere Duchesne, and considering the origin of this corps, the character of the rabble which filled its ranks may easily be imagined. The children of such a father could only be found amidst the lowest dregs of the Parisian population; fit instruments for the infamous work which was afterwards to be done.]

[Footnote 73: Paschal Grousset prepared himself for politics by the study of medicine; from the anatomy of heads he passed to the dissection of ideas. Having turned journalist, he wrote scientific articles in Figaro, contributed to the Standard, and was one of the editors of the Marseillaise when the challenge, which gave rise to the death of Victor Noir and the famous trial at Tours, was sent to Prince Pierre Bonaparte. Immediately after the revolution of the eighteenth of March he started the Nouvelle Republique, an ephemeral publication which only lived a week. On the second of April he commenced the Affranchi, or journal of free men, as he called it, Vesinier joining him in the management of it. The popularity of Grousset caused him to be elected a member of the Commune in April, and the Government soon appointed him Minister of Foreign Affairs. He communicated circulars to the representatives of different nations at Paris, in order to obtain a recognition of the Commune; he also sent proclamations to the large towns of France, appealing to arms. But his means of communication with other governments, and indeed with his own envoys, was very restricted.

He was one of those who took refuge at the Mairie of the Eleventh Arrondissement, and who, knowing well that the struggle was really over, said to the silly heroes who protected them, "All is well. The Versailles mob is turned, and you will soon join your brethren in the Champs Elysees." Many of them that night entered the valley of the shadow of death! On the third of June the ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs was arrested in the Rue Condorcet, dressed as a woman, and marched off to Versailles.]



LXX.

"Issy is taken!

"Issy is not taken!

"Megy[74] has delivered it up!

"Eudes holds it still."

I have heard nothing but contradictory news since this morning. Is Fort Issy in the hands of the Versailles troops—yes or no? Hoping to get better information by approaching the scene of conflict, I went to the Porte d'Issy, but returned without having succeeded in learning anything.

There were but few people in that direction; some National Guards, sheltered by a casemate, and a few women, watching for the return of their sons and husbands, were all I saw. The cannonading was terrific; in less than a quarter of an hour I heard five shells whistle over my head.

Towards twelve o'clock the drawbridge was lowered, and I saw a party of about sixty soldiers, dusty, tired, and dejected, advancing towards me. These were some of the "revengers of the Republic."

"Where do you come from?" I asked them.

"From the trenches. There were four hundred of us, and we are all that remain."

But when I asked them whether the Fort of Issy were taken, they made no answer.

Following the soldiers came four men, bearing a litter, on which a dead body lay stretched; and it was with this sad procession that I re-entered Paris. From time to time the men deposited their load on the ground, and went into a wine-shop to drink. I took advantage of one of these moments when the corpse lay abandoned, to lift the cloak that had been spread over it. It was the body of a young man, almost a lad; his wound was hidden, but the collar of his shirt was dyed crimson with blood. When the men returned for the third time, their gait was so unsteady that it was with difficulty they raised the poor boy's bier, and then went off staggering. At the turning of a street the corpse fell, and I ran up as it was being picked from the ground; one of the drunken men was shedding tears, and maudling out, "My poor brother!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 74: Megy, the famous governor of the Fort of Issy, was implicated in the last, supposed, plot against the life of Napoleon III. Having shot one of the police agents charged with his arrest, he was tried and condemned to death. He was, however, delivered from prison on the fourth of September, and appointed to the command of a battalion of National Guards, with which he marched against the Hotel de Ville on the thirty-first of October and the twentieth of January. He was named a member of the Commune on the eighteenth of March, and set fire to the Cour des Comptes and the Palace of the Legion d'Honneur on the twenty-third of May, 1871.]



LXXI.

We shall see no more of Cluseret! Cluseret is done for, Cluseret is in prison![75] What has he done? Is he in disgrace on account of Fort Issy? This would scarcely be just, considering that if the fort were evacuated yesterday it was reoccupied this morning; by the bye, I cannot explain satisfactorily to myself why the Versaillais should have abandoned this position, which they seem to have considered of some importance. If it is not on account of Fort Issy that Cluseret was politely asked to go and keep Monseigneur Darboy company, why was it? I remember hearing yesterday and the day before something about a letter of General Fabrice, in which that amiable Prussian, it is reported, begged General Cluseret to intercede with the Commune in behalf of the imprisoned priests. Is it possible that the Communal delegate, at the risk of passing for a Jesuit, could have made the required demand? Why, M. Cluseret, that was quite enough for you to be put in prison, and shot too into the bargain. However, you did not intercede for anybody, for the very excellent reason that General Fabrice no more thought of writing to you, than of giving back Alsace and Lorraine. So we must search somewhere else for the motive of this sudden eclipse. Some say there was a quarrel with Dombrowski, that the latter thought fit to sign a truce without the authority of Cluseret—a truce, what an idea! Has Dombrowski any scruples about slaughter?—that Cluseret flew into a great rage; but that his rival got the best of it in the end. You see if one is an American and the other a Pole, the Commune must have a hard time of it between the two!

No, neither the evacuation of Fort Issy—in spite of what the Journal Officiel says—Monseigneur Darboy, nor the quarrel with Dombrowski are the real causes of the fall of Cluseret. Cluseret's destiny was to fall; Cluseret has fallen because he did not like gold lace and embroidery—"that is the question," all the rest are pretexts.

So the noble delegate imagined he could quietly issue a proclamation one morning commanding all the officers under his orders to rip off the gold and silver bands which luxuriantly ornament their sleeves and caps![76] He thought his staff would forego epaulets and other military gewgaws. Why, the man must have been mad! What would Cora or Armentine have said if they had seen their military heroes stalk into the Cafe de Suede or the Cafe de Madrid, shorn of all their brilliant appendages, which made them look so wonderfully like the monkey-general at the Neuilly fair, in the good old times, when there were such things as fairs, and before Neuilly was a ruin. Ask any soldier, Federal or otherwise, if he will give up his pay, or his jingling sword, or even his rank; he may perhaps consent, but ask him to rip off his embroidery, and he will answer, never! How can you imagine a man of sense consenting not to look like a mountebank?

Another of these absurd prescriptions has done much to lower Cluseret in public estimation. One day he took it into his head to prevent his officers from galloping in the streets and boulevards, under the miserable pretext that the rapid evolutions of these horsemen had occasioned several accidents. Well, and if they had, do you think a gallant captain of horse is going to deprive himself of the pleasure of curvetting within sight of his lady love, for the pitiful reason, that he may perchance upset an old woman or two or three children? Citizen Cluseret does not know what he is talking about! It is certain that if this valiant general has such a very great horror of accidents, he should begin by stopping the firing at Courbevoie, which is a great deal more dangerous than the galloping of a horse on the Boulevard Montmartre. As you may imagine, the officers went on galloping and wearing their finery under the very nose of the general, while he walked about stoically in plain clothes. However, although they did not obey him, they owed him a grudge for the orders he had given. Opposition was being hatched, and was ready to burst forth on the first opportunity, which happened to be the evacuation of Fort Issy.[76] Cluseret has fallen a victim to his taste for simplicity, but he carries with him the regrets of all the illused cab-horses which, in the absence of thoroughbreds, have to suffice the gallant staff, and who, poor creatures, were only too delighted not to gallop.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 75: General Cluseret was a great personage for a time with the Communists, and his military talents were lauded to the skies, but suddenly he was committed to prison, and was succeeded in the command of the army by Rossel. The cause of his imprisonment is not clear. Some say that he was discovered to be in correspondence with the Thiers government, others that he was suspected of aiming at the Dictatorship. During the confusion that occurred on the first entry of the Versailles troops into Paris, when the Archbishop of Paris and the other so-called "hostages" had been barbarously assassinated, when the Louvre, the Palais Royal, and the Hotel de Ville were in flames, Cluseret escaped from prison, and was not heard of again until it was reported that his body had been found buried beneath the rubbish of the last barricade. Was report correct?]

[Footnote 76: "THE MINISTER OF WAR TO THE NATIONAL GUARD.

"CITOYENS,—I notice with pain that, forgetful of our modest origin, the ridiculous mania for trimmings, embroidery, and shoulder-knots has begun to take hold upon you.

"To work! You have for the first time accomplished a revolution by, and for, labour.

"Let us not forget our origin, and, above all, do not let us be ashamed of it, Workmen we were! workmen let us remain!

"In the name of virtue against vice, of duty against abuse, of austerity against corruption, we have triumphed; let us not forget the fact.

"Let us be, above all, men of honour and duty; we shall then found an austere Republic, the only one that has or can have reason for its existence.

"I appeal to the good sense of my fellow-citizens: let us have no more tags and lace, no more glitter, no more frippery which costs so little at the shops yet is so dear to our responsibility.

"In future, anyone who cannot deduce proof of his right to wear the insignia of his nominal rank, or, who shall add to the regular uniform of the National Guard, tags, lace, or other vain distinctions, will be liable to be punished.

"I profit by this occasion to remind each of you of the necessity of absolute obedience to the authorities, for in obeying those whom you have elected you are only obeying yourselves.

"The Delegate of War,

"Paris, April 7th, 1871,

(Signed) "E. CLUSERET."]



LXXII.

Suppose that a man in disguise goes into the opera ball intoxicated, rushes hither and thither, gesticulating, insulting the women, mocking the men, turns off the gas, then sets light to some curtains, until such a hue and cry is raised that he is turned out of the place. Whereupon our mask runs off to the nearest costumier's, changes his clown's dress for that of a pantaloon, and returns to the opera to recommence his old tricks, saying, "I have changed my dress, no one will recognise me." But he is wrong, there is no mistaking his way of doing business.

The crowd surrounds him and cries, "We recognise you, beau masque!" and if he has had the imprudence to secure the doors, they throw him out of window.

We recognise you, Executive Commission;[77] it is in vain that you disguise yourself in the bloody rags of the Committee of Public Safety, your are still yourself, you are still Felix Pyat, you are still Ranvier, you have never ceased to be Gerardin; you hope to make yourself obeyed more readily under this lugubrious costume, but you mistake. Command us to go and fight, and we will not budge; pursue us, and we will hardly run away; put us in prison, and we will only laugh. You are no more a Terror, than Gil-Perez the actor is Talma; the knocks you receive have pushed aside your false nose; it is in vain that you decree, that you rob, that you incarcerate; you are too grotesque to be terrible. Even if you carried the parody out to the end, and thought fit to erect a guillotine and sharpen the knife, we should even then decline to look seriously upon you, and were we to see one by one five hundred heads fell into the basket, we should still persist in thinking that your axe was of wood, and your guillotine of cardboard!



FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 77: The affair of the 30th of April signally disappointed the chiefs of the insurrection, who decreed the formation of a Committee of Public Safety, and caused Cluseret to disappear. "The incapacity and negligence of the Delegate of War having," they said, "almost lost them the possession of Fort Issy, the Executive Commission considered it their duty to propose the arrest of Citizen Cluseret, which was forthwith decreed by the Commune."]



LXXIII.

The Parisian Official Journal says: "The members of the Commune are not amenable to any other tribunal than their own" (that of the Commune). Ah! truly, men of the Hotel de Ville, you imagine that, do you? Have you forgotten that there are such tribunals as court-martials and assizes?



LXXIV.

M. Rossel is really very unfortunate! What is M. Rossel?[78] Why, the provisional successor of Citizen Cluseret. It was not a bad idea to put in the word provisional. The Commune had confided to him the care of military matters, which he had accepted, but with an air of condescension. This "Communeux" looks to me like an aristocrat. At any rate he has not been fortunate. Scarcely had he taken upon himself the safety of Paris, when the redoubt of Moulin-Saquet was surprised by the Versaillais. This accident was not calculated to enhance the courage of the Federals. The whole affair has been kept as dark as possible, but the porter of the house where I live, who was there, has told me strange things.

"Will you believe, Monsieur, that I had just finished a game of cards with the captain, and was preparing to have a bit of sleep, for it was near upon eleven o'clock, when I thought I heard something like the noise of troops marching. I looked round to see if any one heard it besides myself, but the men were already asleep, and a circular line of boots was sticking out all round the tents. The captain said: 'I daresay it is the patrol from the Rue de Villejuif.'—'Oh, yes,' said I, 'from the barricade,' and I fell to sleep without a thought of danger. In fact, there seemed nothing to fear, as the Moulin-Saquet overlooks the whole of the plain which stretches from Vitry to Choisy-le-Roi, and from Villejuif to the Seine. It was impossible for a man to approach the redoubt without being seen by the sentinel. I had, therefore, been asleep a few minutes when I was awoke by the following dialogue:—'Stop! who goes there?'—'The patrol.'—'Corporal, forward!'—Oh! said I to myself, it is our comrades come to see us; there will be some healths drunk before morning, and I got up to go and give them a welcome. The captain was also astir. 'The password!' he cried. The chief of the patrol came forward and answered—'Vengeance!' I remember wondering at the moment why he spoke so loud in giving the pass-word, when suddenly I saw three men rush forward, seize our captain, and throw him down. At the same time two or three hundred men, dressed as National Guards, threw themselves into the camp, rushed upon the sleeping artillery-men with their bayonets, and then fired several volleys into the tents where our poor comrades were asleep. What I had taken at first for National Guards were only those devils of sergents-de-ville dressed up! So, you see, as it was each man for himself, and the high road for everybody, I just threw myself down on my face, and let myself drop into the trenches. There was no fear of the noise of my fall being heard in the riot. I managed to hide myself pretty well in a hole I found there, and which had doubtless been made by a shell. I could not see anything, but I heard all that was going on. Clic! clac! clic! went the rifles, almost like the cracking of a whip, answered by the most dismal cries from the wounded. I could hear also the grinding of wheels, and made sure they were taking away our guns, the robbers! When all was silent except the groans of the dying men, I crept out of my hiding place. Would you believe it, Monsieur, I was the only one able to stand up; the Versaillais had taken all those who had not run away or were not wounded; I saw them, the pilfering thieves, making off towards Vitry, as fast as their legs could carry them!"

"You have no idea, lieutenant," I said to the porter, "how the Versaillais got to know the pass-word?"—"No, only the captain, who is an honest fellow enough, but rather too fond of the bottle, went in the evening to the route d'Orleans where there are lots of wine-shops ..."—"And you think he got tipsy, and let the pass-word out to some spy or other?"—"I would not swear he did not; but what I am more sure of, is that we are betrayed!"

Alas! yes, unfortunates, you are betrayed, but not in the way you think. You are being cheated by these madmen and criminals who are busy publishing decrees at the Hotel de Ville, while you are dying by scores at Issy, Vanves, Montrouge, Neuilly, and the Moulin-Saquet; they betray you when they talk of Royalists and Imperialists; they deceive you when they tell you, that victory is certain, and that even defeat would be glorious. I tell you, that victory is impossible, and that your defeat will be without honour; for when you fell, crying, "Vive la Commune!" "Vive la Republique!" the Commune is Felix Pyat, and the Republic, Vermorel.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 78: Colonel Rossel was one of the most capable members of the Commune Government. He was born in 1844, and was the son of Commandant Louis Rossel, an officer who acquired a high reputation in the Chinese war. The young Louis Rossel received a sound military education at the Prytanee of La Fleche, and subsequently at the Ecole Polytechnique, at which latter institution he gained high honours. He served as captain of engineers in the army of Metz, and was one of the officers who signed the protestation against the surrender of Bazaine. He succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the Prussians, and appeared at Tours to offer his services to the Government of National Defence. Gambetta, then Minister of War, appointed Rossel to the rank of colonel in the so-called auxiliary army. After the signature of the peace preliminaries, the new government refused to ratify the promotion granted by Gambetta, but offered Rossel the rank of major. This seriously offended the ex-Dictator's ex-colonel, who shortly after the tenth of March, put his sword at the disposition of the Commune. He was at first appointed chief of the staff of General Cluseret, whom he subsequently replaced as delegate for war. On April 16 he became president of the Communist court-martial; he acted with great vigour in all military affairs until the 10th of May, when the Commune ordered his arrest.]



LXXV.

Malediction on the man who imagined this decree; malediction on the assembly that approved it; and cursed be the hand which shall first touch a stone of that tomb! Oh I believe me, I am not among those who regret the times of royal prerogatives, and who believe that everything would have gone well, in the most peaceful country in the world, if Louis XVII had only succeeded to the throne after his father, Louis XVI. The author of the revolution of 1798 knew what he was about in multiplying such terrible catastrophes. The name of that author was Infallible Necessity. Indeed I am quite ready to confess that the indolent husband of Marie Antoinette had none of those qualities which make a great king, and I will even add, if you wish it absolutely, that the solitary fact of being a king is a crime worthy a thousand deaths. As to Marie Antoinette herself—"the Austrian," Pere Duchesne would call her—I allow that in history she is not quite so amiable as she appears in the novels of Alexandra Dumas, and that her near relationship to the queen Caroline-Marie, whose little suppers at Naples, in company with Lady Hamilton, one is well acquainted with, gives some excuse for the calumnies of which she has been the object. Have I said enough to prevent myself being the recipient, in the event of a Bourbon restoration, of the most modest pension that ever came out of a royal treasury? Well, in spite of what I have said, and in spite of what I think, I repeat, "Do not touch that tomb!" Like the Column Vendome, which is the symbol of an heroic and terrible epoch in history, the Chapelle Expiatoire[79] is a souvenir of the old monarchical reign, an age which was neither devoid of sorrow, nor of honour for France. Can you not be republican without suppressing history, which was royalist? The last remains of monarchy repose in peace beneath that gloomy monument; may it be respected, as we respect the ashes of those who respected it; and you, breakers of images, profaners of past glory, do you not fear, in executing your decree, to produce an effect diametrically opposed to that which you desire? By persecuting kings even in their last resting-place, are you not afraid to excite the pity, the regret perhaps, of those whose consciences still hesitate? In the interest of the Republic, I say, take care! The memory of the dead stalks forth from open sepulchres!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 79: This chapel was erected by Louis XVIII. upon the spot where, during the Revolution of 1793, the remains of Louis XVI, and his Queen had been obscurely interred.]



LXXVI.

Rejoice, poor housewives, who, on days of poverty, were obliged to carry to the Mont-de-Piete[80] the discoloured remains of your wedding dress, or your husband's Sunday coat; rejoice, artisans, who, after a day of toil, thought your bed so hard since your last mattress was taken to the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux, to rejoin your last pair of sheets. The Commune has decreed that "all objects in pawn at the Mont-de-Piete, for a sum not exceeding twenty francs, shall be given back gratuitously to all persons who shall prove their legitimate right to the said objects." Thanks to this benevolent decree, you may now hope that things you have pawned will be restored to you before three or four hundred days!

Count on your fingers; the number of articles to which the decree applies is at least 1,200,000. As there are only three offices for the claimants to apply to, and considering the forms which have to be observed, I do not think more than three thousand objects can be given back daily; the Commune says four thousand, but the Commune does not know what it is talking about. However, even if we calculate four thousand a-day, the whole would take up ten or twelve months.

During this time men and women, whom poverty had long ere this taught the road to the Mont-de-Piete, would have to get up early, neglect the daily work by which they live, and go and stand awaiting their turn at the office, frozen in winter, baked in summer, thankful to obtain a moment's rest upon one of the wooden benches in the great bare hall; and when they have been there a long, weary time, to see their number, drawn by lot, put off to the next day or the day after, or the week or the month following perhaps.

Still we must not blame the Commune for the sad disappointment of this long delay, it would be impossible to shorten it. One thing, which is less impossible, is to indemnify the administration of the Mont-de-Piete for this gratuitous restitution. Citizen Jourde, delegate of the finances, says, "I will give 100,000 francs a-week." Without stopping to consider where this able political economist means to get his weekly 100,000 francs, I will be content with remarking that this sum would in no wise cover the loss to the Mont-de-Piete, and that the Commune will only be giving alms out of other people's purses. If, however, thanks to this decree, some few poor creatures are enabled to get back those goods and chattels which they were obliged to dispose of in the hour of need, there will not be much cause to complain. The Mont-de-Piete usually does a very good business, and there will always be enough misery in Paris for it to grow rich upon. Besides, the Commune owes the poor wounded, mutilated, dying fellows who have been brought from Neuilly and Issy, at least a mattress to die in some little comfort upon.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 80: The governmental pawnbroking establishments. All the pawnbroking is carried on by the Government.]



LXXVII.

They have put them into the prison of Saint-Lazare. Whom? The nuns of the convent of Picpus. They have put them there because they have been arrested. But why were they arrested? That is what Monsieur Rigault himself could not clearly explain. Some of the nuns are old. They have been living long in seclusion, and have only changed cells; having been the captives of Heaven, they have become the prisoners of Citizen Mouton. In such an abject place too, poor harmless souls! Victor Hugo has said, speaking of that wretched prison, "Saint-Lazare! we must crush that edifice." Yes, later, when we have the time; we must now pull down the Column Vendome and the Chapelle Expiatoire. In the meantime these poor ladies are very sad. One of my friends went to see them; they have neither their prayer-books nor their crucifix; they have had even the amulets they wore round their necks taken from them. This seems nothing to you, citizens of the Commune. You are men of advanced opinions. You care as much about a crucifix as a fish for an apple; and perhaps you are right. You have studied the question, and you say in the evening, looking up at the stars, "There is no God." But you must understand that with these poor nuns it is quite a different matter. They have not read philosophical treatises; they still believe that the Almighty created the world in six days, and that the Son died on the cross for the sake of the world. When they were free, or rather when they were in a prison of their own choosing, they prayed in the morning, they prayed at noon, they prayed at night, and only interrupted this most pernicious occupation for the purpose of teaching poor little girls that it is good to be virtuous, honest, and grateful, and that Heaven rewards those who do rightly. That was their occupation, poor simple souls, and you have sent them to Saint Lazare for that. You should have chosen another prison, for their presence must be disagreeable to the usual female denizens of the place. But there, or elsewhere, they do not complain; they only ask for a prayer-book and a wooden crucifix. Come, Citizen Delegate of the ex-Prefecture, one little concession, and unless the future of the Republic is likely to be compromised by so doing, give them a cross. A cross is only two pieces of wood placed one on the other. I promise you there will be wood enough in the forest the day honest men make up their minds to exercise their muscles on your backs, you bullying slave-drivers!



LXXVIII.

After Bergeret came Cluseret; after Cluseret, Rossel. But Rossel has just sent in his resignation. My idea is, that we take back Cluseret, that we may have Bergeret, and so on, unless we prefer to throw ourselves into the open arms of General Lullier. The choice of another general for the defence of Paris is however no business of mine; and the Commune, a sultan without a favourite, may throw his handkerchief if he pleases, to the tender Delescluze, as some say he has the intention—I have not the least objection. Why should not Delescluze[81] be an excellent general? He is a journalist, and what journalist does not know more about military matters than Napoleon I., or Von Moltke himself? In the meantime we are in mourning for our third War Delegate, and we shall no longer see Rossel on his dark bay, galloping between the Place Vendome and the Fort Montrouge. He has just written the following letter to the members of the Commune:—



"CITIZENS, MEMBERS OF THE COMMUNE,—Having been charged by you with the War Department, I feel myself no longer capable of bearing the responsibility of a command wherein every one deliberates, and no one obeys.

"When it was necessary to organise the artillery, the Central Committee of Artillery deliberated, but nothing was done. After a month's revolution, that service is only carried on, thanks to the energy of a very small number of volunteers.

"On my nomination to the Ministry, I wanted to further the search for arms, the requisition of horses, and the pursuit of refractory citizens; I asked help of the Commune.

"The Commune deliberated, but passed no resolutions.

"Later, the Central Committee came and offered its services to the War Department; I accepted them in the most decisive manner, and delivered up to its members all the documents I had concerning its organisation. Since then the Central Committee has been deliberating, and has done nothing. During this time the enemy multiplied its venturesome attacks on Fort Issy; had I had the smallest military force at my command, I would have punished them for it.

"The garrison, badly commanded, took flight; the officers deliberated, and sent away from the fort Captain Dumont, an energetic man, who had been ordered to command them. Still deliberating, they evacuated the fort, after having stupidly talked of blowing it up,—as difficult a thing for them to do as to defend it.

]

"Even that was not enough. Yesterday, when every one ought to have been at work or fighting, the chiefs were deliberating upon another system of organisation from that which I had adopted, so as to make up for their want of forethought and authority. The results of their council were a project, when we want men, and a declaration of principles, when we wanted acts.

"My indignation brought them back to other thoughts, and they promised me for to-day the largest force they could possibly muster, —an organised one of not more than 12,000 men. With these I undertook to march on the enemy. These men were to muster at eleven o'clock: it is now one, and they are not ready, and the promised 12,000 has dwindled to about 7,000, which is not at all the same thing.

"Thus, the utter uselessness of the artillery committee prevented the organization of the artillery; the hesitation of the Central Committee stopped all arrangements; the petty discussions of the officers, paralyses the concentration of the troops.

"I am not a man to mind having recourse to violence. Yesterday, while the chiefs discussed, a company of men with loaded rifles awaited in the court. But I did not want to take upon myself the initiative of so energetic a measure, or draw upon myself the odium of such executions as would have been necessary to extricate obedience and victory from such a chaos. Even if I had been protected by the publicity of my acts, I need not have given up my position.

"But the Commune has not had the courage to confront publicity. Twice I wished to give some necessary explanations, and twice, in spite of me, it insisted on a secret council.

"My predecessor was wrong to remain in so absurd a position.

"Enlightened by his example, and knowing that the strength of a revolutionary, only consists in the clearness of his position, I have only two alternatives, either to break the chains which impede my actions, or to retire.

"I will not break the chains, because those chains are you, and your weakness,—I will not touch the sovereignty of the people.

"I retire; and have the honour to beg for a cell at Mazas.

"ROSSEL."[83]

Most certainly I do not like the Paris Commune, such as the men of the Hotel de Ville understand it. Deceived at first by my own delusive hopes, I now am sure that we have nothing to expect from it but follies upon follies, crimes upon crimes. I hate it on account of the suppressed newspapers, of the imprisoned journalists, of the priests shut up at Mazas like assassins, of the nuns shut up at Saint-Lazare like courtesans; I hate it because it incites to the crime of civil war those who would have been ready to fight against the Prussians, but who do not wish to fight against Frenchmen; I hate it on account of the fathers of families sent to battle and to death; on account of our ruined ramparts, our dismantled forts, each stone of which as it falls wounds or destroys; on account of the widowed women and the orphaned children, all of whom they can never pension in spite of their decrees; I cannot pardon them the robbing of the banks, nor the money extorted from the railway companies, nor the loan-shares sold to a money-changer at Liege; I hate it on account of Clemence the spy, and Allix the madman. I am sorry to think that two or three intelligent men should be mixed up with it, and have to share in its fall. I hate it particularly on account of the just principles it at one time represented, and of the admirable and fruitful ideas of municipal independence, which it, was not able to carry out honestly, and which, because of the excesses that have been committed in their name, will have lost for ever, perhaps, all chance of triumphing. Still, great as is my horror of this parody of a government to which we have had to submit for nearly two months, I could not forbear a feeling of repulsion on reading the letter of Citizen Rossel. It is a capitally written letter, firm, concise, conclusive, differing entirely from the bombastic, unintelligible documents to which the Commune has accustomed us; and besides, it brings to light several details at which I rejoice, because it permits me to hope that the reign of our tyrants is nearly at an end. I am glad to hear that the Commune, if it possesses artillery, is short of artillerymen. It delights me to learn that they can only dispose of seven thousand combatants. I had feared that it would be enabled to kill a great many more; and as to what Citizen Rossel says of the committees and officers who deliberate but do not act, it is most pleasant news, for it convinces me, that the Commune has not the power to continue much longer a war, which can but result in the death of Paris; and yet I highly disapprove of the letter of Citizen Rossel, because it is on his part an act of treachery, and it is not for the friends and servants of the Commune to reveal its faults and to show up its weaknesses. Who obliged Rossel, commander of the staff, to take the place of his general, disgraced and imprisoned? Did he not accept willingly a position, the difficulties of which he had already recognised? He says himself that his predecessor was wrong to have stayed in so absurd a position, and why did he voluntarily put himself there, where he blamed another for remaining? If the new delegate hoped by his own cleverness to modify the position, he ought not, the position remaining the same, accuse anything but his own incapacity. In a word, the conclusion at which we arrive is, that he only accepted power to be able to throw it off with effect, like Cato, who only went to the public theatres for the purpose of fussily leaving the place, at the moment when the audience called the actors before the curtain. Not being able or perhaps willing to save the Commune, M. Rossel desired to save himself at its expense. There is something ungentlemanly in this. Do not, however, imagine for a moment that I believe in M. Rossel having been bought by M. Thiers. All those ridiculous stories of sums of money having been offered to the members of the Commune, are merely absurd inventions.[84] What do you think they say of Cluseret? That he was in the habit of taking his breakfast at the Cafe d'Orsay, and afterwards playing a game of dominoes. One day his adversary is reported to have said to him, "If you will deliver the fort of Montrouge to the Versaillais, I will give you two millions." What fools people must be to believe such absurdities! Rossel has not sold himself, for the very good reason that nobody ever thought of buying him. It was his own idea to do what he did. For the pleasure of being insolent and showing his boldness, he has pulled down from its pedestal what he adored, consequently the most criminal among the members of the Commune, once a swindler, now a pilferer, is free to say to M. Rossel, who is, I am told, a man of intelligence and honesty, "You are worse than I am, for you have betrayed us!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 81: PARIS AT DINNER.—An ogress, gentleman! A famished creature, faring sumptuously; her face flushed with wine, her eyes bright, her hands trembling. Madame Lutetia is a strapping woman still, with a queenly air about her, in spite of the red patches on her tunic; somewhat shorn of her ornaments, it is true, as she has had to pawn the greater part of her jewelry, but the orgie once over she will be again what she was before.

For the time being she is wholly absorbed in her gastronomic exertions. She has already devoured a Bergeret with peas, a Lullier with anchovy sauce, an Assy and potatoes, a Cluseret with tomatos, a Rossel with capers, besides a large quantity of small fry, and she is not yet appeased. The maitre-d'hotel Delescluze waits upon her somewhat in trepidation, with a sickly smile on his face. What if, after such a meal of generals and colonels, the ogress were to devour the waiter!—Fac simile of design from the "Grelot," 17th May, 1871.]

[Footnote 82: Delescluze's wild life began at Dreux, in 1809. Driven from home on account of his bad conduct, he came to Paris, and obtained employment in an attorney's office, from which he was very soon afterwards, it is said, discharged for robbery. In 1834, he underwent the first of his long list of imprisonments, for the part he took in the April revolution, and in the following year, being compromised in a conspiracy against the safety of the state, he took refuge in Belgium, Where he obtained the editorship of the Courrier de Charleroi. In 1840 he returned to Paris, where he founded a journal called the Revolution Democratique et Sociale, which brought him fifteen months' imprisonment and twenty thousand francs fine. After a long period of liberty of nearly eight years, he was condemned to transportation by the High Court of Justice, but the condemnation was given in his absence, for he had slipped over to England, where he remained until 1853. On his returning in that year to France he was immediately imprisoned at Mazas, transferred afterwards to Belle-Isle, and then successively to the hulks of Corte, Ajaccio, Toulon, Brest, and finally to Cayenne. These sojourns lasted until 1868, when the amnesty permitted him to return to France, where he made haste to bring out another new journal, Le Reveil, which of course earned him fines and imprisonments with great rapidity, three of each within the twelvemonth.

In the month of February, 1871, he was elected deputy by a large number of votes; and later, when the Assembly went to Bordeaux, sat there for some time, and then gave in his resignation, in order to take part with the Commune.

By the Commune he was made delegate at the Ministry of War, after the pretended flight of Rossel, and in a sitting of the 20th of April, in which the project of burning Paris was discussed, Delescluze ended his speech with the words—"If we must die, we will give to Liberty a pile worthy of her."]

[Footnote 83: He was convinced of the hopelessness of any further struggle after the capture of Fort Issy; gave in his resignation, and hid himself to escape the vengeance of his former colleagues. He was supposed to be in England or Switzerland, whereas, in fact, he had fled no farther than the Boulevard Saint Germain. He was arrested by the police on the ninth of June, disguised as an employe of the Northern Railway. He was first interrogated at the Petit Luxembourg, and afterwards conducted handcuffed to Versailles, where three mouths after he was tried by court-martial and sentenced to military degradation and death.]

[Footnote 84: "A plot had just been discovered between Bourget of the Internationale, Billioray, member of the Commune, and Cerisier, captain of the 101st Battalion of the insurgent National Guard. For a certain sum of money they were to deliver Port Issy into the hands of General Valentin, of the Versailles army. The succession of Rossel to the Ministry of War frustrated the whole project.

"In the night of the 17th of May another attempt of the same kind met with failure. The Communists Bourget, Billioray, Mortier, Cerisier, and Pilotel, the artist, traitors to their own treacherous cause, were to open the gates to the soldiers of Versailles, an hour after midnight, at the Point du Jour; the soldiers to be disguised as National Guards. But, at the appointed hour, Cerisier took fright, and contented himself with the money he had received on account (twenty-five thousand francs) in payment for his treachery, and did no more. When the Versailles troops presented themselves at the gates, they had to beat a retreat under a heavy fire of mitrailleuses." Guerre des Communeux.]



LXXIX.

I was told the following by an eye-witness of the scene. In a small room at the Hotel de Ville five personages were seated round a table at dinner. The repast was of the most modest kind, and consisted of soup, one dish of meat, one kind of vegetable, cheese, and a bottle of vin ordinaire each. One would have thought, oneself in a restaurant at two francs a head, if it had not been that the condiments had got musty during the siege; besides, there was something solemn and official in the very smell of the viands which took away one's appetite. However, our five personages swallowed their food as fast as they could. At the head of the table sat Citizen Jourde. Jourde looks about eight and twenty; he has a delicate looking, mathematical head, with brown curly hair and sallow complexion, a kind of Henri Heine of the Finance. Tall and thin, with his red scarf tied round his waist, he reminds us of one of the old Convention of '89. They sat for some time in silence, as if they were observing each other. At the end of the first course, Jourde took up a spoon and examined it, saying, "Silver! true there is silver at the Hotel de Ville, I will send for it to-morrow!" One of the other guests said, "Pardon me, I have to answer for it, and shall not give it up."—"Oh, yes you will," answered Jourde, "I will have an order sent to you from the Domaine,"[85] and then, as if he were thinking aloud, goes on to express his satisfaction at having found an unexpected sum of three hundred thousand francs, as it were on the dinner-table. A whole day's pay! He will be able to put by four millions at the end of the week; he tries to be economical, but the war runs away with everything. "You must at least give me three days' notice for the payment of sums amounting to more than a hundred thousand francs," says he, with a shrug of the shoulders, particularly addressed to Beslay. Then he speaks of his hopes of reducing the Prussian debt before the year is out, if the Commune lives so long; touches on subjects connected with the taxes, patents and duties, "or else bank-notes worth fire hundred francs in the morning, will only be worth twenty sous in the evening; money is scarce, it is leaving the city. I do not see much copper about, but if you leave me alone, I promise to succeed." All this was said in a tone of the most sincere conviction. When the dinner was over, he hastily bowed and rushed off, without having taken any notice of what was said to him. Every now and then cries arose in the streets, and made the members of the Commune start as they sat there behind their sombre curtains. "Do you think they can come in?" asked some one of Johannard, to which he replies, "What a wild idea! Delescluze knows it is impossible, and Dombrowski, a cold unexcitable fellow, only laughs when people mention it; does he not, Rigault?" Thereupon the personage addressed, who has not yet spoken, bows his head in sign of acquiescence. He looks young in spite of his thick, black beard; his eyes are weak, his expression is sly and disagreeable, and looks as if he might sometimes have his hours of coarse joviality. Then a portiere was lowered, or a door shut, and the person who had overheard the preceding heard and saw no more.

]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 85: The Commune occupied the Mint, and directed Citizen Camelinat, bronze-fitter, to manufacture gold and silver coin to the amount of 1,500,000 francs. Of that sum, 76,000 francs only was saved by the Versailles troops on their entry. The different articles of gold and silver found at the Hotel des Monnaies represented a total weight of 1,186 lbs., and consisted of objects taken from the churches, religious houses, and government offices, Imperial plate, and presents to the city of Paris. All these objects have been sent to the repository of the Domaine, where they maybe claimed on identification by their owners.]

[Footnote 86: Fontaine was nominated on the 18th of March director of the public domains and of registration. His name figures in the history of the revolutions, emeutes, and insurrections of Paris from 1848. He was a professional insurgent.]



LXXX.

I am beginning to regret Cluseret. He was impatient, especially in speech. He used to say "Every man a National Guard!" But with Cluseret, as with one's conscience, there were possible conciliations. You had only to answer the decrees of the war-delegate by an enthusiastic "Why I am delighted, indeed I was just going to beg you to send me to the Porte-Maillot;" which having done, one was free to go about one's business without fear of molestation. As to leaving Paris, in spite of the law which condemned every man under forty to remain in the city; nothing was easier. You had but to go to the Northern Railway Station, and prefer your request to a citizen, seated at a table behind a partition in the passport office.[87] When he asked you your age you had only to answer "Seventy-eight," passing your hand through your sable locks as you spoke—"Only that? I thought you looked older," the accommodating individual would answer, at the same time putting into your hand a paper on which was written some cabalistic sign. One day I had taken it into my head to go and spend two hours at Bougival, and my pass bore the strange word "Carnivolus" written on it. Provided with this mysterious document, I was enabled to procure a first-class ticket and jump into the next train that started. I was free, and nothing could have prevented my going, if such had been my wish, to proclaim the Commune at Mont Blanc or Monaco.

How the times are changed! The Committee of Public Safety and the Central Committee now join together in making the lives of the poor refractaires[88] a burthen to them. I do not speak of the disarmaments, which have nothing particularly disagreeable about them, for an unarmed man may clearly nourish the hope that he is not to be sent to battle. But there are other things, and I really should not object to be a little over eighty for a few days. Domiciliary visits have become very frequent. Four National Guards walk into the house of the first citizen they please, and politely or otherwise, explain to him that it is his strict duty to go into the trenches at Vanves and kill as many Frenchmen as he can. If the citizen resists he is carried off, and told that on account of his resistance he will have the honour of being put at the head of his battalion at the first engagement. These visits often end in violence. I am told that in the Rue Oudinot a young man received a savage bayonet thrust because he resisted the corporal's order; and as these occurrences are not uncommon, the refractaires cannot be said to live in peace and comfort. They are subject to continual terror, the sour visage of their concierge fills them with misgivings, he may be one of the Commune. As to going to bed, it must not be thought of; it is during the hours of night that the Communal agents are particularly active. This necessity of changing domicile has lead to certain Amelias and Rosalines and other ladies of that description having the words "Hospitality to Refractaires" written in pencil on their cards. Men who decline to take advantage of such opportunities have to go about from hotel to hotel, giving imaginary names, suspicious of the waiters, and awaking at the least sound, thinking it is the noise of feet ascending the stairs, or the rattle of muskets on the landing. The day before yesterday a number of refractaires, having the courage of despair, walked to the Porte Saint-Ouen—"Will you let us out?" asked they of the commanding officer, who answered in a decided negative; whereupon the party, which was three hundred strong, fell upon the captain and his men, whom they disarmed, and five minutes afterwards they were running free across the fields.

Others employ softer means of corruption; resort to the wine-shops of Belleville, where they make themselves agreeable in every way, and soon succeed in entering into friendly conversation with some of the least ferocious among the Federals of the place.



"You are on duty, Tuesday, at the Porte de la Chapelle?"—"Why, yes."—"So that you might very easily let a comrade out who wants to go and pay a visit at Saint-Denis?"—"Quite out of the question; the others would prevent me, or denounce me to the captain."—"You think there is nothing to be done with the captain?"—"Oh! no; he is a staunch patriot, he is!"—"How very tiresome; and I wanted most particularly to go to Saint-Denis on Tuesday evening. I would gladly give twenty francs out of my own pocket for the sake of a little walk outside the fortifications."—"There is only one way."—"And how is that?"—"You don't care much about going out by the door, do you?"—"Well, no; what I want is to get outside."—"Oh! then listen to me; come to La-Chapelle early on Tuesday evening, and walk up and down the rampart. I will try and be on duty at eight o'clock, and look out for you. When I see you I will take care not to say qui vive."—"That's easy enough; and what then?"—"Why, then I will secure around you a thick rope which of course you will have with you!"—"The devil!"—"And I will throw you into the trench."—"By Jove! That will be a leap."—"Oh! I will do it very carefully, without hurting you. I will let you slip softly down the wall."—"Humph!"—"When you reach the ground below, in an instant you can be up and off into the darkness. Do you accept? Yes or no?"—"I should certainly prefer to drive out of the city in a coach and six, but nevertheless I accept."

Generally, this plan answers admirably. They say that the Federals of Belleville and Montmartre make a nice little income with this kind of business. Sometimes, however, the plan only half succeeds, and either the rope breaks, or the Federal considers, he may manage capitally to reconcile his interest with his duty, by sending a ball after the escaped refractaire.

Disguises are also the order of the day. A poet, whose verses were received at the Comedie Francaise with enthusiasm during the siege, managed to get away, thanks to an official on the Northern Railway, who lent him his coat and cap. Another poet—they are an ingenious race—conceived a plan of greater boldness. One day on the Boulevard he called a fiacre, having first taken care to choose a coachman of respectable age, "Cocher, drive to the Rue Montorgueil, to the best restaurant you can find." On the way the poet reasoned thus to himself: "This coachman has in his pocket, as they all have, a Communal passport, which allows him to go out and come into Paris as he pleases; let me remember the fourth act of my last melodrama, and I am saved."

The cab stopped in front of a restaurant of decent exterior not far from Philippe's. The young man went in, asked for a private room, and told the waiter to send up the coachman, as he had something to say to him, and to procure a boy to hold the horse. The coachman walked into the room, where the breakfast was ready served.

"Now, coachman, I am going to keep you all day, so do not refuse to drink a glass with me to keep up your strength."

An hour after the poet and the coachman had breakfasted like old friends; six empty bottles testified that neither one nor the other were likely to die of thirst. The poet grumbled internally to himself as he thought of the three bottles of Clos-Vougeot, one of Leoville, two of Moulin-au-Vent, that had been consumed, and the fellow not drunk yet. Then he determined to try surer means, and called to the waiter to bring champagne. "It is no use, young fellow," laughed the coachman, who was familiar at least, if he was not drunk; "champagne won't make any difference; if you counted on that to get my passport, you reckoned without your host!"—"The devil I did," cried the poor young man, horrified to see his scheme fall through, and to think of the prodigious length of the bill he should have to pay for nothing.—"Others, have tried it on, but I am too wide awake by half," said the coachman, adding as he emptied the last bottle into his glass, "give me two ten-franc pieces and I will get you through."—"How can I be grateful enough?" cried the poet, although in reality he felt rather humiliated to find that the grand scene in his fourth act had not succeeded.—"Call the waiter, and pay the bill." The waiter was called, and the bill paid with a sigh. "Now give me your jacket."—"My jacket?"—"Yes, this thing in velvet you have on your back." The poet did as he was bid. "Now your waistcoat and trousers."—"My trousers! Oh, insatiable coachman!"—"Make haste will you, or else I shall take you to the nearest guard-room for a confounded refractaire, as you are." The clothes were immediately given up. "Very well; now take mine, dress yourself in them, and let's be off." While the young man was putting on with decided distaste the garments of the cocher, the latter managed to introduce his ponderous bulk into those of the poet. This done, out they went. "Get up on the box."—"On the box?"—"Yes, idiot," said the coachman, growing more and more familiar; "I am going to get into the cab, now drive me wherever you please." The plan was a complete success. At the Porte de Chatillon the disguised poet exhibited his passport, and the National Guard who looked in at the window of the carriage cried out, "Oh, he may pass; he might be my grandfather." The cab rolled over the draw-bridge, and it was in this way that M ...,—ah! I was just going to let the cat out of the bag—it was in this way that our young poet broke the law of the Commune, and managed to dine that same evening at the Hotel des Reservoirs at Versailles, with a deputy of the right on his left hand, and a deputy of the left on his right hand.

Shall I go away? Why not? Do I particularly wish to be shut up one morning in some barrack-room, or sent in spite of myself to the out-posts? My position of refractaire is sensibly aggravated by the fact of my being in rather a dangerous neighbourhood. For the last few days, I have felt rather astonished at the searching glances that a neighbour always casts upon me, when we met in the street. I told my servant to try and find out who this man was. Great heavens! this scowling neighbour of mine is Gerardin—Gerardin of the Commune! Add to this the perilous fact, that our concierge is lieutenant in a Federal battalion, and you will have good reason to consider me the most unfortunate of refractaires. However, what does it matter? I decide on remaining; I will stay and see the end, even should the terrible Pyat and the sweet Vermorel both of them be living under the same roof with me, even if my concierge be M. Delescluze himself!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 87: The decree which rendered obligatory the service in the marching companies of the National Guard, and the establishment of courts-martial, spread terror among the population, and thousands of people thronged daily to the Prefecture of Police. Sometimes, the queue extended from the Place Dauphine to beyond the Pont Neuf. But soon afterwards, stratagems of every kind were put into requisition to escape from the researches of the Commune, which became more eager and determined, from day to day, after the publication of the following decree, the chef-d'oeuvre of the too famous Raoul Rigault:—

"EX-PREFECTURE OF POLICE.

"Delivery of Passports.

"Considering that the civil authority cannot favour the non-execution of the decrees of the Commune, without failing in its duty, and that it is highly necessary that all communications with those who carry on this savage war against us should be prevented,

"The member of the Committee of Public Safety, Delegate at the Prefecture of Police,

"Decrees:—

"Art. 1. Passports can only be delivered on the production of satisfactory documents.

"Art. 2. No passport will be delivered to individuals between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five years, as such fall within the military law.

"Art. 3. No passport will be issued to any member of the old police, or who are in relation with Versailles.

"Art. 4. Any persons who come within the conditions of Articles 2 or 3, and apply for passports, will be immediately sent to the depot of the ex-Prefecture of Police.

(Signed) "RAOUL RIGAULT,

"Member of the Committee of Public Safety."]

[Footnote 88: Those who decline to join the Commune.]



LXXXI.

Glorious news! I have seen Lullier again. We had lost Cluseret, lost Rossel; Delescluze does not suffice, and except for Dombrowski and La Cecilia with his prima-donna-like name, the company of the Commune would be sadly wanting in stars. Happily! Lullier has been restored to us. What had become of him? he only wrote seven or eight letters a day to Rochefort and Maroteau, that I can find out. How did he manage to employ that indomitable activity of his, and that of his two hundred friends, who with their red Garibaldis and blue sailor trousers made him the most picturesque escort you can imagine? Was he meditating some gigantic enterprises the dictatorship that Cluseret had dreamed of and Rossel disdained, was he about to assume it for the good of the Republic? I have no idea; but whatever he has been doing, I have seen him again at the club held in the church of Saint Jacques.

]

Ha! ha! Worthless hypocrites and inquisitors, who for the last eighteen hundred years have crushed, degraded, and tortured the poor; you thought our turn was never to come, you monks, priests, and archbishops! Thanks to the Commune you now preach in the prisons of the Republic; you may confess, if you like, the spiders of your dungeons, and give the holy viaticum to the rats which play around your legs! You can no longer do any harm to patriots. No more churches, no more convents! Those who have not houses in the Champs Elysees shall lodge in your convents; in your churches shall be held honest assemblies, which will give the people their rights; as to their duties, that is an invention of reactionists. No more of your sermons or speeches: after Bossuet, Napoleon Gaillard!



On entering the church of Saint Eustache yesterday, I was agreeably surprised to find the font full of tobacco instead of holy-water, and to see the altar in the distance covered with bottles and glasses. Some one informed me that was the counter. In one of the lateral chapels, a statue of the Virgin had been dressed out in the uniform of a vivandiere, with a pipe in her mouth. I was, however, particularly charmed with the amiable faces of the people I saw collected there. The sex to which we owe the tricoteuses was decidedly in the majority. It was quite delightful not to see any of those elegant dresses and frivolous manners, which have for so long disgraced the better half of the human race. Thank heaven! my eyes fell with rapture on the heroic rags of those ladies who do us the honour of sweeping our streets for us. Many of these female patriots were proud to bear in the centre of their faces a rubicund nose, that rivalled in colour the Communal flag on the Hotel de Ville. Oh, glorious red nose, the distinguished sign of Republicanism! As to the men, they seemed to have been chosen among the first ranks of the new aristocracy. It was charming to note the military elegance with which their caps were slightly inclined over one ear; their faces, naturally hideous, were illuminated with the joy of freedom, and certainly the thick smoke which emanated from their pipes, must have been more agreeable as an offering, than the faint vapours of incense that used to arise from the gilded censers. "Marriage, citoyennes, is the greatest error of ancient humanity. To be married is to be a slave. Will you be slaves?"—"No, no!" cried all the female part of the audience, and the orator, a tall gaunt woman with a nose like the beak of a hawk, and a jaundice-coloured complexion, flattered by such universal applause, continued, "Marriage, therefore, cannot be tolerated any longer in a free city. It ought to be considered a crime, and suppressed by the most severe measures. Nobody has the right to sell his liberty, and thereby to set a bad example to his fellow citizens. The matrimonial state is a perpetual crime against morality. Don't tell me that marriage may be tolerated, if you institute divorce. Divorce is only an expedient, and if I may be allowed to use the word, an Orleanist expedient!" (Thunders of applause.) "Therefore, I propose to this assembly, that it should get the Commune of Paris to modify the decree, which assures pensions to the legitimate or illegitimate companions of the National Guards, killed in the defence of our municipal rights. No half measures. We, the illegitimate companions, will no longer suffer the legitimate wives to usurp rights they no longer possess, and which they ought never to have had at all. Let the decree be modified. All for the free women, none for the slaves!"



The orator descends from the pulpit amidst the most lively congratulations. I am told by some one standing near me, that the orator is a monthly nurse, who used to be a somnambulist in her youth. But the crowd opens now to give place to a male orator, who mounts the spiral staircase, passes his hand through his hair, and darts a piercing glance on the multitude beneath. It is Citizen Lullier.

This young man has really a very agreeable physiognomy; his forehead is intelligent, his eyes pleasant. Looking on M. Lullier's sympathetic face, one is sorry to remember his eccentricities. But what is all this noise about? What has he said? what has he done? I only heard the words "Dombrowski," and "La Cecilia." Every one starts to his feet, exasperated, shouting. Several chairs are about to be flung at the orator. He is surrounded, hooted. "Down with Lullier! Long live Dombrowski!" The tumult increases. Citizen Lullier seems perfectly calm in the midst of it all, but refuses to leave the pulpit; he tries in vain to speak and explain. Two women, two amiable hags, throw themselves upon him; several men rush up also; he is taken up bodily and carried away, resisting to the utmost and shouting to the last. The people jump up on the chairs, Lullier has disappeared, and I hear him no more; what have they done with him!

What do you think of all this, gentlemen and Catholics! Do you still regret the priests and choristers who used awhile ago to preach and chant in the Parisian churches? Where is the man, who at the very sight of this new congregation, so tolerant, so intelligent, listening with such gratitude to these noble lessons of politics and morality; where is the man, who could any longer blind himself to the admirable influence of the present revolution? Innumerable are the benefits that the Paris Commune showers upon us! As I leave the church, a little vagabond walks up to the font, and taking a pinch of tobacco,—"In the name of the...!" says he, then fills his pipe; "In the name of the ...!" proceeding to strike a lucifer, adds, "In the name of the ...!"—"Confound the blasphemous rascal!" say I, giving him a good box on the ears. After having written these lines I felt inclined to erase them; on second thoughts I let them remain—they belong to history!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 89: A political refugee, who left his country in 1869 for Prussia, where he taught mathematics in the University of Ulm, and afterwards accepted service under Garibaldi.]



LXXXII.

This morning I took a walk in the most innocent manner, having committed no crime that I knew of. It was lovely weather, and the streets looked gay, as they generally do when it is very bright, even when the hearts of the people are most sad. I passed through the Rue Saint-Honore, the Palais Royal, and finally the Rue Richelieu. I beg pardon for these details, but I am particularly careful in indicating the road I took, as I wish the inhabitants of the places in question, to bear witness that I did not steal in passing a single quartern loaf, or appropriate the smallest article of jewellery. As I was about to turn on to the boulevards, one of the four National Guards who were on duty, I do not know what for, at the corner of the street, cried out, "You can't pass!" All right, thought I to myself; there is nothing fresh I suppose, only the Commune does not want people to pass; of course, it has right on its side. Thereupon I began to retrace my steps. "You can't pass," calls out another sentinel, by the time I have reached the other side of the street.

This is strange, the Commune cannot mean to limit my walk to a melancholy pacing up and down between two opposite pavements. A sergeant came up to me; I recognised him as a Spaniard, who during the siege belonged to my company. "Why are you not in uniform?" he asked me, with a roughness that I fancied was somewhat mitigated by the remembrance of the many cigars I had given him, the nights we were on guard during the siege. I understood in an instant what they wanted with me, and replied unhesitatingly, "Because it is not my turn to be on guard,"—"No, of course it's not, it never is. You have been taking your ease this long time, while others have been getting killed." It was evident this Spaniard had not taken the cigars I had given him, in good part, and was now revenging himself.—"What do you want with me?" I said; "let's have done with this." Instead of answering, he signed to two Federals standing near, who immediately placed themselves one on each side of me, and cried, "March!" I was perfectly agreeable, although this walk was not exactly in the direction I had intended. On the way I heard a woman say, "Poor young man I They have taken him in the act." I was conducted to the church of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, and marched into the vestry, where about fifty refractaires were already assembled.

Behind a deal table, on which were placed a small register, an inkstand stuck in a great bung, and two quill pens, sat three young men, almost boys, in uniform. You might have imagined them to be Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus, at the age when they played at leap-frog. "Your name?" said Rhadamanthus, addressing me. I did not think twice about it, but gave them a name which has never been mine. Suddenly some one behind me burst out laughing; I turned round and recognised an old friend, whom I had not noticed among the other prisoners. "Your profession?" inquired Minos.—"Prizefighter," I answered, putting my arms akimbo and looking as ferocious as possible, by way of keeping up the character I had momentarily assumed. To the rest of the questions that were addressed to me, I replied in the same satisfactory manner. When it was over, Minos said to me, "That is enough; now go and sit down, and wait until you are called."—"Pardon me, my young friend, but I shall not go and sit down, nor shall I wait a moment more."—"Are you making fun of us? We are transacting most serious business, our lives are at stake. Go and sit down."—"I have already had the honour to remark, my dear Rhadamanthus, that I did not mean to sit down. Be kind enough to allow me to depart instantly."—"You ask me to do this?"—"Yes! you!" I shouted in a tremendous voice. The three judges looked at me in great perplexity, and began whispering amongst themselves. A prize fighter, by jingo! I thought the moment had come to strike a decisive blow, so I pulled out of my pocket a little green card, which I desired them to examine. Immediately Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus got up, bowed to me most respectfully, and called out to two National Guards who were at the door, "Allow the citizen to pass."—"By-the-bye," said I, pointing, to my friend, "this gentleman is with me."—"Allow both the citizens to pass," shouted the lads in chorus.—"This is capital," cried my friend as soon as we were well outside the door.—"How did you manage?"—"I have a pass from the Central Committee."—"In your own name?"—"No, I bought it of the widow of a Federal; who was on very good terms with Citizen Felix Pyat."—"Why, it is just like a romance."—"Yes, but a romance that allows me to live pretty safely in the midst of this strange reality. Anyhow, I think we had better look out for other lodgings."



LXXXIII.

At ten o'clock in the evening I was walking up the Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette. In these times the streets are quite deserted at that hour. Looking on in front I saw that the Place Saint-Georges was lighted up by long tongues of flame, that the wind blew hither and thither. I hastened on, and was soon standing in front of M. Thiers' house.[90] At the open gate stood a sentinel; a large fire had been lighted in the court by the National Guards; not that the night was cold, they seemed to have lighted it merely for the pleasure of burning furniture and pictures, that had been left behind by the Communal waggoners. They had already begun to pull down the right side of the house; a pickaxe was leaning against a loosened stone; the roof had fallen in, and a rafter was sticking out of one of the windows. The fire rose higher and higher; would it not be better that the flames should reach the house and consume it in an hour or two, than to see it being gradually pulled down, stone by stone, for many days to come? In the court I perceived several trucks full of books and linen. A National Guard picked up a small picture that was lying near the gate; I bent forward and saw that it was a painting of a satyr playing on a flute. How sad and cruel all this seemed! The men lounging about looked demoniacal in the red light of the fire. I turned away, thinking not of the political man, but of the house where he had worked, where he had thought, of the books that no longer stood on the shelves, of the favourite chair that had been burnt on the very hearth by which he had sat so long; I thought of all the dumb witnesses of a long life destroyed, dispersed, lost, of the relatives, and friends whose traces had disappeared from the rooms empty to-day, in ruins to-morrow; I thought of all this, and of all the links that would be broken by a dispersion, and I trembled at the idea that some day—in these times anything seems possible—men may break open the doors of my modest habitation, knock about the furniture of which I have grown fond, destroy my books which have so long been the companions of my studies, tear the pictures from my walls, and burn the verses that I love for the sake of the trouble they have given me to make,—kill, in a word, all that renders life agreeable to me, more cruelly than if four Federals were to take me off and shoot me at the corner of a street. But I am not a political man. I belong to no party—who would think of doing me any injury? I am perfectly harmless, with my lovesick metaphor. Ah I how egotistical one is! It was of my own home that I thought while I stood in front of the ruin in the Place Saint-Georges. I confess that I was particularly touched by the misfortunes of that house, because it awakened in me the fear of my own, misfortune, most improbable, and most diminutive, it is true, in comparison with that.



FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 90: It should be remarked that the destruction of M. Thiers' house coincided with the first success of the Versailles army; it was the spirit of hatred and mad destructiveness which dictated the following decree, issued by the Committee of Public Safety on the 10th of May:—

"Art. 1. The goods and property of Thiers (they even denied him the appellation of citizen) are seized by order of the administration of public domains.

"Art. 2. The house of Thiers, situated at the Place Saint-Georges, to be demolished."

On the following day the National Assembly, in presence of the activity exhibited by M. Thiers, declared that the proscribed, whose house was demolished, had exhibited proofs of an amount of patriotism and political ability which inspired every confidence in the future. On the 12th of the same month works were commenced at Versailles for the formation of a railway-station sufficient for all the wants of an important army, the initiation of which was due to M. Thiers; a conference was opened on the 19th April with the Western Railway Company, the plans were approved on the 22nd of the same month, and the preliminary works were commenced on the 12th of May. When these are terminated, they will consist of thirty-five parallel lines of rails, more than a mile in length. But the principal point in the plan is, that by means of branches to Pontoise and Chevreuse, this immense station may be placed in direct communication with all the lines of railway in France. It is easy enough to draw the following conclusion, namely, that if the necessity should ever again arise, Paris would cease to be the central depot for all commercial movements, and thus the paralysis of the affairs of the whole country would be avoided, in case the Parisian populace should again be bitten by the barricade mania. At one time it was feared that the collections of M. Thiers were destroyed in the conflagration at the Tuileries; but M. Courbet reports that on the 12th of May he asked what he ought to do about the different things taken at the house of M. Thiers, and if they were to be sent to the Louvre or to be publicly sold, and he was then appointed a member of the commission to examine the case. Regarding his conduct at the time of the demolishing of the house of M. Thiers, he arrived too late, he says, to make an inventory; the furniture and effects had been already packed by the employes of the Garde Meuble; "I made some observations about it, and on going through the empty apartments, I noticed two small figures that I packed in paper, thinking they might be private souvenirs, and that I would return them some day to their owner. All the other things were already destroyed or gone."]



LXXXIV.

An anecdote: Parisian all over; but with such stuff are they amused!

Raoul Rigault, the man who arrests, was breakfasting with Gaston Dacosta, the man who destroys. These two friends are worthy of each other. Rigault has incarcerated the Archbishop of Paris, but Dacosta claims the merit of having loosened the first stone in M. Thiers' house. But however, Rigault would destroy if Dacosta were not there to do so; and if Rigault did not arrest, Dacosta would arrest for him.

They talked as they ate. Rigault enumerated the list of people he had sent to the Conciergerie and to Mazas, and thought with consternation that soon there would be no one left for him to arrest. Suddenly he stopped his fork on its way to his mouth, and his face assumed a most doleful expression.—"What's the matter?" cried Dacosta, alarmed.—"Ah!" said Rigault, tears choking his utterance, "Papa is not in Paris."—"Well, and what does it matter if your father is not here?"—"Alas!" exclaimed Rigault, bursting out crying, "I could have had him arrested!"[91]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 91: The illegality of his conduct, however, was too glaring even for the Commune, and he was removed from his post on a complaint made by Arthur Arnould, to the committee, concerning the arbitrary arrest of a number of persons. Cournet was appointed to the Prefecture in Rigault's stead, but the amateur policeman and informer did not renounce work; he found the greatest pleasure, as he himself expressed it, in acting the spy over the official spies. This man was a well-known frequenter of the low cafes of the Quartier Latin, and his face bore such evidences of his debauched life, that though only twenty-eight years of age, he looked nearer forty.]



LXXXV.

The horrible cracking sound that is heard at sea when a vessel splits upon a rock, is not a surer sign of peril to the terrified crew, than are the vain efforts, contradictions and agitation at the Hotel de Ville, the forerunners of disaster to the men of the Commune. Listen! the vessel is about to heave asunder. Everybody gives orders, no one obeys them. One man looks defiantly at another; this man denounces that, and Rigault thinks seriously of arresting them both. There is a majority which is not united, and a minority that cannot agree amongst themselves. Twenty-one members retire, they do well.[92] I am glad to find on the list the names of the few that Paris' still believes in, and whom, thanks to this tardy resignation, it will not learn to despise. For instance, Arthur Arnould. But why should they take the trouble to seek out a pretext? Why did they not say simply: "We have left them because we find them full of wickedness; we were blinded as you were at first, but now we in our turn see clearly; a good cause has been lost by madmen or worse, and we have abandoned it because, if we were to stay a moment longer, now that we are no longer blinded, we should be committing a criminal act" Such words as these would have opened the eyes of so many wretched beings, who are going to their deaths and think they do well to die! As to those who remain, they must feel that their power is slipping from them. They did not arrest or detain Rossel; it would seem as if they dared not touch him because he was right in thinking what he said, although he was very wrong to say it as he did. While the Commune hesitates, the military plans of the Versaillais are being carried out. Vanves taken, Montrouge in ruins, breaches opened at the Point-du-Jour, at the Porte-Maillot, at Saint-Ouen; the Communists have only to choose now, between flight and the horrors of a terrible death struggle! May they fly, far, far away, beyond the reach of vengeance, despised, forgotten if that be possible! I am told that the Central Committee is trying now to substitute itself for the Commune, which was elected by its desire.[94] One born of the other, they will die together.

[93]



FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 92: An important document has just made the round of the Communal press—the manifesto of the minority of the Commune, in which twenty-one members declare their refusal to take any farther part in the deliberations of the body, which they accuse of having delivered its powers into the hands of the Committee of Public Safety, and thus rendering itself null. This declaration is signed by:—Arthur Arnould, Avrial, Andrieux, Arnold, Clemence, Victor Clement, Courbet, Franckel, Eugene Gerardin, Jourde, Lefrancais, Longuet, Malon, Ostyn, Pindy, Serailler, Tridon, Theisz, Varlin, Vermorel, Jules Valles.

Adding to these twenty-one secessionists, twenty-one members who have resigned:—Adam, Barre, Brelay, Beslay, De Bouteiller, Cheron, Desmarest, Ferry, Fruneau, Goupil, Loiseau-Pinson, Leroy, Lefevre, Meline, Murat, Marmottan, Nast, Ulysse Parent, Robineat, Rane, Tirard;

Three who have not sat: Briosne, Menotti Garibaldi, Rogeard;

Two dead: Duval, Flourens;

One captured: Blanqui;

One escaped: Charles Gerardin;

Five incarcerated: Allix, Panille dit Blanchet, Brunel, Emile Clement, Cluseret;—

Out of 101 members elected to the Commune on the 26th of March and the 16th of April, only forty-seven now remain:—Amouroux, Ant. Arnaud, Assy, Babick, Billioray, Clement, Champy, Chardon, Chalain, Demay, Dupont, Decamp, Dereure, Durant, Delescluze, Eudes, Henry Fortune, Ferre, Gambon, Geresme, Paschal Grousset, Johannard, Ledroit, Langevin, Lonclas, Mortier, Leo Meiller, Martelet, J. Miot, Oudet, Protot, Paget, Pilotel, Felix Pyat, Philippe, Parisel, Pottier, Regere, Raoul Rigault, Sicard, Triquet, Urbain, Vaillant, Verdure, Vesmier, Viart.]

[Footnote 93: Arnould is a man of about forty-seven years of age, small in stature, lively and intelligent. He has written in many of the Democratic journals of Paris and the provinces; and his literary talents are of a good kind. Being connected with Rochefort's journal, the Marseillaise, he was sent by the latter to challenge Pierre Bonaparte, and was a witness at the trial which followed the murder of Victor Noir.

Although naturally drawn by his connections into the movement of the eighteenth of March, he always protested loudly against the arbitrary acts of the Commune, and it is surprising that he did not fall under accusation, by his colleagues. He opposed particularly the proposals for the suppression of newspapers. "It is prodigious to me," he said, in full meeting of the committee, "that people will still talk of arresting others for expressing their opinions."

He voted against the organisation of the Committee of Public Safety on the ground:—

"That such an institution would be directly opposed to the political opinions of the electoral body, of which the Commune is the representative."

He protested most energetically against secret imprisonment—

"Secret incarceration has something immoral in it; it is moral torture substituted for physical.

"I cannot understand men who have passed their life in combating the errors of despotism, falling into the same faults when they arrive at power. Of two things one: either secret imprisonment is an indispensable and good thing; or, it is odious. If it was good it was wrong to oppose it, and if it be odious and immoral, we ought not to continue it."

What on earth had he then to do in the Commune?

"Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?"]

[Footnote 94: "REPUBLICAN FEDERATION OF THE NATIONAL GUARD.

"Central Committee.

"To the People of Paris! To the National Guard!

"Rumours of dissensions between the majority of the Commune and the Central Committee have been spread by our common enemies with a persistency which, once for all, must be crushed by public compact.

"The Central Committee, appointed to the administration of military affairs by the Committee of Public Safety, will enter upon office from this day.

"This Committee, which has upheld the standard of the Communal revolution, has undergone no change and no deterioration. It is today what it was yesterday, the legitimate defender of the Commune, the basis of its power, at the same time as it is the determined enemy of civil war; the sentinel placed by the people to protect the rights that they have conquered,

"In the name, then, of the Commune, and of the Central Committee, who sign this pact of good faith, let these gross suspicions and calumnies be swept away. Let hearts beat, let hands be ready to strike in the good cause, and may we triumph in the name of union and fraternity.

"Long live the Republic!

"Long live the Commune!

"Long live the Communal Federation!

"The Commission of the Commune, BERGERET, CHAMPY, GERESME, LEDROIT, LONGLAS, URBAIN.

"The Central Committee. "Paris, 18th May, 1871."

]



LXXXVI.

It was five o'clock in the afternoon. The day had been splendid and the sun shone brilliantly on Caesar still standing on the glorious pedestal of his victories. Outside the barricades of the Rue de la Paix and the Rue Castiglione, the crowd was standing in a compact mass, as far as the Tuileries on one side and the New Opera House on the other. There must have been from twenty to twenty-fire thousand people there. Strangers accosted each other by the title of Citizen, I heard some talking about an eccentric Englishman who had paid three thousand francs for the pleasure of being the last to climb to the summit of the column. Nearly every one blamed him for not having given the money to the people. Others said that Citizen Jourde would not manage to cover his expenses; Abadie[95] the engineer had asked thirty-two thousand francs to pull down the great trophy, and that the stone and plaster was after all, not covered with more than an inch or two of bronze, that it was not so many metres high, and would not make a great many two-sous pieces after all. These sous seemed to occupy the public mind exceedingly, but the principal subjects of conversation, were the fears concerning the probable effects of the fall.



The event was slow in accomplishment. The wide Place was thinly sprinkled with spectators, not more than three hundred in all, privileged beings with tickets, or wearing masonic badges; or officers of the staff. Bergeret at one of the windows was coolly smoking a cigarette; military bands were assembled at the four angles of the Place; the sound of female laughter reached us from the open windows of the Ministere de la Justice. The horses of the mounted sentinels curvetted with impatience; bayonets glittered in the sun; children gaped wearily, seated on the curbstone. The hour of the ceremony was past; a rope had broken. Around the piled faggots on which the column was to fall, great fascines of flags of the favourite colour were flying.

The crowd did not seem to enjoy being kept in suspense, and proclaimed their impatience by stamping with measured tread, and crying "Music!"

At half-past five there was a sudden movement and bustle around the barricade of the Rue Castiglione. The members of the Commune appeared with their inevitable red scarfs.[96] Then there was a great hush. At the same instant the windlass creaked; the ropes which hung from the summit of the column tightened; the gaping hole in the masonry below, gradually closed; the statue bent forward in the rays of the setting sun, and then suddenly describing in the air a gigantic sweep, fell among the flags with a dull, heavy thud, scattering a whirlwind of blinding dust in the air.

Then the bands struck up the "Marseillaise," and cries of "Vive la Commune" were re-echoed on all sides by the terror or the indifference of the multitude. In a marvellously short time, however, all was quiet again, so quiet, indeed, that I distinctly heard a dog bark as it ran frightened across the Place.

I daresay the members of the Commune, who presided over the accomplishment of this disgraceful deed, exclaimed in the pride of their miserable hearts, "Caesar, those whom you salute shall live!"

Everybody of course wished to get a bit of the ruin, as visitors to Paris eagerly bought bits of siege bread framed and glazed, and there was a general rush towards the place; but the National Guards crossed, their bayonets in front of the barricade, and no one was allowed to pass. So that the crowd quickly dispersed to its respective dinners. "It is fallen!" said some to those who had not been fortunate enough to see the sight. "The head of the statue came off—no one was killed." The boys cried out, "Oh, it was a jolly sight all the same!" But the greater part of the people were silent as they trudged away.

Then night came on, and next day a land-mark and a finger-post seemed missing in our every-day journey. Until we lose a familiar object we hardly appreciate its existence.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 95: Abadie arranged to demolish the Colonne Vendome for 32,000 or 38,000 francs, forfeiting 600 francs for every day's delay after the fourth of May. This reduced the sum to be paid to him by 6000 francs.]

[Footnote 96: Regarding Courbet and the destruction of the Column, he rejects the accusation on the ground that this decree had been voted previously to his admission in the Commune, and on the request he had made under the Government of the 4th of May of removing the column to the esplanade of the Invalides. He affirms that the official paper has altered his own words at the Commune, and he pretends having proposed to the Government to rebuild the column at his own expense, if it can be proved that he has been the cause of its destruction.]



LXXXVII.

On the sixteenth, I received a prospectus through my concierge. There was to be a concert, mixed with speeches—a sort of popular fete at the Tuileries. The places varied in price from ten sous to five francs. Five francs the Salle des Marechaux; ten sous the garden, which was to be illuminated with Venetian lamps among the orange-trees; the whole to be enlivened by fireworks from the Courbevoie batteries.

I had tact enough not to put on white gloves, and set out for the palace.

It was not a fairy-like sight; indeed, it was a most depressing spectacle. A crowd of thieves and vagabonds, of dustmen and rag-pickers, with four or five gold bands on their sleeves and caps, (the insignia of officers of the National Guard), were hurrying along down the grand staircase, chewing "imperiales," spitting, and repeating the old jokes of '93. As to the women—they were sadly out of place. They simpered, and gave themselves airs, and some of them even beat time with their fans, as Mademoiselle Caillot was singing, to look as if they knew something about music.