“We have had the other day,” he writes on November 4th, “the first taste of that revolution which we shall not escape. It began by anéchauffouréeof the National Guard, and ended by an invasion of the Hotel de Ville by the mob. It was repulsed, but for how long? This is the question, and the population of the faubourgs is getting so excited that at the first opportunity it will most certainly again take the offensive, and this time with greater chances of success. Don’t forget that, after all, we have no regular army in Paris worthy of that name, that arms have been distributed not only to the National Guard, but to a great part of the population; that, consequently, it is the latter, and not the pseudo-government, that in reality holds the power to impose its will upon the capital. One talks a lot about patriotism, believe me there is very little of patriotism about; all the politicians who have tried to persuade themselves that they have the qualifications of real statesmen, only think of their future,and of the possibility of their own greatness rising out of the ruins of their fatherland. They do nothing else but talk; I wish they would work—it would be more to the point.“I must tell you something that will surprise you. Rumours have been going about that the Prussian government had started some negotiations with the Empress in England. She is still Regent in name if not in fact, and her intervention, especially if it was strengthened by a demonstration of the army of Metz in her favour, might decide the King of Prussia to conclude an honourable peace, or at least one which would be termed honourable by every reasonable person. Well, will you believe me that a Bonapartist, quiteau courantwith what goes on, and who knows, moreover, the character of the Empress, told me that in his opinion she would always hesitate to take measures which might afterwards be attributed to her as proceeding from a desire to save the dynasty? She persists in that attitude which she has adopted from the outset, of putting France before everything, and of appearing to be careless of the interests of her family. She will not see that, at a time of such crisis, the interests of the dynasty are inseparable from those of the country, and that if by means of an intervention of the army of Metz in its favour she can conclude peace under more favourable conditions than those which Prussia would impose on a Republican government, it is her clear duty to do all that she can to achieve that result, no matter what reproaches might be hurled at her in the future. The Empire still has many partisans in France, especially among the working classes; they would most certainly have rallied around the Regent if it had been properly explained to them that she had saved the army of Metz from the fate that had overtaken that of Sedan, and, in consideration of this service, one would have forgiven her many things. Of course what I am telling you herereposes on hearsay, and you most probably know more about it than we can here, separated as we are from the outside world; but I repeat it, strong rumours have been going about, that Eugénie has been approached by Prussia, who, it seems, is even more eager for peace than we are, and that it has been hinted to her that every facility would be granted to her to appeal to France, to help her out of the terrible situation in which both find themselves at present. Among a certain circle strong hopes were indulged at one time that these rumours would turn out to be true, consequently the news of the capitulation of Metz, which the Prussians took good care should reach us, came as a thunderbolt to the Bonapartists, who openly declared that it had been brought about through the refusal of the Empress, from mistaken dynastic reasons, to assume the responsibility of a peace, the conditions of which, including, as they necessarily must have done, a concession of territory, would have excited indignation throughout France.“All that I am telling you is, of course, the result of my private observations, but these may interest you, in view of your Imperial sympathies.“And now you shall ask me what I am doing personally in our poor besieged Paris. Well, I happened to be near the Hotel de Ville on that memorable 18th of October, and I was much interested in the motley crowd that assembled in front of it. What struck me extremely was the large contingent of women, who were trying either to help or to excite their husbands or friends. I did not think that Parisian females were so revolutionary, nor that they counted in their midst such a number of old hags worthy to rival the witches ofMacbethin appearance. I am afraid that if we see a real revolution—which God forbid, though I am inclined to think its advent is inevitable—the women will show themselvesten times more ferocious than the men, and that the days of thetricoteuses, who dictated to the Convention in 1793, are not by any means over yet.“The remnant of society left in the capital has bravely made up its mind not to eat, drink and be merry, but to go through all the hardships of the siege with good humour and resignation. People still see each other, and indeed social life has not changed, although the menus of the dinners to which one is invited are anything but luxurious. For instance, yesterday I was asked to lunch by my old friend Countess Stéphanie Tascher de la Pagerre, together with two other people, and this is what we were offered: a potage Liebig with macaroni, roasted horseflesh, fresh beans, and chocolate cream without cream, but made with tinned milk. With the most charitable feelings in the world, it would be impossible to say that it was good, or that anyone liked it.“Clubs, too, are just as formerly, though they present the unusual sight of members dressed in uniform, who often come to lunch direct from the front, and who leave a rifle instead of a stick to the care of the hall porter, whilst they snatch a hasty and nasty meal. The theatres play just as usual; an ambulance has been organised in the foyer of the Comédie Française, and Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt is just as bewitching under the white cap and apron of a nurse as she was in her most gorgeous stage dresses. In short, thecomédie humainehas become thecomédie parisienne, notwithstanding the tragedy of Paris and of France.”
“We have had the other day,” he writes on November 4th, “the first taste of that revolution which we shall not escape. It began by anéchauffouréeof the National Guard, and ended by an invasion of the Hotel de Ville by the mob. It was repulsed, but for how long? This is the question, and the population of the faubourgs is getting so excited that at the first opportunity it will most certainly again take the offensive, and this time with greater chances of success. Don’t forget that, after all, we have no regular army in Paris worthy of that name, that arms have been distributed not only to the National Guard, but to a great part of the population; that, consequently, it is the latter, and not the pseudo-government, that in reality holds the power to impose its will upon the capital. One talks a lot about patriotism, believe me there is very little of patriotism about; all the politicians who have tried to persuade themselves that they have the qualifications of real statesmen, only think of their future,and of the possibility of their own greatness rising out of the ruins of their fatherland. They do nothing else but talk; I wish they would work—it would be more to the point.
“I must tell you something that will surprise you. Rumours have been going about that the Prussian government had started some negotiations with the Empress in England. She is still Regent in name if not in fact, and her intervention, especially if it was strengthened by a demonstration of the army of Metz in her favour, might decide the King of Prussia to conclude an honourable peace, or at least one which would be termed honourable by every reasonable person. Well, will you believe me that a Bonapartist, quiteau courantwith what goes on, and who knows, moreover, the character of the Empress, told me that in his opinion she would always hesitate to take measures which might afterwards be attributed to her as proceeding from a desire to save the dynasty? She persists in that attitude which she has adopted from the outset, of putting France before everything, and of appearing to be careless of the interests of her family. She will not see that, at a time of such crisis, the interests of the dynasty are inseparable from those of the country, and that if by means of an intervention of the army of Metz in its favour she can conclude peace under more favourable conditions than those which Prussia would impose on a Republican government, it is her clear duty to do all that she can to achieve that result, no matter what reproaches might be hurled at her in the future. The Empire still has many partisans in France, especially among the working classes; they would most certainly have rallied around the Regent if it had been properly explained to them that she had saved the army of Metz from the fate that had overtaken that of Sedan, and, in consideration of this service, one would have forgiven her many things. Of course what I am telling you herereposes on hearsay, and you most probably know more about it than we can here, separated as we are from the outside world; but I repeat it, strong rumours have been going about, that Eugénie has been approached by Prussia, who, it seems, is even more eager for peace than we are, and that it has been hinted to her that every facility would be granted to her to appeal to France, to help her out of the terrible situation in which both find themselves at present. Among a certain circle strong hopes were indulged at one time that these rumours would turn out to be true, consequently the news of the capitulation of Metz, which the Prussians took good care should reach us, came as a thunderbolt to the Bonapartists, who openly declared that it had been brought about through the refusal of the Empress, from mistaken dynastic reasons, to assume the responsibility of a peace, the conditions of which, including, as they necessarily must have done, a concession of territory, would have excited indignation throughout France.
“All that I am telling you is, of course, the result of my private observations, but these may interest you, in view of your Imperial sympathies.
“And now you shall ask me what I am doing personally in our poor besieged Paris. Well, I happened to be near the Hotel de Ville on that memorable 18th of October, and I was much interested in the motley crowd that assembled in front of it. What struck me extremely was the large contingent of women, who were trying either to help or to excite their husbands or friends. I did not think that Parisian females were so revolutionary, nor that they counted in their midst such a number of old hags worthy to rival the witches ofMacbethin appearance. I am afraid that if we see a real revolution—which God forbid, though I am inclined to think its advent is inevitable—the women will show themselvesten times more ferocious than the men, and that the days of thetricoteuses, who dictated to the Convention in 1793, are not by any means over yet.
“The remnant of society left in the capital has bravely made up its mind not to eat, drink and be merry, but to go through all the hardships of the siege with good humour and resignation. People still see each other, and indeed social life has not changed, although the menus of the dinners to which one is invited are anything but luxurious. For instance, yesterday I was asked to lunch by my old friend Countess Stéphanie Tascher de la Pagerre, together with two other people, and this is what we were offered: a potage Liebig with macaroni, roasted horseflesh, fresh beans, and chocolate cream without cream, but made with tinned milk. With the most charitable feelings in the world, it would be impossible to say that it was good, or that anyone liked it.
“Clubs, too, are just as formerly, though they present the unusual sight of members dressed in uniform, who often come to lunch direct from the front, and who leave a rifle instead of a stick to the care of the hall porter, whilst they snatch a hasty and nasty meal. The theatres play just as usual; an ambulance has been organised in the foyer of the Comédie Française, and Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt is just as bewitching under the white cap and apron of a nurse as she was in her most gorgeous stage dresses. In short, thecomédie humainehas become thecomédie parisienne, notwithstanding the tragedy of Paris and of France.”
This letter, penned by an American who had elected to remain in Paris during the siege, gives pretty well the idea of the spirit that prevailed among the Bonapartists, and the one which animated thegrand monde, or at least those who had not fled abroad. To complete the picture, I must giveanother letter, one from an old lady whose name I have already mentioned in these pages—Madame Lacroix, who had returned from St. Germain after the 4th of September, and, notwithstanding her great age, had remained in Paris, where hersalonwas the rendezvous of her numerous friends, and just as animated as it had been formerly.
“Our situation is always the same, just as lamentable and just as sad. Nothing seems to change around us, save the fact that provisions are getting scarcer and scarcer, that butter is not to be had for love or money, and that dogs, rats, and cats appear on the best tables in place of beef and mutton. Gas also is a thing of the past, and one has to exercise strict economy in oil and paraffin. I have now only one lamp burning in my drawing-room, which we take along with us when we go to the dining-room. The population begins to get exasperated at this heavy inaction that weighs upon it; the absence of all reliable news also tells on the hearts and minds. On the 29th of November we were awakened by the sound of the cannon, and one heard that at last the government had decided to make an effort to attack the enemy, in the endeavour to effect a junction with the army of the Loire, which, as it seems, was quite near to us; at least this is what our government choose to tell us. Trochu has published another proclamation, addressed to the population, just as devoid of common sense as all his previous ones have been. For about three days we were left absolutely without news, though it was rumoured that the Prussians had been defeated by Ducrot, but at last it leaked out that the plans of Trochu had failed, and that the effort made by the garrison of Paris had been unsuccessful.“On the 5th of December we were startled by the news of the defeat of the army of Chanzy near Orleans, and I mustconfess to you that now the most sanguine hopes have been shattered, and the only feeling left is the desire to see this nightmare under which we are living come to an end.”
“Our situation is always the same, just as lamentable and just as sad. Nothing seems to change around us, save the fact that provisions are getting scarcer and scarcer, that butter is not to be had for love or money, and that dogs, rats, and cats appear on the best tables in place of beef and mutton. Gas also is a thing of the past, and one has to exercise strict economy in oil and paraffin. I have now only one lamp burning in my drawing-room, which we take along with us when we go to the dining-room. The population begins to get exasperated at this heavy inaction that weighs upon it; the absence of all reliable news also tells on the hearts and minds. On the 29th of November we were awakened by the sound of the cannon, and one heard that at last the government had decided to make an effort to attack the enemy, in the endeavour to effect a junction with the army of the Loire, which, as it seems, was quite near to us; at least this is what our government choose to tell us. Trochu has published another proclamation, addressed to the population, just as devoid of common sense as all his previous ones have been. For about three days we were left absolutely without news, though it was rumoured that the Prussians had been defeated by Ducrot, but at last it leaked out that the plans of Trochu had failed, and that the effort made by the garrison of Paris had been unsuccessful.
“On the 5th of December we were startled by the news of the defeat of the army of Chanzy near Orleans, and I mustconfess to you that now the most sanguine hopes have been shattered, and the only feeling left is the desire to see this nightmare under which we are living come to an end.”
This letter was written just before the end of that sad year 1870, which had begun so brilliantly with a reception at the Tuileries, now standing deserted and abandoned by its former masters. In the first fortnight of January a curious incident occurred, which, I believe, has not been widely known among the public, but yet, in view of the events that happened later on, offers a certain interest. I will relate it in the words of the friend who informed me of it, the American whose letter I have already given:“I am going to tell you something which will probably appear to you rather like a scene taken out of a comic opera, but which I am assured really took place the other day. A friend of the Orleans princes asked General Trochu to grant him an interview, and tried to win his support to a proposition to ask the Duke of Aumale to accept, if only for an intermediary period, the post of President of the National Defence. Trochu, after having indulged in the usual rhetoric of which he is so fond, at last pathetically replied that he had sworn fidelity to the Republic, and that as a soldier he could not break his oath; to this his visitor retorted that probably that oath was sworn on something he respected more than the one he had made to the Empress Eugénie when he told her she could rely on his honour as a soldier, a Catholic, and a Breton. Trochu was silent for a few minutes, and then said: ‘J’ai fait passer la patrie avant tout lorsque——’ ‘Lorsque il s’est agi pour vous de vous mettre à la tête du gouvernement vous-même’ (‘I put my country first when——’ ‘When it was a question of placing yourself at the head of its government’) interrupted the other.“I cannot, of course, vouch for the truth of the anecdote, but it was told to me by a person who is generally well informed. But what I do know, is that very few people have been or are despised to the extent of General Trochu, for whom no one finds a good word to say, and everyone is hoping that his colleagues will oblige him either to sign the capitulation of Paris, which cannot be delayed much longer, especially now that the bombardment has commenced [this letter was written on the 25th of January], or else to resign his functions altogether. His dispatch of the 20th only confirmed the opinion one had as to his military ability, and certainly nothing could be more lamentable than the sight of the troops returning into the town after the battles of the 19th and 20th, weary, hungry, worn out, and exasperated against their leaders. That exasperation has again brought down from the faubourgs the agitators that have ever since the 4th of September kept Paris in a state of turmoil, and on the 22nd of January in the night they invaded the prison of Mazas, and delivered several political men detained there, among others Flourens. They also made an attempt to occupy the mairie of the 20th arrondissement. A battle has taken place opposite the Hôtel de Ville, and the government is entirely discredited; even among the former most determined partisans of war being continued at any price, the feeling prevails that peace, no matter on what conditions, would be better than the present state of things, which is only favourable to promoters of disorder, of which there are but too many.”
This letter was written just before the end of that sad year 1870, which had begun so brilliantly with a reception at the Tuileries, now standing deserted and abandoned by its former masters. In the first fortnight of January a curious incident occurred, which, I believe, has not been widely known among the public, but yet, in view of the events that happened later on, offers a certain interest. I will relate it in the words of the friend who informed me of it, the American whose letter I have already given:
“I am going to tell you something which will probably appear to you rather like a scene taken out of a comic opera, but which I am assured really took place the other day. A friend of the Orleans princes asked General Trochu to grant him an interview, and tried to win his support to a proposition to ask the Duke of Aumale to accept, if only for an intermediary period, the post of President of the National Defence. Trochu, after having indulged in the usual rhetoric of which he is so fond, at last pathetically replied that he had sworn fidelity to the Republic, and that as a soldier he could not break his oath; to this his visitor retorted that probably that oath was sworn on something he respected more than the one he had made to the Empress Eugénie when he told her she could rely on his honour as a soldier, a Catholic, and a Breton. Trochu was silent for a few minutes, and then said: ‘J’ai fait passer la patrie avant tout lorsque——’ ‘Lorsque il s’est agi pour vous de vous mettre à la tête du gouvernement vous-même’ (‘I put my country first when——’ ‘When it was a question of placing yourself at the head of its government’) interrupted the other.
“I cannot, of course, vouch for the truth of the anecdote, but it was told to me by a person who is generally well informed. But what I do know, is that very few people have been or are despised to the extent of General Trochu, for whom no one finds a good word to say, and everyone is hoping that his colleagues will oblige him either to sign the capitulation of Paris, which cannot be delayed much longer, especially now that the bombardment has commenced [this letter was written on the 25th of January], or else to resign his functions altogether. His dispatch of the 20th only confirmed the opinion one had as to his military ability, and certainly nothing could be more lamentable than the sight of the troops returning into the town after the battles of the 19th and 20th, weary, hungry, worn out, and exasperated against their leaders. That exasperation has again brought down from the faubourgs the agitators that have ever since the 4th of September kept Paris in a state of turmoil, and on the 22nd of January in the night they invaded the prison of Mazas, and delivered several political men detained there, among others Flourens. They also made an attempt to occupy the mairie of the 20th arrondissement. A battle has taken place opposite the Hôtel de Ville, and the government is entirely discredited; even among the former most determined partisans of war being continued at any price, the feeling prevails that peace, no matter on what conditions, would be better than the present state of things, which is only favourable to promoters of disorder, of which there are but too many.”
As is known, the capitulation of Paris took place on the 28th of January, and I prepared myself at once to return. After a journey devoid of serious incidents, but long and fatiguing, I reached Versailles on the 31st of that month,having taken four days to do so. I had started from Berlin, where I had been waiting for the first opportunity to return to my post in Paris. At Versailles I found M. Thiers, who was already busy negotiating the conditions of a peace that most certainly the Empress Regent, had she only taken the responsibility of its conclusion, would have been able to sign under more favourable clauses than those to which France had to submit. It is possible, if not probable, that the Imperial eagles would not have witnessed the entry of the German troops into Paris, a humiliation which old King William did not see the necessity to spare a Republic for which it was impossible to feel the least respect.
Before closing this chapter I must mention one letter among the many which reached me at Versailles during those days from friends who were in Paris, giving me some details concerning this crowning episode to the many sad and disgraceful ones that will make the war of 1870 for ever memorable.
March 4th, 1871.“We were all waiting with anxiety for that 1st of March that was to see the German troops enter the capital. Grave apprehensions were entertained on the subject by many people, who declared that very probably the excited Parisians would indulge in demonstrations of hostility against the Prussians, which would assuredly have terrible consequences. On the 27th of February I called at Rothschild’s bank in the Rue Lafitte, hoping to hear some news there, where they were generally better informed than anywhere else. One of the principal employees, whom I knew well, told me with tears in his eyes that no efforts of Jules Favre had availed, and that the German army would occupy Paris on the 1st, but that, as a last concession, that occupation would be limited to a certain zone, and not extend itself to the whole city.Great preparations had been made, and the shopkeepers in the streets through which the troops of the enemy were to pass had declared that they would close their doors and shutters ‘pour ne pas assister à cette honte,’ as one of them told me himself; it was also tacitly understood that private houses would pull down their blinds. Curious to see how things would go on, and feeling convinced that, in spite of the apprehensions entertained in certain quarters, no disturbances of any kind would occur, Frenchmen being always cowed down whenever they see real strength before them, I was up very early, and, rejoicing at the splendid weather which had suddenly set in after very dark and gloomy days, as if to welcome the triumph of Prussia, I went down the Champs Elysées, and was present when the first German detachments made their appearance. The sight was imposing, and could only suggest many philosophical thoughts. The greatest discipline prevailed, and this discipline seemed to make a great impression on the numerous throngs that lined the streets to see the unusual spectacle. A few women were weeping with a certain affectation, but there were also some girls smiling and welcoming with glances full of coquetry the Prussian officers riding in front of their regiments. At about four o’clock everything was over, and the soldiers settled in the cantonments which had been allotted to them for the night. The next day the sight was stranger still. The population of Paris, notwithstanding what may have been told to you to the contrary, had fraternised with the enemy, and one saw the usualcamelotsthat appear in the streets of Paris whenever there is something new to see, offer to the Prussian soldiers cigarettes, matches, and newspapers, whilst girls timidly extended some flowers to them—not, however, before looking carefully around them to see whether anyone watched them doing so. When, on the 3rd of March, the Germantroops retired, I heard that typical remark, from a woman who had been watching their going away with eager eyes: ‘Après tout, ce sont de beaux soldats que ceux-là!’ she cried.“It seems that a solemn moment occurred during the review held by the new Emperor on the Hippodrome de Longchamps, before the troops started to enter Paris. I have been told the sight was most imposing, and must have roused a world of remembrances in the heart of its principal hero. What must have been his thoughts at a moment when the history, as it were, of a whole century was suddenly recapitulated before his eyes? His fate had made him witness the present triumph, after the humiliations of Jena and that first occupation of the French capital by the allied troops in 1815, when another Napoleon had seen fortune retire from him! It seems that after the review was over, the Emperor looked wistfully for a considerable time at the long line of troops filing along on their triumphal journey, and before dismounting from his horse he turned towards the Crown Prince with the simple remark, ‘I hope that you, too, have thanked God to-day!’”
March 4th, 1871.
“We were all waiting with anxiety for that 1st of March that was to see the German troops enter the capital. Grave apprehensions were entertained on the subject by many people, who declared that very probably the excited Parisians would indulge in demonstrations of hostility against the Prussians, which would assuredly have terrible consequences. On the 27th of February I called at Rothschild’s bank in the Rue Lafitte, hoping to hear some news there, where they were generally better informed than anywhere else. One of the principal employees, whom I knew well, told me with tears in his eyes that no efforts of Jules Favre had availed, and that the German army would occupy Paris on the 1st, but that, as a last concession, that occupation would be limited to a certain zone, and not extend itself to the whole city.Great preparations had been made, and the shopkeepers in the streets through which the troops of the enemy were to pass had declared that they would close their doors and shutters ‘pour ne pas assister à cette honte,’ as one of them told me himself; it was also tacitly understood that private houses would pull down their blinds. Curious to see how things would go on, and feeling convinced that, in spite of the apprehensions entertained in certain quarters, no disturbances of any kind would occur, Frenchmen being always cowed down whenever they see real strength before them, I was up very early, and, rejoicing at the splendid weather which had suddenly set in after very dark and gloomy days, as if to welcome the triumph of Prussia, I went down the Champs Elysées, and was present when the first German detachments made their appearance. The sight was imposing, and could only suggest many philosophical thoughts. The greatest discipline prevailed, and this discipline seemed to make a great impression on the numerous throngs that lined the streets to see the unusual spectacle. A few women were weeping with a certain affectation, but there were also some girls smiling and welcoming with glances full of coquetry the Prussian officers riding in front of their regiments. At about four o’clock everything was over, and the soldiers settled in the cantonments which had been allotted to them for the night. The next day the sight was stranger still. The population of Paris, notwithstanding what may have been told to you to the contrary, had fraternised with the enemy, and one saw the usualcamelotsthat appear in the streets of Paris whenever there is something new to see, offer to the Prussian soldiers cigarettes, matches, and newspapers, whilst girls timidly extended some flowers to them—not, however, before looking carefully around them to see whether anyone watched them doing so. When, on the 3rd of March, the Germantroops retired, I heard that typical remark, from a woman who had been watching their going away with eager eyes: ‘Après tout, ce sont de beaux soldats que ceux-là!’ she cried.
“It seems that a solemn moment occurred during the review held by the new Emperor on the Hippodrome de Longchamps, before the troops started to enter Paris. I have been told the sight was most imposing, and must have roused a world of remembrances in the heart of its principal hero. What must have been his thoughts at a moment when the history, as it were, of a whole century was suddenly recapitulated before his eyes? His fate had made him witness the present triumph, after the humiliations of Jena and that first occupation of the French capital by the allied troops in 1815, when another Napoleon had seen fortune retire from him! It seems that after the review was over, the Emperor looked wistfully for a considerable time at the long line of troops filing along on their triumphal journey, and before dismounting from his horse he turned towards the Crown Prince with the simple remark, ‘I hope that you, too, have thanked God to-day!’”
Asalready mentioned, I returned to Versailles during the last days of January, and, except a short visit to Paris, whither I went to see after my household gods which had been left to their fate during the siege, and to inquire after the friends who had remained in the capital during those anxious months, I stayed there until I left for Bordeaux, where the National Assembly met in order to ratify the conditions of the peace that was ultimately to be signed in Frankfurt.
At Bordeaux, to my great surprise, I found that the sole topic of popular conversation was the declaration of the overthrow of the Bonaparte dynasty. It seemed as if that was the principal object of the elections that had taken place, and that it was far more important than the establishing of an understanding with Germany. The ambitions of the different parties which divided public opinion in France had been newly awakened at the unforeseen chances which they suddenly saw looming before them. Orleanists, Legitimists and Republicans were all eager to come forward with schemes to take the place of the regime that had so recently come to a tragic close. I remember that one evening after dinner I was sitting together with some friends in one of the most elegant restaurants of Bordeaux, and we listened to a discussion that was taking place at the next table, and during which the chances of the different parties that the countryhad sent to represent it at the National Assembly were enumerated. What struck me in this conversation was that France itself was not even mentioned; it seemed as if the catastrophes that had accompanied the war had swept it from the face of the earth, and had only left political parties and political convictions, the leaders of which wanted to find some personal advantage out of the general disasters. Another thing I also observed that appeared even then strange to me, and it seems stranger still to-day—it is that very few people believed the Republic would be able to maintain itself. On the contrary, they felt convinced that France was standing upon the threshold of a Monarchist restoration. The Orleans princes had a considerable number of adherents, and were made much of in certain quarters, where the courage displayed by the Duc de Chartres and the Prince de Joinville, who had joined the Republican armies as volunteers, was extolled at every opportunity; whilst the Legitimists kept hoping that the Comte de Chambord would seize the opportunity and rally himself to the tricolour flag, thus to clear his path to the throne of his ancestors. The Republicans seemed still surprised and dazed by the unexpected events that had raised them to power, and did not believe that their party would succeed in maintaining itself at the head of the country. I believe that if the Orleans princes had been generous enough to forgo the millions that had been confiscated under Napoleon III., and which they hastened to claim from the State, they would have been able easily to provoke a manifestation in their favour that would eventually have led to a restoration of their dynasty. The government was thoroughly discredited, in spite of the great influence wielded by Leon Gambetta, in whom everyone saw the man of the future, and it was generally felt that it would not be strong enough to compel the country to accept the heavy peaceconditions which Germany was determined to enforce. Unfortunately, among all the representatives of the nation who met at Bordeaux, there was not a man daring enough, and brave enough, to suggest the recall of any of the pretenders. On the other hand, the Bonapartes had still a considerable number of partisans, who did their best to paralyse every effort to substitute another dynasty. They hoped that, in spite of Sedan, France would remember the eighteen years of prosperity which it had just gone through, and would recall the child who had been so popular, under the name of “le petit Prince,” until the catastrophe that had sent him together with his parents in exile on British shores.
The only one who appreciated rightly the intricacies of the situation such as it presented itself, and who very cleverly played his cards, in such a manner that he made himself indispensable, was M. Thiers. He flattered everybody, promised everything that was required of him, gave every pledge that he was asked for, and finally secured his own unanimous election at Bordeaux, by the National Assembly, as chief of the executive power—one did not dare yet to use the term President of the French Republic.
The new head of the government very soon made himself the master of the situation, and his influence became in a short time paramount in everything. He rapidly brought to a close the peace negotiations with Germany, and on the 26th of February its preliminaries were signed at Versailles.
M. Thiers returned to Paris, determined to settle down to the task of mending the many sores and wounds which the months that had just elapsed had left behind them. Unhappily he found himself confronted by a situation far more dangerous than he had expected, owing to the want of foresight of Jules Favre, who had not had the courage to resistthe foolish demands of the mob, and who, obeying the orders which he had received from the leaders of the extreme Radical party, had during the peace negotiations with Prince Bismarck insisted upon the Parisian population being allowed to retain their rifles, and the National Guards not being disarmed. In a curious book called “Journal d’un Officier d’Ordonnance,” an aide-de-camp of General Trochu, Comte d’Hérisson, relates that Bismarck replied to these demands with the prophetic words: “I am willing to accede to your request, but believe me you are acting stupidly.”
Stupidity or not, the National Guard was left in possession of its weapons, and the first thought of M. Thiers when he reached Paris was to take them away. But this was not so easy; the National Guard was for the greater part composed of excitable men who dreamed only of the sovereignty of the mob. When the hour for laying down their arms arrived, the Guard refused to do so, and the rebellious feelings which had been brewing ever since the revolution of the 4th of September broke out at last into a fury that culminated in the brutal assassination of two generals, Clément Thomas and Lecomte, who had been sent by the government to disarm the National Guard.
Much has been written about the day which saw the beginning of the Commune; I will merely add a few quite personal remarks, which, perhaps, will make the reader understand more clearly than a long narrative the state of mind of the Parisian population at that particular moment.
The insurrection of the 18th of March had come quite unawares upon the authorities, who had neither foreseen it nor attempted to crush it, which would have been easier than generally believed, but unfortunately everybody seemed so overpowered by surprise that the simplest measures ofprecaution were disregarded, and what was at first but a revolt was soon transformed into a revolution through the negligence of the very people who ought to have been guiltless of carelessness at this grave juncture.
This is not an historical book, consequently I am not going to relate the details of the flight of M. Thiers to Versailles as soon as he heard of the revolt of Montmartre, and of the assassination of Clément Thomas and Lecomte, but I am going to speak of what I myself had occasion to observe on that memorable 18th of March which marked the beginning of the Commune.
I had gone out of my house on the morning of that day, quite unconscious that anything like a revolution, or even a mutiny, was in the air. As chance would have it, I had the necessity to go to Montmartre to see an old servant who had been in the army and was severely wounded at that sortie which Ducrot had attempted just before Paris capitulated. The man was living not far from the Rue des Rosiers, which was to become so memorable. When I reached the last-mentioned street I found it invaded by a most threatening and angry crowd, which kept howling: “Vive la Commune! Vive la révolution sociale!” Realising that matters were getting dangerous, I hastily retraced my steps, and hoped that I should succeed in escaping the attention of the mob, when one of the National Guard stopped me and asked what I was seeking and why I had come there. He would not listen to my explanations, and suddenly said: “Toi tu me fais l’effet d’être un Prussien, montres donc tes papiers” (“You look like a Prussian, just show me your papers”). When I said I had not got them about me, he took me by the arm and said: “Toi, mon garçon, tu iras t’expliquer au poste, allons, marche en avant, ou sinon——” (“Now, my lad, you will go and explain yourself at the guardhouse,march, or else——”) He showed me his rifle. Seeing that things were getting serious, I told my tormentor that if he wanted to be reassured as to my identity, he had better take me to the mayor of the 12th arrondissement, M. Clemenceau, who knew me personally and could vouch that I was not a Prussian spy, which he was taking me for. The man looked at me sharply, and then said: “Clemenceau, Clemenceau, mais avec celui là on ne sait jamais ce qu’il va faire, ce n’est pas un pur” (“Clemenceau, Clemenceau, one never knows what he is up to, he isn’t straight”). I have never forgotten this remark, which perhaps explains better than anything else the strange attitude of M. Clemenceau on that day, and the timidity which he displayed. He has, I know but too well, been bitterly accused of having witnessed, without trying to save them, the execution of the two unfortunate generals. In justice to him, I must say, first of all, that he arrived upon the scene when the executions were already over, and secondly, that his efforts would have probably been quite useless, as at that time he was himself held in suspicion by the leaders of the rebellious movement.
I do not know how my adventure would have ended if by chance one of the National Guard gathered on the spot had not recognised me as a foreign diplomat. Formerly he had been a butler at the Russian Embassy, and of course had seen me there. It is to his intervention that I owed my liberty, which without him would probably have been difficult to obtain. He further gave me an escort, to whom he gave orders to take me safely back to my own house, which, however, they did not do, much to my joy; they left me in the Rue Lafayette, where probably they thought it was not safe for them to venture, owing to their torn and dirty clothes and the loaded rifles which they carried. Imade my way on to the boulevards and met at once some friends, to whom I expressed my apprehensions that the revolutionary movement which had broken out would prove much more serious than those of a like nature that had taken place on the 31st of October and the 22nd of January preceding. We were still talking when we were joined by General d’Abzac, one of the aides-de-camp of Marshal MacMahon, of whom I shall have more to say by and by. He told us that M. Thiers had either left or was leaving for Versailles, where it was intended to remove the seat of government.
No one understood why this decision had been taken, and especially taken with such haste. I was afterwards assured, by a person who was in a position to be well informed, that one of the reasons which had induced M. Thiers’ precipitancy was that he believed he would with greater facility be able to disarm the population of Paris if he could excuse this measure by the dread of a revolution breaking out, if it were not resorted to at once.
Nevertheless the revolution did break out, and for once the government found itself utterly unable to crush it. There was no army, and, what was worse, there were no leaders. The troops taken captive at Sedan and at Metz were only just returning, and it was to be dreaded that, very justly infuriated against their former generals and commanders, they would not feel disposed to listen to them or to follow them, especially if they were ordered to fight against their fellow men, and this, furthermore, in presence almost of the enemy who had not yet left Versailles or its neighbourhood.
I left Paris at the end of March, indeed I was one of the last of the diplomatic corps to go away. I went to Versailles, as everybody else did, and happened to be present at the first review held by MacMahon of the troops that hadjust returned from their German captivity. This review had been rather dreaded, because it was uncertain how the soldiers would receive the unfortunate chief, to whose military mistakes they owed their misfortunes. Nevertheless the ceremony went off comparatively well, though the troops preserved an absolute silence and did not greet their former commander either with enthusiasm or with disapproval. Afterwards I had occasion to ask an officer how it was that this review had taken place without the slightest manifestation of any kind. He replied to me that the soldiers did not want to give way to their feelings in presence, as it were, of the enemy, and that it had been very wise to hold this first meeting between them and MacMahon under circumstances that excluded the possibility of any attempt to make him aware of the angry feelings which were entertained in regard to him by the troops whom he had led to defeat and to a shameful surrender.
During the two months which I spent in Versailles, until the end of the Commune, I found many opportunities of talking with leading French politicians gathered there, as to the future prospects of the country. They were unanimous in maintaining that the Republic would not be able to hold out very long, and that a monarchical restoration was imminent. Some went even so far as to believe that the Empire still had many partisans, and that, provided Napoleon III. himself consented to give up his rights and pretensions to his son, the Bonapartes might still reascend the throne. They had kept their popularity among the working classes, who undoubtedly had reaped great advantages from the solicitude concerning their welfare which the Emperor had exercised on their behalf ever since he became the Head of the State. Whatever may be said now, the idea of a Republic becoming permanent was not then congenial to the mass ofthe nation, who felt more in unison with a Sovereign, no matter who that Sovereign might be. The only one who saw clearly the future was M. Thiers, who, in one of his conversations with an intimate friend, forgot himself so far as to say that “The Republic has long years of life before it this time.” He did not add that he thought so because he was himself at its head.
I do not think that any nightmare can be more awful than the last four days which preceded the entry of the troops of Versailles into Paris. I will only mention briefly the assassination of the Archbishop, Monsignor Darboy, together with other victims, and the desperate resistance which was offered on the heights of Père-la-Chaise to the army of M. Thiers by the remaining Communards, who had fled there for safety, the interior of Paris no longer offering asylum to them. All these things are matters of history, but, to the stranger who had seen the capital in all its glory during the last years of the Empire, it seemed that the effect of the cataclysm which had taken place would never be erased, nor the gay city ever recover the appearance of peace and prosperity it had enjoyed before the horrors of the Commune had occurred. There was something too sinister for words in the sight of the ruins which greeted the troops of Versailles when at last they occupied the town. The sight of the destroyed Tuileries and the burned streets, which testified to the horrors which they had witnessed, appeared as things almost too terrible to be true.
But, even in those days of terror, the indifference of the French people to everything that did not personally concern them, could not fail to strike one. As soon as order was more or less restored, life began as usual, and the only lamentations which one heard were directed towards individual misfortunes and losses, rather than towards the misfortunes of the nation,the prestige which had been destroyed, and the humiliations that had been endured. Having one day the opportunity of discussing with a tradesman in my neighbourhood the sad and terrible events which had occurred, I asked him whether the change of government had affected commerce and industry, and I was very much surprised to hear him reply that it had not, because the Germans had spent so much money that one had not been able to perceive any difference. When I expressed my wonder that France had accepted their money with the satisfaction which he seemed to feel, he simply remarked that “C’est bien égal à qui nous vendons nos pommes de terre; l’important c’est de les vendre, et nous en avons vendu bien plus pendant l’année qui vient de s’écouler que nous ne l’avions jamais fait auparavant” (“It is quite indifferent to whom we sell our potatoes; the only important thing is to sell them, and we have sold ever so many more during the last year than we had ever done before”).
In fact, satisfaction at the profits which private people had derived from German occupation had quite taken the upper hand of the sorrow the nation felt at the misfortunes that had fallen upon her.
This statement of mine will probably be questioned far and wide, but I shall always maintain it, in spite of any denials it may meet with. Patriotism with Frenchmen is mostly a question of words; it rarely goes beyond phrases, full of enthusiasm but devoid of real meaning. The country is essentially egoistical, and it is perhaps for that very reason that it has not only survived its disasters, but has emerged from them far more prosperous, in the material sense of the word only, than before the Germans overran the fair land of France.
One of the painful sights, in the days which followed immediately upon the occupation of Paris by the troops of Versailles, was the ferocious way in which the members of the Commune were hunted and executed. Awful scenes, in which private vengeances played a part perhaps even more important than public reasons, were enacted. The work of repression was a terrible one in the worst sense of the word, and the wanton cruelty which accompanied it will ever remain a dark page in the career of M. Thiers and of the members of his government. It is to be questioned whether it was indispensable, or even necessary, to exercise such utterly ruthless cruelty. The only explanation that can be given for such ferocious tyranny is that people in authority grew frightened and thought that, in order to hide their fear from the public, extreme severity was best, as it would at least have the advantage of instilling dread into the hearts of those who otherwise might have felt tempted to follow the example of Rossel, Raoul Rigault, and others.
When all was over and order restored, M. Thiers, who was still residing at Versailles, came to Paris for a few hours, just to see for himself the damage which his house in the Rue St. Georges had suffered, and to pay a brief visit to the Elysée, which he had left with such alacrity on the 18th of March, as soon as he had heard of the incidents that had taken place at Montmartre. The reason for this hurried appearance at the palace was, so he said, to see whether some important papers he had locked up in a safe, in his study there, had not been seized by the members of the Commune. As luck would have it, no one had discovered them, and the First President of the Third Republic was able to regain possession of his property.
A friend of his, to whom he mentioned the incident, asked him of what nature were those papers about which he had been so anxious during the whole of the two months theCommune had lasted. M. Thiers smiled, and replied simply: “They were not of any particular importance, but that was just the reason why I was afraid that the Commune should get hold of them. I had told everybody that they were of a most compromising nature for some of the people actually in power, and for the pretenders to the crown of this country. Imagine how compromisedIwould have been had it been found out that they were merely tradesmen’s bills!”
I hadhad many opportunities of meeting M. Thiers during the last years of the Empire. I had known him even before I came to Paris in an official capacity, had often seen him at the houses of some mutual friends, and we came to know each other very well. He was one of the cleverest, nicest little men in the world, and even among the many interesting people who abounded in France at that time, he stood out conspicuously as one of the pleasantest. He had many enemies, which is not to be wondered at if one takes into consideration the vivacity which he always displayed in his likes and dislikes, and the bitterness, or rather the caustic tendencies, of his tongue. But friends and foes alike were loud in their praise of his intelligence, and especially of his wit. I am not talking of his moral character, which was discussed in many ways and which in part justified the attacks that were levelled against it. The Legitimists could not forgive him the part he had taken in the arrest of the Duchesse de Berry, nor the attitude of the ministry of which he was a member with regard to that unfortunate Princess whose frailties were so mercilessly displayed before the public before the end of her captivity in the fortress of Blaye. The Orleanists also did not care for him, in spite of the pledge which he had given to their party; but Louis Philippe personally was fond of him, perhaps because their tastes were very much alike, and because the sternness and austerity of Guizot,his great opponent, had never appealed to the heart of the King, who stood rather in awe of that imposing figure in modern French political life. The bonhomie of Thiers, his easygoing manners, were more in accordance with the homely attitude which at that time distinguished the Orleans family circle. As Montalembert once said very wittily: “Thiers, c’est le ministre bourgeois d’une dynastie bourgeoise.”
And the remark contained a great deal of truth, though it is much to be doubted whether the brilliant Catholic leader appreciated at their real worth the sterling qualities which M. Thiers was hiding under the sometimes frivolous manner in which he treated serious subjects.
As a writer he was one of the greatest of his epoch, and his work on the Consulate and the First Empire will always rank among the classics. Few people have understood so well as he did the gigantic figure of the first Napoleon, and certainly his knowledge of history, the wonderful way in which he remembered its lessons, and knew how to apply them where it became necessary, constituted a unique thing even in France, where at that time there was a superabundance of clever writers and great thinkers, of whom he was one of the foremost.
Some enemies of M. Thiers assured me that he would have done better to confine himself to his historical studies, and that it was a mistake on his part to throw himself into the struggles of a political career. I do not share this opinion personally, because the very nature of Thiers would have protested against a life spent only in thinking without the emulation of doing. He was essentially a great patriot, far greater than the general public supposed, and if he had personal ambitions, which cannot be denied, it must also be admitted that in the great moments of crisis through which his country passed during his lifetime, he never hesitatedto put all his strength, all his experience, and all his knowledge of public affairs, as well as his influence at home and abroad, at her service, sparing neither time nor trouble, nor energy, in his endeavours to help her.
During the whole reign of Louis Philippe, M. Thiers was a conspicuous figure in Paris society, and, strange to relate, this petit bourgeois had succeeded in entering the most exclusive circles of the Faubourg St. Germain, and contrived to install himself in the favours of its leaders, masculine as well as feminine. He was essentially the type of a middle-class man, in spite of the high offices which he had held, and never could rid himself of the habit of tying a napkin round his neck at meals, when he was in his family circle, neither would he go out without the umbrella that remained the distinctive sign of that epoch still known as the “époque de Louis Philippe,” where the bourgeoisie reigned supreme, and where the Sovereign tried by all means to win for himself the sympathies of the mob by coming down to its level.
M. Thiers did not care for the mob. He was of an autocratic character, and of an imperious disposition, admitting no sovereignty apart from his own. But, nevertheless, he remained the child of his generation and of his class. He rose, but neither by adapting himself to circumstances, nor to the conditions of existence around him. Original he was in mind, in intelligence and in manners, and he did not change; he always appeared to his friends as a man of happy disposition tempered with affability, and tinged with familiarity; his distinctive characteristic from the very first days he entered public life.
Thiers was essentially “un homme d’opposition,” as one of his enemies once remarked, but he was a statesman of a type such as is no longer found nowadays; an active, busy, little individual, always on the look out for his adversaries’ mistakes, and terrible in the merciless way in which he noticed them—and, what is worse, made others notice them. He had but little pity in his heart for the errors of mankind, but was wise enough not to show the disdain in which he held it. He had been at a good school, had frequented the salon of Talleyrand, and studied politics by contact with the politicians who had ranked among the foremost in Europe. He used to relate a funny little anecdote from his early days, when he had been introduced to Prince Metternich, during one of his journeys to Vienna, whither he had repaired to study certain episodes of the history of Napoleon, and examine certain documents deposited in the Imperial Archives of the Burg. The statesman to whose intrigues the great Emperor had in part been indebted for his fall received Thiers in his study, and it seems received him very badly. But the little Frenchman, far from appearing to notice it, began at once to talk with the Austrian Chancellor as if he had known him for years, and did not scruple to question him on the subjects about which he desired to learn, a thing which Metternich, who liked above all things to hear himself speak, particularly disliked. Surprised at first, then slightly bored, the Prince told Thiers that he had better question the Director of the Archives about the various points he desired to clear up, to which the historian of the Consulate and the Empire replied quite brusquely that this personage could not tell him anything worth listening to, and that he never took lessons in history from those who had only read it. Metternich, more and more astonished, asked him what he meant. “Oh, nothing very important,” was the answer; “seulement je crois que personne ne pourrait mieux me renseigner sur Napoleon que vous qui êtes parvenu à le tromper si complètement et si souvent” (“I merely think no one should be better able to give me information about Napoleon than yourself, who succeeded indeceiving him so completely and so frequently”). When Thiers told this anecdote he never failed to add that “Metternich ne trouva rien d’autre à me répondre que de sourire avec la remarque: ‘Vous connaissez bien votre histoire, jeune homme’”(“Metternich in reply could do nothing but smile, accompanying it with the remark: ‘You are well up in your history, young man’”).
Impudence, as one can see from the above, was not wanting in the character of the future President of the French Republic, and this impudence never deserted him in later years. It has been said that his vanity was intense, and that there was some truth in this accusation cannot be denied; but beneath this vanity there lay the latent consciousness the man had of his own moral and intellectual worth, and of the immense distance that existed between him and the other men of his generation. He tried to impose his ideas on others; he was despotic in his decisions, his judgments and his opinions, but he was not devoid of impartiality, and he was very well aware of his own faults. He loved France with a sincere affection, which saw through her faults, and there was no chauvinism in his feelings. He would have liked to see his fatherland prosperous and powerful, but he never rushed into extremes as Frenchmen are so often inclined. Whilst he was the responsible minister of the dynasty of July, he served it faithfully and to the best of his ability, and though he has been often accused of opportunism, yet he never would accept office under the Bonapartes, though, and this is rather curious, he always was of opinion that their dynasty was the most popular one among all those that aspired to the government of France.
When, together with the other members of the Legislative Chamber, he was imprisoned by the President on the day of thecoup d’étatof the 2nd of December, he is said to havemade the following typical remark: “Le Président nous fait enfermer, c’est son droit; espérons pour lui, qu’il saura en profiter, et ne donnera pas dans le travers de vouloir gouverner constitutionnellement. Il ne peut pas avoir de Constitution pour les Bonaparte, tout au plus peuvent ils prétendre à ce que leur règne soit celui où on parle de Constitution comme les malades parlent des mêts que leurs médecins leur interdisent de manger” (“The President is having us shut up, it is his right; let us hope for his own sake that he will know how to profit by it, and will not make the mistake of wanting to govern constitutionally. There can be no constitutional government for the Bonapartes. The utmost they can lay claim to is that during their reign the Constitution should be spoken of in the tone in which invalids speak of dishes that their doctors forbid them to eat”).
During the eighteen years that the Empire lasted, Thiers always refused to take office, though he owned later on that he felt once or twice sorely tempted to do so. But he realised that the regime could not last, and reserved himself for the moment when it would be overturned, feeling convinced in his mind that that day would be also that of his own personal triumph, and that whether the country liked it or not it would be compelled to turn to him for advice and for help.
When after the first defeats which characterised the war of 1870, the Empress Eugénie felt inclined to appeal to him to help her, and had him sounded by one of her friends who was on terms of close intimacy with him, M. Thiers replied that it was either too late or too early for him to do anything, and that as matters stood, the best thing to do was to allow events to take their course. “But the dynasty,” said his visitor; “are you going to allow the dynasty to fall like that?”
“If the dynasty were wise, I certainly would do my bestto support it,” was the unexpected reply; “but the dynasty will not be wise; it will never have the common sense to bring itself to conclude peace just now, and to enforce the conditions of that peace, even by measures of violence against those who would undoubtedly oppose it. If I thought the Regent was strong enough and firm enough to arrest half the members of the Corps Législatif, and to send the other half back to their own firesides to meditate on the wisdom of a useless opposition, if she would make up her mind to govern for a time without the Chambers, then I would at once accept office; but she will never have the courage to take such a responsibility before the country, and therefore I cannot do anything for her. There are moments in the life of nations when it is indispensable for their welfare that those who govern them should feel no hesitation in resorting to violence, and France just now has reached such a moment. It is a thousand pities that the Regent or the Emperor fails to see it is the case. Under such circumstances my help would be useless to them, and it might compromise my own future prospects.”
This conversation gives a very good insight into the character of M. Thiers. It also accounts in part for the ruthlessness which he displayed in the crushing of the Commune a few months later.
Apropos of this, a few weeks before his death, I had the opportunity of talking to him about it at St. Germain, whither he had repaired to spend the summer, and where he was preparing himself for the struggle of the coming elections, which he fondly hoped would prove fatal to the government of Marshal MacMahon, whom he still expected to replace as head of the State. Thiers was in a communicative mood that afternoon, and he spoke with great vivacity of that time when he had displayed such energy, as his friends said—suchbrutality, as his foes maintained—in fighting the unruly and disorderly elements that had so very nearly destroyed France. On that occasion he used these memorable words: “I know that I have been severely blamed for the orders which I had given to Galiffet, to show no mercy to the insurgents, but, frankly, what else could I do? We had just gone through an unfortunate war; the enemy was at our gates, we had to execute a most onerous treaty, and above all to clear our territory from the invader, who certainly would never have left it, had he thought that this rebellion was going to take the upper hand. We had the whole country to reorganise, and this under the most deplorable conditions that have ever existed in the life of a nation. We were without an army, without any regular government, and had to fight the many ambitions of those who thought to seek their own advantage out of the general ruin. The first thing to do was to strike fear into the hearts of those who already thought that they could bring their own party to the head of affairs and thus add something to the general confusion. Don’t forget that in order to oblige the Prussians to recognise that we were strong enough to rule France, and to rule it well, we had not only to assert ourselves, but also to drive out of the minds of all our opponents, and of these there were legions, the idea that we had not got power enough on our side.
“You tell me that the Commune might easily have been subdued on that eventful and fatal 18th of March. This perhaps is true, because it did not even exist at that time, and we were face to face with a simple insurrection, not with a revolution. But would it have been wise? I don’t think so. Had we not acted as if we were in presence of a real and earnest danger, had I not retired to Versailles in a hurry as I did, the mutiny of the 18th of March would have repeated itself a few months later, and this sort of thingwould have gone on continually. The government would have been weakened quite uselessly, and the prestige of France fallen a little lower than was the case already. A revolution is an incident, perhaps sad and bloody, but an incident all the same; whereas continual rebellions mean the demoralisation of a nation.
“I knew that France was demoralised in the sense I mean, but why need the world come to the same conclusion? Surely, none at all. Therefore we had to show the world that we were a strong government, that, what is even more important, wewerea government, a fact which many people doubted still; and that as such we were determined to enforce order, to enforce it in the most determined manner possible, even at the risk of spilling more blood than we would have cared to do at other times. Of course I could not foresee the excesses to which the Commune would resort, nor the murder of the hostages, or the destroying of half Paris by fire, but I will be frank with you, I much preferred this to the consequences which would have ensued for the future of France, in an unsettled state of things such as would have resulted had the government of which I was the head not had occasion to show its energy and its decision to make itself respected. Of course, when Bismarck saw that we could cope with the situation, that we did not require his, or anyone else’s help, he gave up all idea of making difficulties in the execution of the different clauses of the treaty of peace. The army also, having just returned from its captivity in Germany, required something to divert it from the many anxious and rebellious thoughts it had had time to indulge in, during the long months of its imprisonment in German fortresses. The Commune came opportunely to allow it to let its thoughts drift into another channel.
“To resume the main point, I do not think thatmore indulgence towards the rebels would have helped us to regain the position to which even as a defeated nation we were entitled. For these reasons I do not regret that I enjoined severity to the troops that entered Paris. This severity had the result that out of the moral ruins left by the Empire, and those material ruins which resulted from the fleeting victory of the Commune, rose a government which won for itself the respect of Europe, and the esteem of Germany, who, seeing what it was capable of, gave up every thought of putting difficulties in its way. No, when I remember all that happened at that time, I cannot say I am sorry for anything I did, or which was done under my responsibility. I may deplore it, but I cannot regret it. One cannot be sentimental in politics.”
I wrote down this conversation in my diary when I got home, and every time I have the occasion to read it over again, I remember the vivacity with which Thiers developed to me his ideas on this important subject, ideas which I believe have never before been made known to the public.
It is strange how, with all his penetration, and his wonderful insight into politics, Thiers did not foresee the circumstances that brought about his own downfall. There were lacunes in that remarkable mind, lacunes which proceeded from his inordinate vanity. For instance, when he had started on that journey across Europe, in order to implore her help during the Franco-German war, he never for one moment imagined that he would be unsuccessful, or that his entreaties would be repulsed. The indifference with which the fate of his country was viewed beyond its frontiers proved a terrible blow to the old man, who sadly said, or, rather, repeated, the famous words: “Il n’y a plus d’Europe,” when his last hope, his trust in Alexander II. of Russia, also proved elusive. But with his usual ability he managed to mask his defeat underthe pretext that neither Italy, Austria, nor Russia would have anything to do with the Imperial regime, and that as they hadn’t been sure it was definitely to be classed among the past things of history, they had thought it best and wisest to remain neutral, and not to interfere with the course of events. Out of that circumstance Thiers made enough capital to ensure his own election as head of the government, and once established at Versailles in that capacity he felt sure that he would remain at his post until his death.
He had no real adversaries worthy of that name. With consummate skill he had succeeded in entirely discrediting the Orleans princes by the willingness with which he had helped them to get back their confiscated millions, and he knew that henceforward they had made themselves impossible. There was still the Comte de Chambord, but in his case Thiers had at his disposal sources of information that left him no doubt as to the attitude that the latter would eventually take, if offered the crown of his ancestors. The only adversaries he dreaded were, therefore, the Bonapartes; and this danger seemed, for the present, to have drifted away by the death of Napoleon III. and the extreme youth of his son.
Whether it was this last circumstance, or simply that his watchfulness had relaxed, the fact remains that Thiers never noticed the storm that was looming in the distance, and threatening him. And when an accidental circumstance brought about his fall, in quite an unexpected manner, he was more astonished than anyone else at the event.
Nevertheless, he took it quite good humouredly, and with far more philosophy than could have been expected from him. I saw him a few days after it had occurred and was struck with his indifference. I think that upon the whole he was glad that his fall had taken place for a neutral cause, and that it had been his person that had been objected torather than his manner of conducting the government. He hoped that the future would avenge him, and though such an old man, yet he was making plans for the day when France would call him back to the head of affairs. He knew that no matter what his enemies might say, he had deserved and had earned the gratitude of his country, and won for himself a glorious page in its annals. And if the truth be told, he was rather glad to be once more in the ranks of the opposition, and thus able to live over again the past days, when a word of his could overturn a government. He devoted all his energies to the struggle which he fully intended to initiate against President MacMahon, whom he had never liked, even when he had employed him, and whom he never forgave for having taken his place. Thiers had always been of opinion that the Marshal’s intellectual capacities were of the smallest kind, and that except honesty of purpose, he possessed none of the qualifications that are required of the Head of a State. It was gall and wormwood to him, to find his place had been taken by a man who would destroy some of his work, and a great deal of his plans. So he devoted all his energies to prepare the defeat of the Marshal after the latter’scoup d’étatof the 16th of May.
Fate, however, interfered and carried off M. Thiers after an illness of a few hours at St. Germain, where, as I have already related, he spent the last summer of his life. In spite of his advanced age, he died in full possession of his faculties, and with his intelligence as bright and clear as it had ever been. The emotion provoked by his death was considerable. The old man was, after all, more popular than one had thought, and the nation was very well aware that in burying him, she was also burying a great patriot, who had been true to her in the hour of her greatest adversity. I followed in his funeral procession, and as we were marchingtowards distant Père la Chaise, I heard the following remark which left a deep impression on my mind: the more so that it was uttered by a common workman whom certainly I wouldn’t have believed to be capable of it: “Il avait des défauts, le petit homme, mais après tout c’est grâce à lui que Belfort est resté français!” (“He had his faults, the little man; but, after all, it is thanks to him that Belfort remained French”).
I think that Thiers would have thought, had he listened to these words, that they constituted the best recognition that had ever been uttered of his long life of service to the nation.
I hadhad the honour to be introduced to the Comte de Chambord in Vienna, long before the fall of the Empire had once more put him forward as a Pretender to the throne of France; I had even once or twice been invited to Frohsdorf. These visits always left me a sadder if not a wiser man. They were more like a pilgrimage to an historical monument, than a visit to a living man. Everything seemed dead in that small, unpretentious house, for it could hardly be called a castle, in which the last direct descendant of Louis XIV. was ending his uneventful existence. The walls themselves told you of something that was past and gone, and the inhabitants of this living grave flitted like ghosts of the great traditions that were embodied in them. Everything was dignified, solemn, and hushed. The rooms were small, but full of great things and mementoes, from the large equestrian portrait of Henri IV., to the stately picture of Louis XVI., and the smiling one of unfortunate Marie Antoinette. Lackeys in the blue livery of the House of France, met you at the door, and ushered you into an unpretentious study, where, sitting at a table littered with books and papers, the Comte de Chambord was awaiting his visitors.
He was a most charming man, with grand manners, and much stateliness, but one on whom the many deceptions of his life had left their impress, and aged before his time. He always questioned all those whom he was aboutFrance, Paris, and everything that was going on there, taking the liveliest interest in his country, but not understanding it at all, and not realising that the France of after the Revolution was no longer the France which the old Bourbon monarch had ruled. He had strong principles, earnest convictions, was in the full sense of the term a “chevalier sans peur et sans reproche,” but he harboured no illusions as to his possibilities of playing any part in the political life of his country. Had he had any children it is probable that he would have tried to reconcile the traditions of his family with the requirements of modern France, but in presence of the fact that with him the elder branch of the House of Bourbon was coming to an end, he must have had the feeling, though he never owned to it in public, that there was no necessity for him to abdicate any part of the inheritance of his ancestors, in order to benefit the Orleans dynasty who had sent his great-uncle to the scaffold, and had tried to dishonour his own mother. He was too much of a gentleman not to have received with politeness the overtures of his cousins when they made up their minds to come and pay their respects to him at Frohsdorf; but he could not, and would not, affect in regard to them a cordiality which he did not really feel.
The Comte de Chambord was essentiallyun homme d’autrefois; he never shirked what he considered to be his duty, but who would never give himself the appearance of liking what he did not, or of respecting what did not deserve respect. He had grand manners that savoured of hauteur, and left one in no doubt as to what he thought or believed. Life had been one long disappointment to him, which he had accepted with a true Christian spirit, devoid of the slightest shade of rebellion, and he had picked up his burden, and carried it nobly to the end. He died wrapped in the folds of the old flag which he had refused to renounce, even when a crown would have rewarded him for its abandonment.
At Frohsdorf he led the existence of a country gentleman; there was no semblance of a Pretender about him. As he once said to a visitor who very tactlessly had remarked upon it: “I am not a Pretender, and do not need give myself the appearance of one. I am a principal for those who see in me their King.”
And yet there was much that was kingly in that quiet Austrian domain, to which the Duchesse d’Angoulême had retired towards the end of her earthly career, and which she had bequeathed to her nephew. The big drawing-room where one assembled in the evenings after dinner had a vague appearance of a palace, though the master of it did his best to put his visitors at their ease; but the Comtesse de Chambord sitting in her big arm-chair by a round table, upon which her needlework was laid, or bending over the stitches of her tapestry, looked every inch a sovereign, in spite of the knitted scarf which she often tied round her head, or the extreme simplicity of her black silk dress, made quite high to the throat and finished by a plain white linen collar. The atmosphere of the room, too, was laden with a hush and solemnity that at once made one feel and understand that one was not in the dwelling of a common mortal. These evenings were anything but amusing, though the Comte did his best to keep the ball of conversation rolling; but somehow it was impossible to give it a frivolous turn, or to drive away an impression that everyone in the room was waiting for something. What, of course, was not known; but one was waiting, waiting like the son of the murdered Duc de Berry had been waiting ever since his birth, for the call of his country, which never came, or at least not in the way in which he would have cared to respond to it.
A great deal has been said concerning the attempt at a monarchical restoration that had taken place during the presidency of Marshal MacMahon, and the circumstances which had accompanied it have not been commented upon in a manner favourable to the Comte de Chambord. I was in Versailles at the time it occurred, and from what came to my knowledge I do not think that the real reasons which influenced Henri V., as his adherents called him, have ever been known in their entirety. One has spoken of the flag and of the reluctance of the Pretender to accept the tricolour, but what has never been revealed to this day is that a compromise had been suggested by a clever French politician who had been consulted. Gifted with a singular gift of observation, this politician was very wellau courantof the feelings of the different parties which were represented in the National Assembly, and consequently he was in a position to give sound advice to those who had recourse to his experience.
His compromise was that the national flag should remain the tricolour, whilst the King would keep for his own personal emblem the white cravat of his ancestors, that alone would be borne before him on all State ceremonies which were not purely military ones. Strange to say, the Comte de Chambord had at first appeared willing to consent, understanding well, in spite of the prejudices of his earlier education, that he would be obliged to make some concessions to the times before he could hope to be accepted by France as its legitimate King. But, before giving his final adherence to this compromise, he wished to know the opinion of his cousin, the Comte de Paris, and to learn from him whether or not he would, when in due course he succeeded him, ratify this arrangement, and maintain its clauses. The Comte de Paris refused to assume the responsibility of saying yes, and replied evasively that his uncle the Duc d’Aumale ought to be consulted. The latter, however, declared that he could not advise his nephew, but that it would be difficult in his opinion for an Orleans prince to forget that the fate of his dynasty was bound up with that of the tricolour banner, and that to renounce it even in part, was to renounce the glorious principles of the Monarchy of July. This answer, when it became known to the Comte de Chambord, did away with his last hesitation. Urged by the strong dynastic feelings that swayed him, he might have made up his mind to sacrifice some part of his principles to the welfare of his race; but only if this sacrifice would have been of some use to it. Seeing that it would only be interpreted as a desire on his part to put on his head a crown he did not care for, and which in his inmost heart he did not think he had either the strength or the ability to carry or to defend, he gave up every idea of winning it by means of a compromise where, in the best of cases, some of his own personal dignity would have foundered; and after a short stay in France, he returned to his beloved Frohsdorf, to die there a few years later, the last of the Burgraves of his generation.
I had occasion to see him during the short stay which he made at Versailles under an incognito which was only discovered by a very few. We took a walk together in the park, and along the alleys of that garden of Trianon, where the young and frivolous Queen, so brutally murdered by the bloody Revolution which she had neither foreseen nor understood, had walked together with the lovely Lamballe and her train of gay courtiers. Everything looked sad, and deserted, and abandoned; it all spoke of a dead past, and of a departed glory. Suddenly the Comte de Chambord stopped in his walk, and turning to me said those memorable words which I have never forgotten: “What a pity that this place was not entirely destroyed in 1793!”
I looked at him with surprise.
“You are astonished to hear me say such a thing,” he continued, “but let me explain to you my thoughts, and you will understand me better. Royalty, like so many other things, is a prejudice, at least for the masses who have neither traditions nor principles. It represents, or at least ought to represent to them, something that is strong, powerful, entirely above them, beyond them; something sacred, that no power save that of God may touch or may destroy. Once this feeling concerning it is gone, half its prestige is gone too. The mob only respects what it can neither harm nor kill. If it once sees that royalty, like everything else, can be touched with a sacrilegious hand, that it is at the mercy of the first boy or man in the street, then the mob not only loses every fear, but also its veneration. It rejoices to see that it has got over the feeling of awe which formerly inspired it with regard to that superior thing which ruled it; it delights in pulling it down, and in treasuring the remembrance of the day on which it smashed it to the ground. Now nothing reminds one more of deeds done, whether good or bad, than the spots where such deeds were committed.
“The French people, when looking at Versailles, and walking freely through the rooms where Kings formerly reigned, can always think, speak and remember, with something of that low pride which a boxer feels when he has knocked his adversary to the ground, of the time when they destroyed the power which had ruled them, and feasted in the halls of their former masters. That remembrance is most unwholesome, and can only foster rebellious feelings in the breasts of those who treasure it. Had Versailles been destroyed the Revolution of course would not have been forgotten, but the nation would not always have had before its eyes the sight of the monument of the fallen grandeur of its Kings.Facts are forgotten or lose their importance far quicker than one thinks; but places, and spots, keep their eloquence, and unfortunately keep it for ever.”
He stopped, and looked back towards the walls of the massive old pile, whose many windows were blazing in the setting sun. And once more he sighed: “Yes, I do regret that this place has not been burned down and destroyed; it would not have witnessed then the triumph of the victorious Prussian eagle, and after that, what real French King would care to live in it, even if a King ever reigns again in France!”
He sighed yet again, and we slowly retraced our steps towards the town. As we passed the Castle gates, he stopped again: “Sic transit gloria mundi,” he quoted; “my glory, like that of my ancestors, has passed away; perhaps it is for the best after all, since I was not destined to see my race continue!”
Much has been related concerning the interview which the Comte de Chambord had with Marshal MacMahon, when he asked him whether or not he would feel inclined to favour a monarchical restoration. It has been said that the old soldier, who without scruple had accepted the succession of Napoleon III., to whom he owed his title and his dignity, found that his conscience would not allow him to “betray,” as he expressed himself, the Republican government, at the head of which he had been called by a parliamentary majority who had done so only in the hope that he would help it to reinstate its former Kings.
There is some truth in this reproach, because certainly MacMahon had not shown himself before, and did not show himself in the future, so very chary of offending public opinion as represented by the Legislative Assembly which was supposed to be the voice of the country. But in thenon possumuswhich he opposed to the restoration of the Comte de Chambord,