FOOTNOTE:[1]A balloon letter, dated November 30, giving, it is presumed, an account of the military operations on that day, suffered so muchin transitu, that it is illegible.
[1]A balloon letter, dated November 30, giving, it is presumed, an account of the military operations on that day, suffered so muchin transitu, that it is illegible.
[1]A balloon letter, dated November 30, giving, it is presumed, an account of the military operations on that day, suffered so muchin transitu, that it is illegible.
December 6th.
I am by no means certain that I should be a hero at the Equator, but I am fully convinced that I should be an abject coward at the North Pole. Three mornings ago I stood for two hours by the Ambulances de la Presse, and my teeth have not ceased to chatter ever since. I pity the unfortunate fellows who had to keep watch all night on the plateau of Villiers more than those who were put out of their misery the day before. When it is warm weather, one views with a comparative resignation the Prussian batteries, and one has a sort of fanatical belief that the bombs will not burst within striking distance; when the thermometer is below zero, one imagines that every cannon within four miles is pointed at one's head. I do not know how it may be with others, but on me cold has a most unheroic effect. My legs become as wilful as those of Mrs. Dombey's titled relative, and it is only by the strongest effort of mind over matter that I can prevent them carrying me beyond the reach of cannon-balls, bullets, and shells. I have a horrible vision of myself lying all night with a broken leg in a ditch, gradually freezing. On a warm summer's day I do not think very much of the courage of those who fight well; on a cold winter's day, however, any man who does not run away and take shelter by a fire deserves well of his country.
We are by no means a very happy family. General Ducrot and General Blanchard have "had words." The latter, in the course of the dispute, said to the former, "If your sword were as long as your tongue, you would be a wonderful warrior indeed." Ducrot and Trochu are the literary Generals; Vinoy and Blanchard the fighting Generals. It is reported also that General Favé is to be superseded, though why I cannot learn, as his redoubt may be said to have saved the army from a greater disaster. While, however, the military men differ among themselves, they are all agreed in abusing the National Guards, whom they irreverently call "Les Charcutiers"—the pork butchers. When La Gare aux Bœufs was carried by Admiral Pothuan and his sailors, two battalions of these heroes followed in the rear. The Admiral and the sailors were somewhat astonished to find that in the order of the day hardly anything was said of those who really did all the fighting, but that the "pork butchers" were lauded to the skies. General Trochu on this wrote a letter to the Admiral, informing him that it was necessary for political reasons to encourage the National Guard. Whilst the battle was going on at Villiers and Champigny, the marching battalions of the National Guard were drawn up almost out of shot. An order came to form them into line. Their commander, General Clément Thomas, replied that this would be impossible, as they would imagine that they were about to be taken into action. Notwithstanding this, General Trochu congratulates them upon the "moral support" which they afforded him. It is not surprising that the real soldiers should feel hurt at this system of humbug. They declare that at the next sortie they will force the Parisians to fight by putting them in front, and firing on them if they attempt to run away. It must be remembered that these fighting battalions consist of young unmarried men, and if Paris is to be defended, there is no reason why they should not be exposed to danger. The inhabitants of this city seem to consider themselves a sacred race; they clamour for sorties, vow to die for their country, and then wish to do it by procuration. I am utterly disgusted with the difference between their words and their deeds. The Mobiles and the Line have as yet done all the righting, and yet, to read the Paris newspapers, one would suppose that the National Guards, who have kept well out of all danger, have "covered themselves with glory." Since the siege commenced they have done nothing but swagger about in uniforms, and go in turns on the ramparts. They have learnt to knock a penny off a cork at a distance of ten yards, and they have carried on a very successful campaign against the sparrows.
A fresh order was issued yesterday, suppressing all passes until further notice. I have a passen règlefrom General Vinoy; but even with this, the last time I went out of the town I was turned back at two gates before I got through at the third. A good deal of discussion has taken place among the foreign correspondents respecting the fairness of going out with an ambulance under guise of the Geneva flag. I see myself no objection to it, provided the correspondent really does make himself useful in picking up the wounded. In the Prussian camp a correspondent has a recognised position; here it is different, and he must use all legitimate means to obtain intelligence of what is passing. My pass, for instance, does not describe me as a correspondent, but as an Englishman accredited by the British Embassy. At the commencement of the siege I begged Mr. Wodehouse to give me a letter of introduction to M. Jules Ferry, one of the members of the Government. This I did not deliver, but at General Vinoy's headquarters I showed it to prove that I was not a Prussian spy, but that I was known by my natural guardian. An aide-de-camp then gave me a pass, and, not knowing precisely what to call me, described me as "accredited by the British Embassy." I move about, therefore, as a mysterious being—perhaps an Ambassador, perhaps an Ambassador's valet. A friend of mine, who is an authority with the Ambulance de la Presse, and who owns a carriage, has promised to call for me when next the ambulances are sent for; but, as I have already said, all my energy oozes out of me when the thermometer is below zero; and unless the next battle is fought on a warm day, I shall not witness it. As a matter of fact, unless one is riding with the staff of the general who commands, one cannot form an idea of what is going on by hanging about, and it is a horrible sight to look with an opera-glass at men and horses being massacred. When knights charged each other with lances there was a certain chivalry in war; but there is nothing either noble or inspiriting in watching a quantity of unfortunate Breton peasants, who cannot even speak French, and an equal number of Berlin grocers, who probably ask for nothing better than to be back in their shops, destroying each other at a distance of two or three miles with balls of lead and iron, many of them filled with explosive materials. I confess that I pity the horses almost as much as the men. It seems a monstrous thing that in order that the Alsacians should be forced into becoming subjects of King William of Prussia, an omnibus horse, who has honestly done his work in the streets of Paris, should be taken outside the walls of the town to have his head blown off or to stump about on three legs until he dies of cold and hunger. Horses have a way when they are wounded of making desperate efforts to get up, and then letting their heads fall with a bang on the soil which is very horrible to witness.
Everybody in authority and out of it seems to have a different opinion as to when the siege will end. I cannot think that when a town with two million inhabitants is reduced to such expedients as this is now, it can hold out very long. The rations, consisting alternately of horse and salt fish, are still distributed, but they are hardly sufficient to keep body and soul together. Unless we make up our minds to kill our artillery horses, we shall soon come to the end of our supply. The rumour to-day is that the Prussians have evacuated Versailles, and that Frederick Charles has been beaten in a battle on the Loire, but I cannot say that I attach great credit to either story. No pigeon has arrived for the last three days, owing, it is supposed, to the cold; and until we know for certain what d'Aurelles de Paladine is doing, we are unable to form an accurate opinion of the chances of the siege being raised. All that can be said is that, left to ourselves, we shall not be able to break through the lines of investment, and that when we have eaten up all our food, we shall have to capitulate.
December 7th.
When this war commenced the Parisians believed in the bulletins which their own Government issued, because they thought it only natural that their arms should be successful, and they disbelieved in any foreign newspaper which ventured to contest their victories. At present they are incredulous alike of everything that comes from friend and foe. Nine-tenths of them are under the impression that Count Moltke, in announcing the defeat of the Army of the Loire, is guilty of a deliberate falsehood; the other tenth supposes that he has grossly exaggerated a slight mishap, and that the occupation of Orleans only proves that Orleans was not defended by a large body of troops. It takes about three days for any information which is not in accordance with the wishes of this extraordinary population to obtain credit, no matter what amount of evidence there may be to prove its truth. If really the Army of the Loire has been puthors de combat, sooner or later the fact will be admitted; then, although we shall still pin our faith to Kératry or Bourbaki, the disaster will no doubt tend to produce a certain degree of discouragement, more particularly as it is coupled with the retreat of Ducrot's forces from the south bank of the Marne. French politicians will insist upon dressing up their facts in order to meet the requirements of the moment, and they never seem to consider that so soon as the real state of things comes out there must be an inevitable reaction, which will be far more depressing than if the truth had been fairly told at once. I hear that when Count Moltke's letter arrived, two of the members of the Government of National Defence were inclined to accept his offer to verify what had occurred on the Loire, but that General Trochu stated that he intended to resist until the last, and that consequently, whether Orleans had fallen, or not, was a matter of no importance. If Trochu really thinks that a further resistance and a further sacrifice of life will materially advance the interests of his country, of course he is right to hold out; but if, disregarding facts, he simply wishes to oblige the Prussians to continue the siege, for no purpose except to prove his own tenacity, he cannot be regarded either as a good patriot or a sensible man. When the vote on the Plebiscite was taken, his majority consisted of "Ouis" which were given because it was supposed that he was about to treat. Since then we have gone on from day to day vaguely hoping that either the Neutral Powers or the armies of the provinces would get us out of the mess in which we are, or, even if these failed us, that by a sortie the town would be revictualled. At present none believe in the intervention of the Neutrals; few in the success of a sortie; but all still cling, as drowning men do to a straw, to the armies of the provinces. To destroy this belief it will be necessary for the Prussians to obtain a substantial advantage not only at Orleans, but over the armies of Kératry and Bourbaki. When once we find that we are entirely left to our own resources, and that it is impossible for us to penetrate the lines of investment, I cannot help thinking that we shall yield to the force of circumstances. At present all the newspapers are for fighting on as long as we have a crust, regardless of the consequences; but then, as a rule, a besieged town is never so near surrendering as when it threatens to hang the first man who speaks of surrender. The majority would even now take a practical view of matters if they dared, but Trochu is their man, and Trochu, much to their secret sorrow, refuses to hear of a capitulation.
Some German officers who are prisoners on parole have been insulted in a restaurant, and for their own safety it has been found necessary to confine them in La Roquette. I am not surprised at this. French officers are, of course, incapable of this contemptible conduct, and it must be owned that the majority of the Parisians have not, under the trying circumstances in which they find themselves, lost that courtesy which is one of the peculiar attributes of the nation. But there is a scum, who lived from hand to mouth during the Empire, and which infests the restaurants and the public places. Some of them wear the uniform of the National Guard; others have attached themselves to the ambulances; and all take very good care not to risk their precious lives. I was peaceably dining last night in a restaurant; a friend with whom I had been talking English had left me, and I found myself alone with four of these worthies, who were dining at a table near me. For my especial benefit they informed each other that all strangers here were outlaws from their own country, and that the Americans and Italians who have established ambulances were in all probability Prussian spies. As I took no notice of these startling generalities, one of them turned to me and said, "You may look at me, sir, but I assert before you that Dr. Evans, the ex-dentist of the Emperor, was a spy." I quietly remarked, that not having the honour to know Dr. Evans, and being myself an Englishman, whilst the Doctor is an American, I was not responsible for him. "You are a Greek," observed another; "I heard you talk Greek just now." I mildly suggested that his knowledge of foreign tongues was, perhaps, somewhat limited. "Well, if you are not a Greek," he said, "I saw you the other morning near the Ambulance of the Press, to which I belong, and so you must be a spy." "If you are an Englishman," cried his friend, "why do you not go back to your own country, and fight Russia?" I replied that the idea was an excellent one, but that it might, perhaps, be difficult to pass through the Prussian lines. "The English Ambassador is a friend of mine, and he will give you a pass at my request," answered the gentleman who had mistaken English for Greek. I thanked him, and assured him that I should esteem it a favour if he would obtain from his friend Lord Lyons this pass for me. He said he would do so, as it would be well to rid Paris of such vermin as myself and my countrymen. He has not yet, however, fulfilled his promise. Scenes such as these are of frequent occurrence at restaurants; bully and coward are generally synonymous terms; any scamp may insult a foreigner now with perfect impunity, for if the foreigner replies he has only to denounce him as a spy, when a crowd will assemble, and either set on him or bear him off to prison. While, as I have already said, nothing can be more courteous than the conduct of French officers, French gentlemen, and, unless they are excited, the French poorer classes, nothing can be more insolent than that of the third-class dandies who reserve their valour for the interior of the town, or who, if ever they venture outside of its fortifications, take care to skulk beneath the protection of the cross of Geneva.
TheJournal Officielcontains a decree breaking up the battalion of Belleville. These warriors, says their own Commander, ran away in the presence of the enemy, refused the next day to go to the front, and commenced fighting with their neighbours from La Villette. M. Gustave Flourens, who is the hero of these men of war, and who, although exercising no official rank in the battalion, insisted upon their accepting him as their chief, is to be brought before a Council of War.
My next-door neighbour, Franchetti, died yesterday, and was buried to-day. He was a fine, handsome young man, well off, happily married, and, as the commander of the Eclaireurs of the Seine, has done good service during the siege. As he was an Israelite, he was followed to the grave by the Rothschilds and many other of his co-religionists.
December 8th.
M. de Sarcey, in theTempsof to-day, enters into a lengthy argument to prove that the Parisians are heroic. "Heroism is positive and negative," he says, "and we have, for the sake of our country, deprived ourselves during several months of the power to make money, and during this time we have existed without many of the comforts to which we are accustomed." Now, I by no means wish to undervalue the sacrifices of the Parisians, but heroism is not the word for them. So long as there are enough provisions in the town to enable every one to live without feeling the pangs of hunger, they have no opportunity to show negative heroism. So long as the town is not assaulted, and they do not take part in sorties, they cannot be said to be actively heroic. A blockade such as the Prussians have instituted round Paris, is no doubt most disagreeable to its inhabitants. In submitting to it, undoubtedly they show their patriotism and their power of passive endurance. Heroism is, however, something more than either patriotism or endurance—it is an exceptional quality which is rarely found in this world. If the Parisians possessed it, I should admire them; because they do not, no one has a right to blame them.
The newspapers have now proved to their own complete satisfaction that Count Moltke's assertion respecting the defeat of the Army of the Loire can only refer to its rearguard, and although no news from without has been received for several days, they insist that the greater portion of this army has effected its junction with that of Bourbaki. A French journalist, even when he is not obliged to do so, generally invents his facts, and then reasons upon them with wonderful ingenuity. I do not know whether the Paris journals get to you through the Prussian lines; if they do not, you have little idea how much excellent advice you lose. One would think that just at present a Parisian would do well to keep his breath to cool his own porridge; such, however, is not his opinion. He thinks that he has a mission to guide and instruct the world, and this mission he manfully fulfils in defiance of Prussians and Prussian cannon. It is true that he knows rather less of foreign countries than an intelligent Japanese Daimio may be supposed to know of Tipperary, but by some curious law of nature, the less he knows of a subject the more strongly does he feel impelled to write about it. I read a very clever article this morning, pointing out that, if we are not on our guard, our empire in India will come to an end by a Russian fleet attacking it from the Caspian Sea; and when one thinks how very easy it would have been for the author not to write about the Caspian Sea, one is at once surprised and grateful to him for having called our attention to the danger which menaces us in that quarter of the globe.
M. Gustave Flourens has been arrested and is now in prison. The clubs of the Ultras are very indignant at the Government having accused the braves of Belleville of cowardice. They feel convinced that the "Jesuit" Trochu must have introduced somemouchardsinto the band of heroes, who received orders to run away, in order to discredit the whole battalion. I was in the "Club de la Délivrance" this evening. It holds its sittings in the Salle Valentino—a species of Argyle Rooms in normal times. I held up my hand in favour of a resolution to call upon the Government to inscribe upon marble tablets the names of the National Guards who have died in the defence of Paris. The resolution was carried unanimously. No National Guard has, indeed, yet been good enough to die; but of course this fact was regarded as irrelevant. The next resolution was that the concubines of patriots should enjoy the same right to rations as legitimate wives. As the Club prides itself upon the stern severity of its morals, this resolution was not carried. An orator then proposed that all strangers should be banished from France. He was so exceedingly lengthy that I did not wait until the end of his speech; I am, therefore, unable to say whether his proposal was carried. The Club de la Délivrance is by far the most reputable public assembly in Paris. Those who take part in its proceedings are intensely respectable, and as intensely dull and prosy. The suppression of gas has been a heavy blow to the clubs. The Parisians like gas as much as lazzaroni like sunshine. The grandest bursts of patriotic eloquence find no response from an audience who listen to them beneath half-a-dozen petroleum lamps. It is somewhat singular, but it is not the less certain, that the effect of a speech depends very much upon the amount of light in the room in which it is delivered. I remember once I went down to assist a friend of mine in an electioneering campaign in a small borough. His opponent was a most worthy and estimable squire, who resided in the neighbourhood. It was, of course, my business to prove that he was a despicable knave and a drivelling idiot. This I was engaged in doing at a public meeting in the town-hall. The Philippics of Demosthenes were milk and water in comparison with my denunciations—when just at the critical moment—as I was carrying conviction into the breasts of the stolid Britons who were listening to me, the gas flickered and went out. Three candles were brought in. I recommenced my thunder; but it was of no use. The candles utterly destroyed its effect, and two days afterwards the squire became an M.P., and still is a silent ornament of St. Stephen's.
I trust that England never will be invaded. But if it is, we shall do well to profit by the experience of what is occurring here. There must be no English force, half citizen half soldier. All who take part in the national defence must submit to the strict discipline of soldiers. A vast amount of money has been laid out in equipping the National Guard. Their pay alone amounts to above 20,000fr. per diem, and, as far as the defence of Paris is concerned, they might as well have remained quietly by their own firesides. There are, no doubt, brave men among them, but as their battalions insist upon being regarded as citizens even when under arms, they have no discipline, and are little better than an armed mob. The following extract from an article in the last number of theRevue des Deux Mondesgives some interesting details respecting their habits when on duty behind that most useless of all works of defence, the line of the Paris fortifications:—"On the arrival of a battalion, the chief of the post arranges the hours during which each man is to be on active duty. After this, the men occupy themselves as they please. Some play at interminable games ofbouchon; others, notwithstanding orders to the contrary, turn their attention to écarté and piquet; others gossip over the news of the day with the artillerymen, who are keeping guard by the side of their cannon. Some go away on leave, or disappear without leave; they make excursions beyond the ramparts, or shut themselves up in the billiard-room of some café. Many make during the course of the day frequent visits to the innumerable canteens, which succeed each other almost without interruption along the Rue des Ramparts. Here old women have lit a few sticks under a pot, and sell, for a penny the glass, a horrible brew called 'petit noir,' composed of sugar, eau de vie, and the grains of coffee, boiled up together. Behind there is a line of cook shops, the proprietors of which announce that they have been commissioned to provide food. These speculators offer for sale greasy soup, slices of horse, and every species of alcoholic drink. Each company has, too, its cantinière, and round her cart there is always a crowd. It seldom happens that more than one-half of the men of the battalion are sober. Fortunately, the cold of the night air sobers them. Between eight and nine in the evening there is a gathering in the tent. A circle is formed in it round a single candle, and whilst the flasks go round tale succeeds to song, and song to tale, until at length all fall asleep, and are only interrupted in their slumbers until morning by the corporal, who, once every hour, enters and calls out the names of those who are to go on the watch. The abuse of strong drink makes shameful ravages in our ranks, and is productive of serious disorder. Few nights pass without false alarms, without shots foolishly fired upon imaginary enemies, and without lamentable accidents. Every night there are disputes, which often degenerate into fights, and then in the morning, when explanations take place, these very explanations are an excuse for recommencing drinking. Rules, indeed, are not wanting to abate all this, but the misfortune is that they are never executed. The indiscipline of the National Guard contrasts strangely with the patriotism of their words. Most of the insubordination may be ascribed to drunkenness, but themauvaise tenuewhich is so apparent in too many battalions is due also to many other causes. The primary organisation of the National Guard was ill-conceived and ill-executed, and when the enrolments had been made, and the battalions formed, day after day a fresh series of orders were promulgated, so diffuse, so obscure, and so contradictory, that the officers, despairing to make head or tail of them, gave up any attempt to enforce them."
The attempt at the last hour to form marching battalions out of these citizen soldiers, by obliging each sedentary battalion to furnish 150 men, has not been a very successful one. The marching battalions, it is true, have been formed, but they have not yet been engaged with the enemy; and it certainly is the opinion of military men that it will be advisable, for the credit of French arms, to "keep them in reserve" during any future engagement which may take place. General Clément Thomas has issued a series of general orders, from the tenor of which it would appear that the system of substitutes has been largely practised in these battalions. I have myself no doubt of the fact. The fault, however, lies with the Government. When these battalions were formed, the respective categories of unmarried and married men between 25 and 35, and between 35 and 45, were only to be drawn upon in case a sufficient number of volunteers were not forthcoming. It became, consequently, the interest of the men in these categories to encourage volunteering, and this was done on a large and liberal scale. The Government, if it wanted men, should have called to arms all between 25 and 35, and have allowed no exemptions. These new levies should have been subjected to the same discipline as the Line and the Mobiles. It must now accept the consequences of not having ventured to take this step. For all operations beyond the enceinte General Trochu's force consists of the Line and the Mobiles. All that he can expect from the Parisians is a "moral support."
December 9th.
Nothing new. If the Government has received any news from without, it carefully conceals it. A peasant, the newspapers say, has made his way through the Prussian lines, and has brought the information that the armies of the Loire and of Bourbaki are close to Fontainebleau. The cry is still that we will resist to the last, and for the moment every one seems to have forgotten that in a few weeks our provisions will all have been consumed. If we wait to treat until our last crust has been eaten, the pinch will come after the capitulation; for with the railroads and the high roads broken up, and the surrounding country devastated, a fortnight at least must elapse before supplies, in any quantity, can be thrown into the town.
I hear that the Prussian officers who were (says theJournal Officiel) insulted in a café, have been exchanged. A friend of mine, an ex-French diplomatist, was present when the scene occurred, and he tells me that the officers, who were all young men, were, to say the least of it, exceedingly indiscreet. Instead of eating their dinner quietly, they indulged in a good deal of loud, and by no means wise conversation, and their remarks were calculated to offend those Frenchmen who heard them.
December 15th.
Still no news from the outer world. I trust that M. Jansen, who was dispatched the other day in a balloon to witness the eclipse of the sun, will be more fortunate in his endeavours to discover what is going on in that luminary, than we are in ours to learn what is happening within twenty miles of us. Search has been made to find the peasant who announced that he had seen a French army at Corbeil, but this remarkable agriculturist is not forthcoming. Persons at the outposts say that they heard cannon in the direction of Fontainebleau, when they put their ears to the ground, but none believe them. Four officers, who were taken prisoners on the 12th of the month near Orleans, have been sent in, as an exchange for the Prussian officers who were insulted at a restaurant, but they are so stupid that it has been impossible to glean anything from them except that their division was fighting when they were taken prisoners. A dead, apathetic torpor has settled over the town. Even the clubs are deserted. There are no groups of gossips in the streets. No one clamours for a sortie, and no one either blames or praises Trochu. The newspapers still every morning announce that victory is not far off. But their influence is gone. The belief that the evil day cannot be far off is gradually gaining ground, and those who are in a position to know more accurately the precise state of affairs, take a still more hopeless view of them than the masses. The programme of the Government seems to be this—to make a sortie in a few days, then to fall back beneath the forts; after this to hold out until the provisions are eaten up, and then, after having made a final sortie, to capitulate. Trochu is entirely in the hands of Ducrot, who, with the most enterprising of the officers, insists that the military honour of the French arms demands that there should be more fighting, even though success be not only improbable but impossible. The other day, in a council of war, Trochu began to speak of the armies of the provinces. "I do not care for your armies of the provinces," replied Ducrot. Poor Trochu, like many weak men, must rely upon some one. First it was the neutrals, then it was the armies of the provinces, and now it is Ducrot. As for his famous plan, that has entirely fallen through. It was based, I understand, upon some impossible manœuvres to the north of the Marne. The members of the Government of National Defence meddle little with the direction of affairs. M. Picard is openly in favour of treating at once. M. Jules Favre is very downcast; he too wishes to treat, but he cannot bring himself to consent to a cession of territory. Another member of the Government was talking yesterday to a friend of mine. He seemed to fear that when the people learn that the stock of provisions is drawing to a close, there will be riots. The Government dares not tell them the truth. Several members of the Government, I hear, intend to leave shortly in balloons, and Trochu, as military Governor of Paris, will be left to his own devices. He himself says that he never will sign a capitulation, and it is suggested that when there is no more food, the Prussians shall be allowed to enter without opposition, without any terms having been previously agreed to. The Parisians are now contending for their supremacy over the provinces, and they seem to think that if they only hold out until famine obliges them to give in, that supremacy will not hereafter be disputed.
It is impossible to give precise data respecting the store of provisions now in Paris, nor even were I able would it be fair to do so. As a matter of private opinion, however, I do not think that it will be possible to prolong the resistance beyond the first week in January at the latest. Last Sunday there were incipient bread-riots. By one o'clock all the bakers had closed their shops in the outer faubourg. There had been a run upon them, because a decree had been issued in the morning forbidding flour to be sold, and requisitioning all the biscuits in stock. Government immediately placarded a declaration that bread was not going to be requisitioned, and the explanation of the morning's decree is that flour and not corn has run short, but that new steam-mills are being erected to meet the difficulty.La Vérité, a newspaper usually well informed, says that for some days past the flour which had been stored in the town by M. Clément Duvernois has been exhausted, and that we are now living on the corn and meal which was introduced at the last moment from the neighbouring departments. It gives the following calculation of our resources—flour three weeks, corn three months, salt meat fifteen days, horse two months. The mistake of all these calculations seems to be that they do not take into account the fact that more bread or more corn will be eaten when they become the sole means of providing for the population. Thus the daily return of flour sold in Paris is about one-third above the average. The reason is simple, and yet it seems to occur to no one. French people, more particularly the poorer classes, can exist upon much less than Englishmen; but the prospect for any one blessed with a good appetite is by no means reassuring. In the Rue Blanche there is a butcher who sells dogs, cats, and rats. He has many customers, but it is amusing to see them sneak into the shop after carefully looking round to make sure that none of their acquaintances are near. A prejudice has arisen against rats, because the doctors say that their flesh is full of trichinæ. I own for my part I have a guilty feeling when I eat dog, the friend of man. I had a slice of a spaniel the other day, it was by no means bad, something like lamb, but I felt like a cannibal. Epicures in dog flesh tell me that poodle is by far the best, and recommend me to avoid bull dog, which is coarse and tasteless. I really think that dogs have some means of communicating with each other, and have discovered that their old friends want to devour them. The humblest of street curs growls when anyone looks at him.Figarohas a story that a man was followed for a mile by a party of dogs barking fiercely at his heels. He could not understand to what their attentions were due, until he remembered that he had eaten a rat for his breakfast. The friend of another journalist, who ate a dog called Fox, says that whenever anyone calls out "Fox" he feels an irresistible impulse which forces him to jump up. As every Christmas a number of books are published containing stories about dogs as remarkable as they are stale, I recommend to their authors these two veracious tales. Their veracity is guaranteed by Parisian journalists. Can better evidence be required?
We are already discussing who will be sent to Germany. We suppose that the army and the Mobiles, and perhaps the officers of the National Guard will have to make the journey. One thing, I do hope that the Prussians will convey across the Rhine all the Parisian journalists, and keep them there until they are able to pass an elementary examination in the literature, the politics, the geography, and the domestic economy of Germany. A little foreign travel would do these blind leaders of the blind a world of good, and on their return they would perhaps have cleared their minds of their favourite delusion that civilization is co-terminous with the frontiers of France.
How M. Picard provides for the financial requirements of his colleagues is a mystery. The cost of the siege amounts in hard cash to about £20,000,000. To meet the daily draw on the exchequer no public loan has been negotiated, and nothing is raised by taxation. The monthly instalments which have been paid on the September loan cannot altogether amount to very much, consequently the greater portion of this large sum can only have been obtained by a loan from the bank and bybons de trésor(exchequer bills). What the proportion between the bank loan and thebons de trésorin circulation is I am unable to ascertain. M. Picard, like all finance ministers, groans daily over the cost of the prolongation of the siege, and it certainly appears a very doubtful question whether France will really benefit by Paris living at its expense for another month.
Military matters remainin statu quo. The army is camped in the wood of Vincennes. The forts occasionally fire. The Prussians seem to be of opinion that our next sortie will be in the plain of Genevilliers, as they are working hard on their fortifications along their lines between St. Denis and St. Cloud, and they have replaced the levies of the smaller States by what we call here "real" Prussians. Our engineer officers consider that the Prussians have three lines of investment, the first comparatively weak, the second composed of strategical lines, by which a force of 40,000 men can be brought on any point within two hours; the third consisting of redoubts, which would prevent artillery getting by them. To invest a large town, say our officers, is not so difficult a task as it would appear at first sight. Artillery can only move along roads, and consequently all that is necessary is to occupy the roads solidly. General Blanchard has been removed from his command, and is to be employed in the Third Army under Vinoy. His dispute with Ducrot arose from a remark which the latter made respecting officers who did not remain with their men after a battle; and as Blanchard had been in Paris the day before, he took this general stricture to himself. Personalities of a very strong nature were exchanged between the two warriors, and it was thought well that henceforward they should, as much as possible, be kept apart. General Favé also, who commanded the redoubt near Joinville, which arrested the advance of the Prussians on the second battle of Villiers, has "had words." It appears that he declined to obey an order which was forwarded to him, on the ground of its absurdity, saying that he was responsible to his conscience. Indiscipline has been the curse of the French army since the commencement of the war, and it will continue to be so to the end. During the siege there have been many individual traits of heroism, but the armed force has been little better than a mob, and Trochu has not had the moral courage to enforce his will on his generals. Ducrot says that he is determined to take the war battalions of the National Guards under fire at the next sortie, but whether he will succeed remains to be seen. In these marching battalions there are undoubtedly many brave men, but both officers and soldiers are inexperienced, and when they see men falling before them, struck down by an invisible enemy, they lose all presence of mind.
I do not think, as far as regards the Parisians, Count Bismarck is right in his opinion that the French will for many years to come attempt to reverse the verdict of the present war. The Parisian bourgeois is fond of saving money. As long as war meant a military promenade of the army across the Rhine, followed by a triumphal entry into Paris, he was by no means averse to it, for he considered that a French victory reflected itself on him, and made him a hero in the eyes of the world. Now, however, that he has discovered that there is a reverse to this picture, and that it may very possibly mean ruin to himself, he will be very cautious before he again risks the hazard of the die. Should the disasters of France result in the emancipation of the provinces from the rule of Paris, they will be a positive benefit to the nation. If the thirty-eight million Frenchmen outside Paris are such fools as to allow themselves to be ruled by the two million amiable, ignorant, bragging humbugs who are within it, France will most deservedly cease to be a power of Europe. If this country is to recover from the ruin in which it is overwhelmed it is absolutely essential that Paris should cease to be its political capital, and that the Parisians should not have a greater share in moulding its future policy than they are numerically entitled to.
December 18th.
Prisoners have before now endeavoured to while away their long hours of captivity by watching spiders making their webs. I can understand this. In the dreary monotony of this dreariest of sieges a spider would be an event. But alas, the spider is outside, and we are the flies caught in his toils. Never did time hang so heavily on human beings as it hangs on us. Every day seems to have twice the usual number of hours. I have ceased to wind up my watch for many a week. I got tired of looking at it; and whether it is ten in the morning or two in the afternoon is much the same to me; almost everyone has ceased to shave; they say that a razor so near their throats would be too great a temptation. Some have married to avoid active service, others to pass the time. "When I knew that there was an army between my wife and myself," observed a cynic to me yesterday, "I rejoiced, but even the society of my wife would be better than this." There is a hideous old woman, like unto one of Macbeth's witches, who makes my bed. I had a horrible feeling that some day or other I should marry her, and I have been considerably relieved by discovering that she has a husband and several olive branches. Here is my day. In the morning the boots comes to call me. He announces the number of deaths which have taken place in the hotel during the night. If there are many he is pleased, as he considers it creditable to the establishment. He then relieves his feelings by shaking his fist in the direction of Versailles, and exit growling "Canaille de Bismarck." I get up. I have breakfast—horse,café au lait—thelaitchalk and water—the portion of horse about two square inches of the noble quadruped. Then I buy a dozen newspapers, and after having read them, discover that they contain nothing new. This brings me to about eleven o'clock. Friends drop in, or I drop in on friends. We discuss how long it is to last—if friends are French we agree that we are sublime. At one o'clock get into the circular railroad, and go to one or other of the city gates. After a discussion with the National Guards on duty, pass through. Potter about for a couple of hours at the outposts; try with glass to make out Prussians; look at bombs bursting; creep along the trenches; and wade knee deep in mud through the fields. The Prussians, who have grown of late malevolent even toward civilians, occasionally send a ball far over one's head. They always fire too high. French soldiers are generally cooking food. They are anxious for news, and know nothing about what is going on. As a rule they relate the episode of somecombat d'avantpostewhich took place the day before. The episodes never vary. 5p.m.—Get back home; talk to doctors about interesting surgical operations; then drop in upon some official to interview him about what is doing. Official usually first mysterious, then communicative, not to say loquacious, and abuses most people except himself. 7p.m.—Dinner at a restaurant; conversation general; almost everyone in uniform. Still the old subjects—How long will it last? Why does not Gambetta write more clearly? How sublime we are; what a fool everyone else is. Food scanty, but peculiar. At Voisins to-day the bill of fare was ass, horse, and English wolf from the Zoological Garden. A Scotchman informed me that this latter was a fox of his native land, and patriotically gorged himself with it. I tried it, and not being a Scotchman, found it horrible, and fell back upon the patient ass. After dinner, potter on the Boulevards under the dispiriting gloom of petroleum; go home and read a book. 12p.m.—Bed. They nail up the coffins in the room just over mine every night, and the tap, tap, tap, as they drive in the nails, is the pleasing music which lulls me to sleep. Now, I ask, after having endured this sort of thing day after day for three months, can I be expected to admire Geist, Germany, or Mr. Matthew Arnold? I sigh for a revolution, for a bombardment, for an assault, for anything which would give us a day's excitement.
I enclose you Gambetta's latest pigeon despatch. His style is so grandiloquently vague that we can make neither head nor tail of it. We cannot imagine what has become of Aurelles de Paladine and of the army of Kératry. The optimists say that Gambetta means that Bourbaki and Chanzy have surrounded Frederick Charles; the pessimists, that Frederick Charles has got between them. The general feeling seems to be that the provinces are doing more than was expected of them, but that they will fail to succour us. Here some of the newspapers urge Trochu to make a sortie, in order to prevent reinforcements being sent to Frederick Charles, others deprecate it as a useless waste of life. General Clément Thomas, who succeeded Tamisier about a month ago in the command of the National Guards, seems to be the right man in the right place. He is making great efforts to convert these citizens into soldiers, and stands no nonsense. Not a day passes without some patriotic captain being tried by court-martial for drunkenness or disobedience. If a battalion misbehaves itself, it is immediately gibbeted in the order of the day. The newspapers cry out against this. They say that Clément Thomas forgets that the National Guards are his children, and that dirty linen ought to be washed at home. "If this goes on, posterity," they complain, "will say that we were little more than a mob of undisciplined drunkards." I am afraid that Clément Thomas will not have time to carry out his reforms; had they been commenced earlier, there is no reason why Paris should not have had on foot 100,000 good troops.
Mr. Herbert tells me that there are now above 1,000 persons on the English fund, and that every week there are about 30 new applications. Unknown and mysterious English emerge from holes and corners every day. Mr. Herbert thinks that there cannot be less than 3,000 of them still in Paris, almost all destitute. The French Government sold him a short time ago 30,000 lbs. of rice, and this, with the chocolate and Liebig which he has in hand will last him for about three weeks. If the siege goes on longer it is difficult to know how all these poor people will live. Funds are not absolutely wanting, but it is doubtful whether even with money it will be possible to buy anything beyond bread, if that. Mr. Herbert thinks that it would be most desirable to send, if possible, a provision of portable food, such as Liebig's extract of meat, as near to Paris as possible; so that, whenever the siege ceases, it may at once be brought into the town, as otherwise it is very probable that many of these English will die of starvation before food can reach them. It does seem to me perfectly monstrous that for years we should have, in addition to an Embassy, kept a Consul here, and that he should have been allowed to go off on leave to some watering place at the very moment at which his services were most required. When the Embassy left, a sort of deputy-consul remained here; but with a perfect ingenuity of stupidity, the Foreign-office officials ordered this gentleman to withdraw with Mr. Wodehouse, the secretary. Heine said of his fellow-countrymen, "they are born stupid, and a bureaucratic education makes them wicked." Had he been an Englishman instead of a Prussian he would have said the same, and with even more truth, of certain persons who, not for worlds would I name, but who do not reside 100 miles from Downing-street.
December 21st.
When the Fenians in the United States meditate a raid upon Canada, they usually take very great care to allow their intentions to be known. Our sorties are much like these Hibernian surprises. If the Prussians do not know when we are about to attack, they cannot complain that it is our fault. The "Après vous, Messieurs les Anglais," still forms the chivalrous but somewhat naïf tactics of the Gauls. On Sunday, as a first step to military operations, the gates of the city were closed to all unprovided with passes. On Monday a grand council of generals and admirals took place at the Palais Royal. Yesterday, and all last night, drums were beating, trumpets were blowing, and troops were marching through the streets. The war battalions of the National Guard, in their new uniforms, spick and span, were greeted with shouts, to which they replied by singing a song, the chorus of which is "Vive la guerre, Piff-Paff," and which has replaced the "Marseillaise." As the ambulances had been ordered to be ready to start at six in the morning, I presumed that business would commence at an early hour, and I ordered myself to be called at 5.30. I was called, and got out of my bed, but, alas for noble resolutions! having done so, I got back again into it and remained between the sheets quietly enjoying that sleep which is derived from the possession of a good conscience, and a still better digestion, until the clock struck nine.
It was not until past eleven o'clock that I found myself on the outside of the gate of La Villette, advancing, as Grouchy should have done at Waterloo, in the direction of the sound of the cannon. From the gate a straight road runs to Le Bourget, having the Fort of Aubervilliers on the right, and St. Denis on the left. Between the fort and the gate there were several hundred ambulance waggons, and above a thousand "brancardiers," stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers to keep themselves warm. In the fields on each side of the road there were numerous regiments of Mobiles drawn up ready to advance if required. Le Bourget, everyone said, had been taken in the morning, our artillery was on ahead, and we were carrying everything before us, so towards Le Bourget I advanced. About a mile from Le Bourget, there is a cross-road running to St. Denis through Courneuve. Here I found the barricade which had formed our most advanced post removed. Le Bourget seemed to be on fire. Shells were falling into it from the Prussian batteries, and, as well as I could make out, our forts were shelling it too. Our artillery was on a slight rise to the right of Le Bourget, in advance of Drancy; and in the fields between Drancy and this rise, heavy masses of troops were drawn up in support. Officers assured me that Le Bourget was still in our possession, and that if I felt inclined to go there, there was nothing to prevent me. I confess I am not one of those persons who snuff up the battle from afar, and feel an irresistible desire to rush into the middle of it. To be knocked on the head by a shell, merely to gratify one's curiosity, appears to me to be the utmost height of absurdity. Those who put themselves between the hammer and the anvil, come off generally second best, and I determined to defer my visit to the interesting village before me until the question whether it was to belong to Gaul or Teuton had been definitely decided. So I turned off to the left and went to St. Denis.
Here everybody was in the streets, asking everybody else for news. The forts all round it were firing heavily. On the Place before the Cathedral there was a great crowd of men, women, and children. The sailors, who are quartered here in great numbers, said that they had carried Le Bourget early in the morning, but that they had been obliged to fall back, with the loss of about a third of their number. Most of them had hatchets by their sides, and they attack a position much as if they were boarding a ship. About 100 prisoners had been brought into the town in the morning, as well as two Frères Chrétiens, who had been wounded, and for whom the greatest sympathy was expressed. Little seemed to be known of what was passing. "The Prussians will be here in an hour," shouted one man; "The Prussians are being exterminated," shouted another. "What is this?" cried the crowd, as Monseigneur Bauer, the bishopin partibus infideliumof some place or other, now came riding along with his staff. He held up his two fingers, and turned his hand right and left. His pastoral blessing was, however, but a half success. The women crossed themselves, and the men muttered "farceur." The war which is now raging has produced many oddities, but none to my mind equal to this bishop. His great object is to see and be seen, and most thoroughly does he succeed in his object. He is a short, stout man, dressed in a cassock, a pair of jack-boots with large spurs, and a hat such as you would only see at the opera. On his breast he wears a huge star. Round his neck is a chain, with a great golden cross attached to it; and on his fingers, over his gloves, he wears gorgeous rings. The trappings of his horse are thickly sprinkled with Geneva crosses. By his side rides a standard-bearer, bearing aloft a flag with a red cross. Eight aides-de-camp, arrayed in a sort of purple and gold fancy uniform, follow him, and thecortégeis closed by two grooms in unimpeachable tops. In this guise, and followed by this état major, he is a conspicuous figure upon a field of battle, and produces much the same effect as the head of a circus riding into a town on a piebald horse, surrounded by clowns and pets of the ballet. He was the confessor of the Empress, and is now the aumônier of the Press; but why he wears jack-boots, why he capers about on a fiery horse, why he has a staff of aides-de-camp, and why he has two grooms, are things which no one seems to know. He patronises generals and admirals, doctors and commissariat officers, and they submit to be patronised by him. Half-priest, half-buffoon, something of a Friar Tuck and something of a Louis XV. abbé, he is a sort of privileged person, who by the mere force of impudence has made his way in the world. Most English girls in their teens fall in love with a curate and a cavalry officer. Monseigneur Bauer, who combines in himself the unctuous curate and the dashing dragoon, is adored by the fair sex in Paris. He knows how to adapt his conversation to the most opposite kind of persons, and I should not be surprised if he becomes a Cardinal before he dies.
The arrival of Dr. Ricord was the next event. He was in a basket pony-chaise, driving two ponies not much larger than rats. A pole about twelve feet high, bearing the flag of the Geneva Cross, was stuck beside him, and it was knocking against the telegraph wires which ran along the street. The eminent surgeon was arrayed in a long coat buttoned up to his chin and coming down to his feet. On his head was a kepi which was far too large for him. He looked like one of those wooden figures of Noah, when that patriarch with his family is lodged in a child's ark. Having inspected the bishop and the doctor with respectful admiration, and instituted a search for some bread and wine, I thought it was time to see what was going on outside. On emerging from St. Denis everything except the guns of the forts appeared quiet. I had not, however, gone far in the direction of Le Bourget, which was still burning, when I was stopped by a regiment marching towards St. Denis, some of the officers of which told me that the village had been retaken by the Prussians—the artillery, too, which I had left on the rise before Drancy, had disappeared. At a farmyard close by Drancy I saw Ducrot and his staff. The General had his hood drawn over his head, and both he and his aide-de-camp looked so glum, that I thought it just as well not to congratulate him upon the operations of the day. In and behind Drancy there were a large number of troops, who I heard were to camp there during the night. None seemed exactly to know what had happened. The officers and soldiers were not in good spirits. On my return into Paris, however, I found the following proclamation of the Government posted on the walls:—"2 p.m.—The attack commenced this morning by a great deployment from Mont Valérien to Nogent, the combat has commenced and continues everywhere, with favourable chances for us.—Schmitz." The people on the Boulevards seem to imagine that a great victory has been gained. When one asks them where? They answer "everywhere." I can only answer myself for what occurred at Le Bourget. I hear that Vinoy has occupied Nogent, on the north of the Marne; the resistance he encountered could not, however, have been very great, as only seven wounded have been brought into this hotel, and only one to the American ambulance. General Trochu announced this morning that 100 battalions of the National Guards are outside the walls, and I shall be curious to learn how they conduct themselves under fire. Far be it from me to say that they will not fight like lions. If they do, however, it will surprise most of the military men with whom I have spoken on the subject. As yet all they have done has been to make frequent "pacts with death," to perform unauthorised strategical movements to the rear whenever they have been sent to the front, to consume much liquor, to pillage houses, and—to put it poetically—toy with Amaryllis in the trench, or with the tangles of Nearas' hair. Their General, Clément Thomas, is doing his best to knock them into shape, but I am afraid that it is too late. There are cases in which, in defiance of the proverb, it is too late to mend.
Officers in a position to know, assure me that no really serious sortie will be made, but that after two or three days of the sham fights, such as took place to-day, the troops will quietly return into Paris. The object of General Trochu is, they say, to amuse the Parisians, and if he can by hook or by crook get the National Guard under the mildest of fires, to celebrate their heroism, in order that they may return the compliment. I cannot, however, believe that no attempt will be made to fight a battle; the troops are now massed from St. Denis to the Marne; within two hours they can all be brought to any point along this line, and I should imagine that either to-morrow or the next day, something will be done in the direction of the Forest of Bondy. Trochu, it is daily felt more strongly, even by calm temperate men, is not the right man in the right place. He is a respectable literary man, utterly unfit to cope with the situation. His great aim seems now to be to curry favour with the Parisian population by praising in all his proclamations the National Guards, and ascribing to them a courage of which as yet they have given no proof. This, of course, injures him with the Line and the Mobiles, who naturally object to their being called upon to do all the fighting, whilst others are lauded for it. The officers all swear by Vinoy, and hold the military capacity both of Trochu and Ducrot very cheap. In the desperate strait to which Paris is reduced, something more than a man estimable for his private virtues, and his literary attainments is required. Trochu, as we are frequently told, gave up his brougham in order to adopt his nephews. Richard III. killed his; but these are domestic questions, only interesting to nephews, and it by no means follows that Richard III. would not have been a better defender of Paris than Trochu has proved himself to be. His political aspirations and his military combinations are in perpetual conflict. He is ever sacrificing the one to the other, and, consequently, he fails both as a general and as a statesman.
In order to form an opinion with regard to the condition of the poorer classes, I went yesterday into some of the back slums in the neighbourhood of the Boulevard de Clichy. The distress is terrible. Women and children, half starved, were seated at their doorsteps, with hardly clothes to cover them decently. They said that, as they had neither firewood nor coke, they were warmer out-of-doors than in-doors. Many of the National Guards, instead of bringing their money home to their families, spent it in drink; and there are many families, composed entirely of women and children, who, in this land of bureaucracy, are apparently left to starve whilst it is decided to what category they belong. The Citizen Mottu, the Ultra-Democratic Mayor, announced that in his arrondissement all left-handed marriages are to be regarded as valid, and the left-handed spouses of the National Guards are to receive the allowance which is granted to the legitimate wives of these warriors. But a new difficulty has arisen. Left-handed polygamy prevails to a great extent among the Citizen Mottu's admirers. Is a lady who has five husbands entitled to five rations, and is a lady who only owns the fifth of a National Guard to have only one-fifth of a ration? These are questions which the Citizen Mottu is now attempting to solve. As for the future, he has solved the matrimonial question by declining to celebrate marriages, because, he says, this bond is an insult upon those who prefer to ignore it. As regards marriage, consequently—and that alone—his arrondissement resembles the kingdom of heaven. I went to see, yesterday, what was going on in the house of a friend of mine in the Avenue de l'Impératrice, who has left Paris. The servant who was in charge told me that up there they had been unable to obtain bread for three days, and that the last time that he had presented his ration ticket he had been given about half an inch of cheese. "How do you live, then?" I asked. After looking mysteriously round to see that no one was watching us, he took me down into the cellar, and pointed to some meat in barrel. "It is half a horse," he said, in the tone of a man who is showing some one the corpse of his murdered victim. "A neighbouring coachman killed him, and we salted him down and divided it." Then he opened a closet in which sat a huge cat. "I am fattening her up for Christmas-day, we mean to serve her up surrounded with mice, like sausages," he observed. Many Englishmen regard it as a religious duty to eat turkey at Christmas, but fancy fulfilling this duty by devouring cat. It is like an Arab in the desert, who cannot wash his hands when he addresses his evening prayer, and makes shift with sand. This reminds me that some antiquarian has discovered that in eating horse we are only reverting to the habits of the ancient Gauls. Before the Christian religion was introduced into the country, the Druids used to sacrifice horses, which were afterwards eaten. Christianity put an end to these sacrifices, and horse-flesh then went out of fashion.
La Francethus speaks of the last despatch of Gambetta:—"At length we have received official news from Tours. We read the despatch feverishly, then we read it a second time with respect, with admiration, with enthusiasm. We are asked our opinion respecting it. Before answering, we feel an irresistible impulse to take off our hat and to cry 'Vive la France.'" TheElecteur Libreis still more enraptured with the situation. It particularly admires the petroleum lamp, so different, it says, to those orgies of light, which under the tyrant, in the form of gas, gave a fictitious vitality to Paris. TheCombatpoints out that no fires have broken out since September 4—a coincidence which is ascribed to the existence since that date of a Republican form of government. I recommend this curious phenomenon to insurance companies. The newspapers, one and all, are furious, because they hear that the Prussians contest our two victories at Villiers. "How singular," observes theFigaro, with plaintive morality, "is this rage, this necessity for lying." It is notorious that, having gained two glorious victories, we returned into Paris to repose on our laurels, and I must beg the Prussians not to be so mean as to contest the fact.
December 23rd.
Since Wednesday the troops—Line, Mobiles, and marching battalions of the National Guard—have remained outside the enceinte. There has been a certain amount of spade work at Drancy, but beyond this absolutely nothing. The cold is very severe. This afternoon I was outside in the direction of Le Bourget. The soldiers had lit large fires to warm themselves. Some of them were lodged in empty houses, but most of them had only their littletentes d'abrito shelter them. The sentinels were stamping their feet in the almost vain endeavour to keep their blood in circulation. There have been numerous frost-bitten cases. When it is considered that almost all of these troops might, without either danger to the defence, or without compromising the offensive operations, have been marched back into Paris, and quartered in the barracks which have been erected along the outer line of Boulevards, it seems monstrous cruelty to keep them freezing outside. The operations, however, on Wednesday are regarded as very far short of a success. General Trochu does not venture, in the state of public opinion, to bring the troops back into Paris, and thus confess a failure. The ambulances are ordered out to-morrow morning; but I cannot help thinking that the series of operations which were with great beating of drums announced to have commenced on Wednesday, will be allowed gradually to die out, without anything further taking place. The National Guards are camped in the neighbourhood of Bondy and Rosny. They have again, greatly to the disgust of the Mobiles and Line, been congratulated in a general order upon their valorous bearing. As a matter of fact, there was a panic among these braves which nearly degenerated into a rout. Several battalions turned tail, under the impression that the Prussians were going to attack them. One battalion did not stop until it had found shelter within the walls of the town. General Trochu's attempt, for political ends, to force greatness upon these heroes, is losing him the goodwill of the army. On Wednesday and Thursday several regiments of the Line and of the Mobiles bitterly complained that they should always be ordered to the front to protect not only Paris but the National Guards. The marching battalions are composed of unmarried men between twenty-five and thirty-five, and why they should not be called upon to incur the same risks, and submit to the same discipline as the Mobiles, it is difficult to understand. We may learn from the experience of this siege that in war, armed citizens who decline to submit to the discipline of soldiers are worse than useless. The lesson, however, has not profited the Parisians. The following letter appears in theCombat, signed by the "adjoint" of the 13th arrondissement. The defence on the part of this municipal functionary of a marching battalion, which, at the outposts, broke into a church, and there parodied the celebration of the mass, is a gem in its way:—
"The marching companies of this battalion left Paris on the morning of the 16th to go to the outposts at Issy. The departure was what all departures of marching battalions must fatally be—copious and multiplied libations between parting friends, paternal handshakings in cabarets, patriotic and bacchic songs, loose and indecent choruses—in a word, the picturesque exhibition of all that arsenal of gaiety and courage which is the appanage of an ancient Gallic race. The old troopers, who pretend to govern us by the sword, do not approve of this joyous mode of regarding death; and all the writers whose pens are dipped in the ink of reaction and Jesuitism are eager to discover any eccentricity in which soldiers who are going under fire for the first time permit themselves to indulge. The Intendance, with that intelligence which characterises our military administrations, had put off the departure of the battalion for several hours. What were the men to do whilst they were kept waiting, except drink? This is what these brave fellows did. Mars, tired of Venus, sung at the companionship of Bacchus. If the God of Wine too well seconded the God of War, it is only water drinkers who can complain; it is not for us, Republicans of the past and of the future, to throw stones at good citizens in order to conceal the misconduct of the old Bonapartist Administration which still is charged with the care of our armies."
General Blaise has been killed at Villa Evrard. The buildings, which go by this name, were occupied on Wednesday by General Vinoy's troops. In the night a number of Prussians, who had concealed themselves in the cellars, emerged, and a hand-to-hand fight took place. Some of the Prussians in the confusion got away, and some were killed. Several French officers who ran away and rushed in a panic into the presence of General Vinoy, who was at Fort Rosney, announcing that all was lost, are to be tried by Court Martial. The troops when they heard this were very indignant; but old Vinoy rode along the line, and told them that they might think what they pleased, but that he would have no cowards serving under him. Pity that he is not General-in-Chief.
A curious new industry has sprung up in Paris. Letters supposed to be found in the pockets of dead Germans are in great request. There are letters from mothers, from sisters, and from the Gretchens who are, in the popular mind, supposed to adore warriors. Unless every corpse has half a dozen mothers, and was loved when in the flesh by a dozen sweethearts, many of these letters must be fabricated. They vary in their style very little. The German mothers give little domestic details about the life at home, and express the greatest dread lest their sons should fall victims to the valour of the Parisians, which is filling the Fatherland with terror and admiration. The Gretchens are all sentimental; they talk of their inner feelings like the heroines of third-rate novels, send the object of their affections cigars and stockings knitted by their own fair hands, and implore him to be faithful, and not forget, in the toils of some French syren, poor Gretchen. But what is more strange is that in the pocket of each corpse a reply is found which he has forgotten to post. In this reply the warrior tells a fearful tale of his own sufferings, and says that victory is impossible, because the National Guards are such an invincible band.
The number of the wounded in my hotel has considerably diminished owing to the deaths among them. For the Société Internationale to have made it their central ambulance was a great mistake. Owing to the want of ventilation the simplest operations are usually fatal. Four out of five of those who have an arm or a leg amputated die of pyæmia. Now, as in the American tents four out of five recover; and as French surgeons are as skilful as American surgeons, the average mortality in the two ambulances is a crucial proof of the advantage of the American tent system. Under their tents there is perfect ventilation, and yet the air is not cold. If their plan were universally adopted in hospitals, it is probable that many lives which are now sacrificed to the gases which are generated from operations, and which find no exit from buildings of stone or brick, would be saved. "Our war," said an American surgeon to me the other day, "taught us that a large number of cubic inches of air is not enough for a sick man, but that the air must be perpetually renewed by ventilation."
December 24th.
The papers publish extracts from German newspapers which have been found in the pockets of the prisoners who were taken on Wednesday. The news from the provinces is not considered encouraging. Great stress is laid upon a proclamation addressed by King William to his troops on December 6, in which it is considered that there is evidence that the Prussians are getting tired of the war. We hear now, for the first time, that Prussia has "denounced" the Luxemburg Treaty of '67, and forgetting that the guarantee of neutrality with respect to these lotus-eaters was collective, and not joint and several, we anxiously ask whether England will not regard this as acasus belli. "As soon as Parliament assembles," saysLa Vérité, "that great statesman Disraeli will turn out Mr. Gladstone, and then our old ally will be restored to us." TheGauloisobserves that "the English journalists residing at Paris keep up the illusion that Paris must fall by sending to their journals false news, which is reproduced in the organs of Prussia." "These journalists," adds theGaulois, "who are our guests, fail in those duties which circumstances impose upon them." Every correspondent residing abroad must be the guest, in a certain sense, of the country from which he is writing; but that this position should oblige him to square his facts to suit the wishes of his hosts appears to me a strange theory. Had I been M. Jules Favre, I confess that I should have turned out all foreign journalists at the commencement of the siege. He, however, expressed a wish that they should remain in Paris, and his fellow-citizens must not now complain that they decline to endorse the legend which, very probably, will be handed down to future generations of Frenchmen as the history of the siege of Paris. The Prussians will not raise the siege for anything either French or English journalists say. The Parisians themselves must perceive that the attempt to frighten their enemies away by drum-beating and trumpet-blowing has signally failed. Times have altered since Jericho. It is telling the Prussians nothing new to inform them that the National Guard are poor troops. For my part, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to learn some morning that the German armies round Paris had met with the fate which overwhelmed Sennacherib and his hosts. I should be delighted to be able to hope that the town will not eventually be forced to capitulate; but I cannot conceal from myself the truth that, if no succour comes from without, it must eventually fall. I blame the French journalists for perpetually drawing upon their imagination for their facts, and in their boasts of what France will do, not keeping within the bounds of probability; but I do not blame them for hoping against hope that their armies will be successful. I am ready to admit that the Parisians have shown a most stubborn tenacity, and that they have disappointed their enemies in not cutting each other's throats; but this is no reason why I should assert that they are sublime. After all, what is patriotism? The idea entertained by each nation that it is braver and better and wiser than the rest of the world. Does not every Englishman feel this to be true of his own countrymen? It is consequently not absurd that Frenchmen should think the same of themselves. The French are intensely patriotic—country with them is no abstraction. They moan over its ruin as though it were a human being, and far then be it from me to laugh at them for doing so. When, however, I find persons dressing themselves up in all the paraphernalia of war, visiting tombs and statues in order to register with due solemnity that they intend to die rather than yield, and when, after all this nonsense, these same persons decline to take their share in the common danger on the score that they have a mother, or a sister, or a wife, or a child, dependent upon them, and when month after month they drum and strut up and down the Boulevards, I consider that they are ridiculous, and I say so. When a man does a silly thing it is his own fault—not that of the person who chronicles it. Was it wise, for instance, of General Ducrot to announce a fortnight ago that he was about to lead his soldiers against the enemy, and that he himself intended either to conquer or die? Was it wise of General Trochu six weeks ago to issue a proclamation pledging himself to force the Prussians to raise the siege of Paris. The Prussians will have read these manifestoes, and they will form their own estimate respecting them. That I call them foolish does not "keep up illusions in Germany." The other day the members of an Ultra club, in the midst of a discussion respecting the existence of a divinity, determined to decide the question by a general scrimmage. I think that these patriots might have been better employed. It does not follow, however, that I do not regret that they were not better employed. The siege of Paris is in the hands of General Moltke, and theGauloismay depend upon it that this wary strategist is not at all likely to give up the task by any number of journalists informing him that he is certain to fail.
I have got a cold, so I have not been out this morning. I hear that some of the troops have come in from Aubervilliers, and several regiments have marched by my windows. At Neuilly-sur-Marne and Bondy, it is said, earthworks are being thrown up; and it is supposed that Chelles will, as the Americans say, be the objective point of any movement which may take place in that direction. ThePatriehas been suspended for three days for alluding to military operations. It did more than allude, it ventured to doubt the wisdom of our generals. As many other journals have done the same I do not understand why thePatrieshould have been singled out for vengeance.
December 25th.
Real Christmas weather—that is to say, the earth is as hard as a brickbat, and the wind freezes one to the very marrow. To the rich man, with a good coal fire in his grate, turkey, roast beef, plum pudding, and mince pies on his table, and his family gorging themselves on the solid eatables, a frost at Christmas is very pleasant. Poor people cowering in their rags before the door of a union, cold, hungry, and forlorn, or munching their dry bread in some cheerless garret, may not perhaps so fully appreciate its advantages; but then we all know that poor people never are contented, and seldom understand the fitness of things. Here in Paris, the numbed soldiers out in the open fields, and the women and children, who have no fires and hardly any food, bitterly complain of the "seasonable" weather. With plenty of money, with warm clothes, and a good house, a hard frost has its charms, without them it is not quite so agreeable. For my part I confess that I never have seen a paterfamilias with his coat tails raised, basking himself before his fire, and prating about the delights of winter, and the healthy glow which is caused by a sharp frost, without feeling an irresistible desire to transplant him stark naked to the highest peak of Mont Blanc, in order to teach by experience what winter means to thousands of his fellow-creatures. We are not having a "merry Christmas," and we are not likely to have a happy new year. Christmas is not here the great holiday of the year, as it is in England. Still, everyone in ordinary times tries to have a better dinner than usual, and usually where there are children in a family some attempt is made to amuse them. Among the bourgeoisie they are told to put their shoes in the grate on Christmas-eve, and the next morning some present is found in them, which is supposed to have been left during the night by the Infant Jesus. Since the Empire introduced English ways here, plum-pudding and mincepies have been eaten, and even Christmas-trees have flourished. This year these festive shrubs, as an invention of the detested foe, have been rigidly tabooed. Plum-puddings and mincepies, too, will appear on few tables. In order to comfort the children, the girls are to be given soup tickets to distribute to beggars, and the boys are to have their choice between French and German wooden soldiers. The former will be treasured up, the latter will be subjected to fearful tortures. Even the midnight mass, which is usually celebrated on Christmas-eve, took place in very few churches last night. We have, indeed, too much on our hands to attend either to fasts or festivals, although in the opinion of theUnivers, the last sortie would have been far more successful had it taken place on the 7th of the month, the anniversary of the promulgation of the Immaculate Conception. Among fine people New Year's-day is more of a fête than Christmas. Its approach is regarded with dark misgivings by many, for every gentleman is expected to make a call upon all the ladies of his acquaintance, and to leave them a box of sugarplums. This is a heavy tax upon those who have more friends than money—300fr. is not considered an extraordinary sum to spend upon these bonbonnières. A friend of mine, indeed, assured me that he yearly spent 1000fr., but then he was a notorious liar, so very possibly he was not telling the truth. "Thank Heaven," says the men, "at least we shall get off the sugarplum tax this year." But the ladies are not to be done out of their rights this way, and they throw out very strong hints that if sugarplums are out of season, anything solid is very much in season. A dandy who is known to have a stock of sausages, is overwhelmed with compliments by his fair friends. A good leg of mutton would, I am sure, win the heart of the proudest beauty, and by the gift of half-a-dozen potatoes you might make a friend for life. The English here are making feeble attempts to celebrate Christmas correctly. In an English restaurant two turkeys had been treasured up for the important occasion, but unfortunately a few days ago they anticipated their fate, and most ill-naturedly insisted upon dying. One fortunate Briton has got ten pounds of camel, and has invited about twenty of his countrymen to aid him in devouring this singular substitute for turkey. Another gives himself airs because he has some potted turkey, which is solemnly to be consumed to-day spread on bread. I am myself going to dine with the correspondent of one of your contemporaries. On the same floor as himself lives a family who left Paris before the commencement of the siege. Necessity knows no law; so the other day he opened their door with a certain amount of gentle violence, and after a diligent search, discovered in the larder two onions, some potatoes, and a ham. These, with a fowl, which I believe has been procured honestly, are to constitute our Christmas dinner.