By a very delicate attention, the private apartments of the Queen had, in many ways, been made to look as much as possible like those at Windsor Castle; and where this transformation was found impossible by reason of their style of decoration—such as, for instance, in the former boudoir of Marie-Antoinette,—the mural paintings and those of the ceiling had been restored by two renowned artists. In addition to this, the most valuable pictures had been borrowedfrom the Louvre to enhance the splendour of the reception and dining rooms, while none but crack regiments in full dress were told off for duty.
The day after the Queen's arrival being Sunday, the entertainment after dinner consisted solely of a private concert; on the Monday the Queen visited the Fine Arts' Section of the Exhibition, which was located in a separate building at the top of the Avenue Montaigne, and connected with the main structure by beautifully laid-out gardens. The Queen spent several hours among the modern masterpieces of all nations, and two French artists had the honour of being presented. I will not be certain of the names, because I was not there, but, as far as I can remember, they were Ingres and Horace Vernet.
While on the subject of art, I cannot help digressing for a moment. I may take it that in 1855 a good many Englishmen of the better middle classes, though not exactly amateurs or connoisseurs of pictures, were acquainted with the names, if not with the works, of the French masters of the modern school. Well, in that same year, the English school burst upon the corresponding classes in France like a revelation—nay, I may go further still, and unhesitatingly affirm that not a few critics, and those of the best, shared the astonishment of the non-professional multitude. They had heard of Sir Joshua Reynolds and Gainsborough, perhaps of Turner, but Constable and Moreland, Wilkie and Webster, Mulready, and the rest of the younger school, were simply so many names. But when the critics did become aware of their existence, their criticisms were simply a delightful series of essays, guiding the most ignorant to a due appreciation of those Englishmen's talents, not stinting praise, but by no means withholding blame, instinctively focussing merits and defects in a few brilliant paragraphs, which detected the painter's intention and conception as well as his execution both from a technical, as well as dramatic, graphic, and pictorial point of view; which showed, not only the influence of general surroundings, but dissected the result of individual tendencies. Many a time since, when wading through the adipose as well as verbose columns dealing with similar subjects in English newspapers, have I longed for the literary fleshpots of France, which contained and contain real nourishing substance, not the fatty degeneration of an ignoramus's brain, and, what is worse, of an ignoramus who speaks innumbers from a less valid reason than Pope's; for the most repellant peculiarity of these effusions are the numbers. It would seem that these would-be critics, having no more than the ordinary auctioneer's intellect, endeavour as much as possible to assimilate their effusions to a catalogue. They are an abomination to the man who can write, though he may know nothing about painting, and to the man who knows about painting and cannot write. The pictorial art of England must indeed be a hardy plant to have survived the approval and the disapproval of these barbarians.
To come back to the Queen, who, after leaving the Palais de l'Industrie, drove to several points of interest in Paris, notably to la Sainte-Chapelle. The route taken was by the Rue de Rivoli and the Pont-Neuf; the return journey was effected by the Pont-aux-Changes and the eastern end of the same street, which had only been opened recently, as far as the Place de la Bastille. Then, and then only, her Majesty caught sight of the Boulevards in the whole of their extent. The decorations of the previous day but one had not been touched, and the crowds were simply one tightly wedged-in mass of humanity. A journalistic friend had procured me apermis de circuler—in other words, "a police pass,"—and I made the way from the Boulevard Beaumarchais to Tortoni on foot. It may be interesting to those who are always prating about the friendship between England and France to know that I heard not a single cry of "Vive l'Angleterre!" On the other hand, I heard a great many of "Vive la Reine!" Even the unthinking crowd, though yielding to the excitement of the moment, seemed to distinguish between the country and her ruler. I am not commenting upon this: I am merely stating a fact. Probably it is not England's fault that she has not been able to inspire the French nation as a whole with anything like a friendly feeling, but it is as well to point it out. During the whole of the Crimean War, nine out of every ten educated Frenchmen openly asserted that France had been made a cat's-paw by England, that the alliance was one forced upon the nation by Napoléon from dynastic and personal, rather than from patriotic and national, motives; there were some who, at the moment of the Queen's visit, had the candour to say that this, and this only, would be France's reward for the blood and money spent in the struggle. At the same time, it is but fair to state that thesevery men spoke both with admiration and respect of England's sovereign.
At three o'clock there was a brilliant reception at the Élysée, when the members of the corps diplomatique accredited to the Tuileries were presented to the Queen. Shortly after five her Majesty returned to Saint-Cloud, where, in the evening, the actors of the Comédie-Française gave, at the Queen's special request, a performance of "Les Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr." She had seen the piece in London, and been so pleased with it that she wished to see it again. Though I was on very intimate terms with Dumas, we had not met for several weeks, which was not wonderful, seeing that I was frequently appealed to by the son himself for news of his father. "What has become of him? He might be at the antipodes for all I see of him," said Alexandre II. about a dozen times a year. However, two or three days after the performance at Saint-Cloud, I ran against him in the Chaussée d'Antin. "Well, you ought to be pleased," I said; "it appears that not only has the Queen asked to see your piece, which she had already seen in London, but that she enjoyed it even much better the second than the first time."
"C'est comme son auteur," he replied: "plus on le connait, plus on l'aime. Je sais pourtant bien ce qui l'aurait amusée même d'avantage que de voir ma pièce, c'eut été de me voir moi-même, et franchement, ça m'aurait amusé aussi."
"Then why did not you ask for an audience? I am certain it would have been granted," I remarked, because I felt convinced that her Majesty would have been only too pleased to confer an honour upon such a man.
"En effet, j'y ai pensé," came the reply; "une femme aussi remarquable et qui deviendra probablement la plus grande femme du siècle aurait du se rencontrer avec le plus grand homme en France, mais j'ai eu peur qu'on ne me traite comme Madame de Staël traitât Saint-Simon. C'est dommage, parcequ'elle s'en ira sans avoir vu ce qu'il y de mieux dans notre pays, Alexandre, Roi du Monde romanesque, Dumas l'ignorant." Then he roared with laughter and went away.[76]
On Tuesday, the 21st, the Queen went to Versailles to inspect the picture-galleries established there by Louis-Philippe, and, in the evening, she was present at a gala-performance at the Opéra. Next day, she paid a second visit to the Palais de l'Industrie, but to the industrial section only. In the evening, there was a performance of "Le Fils de Famille" ("The Queen's Shilling"). On the 23rd, she spent several hours at the Louvre; after which, at night, she attended the ball given in her honour by the Municipality of Paris. I shall not attempt to describe that entertainment, the decorations and flowers of which alone cost three hundred and fifty thousand francs. The whole had been arranged under the superintendence of Ballard, the architect of the Halles Centrales. But I remember one little incident which caused a flutter of surprise among the court ladies, who, even at that time, had already left off dancing in the pretty old-fashioned way, and merely walked through their quadrilles. The royal matron of thirty-five, with a goodly family growing up around her, executed every step as her dancing master had taught her, and with none of the listlessness that was supposed to be the "correct thing." I was standing close to Canrobert, who had been recalled to resume his functions near the Emperor. After watching the Queen for a minute or so, he turned round to the lady on his arm. "Pardi, elle danse comme ses soldats se battent, 'en veux-tu, en voilà;' et corrects jusqu'à la fin." There never was a greater admirer of the English soldier than Canrobert. The splendour of that fête at the Hôtel-de-Ville has only been surpassed once, in 1867, when the civic fathers entertained a whole batch of sovereigns.
On the 24th, there was a third visit to the Exhibition, and I remember eight magnificent carriages passing down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. They were, however, only drawn by two horses each. I was making my way to the Champ de Mars, where a review was to be held in honour of her Majesty, and had told the cab to wait in the Rue Beaujon, while I stepped into the main road to have a look at the beautiful scene. The moment the carriages were past I returned to the Rue Beaujon, and ran up against Béranger,who was living there. The old man seemed in a great hurry, which was rather surprising, because he was essentially phlegmatic, and rarely put himself out for anything. So I asked him the reason of his haste. "I want to see your queen," he replied. A year or two before he had refused to go to the Tuileries to see the Empress, who had sent for him; and the latter, who could be most charming when she liked, had paid him a visit instead.
"I thought you did not trouble yourself much about royalty," I remarked. "You refused to go and see the Empress, and you rush along to see the Queen?"
"Non; je vais voir la femme: s'il y avait beaucoup de femmes comme elle, je leur pardonnerais d'être reines."
Her Majesty has never heard of this. It was the most magnificent and, at the same time, most witty tribute to her private virtues. All this happened many, many years ago. Since then I have often wondered why Prince Albert, who, I feel certain, knew the worth of all these men as well as he knew the merit of the littérateurs of his own country, did not suggest to his august consort a reception such as she gave to the corps diplomatique. It would have been a most original thing to do; the recollection of it would have been more delightful even than the most vivid recollections of that very wonderful week.
In those days, France was still looked upon as the first military power in Europe. Her soldiers were probably not superior to those who fell in the Franco-German war, but their prestige had not been questioned. They were also more sightly than the ill-clad legions of the Third Republic, so the review was a very splendid affair. At its termination, her Majesty repaired to the Invalides, to the tomb of Napoléon, which, though it had been begun, as I have incidentally stated, under the premiership of M. Guizot in 1846-47, was not finished then, and only officially inaugurated nearly six years afterwards.
My ticket for the review had been given to me by Marshal Vaillant, the minister for war, and the only Marshal of the Second Empire with whom I was, at that time, intimately acquainted; though I became on very friendly terms with Marshals MacMahon and Lebrun subsequently.
I will devote, by-and-by, a few notes to this most original soldier-figure—he was only a type in some respects; meanwhile, I may mention here an anecdote, in connection withthis visit of the Queen, characteristic of the man. The governor of the Invalides was the late King of Westphalia, Jérôme Bonaparte. It was but natural that he should have been chosen as the custodian of his brother's last resting-place. It was equally natural that he should feel reluctant to meet at that tomb the sovereign of a country which, he considered, had tortured that brother to death. Consequently the last survivor of the elder Bonapartes, the one who had also fought at Waterloo, foreseeing, as it were, this pilgrimage on the part of her Majesty, had, a fortnight or so before the date of her intended visit, gone to Havre, whither he had been ordered by his doctor on account of his health, and whence he only returned when the Queen of England had left France.
The deputy-governor of the Invalides was, perhaps, not considered sufficiently important to do the honours to so illustrious a visitor, and Marshal Vaillant was sounded whether he would undertake the functions. He declined. "Je n'ai pas l'honneur, sire," he said, "d'appartenir à votre illustre famille et personne sauf la famille d'un grand homme a le droit d'oublier les souffrances que ses ennemis lui ont infligées." He was an honest, upright soldier, abrupt and self-willed, but kindly withal, and plainly perceived the faults of Louis-Napoléon's policy and of his frequently misplaced generosity—above all, of his system of conciliating the sovereigns of Europe by fêtes and entertainments. "Quand l'autre leur donnait des fêtes et des représentations de théâtre, c'était chez eux, et pas chez nous, ils en payaient les frais." More of him in a little while.
At the Queen's first visit to Versailles—the second took place on the Saturday before she left—she had been deeply moved at the sight of the picture representing her welcome at Eu by Louis-Philippe, to which ceremony I alluded in one of my former notes. But even before this she had expressed a wish to see the ruins of the Château de Neuilly, and the commemorative chapel erected on the spot where the Duc d'Orléans met with his fatal accident. "La femme qui est si fidèle à ses vieilles amitiés au milieu des nouvelles, surtout quand il s'agit de dynasties rivales, comme en ce moment, et quand cette femme est une reine, cette femme est une amie bien précieuse," said Jérôme's son. Both the Emperor and the Empress found that their cousin had spoken truly.
Saturday, the 25th, had been fixed for the fête at Versailles.In the morning, the Queen went to the palace of Saint-Germain, which no English sovereign had visited since James II. lived there. She returned to Saint-Cloud, and thence to the magnificent abode of Louis XIV., which she reached after dark—the Place d'Armes and the whole of the erstwhile royal residence being brilliantly illuminated.
The Imperial and Royal party entered by the Marble Court, in the centre of which the pedestal to the statue of Louis XIV. had been decorated with the rarest flowers. The magnificent marble staircase had, however, been laid with thick purple carpets, and the balustrades almost disappeared beneath masses of exotics; it was the first time, if I remember rightly, that I had seen mosses and ferns and foliage in such profusion. The Cent Gardes and the Guides de l'Impératrice were on duty, the former on the staircase itself, the latter below, in the vestibule. At the top, to the right and left, the private apartments of the Empress had been arranged, the Queen occupied those formerly belonging to Marie-Antoinette. I was enabled to see these a few days later; they were the most perfect specimens of the decorative art that flourished under Louis XVI. I have ever beheld. The boudoir was upholstered in light blue, festoons of roses running along the walls, and priceless Dresden groups distributed everywhere; the dressing-rooms were hung with pale green, with garlands upon garlands of violets. The toilet service was of Sèvres, with medallions after Lancret and Watteau. The historical Salle de l'Œil-de-Bœuf, which preceded her Majesty's apartments, had been transformed into a splendid reception-room for the use of the Imperial hosts and all their Royal guests, for there were one or two foreign princes besides, notably Prince Adalbert of Bavaria.
The ball was to take place in the famous Galerie des Glaces; the Empress herself had presided at its transformation, which had been inspired by a well-known print of "Une Fête sous Louis Quinze." More garlands of roses, but this time drooping from the ceiling and connecting the forty splendid lustres, which, together with the candelabra on the walls, could not have contained less than three thousand wax candles. At each of the four angles of the vast apartment a small orchestra had been erected, but very high up, and surrounded by a network of gilt wire.
At the stroke of ten those wonderful gardens became all of a sudden ablaze with rockets and Chinese candles; it wasthe beginning of the fireworks, the principal piece of which represented Windsor Castle. After this, the ball was opened by the Queen and the Emperor, the Empress and Prince Albert; but though the example had been given, there was very little dancing. I was a comparatively young man then, but I was too busy feasting my eyes with the marvellous toilettes to pay much heed to the seductive strains, which at other times would have set me tripping. I fancy this was the case with most of the guests.
On the Monday the Queen left for home.
Marshal Vaillant — The beginning of our acquaintance — His stories of the swashbucklers of the First Empire, and the beaux of the Restauration — Rabelaisian, but clever — Marshal Vaillant neither a swashbuckler nor a beau; hated both — Never cherished the slightest illusions about the efficiency of the French army — Acknowledged himself unable to effect the desired and necessary reforms — To do that, a minister of war must become a fixture — Why he stayed — Careful of the public moneys, and of the Emperor's also — Napoléon III.'s lavishness — An instance of it — Vaillant never dazzled by the grandeur of court entertainments — Not dazzled by anything — His hatred of wind-bags — Prince de Canino — Matutinal interviews — Prince de Canino sends his seconds — Vaillant declines the meeting, and gives his reason — Vaillant abrupt at the best of times — A freezing reception — A comic interview — Attempts to shirk military duty — Tricks — Mistakes — A story in point — More tricks — Sham ailments: how the marshal dealt with them — When the marshal was not in an amiable mood — Another interview — Vaillant's tactics — "D——d annoying to be wrong" — The marshal fond of science — A very interesting scientific phenomenon himself — Science under the later Bourbons — Suspicion of the soldiers of the Empire — The priesthood and the police — The most godless republic preferable to a continuance of their régime — The marshal's dog, Brusca — Her dislike to civilians — Brusca's chastity — Vaillant's objection to insufficiently prepaid letters — His habit of missing the train, notwithstanding his precautions — His objection to fuss and public honours.
About two or three days after the ball at Versailles, I went to see Marshal Vaillant at the War Office, to thank him for his kindness in sending me the ticket for the review. Our acquaintance was already then of a couple of years' standing. It had begun at Dr. Véron's, who lived, at the time, at the corner of the Rue de Rivoli and the Rue de Castiglione. The old soldier—he was over sixty then—had a very good memory, and used to tell me garrison stories, love-adventures of the handsome swashbucklers of the First Empire and of the beaux of the Restauration. The language was frequently that of Rabelais or Molière, vigorous, to the point, calling a spade a spade, and, as such, not particularly adapted to these notes, but the narrator himself was neither a swashbuckler nor a beau; he hated the carpet-knight only one degree more than the sabreur, and when both were combined in the same man—not an unusual thing during theSecond Empire, especially after the Crimean and Franco-Austrian wars—he simply loathed him. He fostered not the slightest illusions about the efficiency of the French army, albeit that, to an alien like myself and notwithstanding his friendship for me, he would veil his strictures. At the same time, he frankly acknowledged himself unable to effect the desired reforms. "It wants, first of all, a younger and abler man than I am; secondly, he must become a fixture. No change of ministry, no political vicissitudes ought to affect him. I do not play a political rôle, and never mean to play one; and if I could find a man who would carry out the reforms at the War Office, or, rather, reorganize the whole as it should be reorganized, I would make room for him to-morrow. I know what you are going to say. I derive a very comfortable income from my various offices, and I am a pluralist. If I did not take the money, some one else would who has not got a scrap more talent than I have. There is not a single man who dare tell the nation that its army is rotten to the core, that there is not a general who knows as much as a mere captain in the Austrian and Prussian armies; and if he had the courage to tell the nation, he would be hounded out of the country, his life would be made a burden to him. That is one of the reasons why I am staying, because I can do no good by going; on the contrary, I might do a good deal of harm. Because, as you see it, the three hundred and fifty thousand francs of my different appointments, I save them by looking after the money of the State. Not that I can do much, but I do what I can."
That was very true: he was very careful of the public moneys, and of the resources of the Emperor also, entrusted to him by virtue of his position as Grand-Maréchal du Palais; it was equally true that he could not do much. Napoléon was, by nature, lavish and soft-hearted; as a consequence, he became the butt of every impostor who could get a letter conveyed to him. His civil list of over a million and a half sterling was never sufficient. He himself was simple enough in his tastes, but he knew that pomp and state were dear to the heart of Frenchmen, and he indulged them accordingly. But his charity was a personal matter. He could have no more done without it than without his eternal cigarette. He called the latter "safety-valve of the brain; the former the safety-valve of pride." I remember an anecdote which was told to me by some one who was in his immediate entouragewhen he was only President. It was on the eve of a journey to some provincial town, and at the termination of a cabinet council. While talking to some of his ministers, he took a couple of five-franc pieces from his waistcoat, and spun them English fashion. "C'est tout ce qui me reste pour mon voyage de demain, messieurs," he said, smiling. One of them, M. Ferdinand Barrot, saw that he was in earnest, and borrowed ten thousand francs, which the President found on his dressing-table when retiring for the night. Four and twenty hours after, Napoléon had not even his two five-franc pieces: they and M. Barrot's loan had disappeared in subscriptions to local charities. Among the papers found at the Tuileries after the Emperor's flight, there were over two thousand begging letters, all dated within a twelvemonth, and all marked with their answer in the corner—that is, with the amount sent in reply. That sum amounted to not less than sixty thousand francs. And be it remembered that these were the petitions the Emperor had not entrusted to his secretaries or ministers as coming within their domain. The words of Marshal Vaillant, spoken many years before, "I cannot do much, but I do what I can," are sufficiently explained.
On the day alluded to above, the marshal was seriously complaining of the Emperor's extravagance. He did not hold with entertaining so many sovereigns. "I do not say this," he added, "with regard to yours, for her hospitality deserved such return as the Emperor gave her; but with regard to the others who will come, you may be sure, if we last long enough. Well, we'll see; perhaps you'll remember my words."
In fact, the old soldier was never much dazzled by the grandeur of those entertainments, nor did he foster many illusions with regard to their true value in cementing international friendships. The marshal was not dazzled by anything; and though deferential enough to the members of the emperor's family, he never scrupled to tell them his mind. The Emperor's cousin (Plon-Plon) could tell some curious stories to that effect. The marshal had a hatred of long-winded people, and especially of what Carlyle calls wind-bags. Another of Louis-Napoléon's cousins came decidedly under the latter description: I allude to the Prince de Canino. In order to get rid as much as possible of wordy visitors, Vaillant had hit upon the method of granting them their interviews at avery,veryearly hour in the morning; in the summer at6.30 in the morning, in the winter at 7.15. "People do not like getting out of bed at that time, unless they have something serious to communicate," he said; and would not relax his rule, even for the softer sex. The old warrior, who had probably been an early riser all his life, found the arrangement work so well, that he determined at last not to make any exceptions. "I get the day to myself," he laughed. Now, it so happened that the Prince de Canino asked him for an interview; and, as a matter of course, Vaillant appointed the usual hour. Next morning, to Vaillant's great surprise, instead of the Prince, came two of his friends. The latter came to ask satisfaction of Vaillant for having dared to disturb a personage of the Prince's importance at so early an hour. "Mais je ne l'ai pas dérangé du tout: il n'avait qu'à ne pas venir, ce que du reste, il a fait," said Vaillant; then he added, "Mais, même, si je consentais à donner raison au prince de mon offense imaginaire, je ne me battrai pas à quatre heures de l'après-midi; donc, il aurait à se déranger; il vaut mieux qu'il reste dans son lit. Je vous salue, messieurs." With which he bowed them out. When the Emperor heard of it, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and Napoléon did not laugh outright very often or easily.
There are a great many stories about this objection of Marshal Vaillant to be troubled for nothing; and, as usual, they overshoot the mark. He is supposed to have acted very cavalierly with highly placed personages, and even with ladies in very high society. Of course, I was never present at interviews of that kind, but during my long acquaintance with him, I was often seated at his side when less exalted visitors were admitted. At the best of times his manner was abrupt, though rarely rude, unless there was a reason for it, albeit that the outsider might fail to fathom it at the first blush. I remember being with him in his private room, somewhere about the sixties, when his attendant brought him a card.
"Show the gentleman in," said Vaillant, after having looked at it.
Enter, a tall, well-dressed individual, the rosette of the Legion of Honour in his button-hole, evidently a retired officer.
"What is it you want with me?" asked the marshal, who had remained seated with his back towards the visitor.
"Being in Paris for the Christmas and New Year's holidays,your excellency, I thought it my duty to pay my respects to you."
"Is that all you want with me?" asked the marshal.
"That is all, your excellency," stammered the visitor.
"Very well: then I'll wish you good morning."
I suppose I must have looked somewhat shocked at this very unceremonious proceeding, for, when the door was closed, the marshal explained.
"You need not think that I have done him an injustice. When fellows like this present their respects it always means that they want me to present them with something else; that is why I cut them short."
Sometimes these interviews took a comical turn, for the marshal could be very witty when he liked. In the land of "equality," everybody is always on the look-out for greater privileges than his fellows, and in no case were and are favours more indiscriminately requested than with the view of avoiding military service. A thousand various pretexts, most of them utterly ridiculous, were brought forward by the parents to preserve their precious sons from the hated barrack life. In many instances, a few years of soldiering would have done those young hopefuls a great deal of good, because those who clamoured loudest for exemption were only spending their time in idleness and mischief. In the provinces there was a chance of influencing theconseil de révisionby means of the préfet, if the parents were known to be favourable to the government; by means of the bishops, if they still had a hankering after the former dynasties; and, not to mince matters, if they were simply rich, by means of bribery. In Paris the matter was somewhat more difficult; the members of the council were frequently changed at the last moment, and at all times the recruits to be examined were too numerous for a parent to trust to the memory of those members. The military authorities had introduced a new rule, to the effect that the names of the recruits to be examined should not be called out until their examination was finished; and, with the best will in the world, it is often difficult to distinguish between un fils de famille and a downright plebeian if both happen to come before you "as God made them." Consequently, notwithstanding the considerable ingenuity of the parties interested to let the examining surgeon-major known "who was who," mistakes frequently occurred; the young artisan, who had no more the matter withhim than the young wealthy bourgeois, was dismissed as unfit for the service, while the latter was pronounced apt in every respect.
Apropos of this, I know a good story, for the truth of which I can vouch, because it happened to a member of the family with which I became connected by marriage afterwards. He had a son who was of the same age as his coachman's. Both the lads went to draw at the same time, both drew low numbers. The substitute system was still in force, but, just at that moment, there was a war-scare—not without foundation—and substitutes reached high prices. It would not have mattered much to the rich man. Unfortunately, he was tight-fisted, and the mother pleaded in vain. The wife was just as extravagant as the husband was mean; she had no savings, and she cudgelled her brain to find the means of preserving her darling from the vile contact of his social inferiors without putting her hand in her pocket—which, moreover, was empty. She went a great deal into society, was very handsome, clever, and fascinating. By dint of ferreting, she got to know the probable composition of the conseil de révision—barring accidents. History does not say how, but she wheedled the surgeon-major into giving her a distinct promise to do his best for her dear son. Of course, in order to do some good, the surgeon had to see the young fellow first; and there was the difficulty, because madame had made the acquaintance of the officer under peculiar circumstances, and could not very well introduce him to her home: besides, just on account of the war-scare, the authorities had become very strict, the practices of many officers were suspected, and it would never have done for the gentleman to give his superiors as much as a loophole for their suspicion by visiting the lady. Time was getting short; the acquaintance had ripened into friendship very quickly, because, three days before the time appointed for the sitting of the council, madame had never seen the surgeon, and on the eve of that sitting the final arrangement had been concluded. It was to this effect: that madame's son would pretend to have hurt his hand, and appear with a black silk bandage round his wrist. The thing is scarcely credible, but the coachman's son, an engine-fitter, had hurt his wrist, and put a strip of black ribbon round it. The coachman's family name began with aB, the lady's name with aC. The coachman's son was taken for the other, and declared unfit formilitary service by reason of his chest, to his great surprise and joy, as may be imagined. But the surprise, though not the joy, of the examining officer was greater still when, in the next batch, another young fellow appeared with a strip of black ribbon round his wrist. To ask his name was an impossibility. The surgeon was afraid that he had been betrayed, or that his secret had leaked out, and, without a moment's hesitation, declared the real Simon Pure sound in lungs and limb.
I am afraid I have drifted a little bit from Marshal Vaillant's comical interviews, but am coming back to them in a roundabout way. The common, or garden trick to get those young fellows exempted, where bribery was impossible or private influence out of the question, was to make them sham short-sightedness, or deafness, or impediment in the speech. We have heard before now of professors who cure people of stammering: it is a well-known fact that in those days there was a professor who taught people to stammer; while, personally, I know an optician on the Boulevard des Italians whose father made a not inconsiderable fortune by spoiling young fellows' sights—that is, by training them, for a twelvemonth before the drawing of lots, to wear very powerful lenses. Of course, this had to be done gradually, and his fee was a thousand francs. I have known him to have as many as twenty or thirty pupils at a time. No doubt the authorities were perfectly aware of this, but they had no power to interfere. The process for "teaching deafness" was even a more complicated one, but it did succeed for a time in imposing upon the experts, until, by a ministerial decree, it was resolved to draft all these clever stammerers, and even those who were really suffering from the complaints the others simulated, into the transport and medical services.
It was then that Marshal Vaillant was overwhelmed with visits from anxious matrons who wanted to save their sons, and that the comical interviews took place.
"But, excellency, my son is really as deaf as a post," one would exclaim.
"All the better, madame: he won't be frightened at the first sound of serious firing. Nearly all young recruits are terror-stricken at the first whizzing of the bullets around them. I was, myself, I assure you. He'll make an admirable soldier."
"But he won't be able to hear the word of command."
"Not necessary, madame; he'll only have to watch the others, and do as they do. Besides, we'll draft him into the cavalry: it is really the charger that obeys the signals, not the trooper. It will be an advantage to him to be deaf in the barrack-room, for there are many things said there that would bring a blush to his nice innocent cheeks; and, upon the whole, it is best he should not hear them. I have the honour to wish you good morning, madame."
And though the woman knew that the old soldier was mercilessly chaffing her and her milksop son, the thing was done so politely and so apparently seriously on the marshal's part, that she was fain to take no for an answer.
On one occasion, it appears—for the marshal liked to tell these tales, and he was not a bad mimic—he had just dismissed a lady similarly afflicted with a deaf son, when another entered whose offspring suffered from an impediment in his speech. "Madame," the marshal said, without moving a muscle, "your son will realize the type of the soldier immortalized by M. Scribe in 'Les Huguenots.' You know what Marcel sings." And, striking a theatrical attitude, he trolled—
"'Un vieux soldat sait souffrir et se taireSans murmurer.'
With this additional advantage," he went on, "that your son will be a young one. I can, however, promise you another comfort. A lady has just left me whose son is as deaf as a post. I'll not only see that your son is drafted into the same company, but I'll make it my special business to have their beds placed side by side. The young fellow can go on stammering as long as he likes, it won't offend his comrade's hearing."
"But my son is very short-sighted, as blind as a bat, your excellency; he won't be able to distinguish the friend from the foe," expostulated a third lady.
"Don't let that trouble you, madame," was the answer; "we'll put him in the infantry: he has only got to blaze away, he is sure to hit some one or something."
These were the scenes when the marshal was in an amiable mood; when he was not, he would scarcely suffer the slightest remark; but, if the remark was ventured upon, it had to be effectual, to be couched in language as abrupt as his. "Soft-sawder" he hated above all things; and evenwhen he was wrong, he would not admit it to any one who whined or spoke prettily. On the other hand, when the visitor or petitioner became as violent as he was himself, he often reversed his decision. One day, while waiting for the marshal, I met in the anteroom an individual who, by his surly looks, was far from pleased. After striding up and down for a while, he began to bang on the table, and to shout at the top of his voice, calling the old soldier all kinds of names. Out came the marshal in his shirt-sleeves—the moment the lady-visitors were gone he always took off his coat. "Come back, monsieur," he said to the individual. In a few moments, the latter came out of the marshal's private room, his face beaming with joy. Then I went in, and found the marshal rubbing his hands with glee. "A capital fellow, after all, a capital fellow," he kept on saying.
"He may be a capital fellow," I remarked, "but he is not very choice in his language."
"That's only his way; he does not like to be refused things, but he is a capital fellow for all that, and that's why I granted his request. If he had whined about it, I should not have done so, though I think he is entitled to what he came for."
Strategical skill, in the sense the Germans have taught us since to attach to the word, Marshal Vaillant had little or none. Most of his contemporaries, even the younger generals, were scarcely better endowed than their official chief. They were all good soldiers when it came to straightforward fighting, as they had been obliged to do in Africa, but there was not a great leader, scarcely an ordinary tactician, among them. As I have already shown, among the men most painfully aware of this was the marshal himself; nevertheless, when he once made up his mind to a course of action, it was almost impossible to dissuade him from it. He had set his heart upon Marshal Niel occupying the Aland island during the winter of '54-55, in the event of Bomarsund falling into French hands. He did not for a moment consider that the fourteen thousand troops were too few to hold it, if the Russians cared to contest its possession,—too many, if they merely confined themselves to intercepting the supplies, which they could have done without much difficulty. A clever young diplomatist, who knew more about those parts than the whole of the intelligence department at the Ministry for War, at last made him abandon his decision. I came in ashe went out; the marshal was as surly as a bear with a sore head. "Clever fellow this," he growled, "very clever fellow." And then, in short jerky sentences, he told me the whole of the story, asking my opinion as to who was right and who was wrong. I told him frankly that I thought that the young diplomatist was right. "That's what I think," he spluttered; "but you'll admit that it is d——d annoying to be wrong."
It would be wrong to infer that the marshal, though deficient as a strategist, was the rough-and-ready soldier, indifferent to more cultured pursuits, as so many of his fellow-officers were. He was very fond of certain branches of science, and rarely missed a meeting of the scientific section of the Académie, of which he was a member. What attracted him most, however, was astronomy; next to that came entomology and botany. Still, though an enthusiast, and often risking a cold to observe an astral phenomenon, he objected to wasting thousands of pounds for a similar purpose; in fact, when it came to disbursing government money for a scientific or other vaguely defined purpose, his economic tendencies got the better of him. "I am a very interesting scientific phenomenon myself," he used to say, "or, at any rate, I was; and yet no one spent any money to come and see me."
He was alluding to a fact which he often told me himself, and afterwards narrated in his "memoirs."
"For a long while, especially from 1818 to 1830, when the weather happened to be very dry and cold, and when I returned to my grateless, humble room, after having spent the day in heated apartments, I was both the spectator and the medium of strange electrical phenomena.
"The moment I had undressed and stood in my shirt, the latter began to crackle and became absolutely luminous, emitting a lot of sparks; the tails stuck together, and remained like that for some time."
I asked him, on one occasion, whether he had ever communicated all this to scientific authorities. His answer, though not a direct one to my question, was not only very characteristic of the mental and moral attitude of the soldiers of the Empire towards the Bourbons, but, to a great extent, of the attitude of the Bourbons themselves towards everybody and everything that was not absolutely in accordance with the policy, sociology, and religious tenets of their adherents, whether laymen or priests.
"You must remember, my dear fellow," he replied, "the régime under which we lived when I was subject to those electrical manifestations; you must further remember that I had fought at Ligny and at Waterloo, and, though not absolutely put on the retired list in 1815, I and the rest of the Emperor's soldiers were watched, and our most innocent acts construed into so many small attempts at conspiracy. You have not the slightest idea what the police were like under the Restauration, let alone the priesthood. If I couple these two, I am not speaking at random. If I had communicated the things I told you of, to no matter what savant, he would necessarily have published the result of his observations and experiments, and do you know what would have happened? I should have been tried, and perhaps condemned, for witchcraft—yes, for witchcraft,—or else I should have been taken hold of by the priests, not as a scientific phenomenon, but as a religious one, a kind ofstigmatisé. They would have made it out to their satisfaction that I was either half a saint, or a whole devil, and in either case my life would have become a burden to me. Only those who have lived under the Bourbons can form an idea of the terrorizing to which they lent themselves. People may tell you that they were kind and charitable, and this, that, and the other. There never were greater tyrants than they were at heart; and if the Duc d'Angoulême or the Comte de Chambord had come to the throne, France would have sunk to the intellectual level of Spain. I would sooner see the most godless republic than a return of that state of things, and I need not tell you that I firmly believe that not a sparrow falls to the earth without God's will. No, I held my tongue about my electrical sensations; if I had not, you would not now be talking to Marshal Vaillant—I should have become a jabbering idiot, if I had lived long enough." It is the longest speech I have ever heard the marshal make.
The marshal's own rooms were simply crammed with cases full of beetles, butterflies, etc. The space not taken up by these was devoted to herbariums; and in the midst of the most interesting conversation—interesting to the listener especially, for the old soldier was an inexhaustible mine of anecdote—he, the listener, would be invited to look at a bit of withered grass or a wriggling caterpillar.
After the Franco-Austrian war, there was an addition to the marshal's household—I might say family, for the oldman became as fond of Brusca as if she had been a human being. The story went that she had been bequeathed to him at Solferino by her former master, an Austrian general; and the marshal did not deny it. At any rate, he found Brusca sitting by the dying man, and licking the blood oozing from his wounds.
Brusca was not much to look at, and you might safely have defied a committee of the most eminent authorities on canine breeds to determine hers, but she was very intelligent, and of a most affectionate disposition. Nevertheless, she was always more or less distant with civilians: it took me many years to worm myself into her good graces, and I am almost certain that I was the onlypékinthus favoured. The very word made her prick up her ears, show her teeth, and straighten her tail as far as she could. For the appendage did not lend itself readily to the effort; it was in texture like that of a colley or Pomeranian, and twisted like that of a pug. Curiously enough, her objection to civilians did not extend to the female portion, but the sight of a blouse drove her frantic with rage. On such occasions, she had to be chained up. As a rule, however, Brusca's manifestations, whether of pleasure or the reverse, were uttered in a minor key and unaccompanied by any change of position on her part. She mostly lay at the marshal's feet, if she was not perched on the back of his chair, for Brusca was not a large dog. She accompanied the marshal in his walks and drives, she sat by his side at table, she slept on a rug at the foot of his bed. Now and then she took a gentle stroll through the apartment, carefully examining the dried plants and beetles. But one day, or rather one evening, there was a complete change in her behaviour: it was at one of the marshal's receptions, on the occasion of Emperor Francis-Joseph's visit to Paris. Some of the officers of his Majesty's suite had been invited, and at the sight of the, to her, once familiar uniforms her delight knew no bounds. She was standing at the top of the landing when she caught sight of them, and all those present thought for a moment that the creature was going mad. As a matter of course, Brusca was not allowed to come into the reception-rooms, but on that night there was no keeping her out. Locked up in the marshal's bedroom, she made the place ring with her barks and yells, and they had to let her out. With one bound she was in the drawing-rooms, and for three hours she did not leave the sideof the Austrian officers. When they took their departure, Brusca was perfectly ready, nay eager, to abandon her home and her fond master for their sake, and had to be forcibly prevented from doing so. The marshal did not know whether to cry or to laugh, but in the end he felt ready to forgive Brusca for her contemplated desertion of him in favour of her countrymen. Some one who objected to the term got the snub direct. "Je maintiens ce que j'ai dit, compatriotes; et je serais rudement fier d'avoir une compatriote comme elle."
If possible, Brusca from that moment rose in the marshal's estimation; she was a perfect paragon. "Cette chienne n'a pas seulement toutes les qualités de son genre, elle n'a même pas les vices de son sexe. Elle m'aime tellement bien qu'elle ne veut être distraite par aucun autre amour. Elle vit dans le plus rigoureux célibat. La malheureuse," he said every now and then, "elle a failli se compromettre."
In spite of the marshal's boast about Brusca's morals, he was one day compelled to admit a faux pas on her part, and for some weeks the "vet" had an anxious time for it. "Elle a mal tourné, mais que voulez-vous, je ne vais pas l'abandonner." And when the crisis was over: "Son incartade ne lui a pas porté bonheur. Espérons que la leçon lui profitera."
Brusca had her portrait painted by the "Michael-Angelo of dogs," Jadin, and when it was finished the visitors were given an opportunity of admiring it in the drawing-room, where it was on view for several consecutive Tuesdays. After that, a great many of the marshal's familiars, supposed to be capable of doing justice to Brusca's character in verse, were appealed to, to write her panegyric, but though several Academicians tried their hands, their lucubrations were not deemed worthy to be inscribed on the frame of Brusca's portrait, albeit that one or two—the first in Greek—were engrossed on vellum, and adorned the drawing-room table. The effusion that did eventually adorn the frame was by an anonymous author—it was shrewdly suspected that it was by the marshal himself, and ran as follows:—
"Si je suis près de lui, c'est que je le mérite.Rêvez mon sort brilliant; rêvez, ambitieux!Du bien de mon maître en ami je profite,J'aimerais son pain noir s'il était malheureux."
Another peculiarity of Marshal Vaillant was never to accept a letter not prepaid or insufficiently paid. The rule was so strictly enforced, both in his private and official capacity, that many a valuable report was ruthlessly refused, and had to be traced afterwards through the various post-offices of Europe.
Seven times out of ten the marshal, when travelling by himself, missed his train. This would lead one to infer that he was unpunctual; on the contrary, he was the spirit of punctuality. Unfortunately, he over-did the thing. He generally reached the station half an hour or three-quarters before the time, seated himself down in a corner, dozed off, and did not wake up until it was too late. The marshal was a native of Dyon; and at Nuits, situated between the former town and Beaune, there lived a middle-aged spinster cousin whom he often went to visit. He nearly always returned by the last train to Dyon, where he had his quarters at the Hôtel de la Cloche; and although often in the midst of a pleasant family party, insisted upon leaving long before it was necessary. As a matter of course, the station was in semi-darkness—for Nuits is not a large place—and the booking-office was not open. One night, it being very warm, he stretched himself leisurely on a grass plot, instead of on the hard seat, and there he was found at six in the morning; several trains had come and gone, but no one had dared to wake him. "Mais, monsieur le maréchal, on aurait cru vous manquer de respect en vous éveillant. Après tout, vous n'êtes pas tout le monde, il y des distinctions," said the stationmaster apologetically. "La mort et le sommeil, monsieur," was the answer, "font table rase de toute distinction." It was a French version of our "Death levels all:" the marshal was fond of paraphrasing quotations, especially from the English, of which he had a very fair knowledge, having translated some military works many years before. However, from that day forth, instructions were given to take no heed of his rank, and to awaken him like any other mortal, rather than have him miss his train.
In fact, the marshal did not like to be constantly reminded of his rank; if anything, he was rather proud of his very humble origin, and, instead of hiding his pedigree like a good many parvenus, he took delight in publishing it. I have seen a letter of his to some one who inquired on the subject, not from sheer curiosity. "My grandfather was a silkmercerin a small way on the place St. Vincent, at Dyon. His father had been a coppersmith. I am unable to trace back further than that; my quarters of nobility stop there. Let me add, at the same time, that there is no more silly proverb than the one 'Like father like son.' My father died poor, and respected by every one. I do not believe that he had a single enemy. His friends called him Christ, he was so good and kind to everybody. I am not the least like him. He was short and slim, I am rather tall and stout; he was gentle, and people say that I am abrupt and harsh. In short, he had as many virtues as I am supposed to have faults, and I am afraid the world is not at all mistaken in that respect."
I, who knew him as well as most people, am afraid that the world was very much mistaken. As a matter of course, the old soldier had many faults, but his good qualities far outweighed the latter. He was modest to a degree, and the flatteries to which men in his position are naturally exposed produced not the slightest effect upon him. When in an amiable mood, he used to cut them short with a "Oui, oui; le maréchal Vaillant est un grand homme, il n'y a pas de doute; tout le monde est d'accord sur ce chapitre là, donc, n'en parlons plus." When not in an amiable mood, he showed them the door, saying, "Monsieur, si je suis aussi grand homme que vous le dites, je suis trop grand pour m'occuper de vos petites affaires. J'ai l'honneur de vous saluer."
He was fond of his native town, one of whose streets bore or still bears his name, though, according to all authorities, it never smelt sweet by whatsoever appellation it went. But he objected to being lionized, so he never stayed with the prefect, the maire, or the general commanding the district, and simply took up his quarters at the hotel, insisting on being treated like any other visitor. The maire respected his wishes; the population did not, which was a sore point with the marshal. Nevertheless, when, in 1858, during their Exhibition, they wanted him to distribute the prizes, he consented to do so, on condition that his reception should be of the simplest. The Dyonnais promised, and to a certain extent kept their word. Next morning the prefect, accompanied by the authorities, fetched him in his carriage. The ceremony was to take place in the park itself, and at the entrance was posted General Picard, accompanied by his staff, and at the head of several battalions. The moment the marshalset foot to the ground, the general saluted, the drums rolled, and the bands played. The marshal felt wroth, and at the conclusion of the distribution sent for the general, whom, not to mince matters, he roundly bullied.
General Picard did not interrupt him. "Have you finished, monsieur le maréchal?" he asked at last.
"Of course, I have finished."
"Very well; the next time you come out as a simple bourgeois, you had better leave the grand cordon of the Legion of Honour at home. If I had not saluted you as I did, I should have had the reprimand of the minister of war, and of the chancellor of the Legion of Honour. After all, I prefer yours."
"But I am the minister for war."
"I know nothing about that. I only saw an old gentleman with the grand cordon. If you are the minister for war, perhaps you will be good enough to tell Maréchal Vaillant, when you see him, that he must not tempt old soldiers like myself to forget their duty."
"You are right, general. But what a hot fiery lot these Dyonnais are, aren't they?" Picard was a native of Dyon also.
The Franco-German War — Friday, July 15, 1870, 6 p.m. — My friends "confident of France being able to chastise the insolence of the King of Prussia" — I do not share their confidence; but do not expect a crushing defeat — Napoléon III.'s presence aggravated the disasters; his absence would not have averted them — He himself had no illusions about the efficiency of the army, did not suspect the rottenness of it — His previous endeavours at reorganization — The real drift of his proposed inquiries — His plan meant also compulsory service for every one — Why the legislature opposed it — The makeshift proposed by it — Napoléon weary, body and soul — His physical condition — A great consultation and the upshot of it — Dr. Ricord and what he told me — I am determined to see and hear, though not to speak — I sally forth — The streets on the evening of Friday, the 15th of July — The illuminations — Patriotism or Chauvinism — The announcement of a bookseller — What Moltke thought of it — The opinion of a dramatist on the war — The people; no horse-play — No work done on Saturday and Sunday — Cabmen — "A man does not pay for his own funeral, monsieur" — The northern station on Sunday — The departing Germans — The Emperor's particular instructions with regard to them — Alfred de Musset's "Rhin Allemand" — Prévost-Paradol and the news of his suicide — The probable cause of it — A chat with a superior officer — The Emperor's Sunday receptions at the Tuileries — Promotions in the army, upon what basis — Good and bad officers — The officers' mess does not exist — Another general officer gives his opinion — Marshal Niel and Lebœuf — The plan of campaign suddenly altered — The reason — The Emperor leaves St. Cloud — His confidence shaken before then — Some telegrams from the commanders of divisions — Thiers is appealed to, to stem the tide of retrenchment; afterwards to take the portfolio of war — The Emperor's opinion persistently disregarded at the Tuileries — Trochu — The dancing colonels at the Tuileries.
After the lapse of thirteen years, it is difficult to put the exact hour and date to each exciting incident of a period which was absolutely phenomenal throughout. I kept no diary, only a few rough notes, because at that time I never thought of committing my recollections to paper, and have, therefore, to trust almost wholly to my memory; nevertheless I am positive as to main facts, whether witnessed by myself or communicated to me by friends and acquaintances. I remember, for instance, that, immediately after the declaration of war, I was warned by my friends not to go abroad more than I could help, to keep away as much as possible from crowds. "You are a foreigner," said one, "and thatwill be sufficient for any ragamuffin, who wants to do you a bad turn, to draw attention to you. By the time you have satisfactorily proved your nationality you will be beaten black and blue, if not worse."
The advice was given on Friday, the 15th of July, about six in the afternoon; that is, a few hours after the news of the scenes in the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate had spread, and when the centre of Paris was getting gradually congested with the inhabitants of the faubourgs. My friends were men of culture and education, and not at all likely to be carried away by the delirium which, on that same night and for the next week, converted Paris into one vast lunatic asylum, whose inmates had managed to throw off the control of their keepers; yet there was not a single civilian among them who had a doubt about the eventual victory of France, about her ability "to chastise the arrogance of the King of Prussia," to put the matter in their own words.
"To try to be wise after the event" is a thing I particularly detest, but I can honestly affirm that I did not share their confidence, although I did not suspect for a moment that the defeat would be so crushing as it was. I remembered many incidents that had happened during the previous four years of which they seemed conveniently oblivious; I was also aware, perhaps, of certain matters of which they were either profoundly ignorant, or professed to be; but, above all, I took to heart the advice, tendered in the shape of, "You are a foreigner;" and though I feared no violence or even verbal recrimination on their part, I chose to hold my tongue.
I hold no brief for the late Emperor, but I sincerely believe that he was utterly averse to the war. I, moreover, think that if he had consented to remain in Paris or at St. Cloud, the disaster would have happened all the same. He had no illusions about the efficiency of his armies, though he may not have been cognizant of the thorough rottenness of the whole. But to have said so at any time, especially during the last four years, would have been simply to sign the death-warrant of his dynasty. He endeavoured to remedy the defects in a roundabout way as early as October, '66, by appointing a commission to draw up a plan for the reorganization of the army. Apparently, Napoléon wanted larger contingents; in reality, he hoped that the inquiry would lay bare such evidence of corruption as would justify him in dismissing severalof the men surrounding him from their high commands. But both those who only saw the apparent drift as well as those who guessed at the real one were equally determined in their opposition. It was the majority in the Legislature which first uttered the cry, immediately taken up by the adversaries of the régime, "If this bill becomes law there will be an end of favourable numbers." In fact, the bill meant compulsory service for every one, and the consent of the deputies to it would at once have forfeited their position with their electors, especially with the peasantry, to whom to apply the word "patriotism" at any time is tantamount to the vilest prostitution of it.
Of the makeshift for that law I need say little or nothing. Without a single spy in France, without a single attaché in the Rue de Lille, Bismarck was enabled by that only to determine beforehand the effects of one serious military defeat on the dynasty of the Emperor; he was enabled to calculate the exact strength of the chain of defence which would be offered subsequently. The French army was like the Scotch lad's porridge, "sour, burnt, gritty, cold, and, —— it, there was not enough of it." It is not underrating Bismarck's genius to say that a man of far inferior abilities than he would have plainly seen the course to pursue.
Was Napoléon III. steeped in such crass ignorance as not to have had an inkling of all this? Certainly not; but he was weary, body and soul, and, but for his wife and son, he would, perhaps willingly, have abdicated. He had been suffering for years from one of the most excruciating diseases, and a fortnight before the declaration of war the symptoms had become so alarming that a great consultation was held between MM. Nélaton, Ricord, Fauvel, G. Sée, and Corvisart. The result was the unanimous conclusion of those eminent medical men that an immediate operation was absolutely necessary. Curiously enough, however, the report embodying this decision was only signed by one, and not communicated to the Empress at all. It may be taken for granted that, had she known of her husband's condition, she would not have agitated in favour of the war, as she undoubtedly did.
It was only after the Emperor's death at Chislehurst that the document in question was found, but I happened to know Dr. Ricord intimately, and most of the facts, besides those stated above, were known to me on that memorable Friday,the 15th of July, 1870. As I have said already, I thought it wiser to hold my tongue.
But though determinednot to speak—knowing that it would do no earthly good—I was equally determinedto see and to hear; so, at about eight, I sallied forth. The heat was positively stifling, and it was still daylight, but, in their eagerness to show their joy, the Parisians would not wait for darkness to set in, and, as I went along, I saw several matrons of the better classes, aided by their maids, make preparations on the balcony for illuminating the moment the last rays of the sun should set behind the horizon. I distinctly say matrons of the better classes, because my way lay through the Chaussée d'Antin, where the tenancy of an apartment on the first, second, or third floor implied a more than average income. I was, and am, aware that neither refinement nor good sense should be measured by the money at one's command, but under similar circumstances it is impossible to apply any other valid test. In the streets there was one closely wedged-in, seething mass, and the noise was deafening; nevertheless, at the sight of one of those matrons thus engaged there was a momentary lull, followed immediately by vociferous applause and the cry of "Les mères de la patrie." From a cursory glance upward, I came to the conclusion that the progeny of these ladies, if they were blessed with any, could as yet contribute but very little to the glory of the nation; still, I reflected, at the same time, that they had probably brothers and husbands who, within a few hours, might be called to the front, "nevermore to return;" that, therefore, the outburst of patriotism could not be called an altogether cheap one. In fact, none but the thoroughly irreclaimable sceptic could fail to be struck with the genuine outburst of national resentment against a whole nation on the part of another nation, which, as I take it, means something different from unalloyed patriotism. It was a mixture of hatred and chauvinism, rather than the latter and more elevated sentiment. The "sacred soil of France"—though why more sacred than any other soil, I have never been able to make out—was not threatened in this instance by Prussia; carefully considered, it was not even a question of national honour offended for which Paris professed itself ready as one man to draw the sword, and yet the thousands in the street that night behaved as if each of them had a personal quarrel to settle, not with one or two Germans, but with every son and daughter of the Fatherland.
It was, perhaps, a quarter after eight when I found myself in the Chaussée d'Antin, and the distance to the Boulevard des Italiens was certainly not more than two hundred and fifty yards; nevertheless, it took me more than half an hour to get over it, for immediately on my emerging into the main thoroughfare I looked at a clock which pointed to nine. Two things stand out vividly in my memory: the first, the preparations of several business houses to illuminate on a grand scale, there and then;i. e.the putting up of the elaborate crystal devices used by them on the 15th of August, the Emperor's fête-day. It was exactly a month before that date, and a neighbour of an enthusiastic tradesman remarked upon the fact. "I know," was the answer; "I'll leave it there till the 14th of next month, and then I'll add two bigger ones to it." On the day proposed, not only were there none added, but the original one had also disappeared, for by that time the Second Empire was virtually in the throes of death. The second thing I remember was the enormous strip of calico outside a bookseller's shop, with the announcement, "Dictionnaire Français-Allemand à l'usage des Français à Berlin." In less than two months I read the following; it was an extract from the interview between Bismarck and Moltke on the one side and General de Wimpffen on the other, on the eve of the capitulation of Sedan: "You do not know the topography of the environs of Sedan," replied General von Moltke; "and, seeing that we are on the subject, let me give you a small instance which thoroughly shows the presumption, the want of method, of your nation. At the beginning of the campaign, you provided your officers with maps of Germany, when they utterly lacked the means of studying the geography of their own country, seeing that you had no maps of your own territory." I could not help thinking of the bookseller, and wondering how many dictionaries he sold during those first few days.
I did not get very far that night, only as far as the Maison d'Or, where I was perforce obliged to stop and look on. I stood for nearly an hour and a half, for there was no possibility of getting a seat, and during that time I only heard one opinion adverse to the war. It was that of a justly celebrated dramatist, who is by no means hostile to either the Emperor or the Empire, albeit that he had declined several years ago to be presented to Napoléon when Princess Mathilde offered him to do so. He positively hates the Germans, but his hatreddid not blind him to their great intellectual qualities and to their powers of organization. "It is all very fine to shout 'À Berlin!'" he said; "and it is very probable that some of these bellowers (braillards) will get there, though not in the order of procession they expect; they will be in front, and the Germans at their backs." He spoke very low, and begged me not to repeat what he had said. "If I am mistaken, I do not want to be twitted with having thrown cold water on the martial ardour of my countrymen; if I am right, I will willingly forego the honour of having prophesied the humiliation of my countrymen." That is why I suppress his name here, but I have often thought of his words since; and when people, Englishmen especially, have accused him of having contributed to the corruption of the Second Empire by his stage works, I have smiled to myself. With the exception of one, he has never written a play that did not teach a valuable moral lesson; but he is an excellent husband, father, and son, though he is perhaps not over generous with his money.
I am bound to say that, though the noise on the Boulevards was terrific, and the crowds the densest I have ever seen in Paris or anywhere, they refrained from that horse-play so objectionable in England under similar circumstances. Of course there were exceptions; such as, for instance, the demonstration at the Prussian Embassy: but, in the main, the behaviour was orderly throughout. I do not know what might have been the result of any foreigners—German or otherwise—showing themselves conspicuously, but they were either altogether absent, or else concealed their nationality as much as possible by keeping commendably silent.
Nevertheless, the Parisian shopkeeper, who is the most arrant coward on the face of the earth where a crowd is concerned, put up his shutters during the whole of Saturday and Sunday, except those who professed for cater for the inner man. I doubt whether, on the first-named day, there was a single stroke of work done by the three or four hundred thousand of Parisian artisans. I exclude cabmen, railway porters, and the like. They had their hands full, because the exodus began before the war news was four and twenty hours old. Our own countrymen seemed in the greatest hurry to put the Channel between themselves and France. If the enemy had been already at the gates of Paris their retreat could have been scarcely more sudden. The words "bouches inutiles" had as yet not been pronounced or invented officially; but Ihave a notion that a cabman suggested them first, in a conversation with a brother Jehu. "Voilà des bouches utiles qui s'en vont, mon vieux," he said, while waiting on the Place Vendôme to take passengers to the railway. Until then I had never heard the word used in that sense.
Apropos of cabmen, I heard a story that day for the truth of which I will, however, not vouch. There was a cab-stand near the Prussian Embassy, and most of the drivers knew every one of the attachés, the latter being frequent customers. On the Saturday morning, a cab was called from the rank to take a young attaché to the eastern railway station. He was going to join his regiment. On alighting from the cab, the attaché was about to pay his fare; the driver refused the money. "A man does not pay for his own funeral, monsieur; and you may take it that I have performed that office for you. Adieu, monsieur." With that he drove off. True or not, the mere invention of the tale would prove that, at any rate, the lower middle classes were cocksure of the utter annihilation of the Germans.
I happened to have occasion to go to the northern station on the Sunday, to see some one off by the mail. That large, cold, bare hall, which does duty as a waiting-room, was crowded, and a number of young Germans were among the passengers; respectable, stalwart fellows who, to judge by their dress, had occupied good commercial positions in the French capital. Most of them were accompanied by friends or relations. They seemed by no means elated at the prospect before them, and scarcely spoke to one another. As a matter of course, they were scattered all over the place, in groups of three and four. I noticed that there was an exceedingly strong contingent of sergents de ville, and several couples of officiers de paix—what in England we should call superintendents of police. The latter had evidently received particular instructions, for they had posted, as much as possible, a sergent de ville close to every group. At first I mistook the drift of the supervision, but it was soon explained to me when one of the officiers de paix came up to a group somewhat larger than the others. "Messieurs," he said very politely, "vous êtes Allemands, et je vous prierai de vous mettre ensemble, afin de pouvoir vous protéger, s'il y a besoin." I heard afterwards that, amidst all his weighty occupations, the Emperor himself had given orders to have the Germans especially protected, as he feared some violence on the part of the Parisians.
During the next week the excitement did not abate, but, save for some minor incidents, it was the same thing over and over again: impromptu processions along the main thoroughfares to the singing of the "Marseillaise" and the "Chant du Départ," until the crowds had got by heart Alfred de Musset's "Rhin Allemand," of which, until then, not one in a thousand had ever heard.
Meanwhile the news had spread of the suicide of Prévost-Paradol, the newly appointed French ambassador at Washington, and the republicans were trying to make capital out of it. According to them, it was political shame and remorse at having deserted his colours, despair at the turn events were taking, that prompted the step. These falsehoods have been repeated until they became legends connected with the fall of the Second Empire. To the majority of Englishmen, Prévost-Paradol is not even a name; talented as he was, Frenchmen would have scarcely known more about him if some politicians, for purposes of their own, had not chosen to convert him into a self-immolated martyr to the Imperialist cause—or, rather, to that part of the cause which aimed at the recovery of the left banks of the Rhine. I knew Prévost-Paradol, and he was only distinguished from hundreds of thousands of Frenchmen in that his "France Nouvelle" was a magnificent attempt to spur his countrymen's ambition in that direction; but this very fact is an additional argument against the alleged cause of his self-destruction. He shot himself during the night of the 10th and 11th of July, when not the most pessimistically inclined could foresee the certainty of a war, and, least of all, the disastrous result of it to France. Those who would know the real cause of Prévost-Paradol's suicide had better read a short tale that appeared anonymously in theRevue des Deux Mondesof February, 1860. The hero of "Madame de Marçay" is none other than the brilliant journalist himself, and the germs of suicidal mania were so plainly discernible in him, as to make those who knew the writer wonder that he had not killed himself long before he did.