It has been showery to-day, and I never have witnessed a more dismal Sunday in Paris. A pigeon from. Gambetta's balloon has returned, but this foolish bird lost en route the message which was attached to its neck.



CHAPTER VI.

October 10th.

It is very curious how close, under certain conditions of wind and temperature, the cannonade appears to be, even in the centre of the town. This morning I was returning home at about two o'clock, when I heard a succession of detonations so distinctly, that I literally went into the next street, as I imagined that a house must be falling down there. It is said that the palace of St. Cloud has been destroyed.

As well as I can learn, General Burnside came into Paris mainly to discuss with Mr. Washburne the possibility of the American families who are still here being allowed to pass the Prussian lines. He saw Jules Favre, but, if he attempted any species of negotiation, it could have led to nothing, as we are so absolutely confident that the Army of the Loire will in a few days cut off the Prussian supplies, and we are so proud of our attitude, that I really believe if Jules Favre were to consent to pay a war indemnity as a condition of peace, he and his friends would be driven from power the next day.

Having nothing particularly to boast of to-day, the newspapers request the world to be good enough to turn its eyes upon Gambetta traversing space in a balloon. A nation whose Minister is capable of this heroic feat must eventually drive the enemy from its soil. The Figaro, in fact, hints that in all probability peace will be signed at Berlin at no very distant date. The Gaulois, a comparatively sensible newspaper, thus deals with this aerial voyage:—"As the balloon passed above the Prussian armies, amid the clouds and the birds, the old William probably turned to Bismarck and asked, 'What is that black point in the sky?' 'It is a Minister,' replied Bismarck; 'it is the heroic Gambetta, on his way to the Loire. In Paris he named prefects; on the Loire he will assemble battalions.' Favourable winds wafted the balloon on her course; perhaps Gambetta landed at Cahors, his natal town, perhaps somewhere else—perhaps in the arms of Cremieux, that aged lion. To-morrow the provinces will resound with his voice, which will mingle with the rattling of arms and the sound of drums. Like a trumpet, it will peal along the Loire, inflaming hearts, forming battalions, and causing the manes of St. Just and Desmoulins to rise from their graves."

Yesterday a battalion of the National Guard was drawn up before the Hotel de Ville, but there was no demonstration of the Ultras. M. Arago, the Mayor of Paris, made a few speeches from a window, which are described as inflaming the hearts of these heroic soldiers of the country. The rain, however, in the end, sent the heroic soldiers home, and obliged M. Arago to shut his window. A day never passes without one or more of our rulers putting his head out of some window or other, and what is called "delivering himself up to a fervid improvisation." The Ultra newspapers are never tired of abusing the priests, who are courageously and honestly performing their duty. Yesterday I read a letter from a patriot, in which he complains that this caste of crows are to decree the field of battle, and asks the Government to decree that the last moments of virtuous citizens, dying for their country, shall not be troubled by this new Horror. To-day a citizen writes as follows:—"Why are not the National Guards installed in the churches? Not only might they find in these edifices dedicated to an extinct superstition, shelter from the weather, but orators might from time to time in the pulpits deliver speeches. Those churches which are not required by the National Guard might serve as excellent stables for the oxen, the sheep, and the hogs, which are now parked out in the open air."

Next to the priests and the churches, the streets named after members and friends of the late Imperial family excite the ire of patriots. The inhabitants of the quartier Prince Eugene, have, I read to-day, decided that the Boulevard Prince Eugene shall henceforward be called the Boulevard Dussault, "the noble child of the Haute Vienne, who was murdered by the aides of the infamous Bonaparte."

We are not, as you might perhaps suppose, wanting in news. The French journalists, even when communications with the rest of the world were open, preferred to evolve their facts from their moral consciousness—their hand has not lost its cunning. Peasants, who play the part here of the intelligent contraband of the American civil war, bring in daily the most wonderful stories of the misery which the Prussians are suffering, and the damage which our artillery is causing them—and these tales are duly published. Then, at least three times a week we kill a Prussian Prince, and "an army" relieves Bazaine. A few days ago a troop of 1500 oxen marched into our lines, "they were French oxen, and they were impelled by their patriotism." This beats the ducks who asked the old woman to come and kill them.

The clubs appear to be divided upon the question of the "commune." In most of them, however, resolutions have been passed reaffirming their determination to hold the elections with or without the consent of the Government. Rochefort to-day publishes a sensible reply to Flourens, who called upon him to explain why he does not resign. "I have," he says, "descended into the most impenetrable recesses of my conscience, and I have emerged with the conviction that my withdrawal would cause a conflict, and this would open a breach to the Prussians. You will say that I am capitulating with my convictions; if it be so, I do not necessarily capitulate with the Prussians. I silence my political instincts; let our brave friends in Belleville allow theirs to sleep for a time." I understand that in the council which was held to decide upon the advisability of adjourning these elections, Rochefort, Simon, Ferry, and Arago voted against the adjournment, and Pelletan, Garnier Pages, Picard, and Favre in favour of it. Trochu then decided the question in the affirmative by a threat that, if the elections were allowed to take place, he would resign.

October 11th.

The notions of a Pall Mall dandy respecting Southwark or the Tower Hamlets are not more vague than those of the Parisian bourgeois or the Professional French journalist respecting the vast Faubourgs peopled by the working men which encircle this city. From actual observation they know nothing of them. They believe them to be the homes of a dangerous class—communistic and anarchical in its tendencies, the sworn foes alike of law, order, and property. The following are the articles of faith of the journalist:—France is the world. Paris is France. The boulevards, the theatres, some fifty writers on the press, and the bourgeoisie of the fashionable quarters of the city, are Paris. Within this narrow circle he may reason justly, but he never emerges from it, and consequently cannot instruct others about what he does not know himself. Since the fall of the Emperor, the Parisian bourgeois has vaguely felt that he has been surrounded by two hostile armies—the Prussian without the walls, and the working men within. He has placed his trust in Trochu, as twenty years ago he did in Cavaignac. The siege had not lasted a week before he became convinced that the Prussians were afraid of him, because they had not attacked the town; and within the last few days he has acquired the conviction, upon equally excellent grounds, that the working men also tremble before his martial attitude. On Friday last he achieved what he considers a crowning triumph, and he is now under the impression that he has struck terror into the breasts of the advocates of the Commune by marching with his battalion to the Hotel de Ville. "We"—and by "we" he means General Trochu and himself—"we have shown them that we are not to be trifled with," is his boast from morning to night. Now, if instead of reading newspapers which only reflect his own views, and passing his time, whether on the ramparts or in a cafe, surrounded by men who share his prejudices, the worthy bourgeois would be good enough to accompany me to Belleville or La Villette, he would perhaps realise the fact that, as usual, he is making himself comfortable in a fool's paradise. He would have an opportunity to learn that, while the working men have not the remotest intention to pillage his shop, they are equally determined not to allow him and his friends to make Paris the laughing-stock of Europe. With them the "Commune" is but a means to an end. What they want is a Government which will carry out in sober earnest M. Jules Favre's rhetorical figure that "the Parisians will bury themselves beneath the ruins of their town rather than surrender." The lull in the "demonstrations" to urge the Government either to carry out this programme, or to associate with themselves men of energy who are ready to do so, will not last long; and when next Belleville comes to the Hotel de Ville, it will not be unarmed. The bourgeois and the working man worship different gods, and have hardly two ideas in common. The bourgeois believes in the Army of the Loire; believes that in sacrificing the trade profits of a few months, and in catching a cold by keeping guard occasionally for a night on the ramparts, he has done his duty towards his country, and deserves the admiration of all future ages. As for burying himself, beneath, the ruins of his shop, it is his shop as much as his country that he is defending. He is gradually wearying of the siege; the pleasure of strutting about in a uniform and marching behind a drum hardly compensates for the pecuniary losses which he is incurring. He feels that he is already a hero, and he longs to repose upon his laurels. When Bazaine has capitulated, and when the bubble of the Army of the Loire has burst, he will, if left to himself, declare and actually believe that Paris has surpassed in heroism and endurance Troy and Saragossa; and he will accept what is inevitable—a capitulation. The working man, on the other hand, believes in no Army of the Loire, troubles himself little about Bazaine, and has confidence in himself alone. Far from disliking the siege, he delights in it. He lives at free quarters, and he walks about with a gun, that occupation of all others which is most pleasing to him. He at least is no humbug; he has no desire to avoid danger, but rather courts it. He longs to form one in a sortie, and he builds barricades, and looks forward with grim satisfaction to the moment when he will risk his own life in defending them, and blow up his landlord's house to arrest the advance of the Prussians. What will be the upshot of this radical divergence of opinion between the two principal classes which are cooped up together within the walls of Paris, it is impossible to say. The working men have, as yet, no leaders in whom they place confidence, and under whose guidance they would consent to act collectively. It may be that this will prevent them from giving effect to their views before the curtain drops; they are strongly patriotic, and they are disinclined to compromise the success of the defence by internal quarrels. Very possibly, therefore, they will be deceived by promises on the part of the Government, and assurances that Paris will fight it out to the last ditch, until the moment to act has passed. As for the bourgeois and the Government, their most powerful ally is the cry, "No division; let us all be united." They are both, however, in a radically false position. They have called upon the world to witness how a great capital can die rather than surrender; and yet, if no external agency prevents the surrender, they have no intention to fulfil their boast of dying. Any loophole for escape from, the alternative in which they have thrust themselves they would welcome. "Our provisions will last three months," they say; "during this time something must happen to our advantage." "What?" I inquire. "The Army of the Loire will advance, or Bazaine will get out of Metz, or the Prussians will despair of success, or we shall be able to introduce convoys of provisions." "But if none of these prophecies are realised.—what then?" I have asked a hundred times, without ever getting a clear answer to my question. By some strange process of reasoning in what, as Lord Westbury would say, they are pleased to call their minds, they appear to have arrived at the conviction that Paris never will be taken, because they are unable to realise the possibility of an event which they seem to consider is contrary to that law of nature, which, has made her the capital and the mistress of the world. A victorious army is at their gates; they do not dare even to make a formidable sortie; there is no regular army in the field outside; their provisions have a limit; they can only communicate with the rest of the world by an occasional balloon; and yet they regard the idea of a foreign occupation of Paris much as we do a French invasion of England—a thing so improbable as to be barely possible.

Yesterday there were a few groups on the Place de l'Hotel de Ville, but they were rather curious spectators than "manifesters." At about two o'clock the rappel was beaten in the Place Vendome, and several battalions of the National Guard of the quartier marched there and broke up these groups. M. Jules Ferry's head then appeared from the window, and he aired his eloquence in a speech congratulating the friends of order on having rallied to the defence of the Government. It is a very strange thing that no Frenchman, when in power, can understand equal justice between his opponents and his supporters. The present Government is made up of men who clamoured for a Municipal Council during the Empire, and whose first step upon taking possession of the Hotel de Ville was to decree the immediate election of a "Commune." Since then, yielding to the demands of their own supporters, they have withdrawn this decree, and now, if I go unarmed upon the Place de l'Hotel de Ville and cry "Vive la Commune," I am arrested; whereas if any battalion of the National Guard chooses, without orders, to go there in arms and cry, "a bas la Commune," immediately it is congratulated for its patriotism by some member of the Government.

Nothing new has passed at the front since yesterday. I learn from this morning's papers, however, that Moltke is dead, that the Crown Prince is dying of a fever, that Bismarck is anxious to negotiate, but is prevented by the obstinacy of the King, that 300 Prussians from the Polish provinces have come over to our side, and that the Bavarian and Wurtemberg troops are in a state of incipient rebellion. "From the fact that the Prussian outposts have withdrawn to a greater distance from the forts," the Electeur Libre, tells me, "it is probable that the Prussians despair of success, and in a few days will raise the siege." Most of the newspapers make merry over the faults in grammar in a letter which has been discovered and published from the Empress to the Emperor, although I doubt if there is one Frenchman in the world who could write Spanish as well as the Empress does French.

Evening.

It appears that yesterday the cheques signed by M. Flourens were not recognised by the Etat Major of his "secteur." On this he declared that he would beat the "generale" in Belleville and march on the Hotel de Ville. The quarrel was, however, patched up—no disturbance occurred. For some reason or other M. Flourens, until he gave in his resignation, commanded five battalions of the National Guard; he has been told that he can be re-elected to the command of any one of them, but that he cannot be allowed to be at the head of more than one. This man is an enthusiast, and, I am told, not quite right in his head. In personal appearance he is a good-looking gentlemanly fellow. As long as Belleville acts under his leadership there is no great fear that any danger will arise, because his own men distrust, not his good faith, but his sense.

Gambetta has sent a despatch from Montdidier, by a pigeon. He says, "Everywhere the people are rising; the Government of the National Defence is universally acclaimed."

The Papal Nuncio is going to try to get through on Thursday. He says he is anxious about the Pope—no wonder.

October 12th.

"What is truth?" said jesting Pilate, and would not wait for an answer; the Parisians of 1870 are as indifferent about truth as this unjust Roman judge was. It is strange that their own want of veracity does not lead them to doubt that of others; they are alike credulous and mendacious. A man comes into a cafe, he relates every detail of an action in which he says he was engaged the day before; the action has never taken place, but every one believes him; one of the auditors then perhaps says that he has passed the night in a fort, and that its guns destroyed a battery which the enemy was erecting; the fort has never fired a shot, but the first speaker goes off convinced that a battery has been dismounted. For my part I have given up placing the least faith in anything I hear or read. As for the newspapers they give currency to the most incredible stories, and they affect not only to relate every shot that has been fired, but the precise damage which it has done to the enemy, and the number of men which it has killed, and wounded. They have already slain and taken prisoner a far greater number of Prussians than, on any fair calculation, there could have been in the besieging army at the commencement of the siege. Since the commencement of the war the Government, the journalists, the generals, and the gossips have been engaged apparently in a contest to test the limits of human credulity. Under the Republic the game is still merrily kept up, and although the German armies are but a few miles off, we are daily treated to as many falsehoods respecting what goes on at the front as when they were at Sedan, or huddled together in those apocryphal quarries of Jaucourt. "I saw it in a newspaper," or "I was told it by an eye-witness," is still considered conclusive evidence of the truth of no matter what fact. To-day, I nearly had a dispute with a stout party, who sat near me as I was breakfasting in a cafe, because I ventured, in the mildest and most hesitating manner, to question the fact that an army of 250,000 men was at Rouen, and would in the course of this week attack the Prussians at Versailles. "It is here, sir," he said indignantly pointing to his newspaper; "a peasant worthy of belief has brought the news to the Editor; are we to believe no one?" There were a dozen persons breakfasting at the same time, and I was the only one who did not implicitly believe in the existence of this army. This diseased state of mind arises mainly, I presume, from excessive vanity. No Parisian is able to believe anything which displeases him, and he is unable not to believe anything which flatters his amour propre. He starts in life with a series of delusions, which all he has read and heard until now have confirmed. No journal dares to tell the truth, for if it did its circulation would fall to nothing. No Parisian, even if by an effort he could realise to himself the actual condition of his country, would dare to communicate his opinion to his neighbour, for he would be regarded as a traitor and a liar. The Bostonians believe that Boston is the "hub of the universe," and the Parisian is under the impression that his city is a species of sacred Ark, which it is sacrilege to touch. To bombard London or Berlin would be an unfortunate necessity of war, but to fire a shot into Paris is desecration. For a French army to live at the expense of Germany is in the nature of things; for a German army to live at the expense of Frenchmen is a barbarity which the civilised world ought to resent. If the result of the present campaign is to convince Frenchmen that, as a nation, they are neither better nor worse than other nations, and to convince Parisians that Paris enjoys no special immunity from the hardships of war, and that if it sustains a siege it must accept the natural consequences, it will not have been waged in vain, but will materially conduce to the future peace of the world. As yet—I say it with regret—for I abominate war and Prussians, and there is much which I like in the French—this lesson has not been learnt. Day by day I am becoming more convinced that a lasting peace can only be signed in Paris, and that the Parisians must be brought to understand by hard experience that, if victory means an accession of military glory, defeat means humiliation, and that the one is just as possible as the other. If the siege were raised to-morrow, the occupation of Alsace and Lorraine by an enemy would be disbelieved within six months by this vain, frivolous populace; and even if the German army does ever defile along the Boulevards, I shall not be surprised if we are told, as soon as they have withdrawn, that they never were there. Shut up in this town with its inhabitants, my sympathies are entirely on their side, but my reason tells me that Bismarck is right in insisting upon treating in Paris. Let him, if he can, come in here; let him impose upon France such a war indemnity, that every man, woman, and child in the country will curse the folly of this war for the next fifty years; and let him give up his scheme of annexation, and he will then have acted in the interests of Europe, and ultimately in those of France herself. Prussia, after the battle of Jena, was as low as France is now. Napoleon stripped her of her provinces, and she acceded to the treaty of her spoliation, but at the first favourable opportunity she protested her signature, and the world has never blamed her for so doing. France, if she is deprived of Alsace, will do the same. If she signs the treaty, it will only be binding on her until she is strong enough to repudiate it. A treaty of territorial spoliation imposed by force never has and never will bind a nation. The peace of Europe will not be lasting if France hawks about her alliance, and is ready to tender it to any Power who wishes to carry out some scheme of aggrandisement, and who will aid her to re-conquer the provinces which she has lost. I have always regarded the Prussians as a disagreeable but a sensible nation, but if they insist upon the annexation of Alsace, and consider that the dismemberment of France will conduce to the unity of Germany, I shall cease to consider them as more sensible than the Gauls, with whom my lot is now cast. The Austrians used to say that their defensive system rendered it necessary that they should possess the Milanese and Venetia; but the possession of these two Italian provinces was a continual source of weakness to them, and in the end dragged them into a disastrous war. The Prussians should meditate over this, and over the hundred other instances in history of territorial greed overreaching itself, and they will then perhaps be more inclined to take a fair and impartial view of the terms on which peace ought to be made. "Moderation in success is often more difficult to practise than fortitude in disaster," says the copy-book. My lecture upon European politics is, I am afraid, somewhat lengthy, but it must be remembered that I am a prisoner, and that Silvio Pellico, under similar circumstances, wrote one of the most dreary books that it ever was my misfortune to read and to be required to admire. I return to the recital of what is passing in my prison house.

Last night and early this morning I had an opportunity to inspect the bars of the cage in which I am confined. I happened to say before a superior officer that I was very desirous to see what was going on on the ramparts and in the forts at night, but that I had as yet been foiled in my endeavours to do so, when he told me that he would take me to both, provided in any account that I might give of them I would not mention localities, which might get him into trouble, or in general anything which might afford aid and comfort to the enemy. Of course I accepted his offer, and at eleven o'clock P.M. we started on horseback. We soon struck the Rue des Remparts, and dismounted. Along the top of the ramparts there was a line of sentinels. They were so numerous in some places that they almost touched each other. Every few minutes the cry, "Sentinelles, prenez garde a vous," went along. Behind them grandes gardes and other patrols were continually passing, and we could hardly move a step without being obliged to give the password, with a bayonet in close proximity to our chests. The National Guards were sleeping, in some places in tents, in others in huts, and I found many more in the neighbouring houses. Here and there there was a canteen, where warm coffee and other such refreshments were sold, and in some places casemates were already built. In the bastions there were camps of Artillerymen, Mobiles, and Nationaux. All was very quiet, and I was agreeably surprised to find with what order and method everything was conducted. At about four o'clock this morning we passed through one of the gates, outside there were patrols coming and going, and I could see numerous regiments on each side of the road, some in tents, others sleeping in the open air, or trying to do so, for the nights are already very chilly. We were stopped almost every two minutes, and my friend had to explain who and what he was. At last we reached a fort. Here we had a long parley before we were admitted. When we got in, the day was breaking. We were taken into the room of the Commandant, with whom my friend had some business to transact. He was a sailor, and from his cool and calm demeanour, I am convinced that he will give a good account of himself if he is attacked. In the fort there were Mobiles and soldiers, and by the guns stood the sailors. I talked to several of them as they leant against their guns, or walked up and down as though they were keeping watch on deck. None of them had left the fort for the last three weeks, and they seemed to have no particular desire to go "on shore," as they called Paris. Their fire, they said, had, they believed, done considerable damage to the works which the Prussians had tried to erect, within their range. The Commandant now came out with some of his officers, and we tried to search with telescopes the distant woods which were supposed to conceal the enemy. I confess that I saw absolutely nothing except trees and some houses, which were in ruins, "Throw a shell into those houses," cried the Commandant, and off went one of the great guns. It fell wide. "Try again," he said. This time we could see through the glasses that the house had been hit, for a portion of one of the walls toppled over, and a column of dust arose. No Prussians, however, emerged. A few shots were then fired promiscuously into the woods, in order to sound the lines; and then Commandant, officers, friend and I, withdrew to breakfast. I was, of course, cautious in my conversation, and all that was said I do not care to repeat—the general feeling, however, seemed to be that the prospects of Paris defending itself successfully were considerably weakened by the "lot of lawyers" who interfered with matters about which they knew nothing. The National Guards, who I hear are to occupy the forts, were laughed at by these warriors; as for the Mobiles, it was thought that in two months they might become good soldiers, but that their discipline was most defective. "When we get them in here," said a gruff old Captain, "we do not stand their nonsense; but outside, when they are alone with their officers, they do very much what they please." The soldiers of the regular army, I was told, had recovered their morale, and if well led, might be depended upon. As was natural, the sailors were greatly extolled, and I think they deserved it; the best come from Brittany; and like Joe Bagstock, they are tough, sir, very tough—what are called in French, "wolves of the sea." Breakfast over, we returned to Paris in company with two or three officers, who had been given leave of absence for the day. This afternoon, hearing that egress was allowed at the Barriere de Neuilly, I started out in a fiacre, to see what was to be seen in that direction. Along the Avenue de Neuilly there were encampments of soldiers of the line and Mobiles. At the bridge of Neuilly my fiacre was stopped, but having explained to the commander of the picket that I wanted to take a walk, and shown my papers, for some reason best known to himself, he allowed me to go forward on foot. In Courbevoie all the houses were shut up, except those occupied by troops, and the windows of these were filled with sandbags. Right and left trees were being cut down, and every moment some old poplar was brought to the ground. I passed through Courbevoie, as no one seemed to notice me, and held on to the right until I struck Asnieres. It is a species of French Greenwich, full of hotels, tea-gardens, and restaurants. The last time I had been there was on a Sunday, when it was crowded with Parisian bourgeois, and they were eating, drinking, dancing, and making merry. The houses had not been destroyed, but there was not a living soul in the place. On the promenade by the river the leaves were falling from the trees under which were the benches as of old. The gay signs still hung above the restaurants, and here and there was an advertisement informing the world that M. Pitou offered his hosts beer at so much the glass, or that the more ambitious Monsieur Some One Else was prepared to serve an excellent dinner of eels for 2fr., but I might as well have expected to get beer or eels in Palmyra as in this village where a few short weeks ago fish, flesh, and fowl, wine and beer were as plentiful as at Greenwich and Richmond during the season. Goldsmith's "Deserted Village," I said to myself, and I should have repeated some lines from this admirable poem had I remembered any; as I did not, I walked on in the direction of Colombes, vaguely ruminating upon Pompeii, Palmyra, fish dinners at Greenwich, and the mutability of human things. I had hardly left Asnieres, however, and was plodding along a path, when I was recalled to the realities of life by half-a-dozen Mobiles springing up from behind a low wall, and calling upon me to stop, while they enforced their order by pointing their muskets at my head. I stood still, and they surrounded me. I explained that I was an Englishman inhabiting Paris, and that I had come out to take a walk. My papers were brought out and narrowly inspected. My passport, that charter of the Civis Romanus, was put aside as though it had been a document of no value. A letter from one of the authorities, which was a species of unofficial laisser passer, was read, and then a sort of council of war was held about what ought to be done with me. They seemed to be innocent and well meaning peasants; they said that they had orders to let no one pass, and they were surprised that I had got so far without being stopped. I told them that they were quite right to obey their consigne, and that I would go back the way I had come. One of them suggested that I might be a spy, but he accepted my assurance that I was not. Another proposed to keep me as a captive until some officer passed; but I told them that this was contrary to all law, human and divine, civil and military. "Well, gentlemen," I at last said, "I will now wish you good day, my mother will be anxious about me if I do not return, otherwise I should have been happy to remain in such good society;" and with this speech I turned back and went towards Asnieres; they did not follow me, but remained with their mouths open, utterly unable to grasp the idea why an Englishman should be taking a walk in the neighbourhood of Paris, and why he should have an aged mother anxiously awaiting his return in the city. (N.B.—If you want to inspire a Frenchman with a sort of sentimental respect, always talk of your mother; the same effect is produced on a German by an allusion to your bride.) At the bridge of Neuilly the guard had been changed, and I had a lengthy discussion whether I ought to be imprisoned or allowed to pass. I was inclined to think that I owe the latter motion being carried, to a very eloquent speech which I threw off, but this may perhaps be vanity on my part, as Mont Valerien was also discoursing at the same time, and dividing with me the attention of my auditors.

M. de Keratry has resigned his post of Prefect of the Police, and has been succeeded by M. Edmond Adam, who is said to be a man of energy. Yesterday M. Jules Ferry went down to Belleville, and delivered several speeches, which he informs us to-day in a letter were greatly applauded. The Official Gazette contains an intimation that M. Flourens is to be prosecuted, but I greatly question whether it is more than brutum fulmen. The Council of War has condemned five of the soldiers who ran away at the fight of Chatillon. Several others who were tried for the same offence have been acquitted. It is reported that an engagement took place this afternoon at Villejuif, but no details are yet known. There is no doubt that the Prussians have enlarged their circle round Paris, and that they have massed troops near Choisy-le-Roi. What these two manoeuvres portend, we are all anxiously discussing.

Several balloons went off this morning. I have deluged the Post-office with letters, but I doubt if they ever get any farther. Mr. Hore, the naval attache of the British Embassy, also left this morning for Tours. As the Parisian fleet consists of one gunboat, I presume that he considers that his valuable services may be utilised elsewhere.

October 13th.

Frenchmen have none of that rough and tumble energy which enables Anglo-Saxons to shake themselves, no matter under what circumstances, into some sort of shape. Left to themselves they are as helpless as children, it takes a certain time to organize them, and to evolve order from chaos, but when once the process is effected, they surpass us in administrative mechanism, and in readiness to fall into new ways. The organization of Paris, as a besieged city, is now in good working trim, and it must be admitted that its results are more satisfactory than a few weeks ago could have been anticipated. Except when some important event is taking place at the front, there are no crowds in the streets, and even the groups which used to impede circulation are now rare. The National Guards go in turn to the ramparts, like clerks to their office. In the morning the battalions are changed, and those who come off duty march to their respective "quartiers" and quietly disband. Unless there is some extraordinary movement, during the rest of the day and night there is little marching of troops. In the evening the Boulevards are moderately full from eight to ten o'clock, but now that only half the number of street lamps are lit—they look gloomy even then—at half-past ten every cafe and shop is closed, and half-an-hour later every one has gone home. There are no quarrels and no drunkards. Robberies occasionally occur, but they are rare. "Social evils" have again made their appearance, but they are not so insolently conspicuous as they were under the paternal rule of the Empire. Paris, once so gay, has become as dull as a small German capital. Its inhabitants are not in the depths of despair, but they are thoroughly bored. They are in the position of a company of actors shut up in a theatre night and day, and left to their own devices, without an audience to applaud or to hiss them. "What do you think they are saying of us in England?" is a question which I am asked not less than a hundred times every day. My interrogator usually goes on to say, that it is impossible that the heroism of the population has not elicited the admiration of the world. It seems to me that if Paris submits to a blockade for another month, she will have done her duty by France; but I cannot for the life of me see that as yet she has done anything to entitle her to boast of having set the world an example of valour.

Yesterday, it appears by the official report, there was a reconnaissance in force under General Ducrot in the direction of Bougival and Rucil. The Mobiles, we are told, behaved well, but the loss on either side was insignificant. Our amateur strategists are divided as to the expediency of taking Versailles, with the whole Prussian quartier-general, or reopening communications with the provinces by the way of Orleans. The relative advantages of these two schemes is hotly debated in the newspapers and the pothouses. A more practical suggestion to form mobilised regiments of National Guards by taking the most active men from the existing battalions is being seriously considered by the Government. This is all the news, except that a battalion of Amazons is in course of formation. They are to wear trousers, kepis, and blouses, and to be armed like the National Guard. The walls are covered with large placards inviting enlistments. It is reported that the Government are in possession of evidence to show that many of those female ornaments of the Imperial Court who were called cocodettes, and who spent in dress every year three times the annual income of their husbands, were in the pay of Bismarck. This intelligent and unscrupulous gentleman also, it is said, has a corps of spies recruited from all nations, consisting of good-looking men of pleasant address and of a certain social standing, whose business it was to insinuate themselves into the good graces of the beauties of Parisian society, and then endeavour to pick up the secrets of their husbands and friends. I am inclined to think that there is a good deal of truth in this latter allegation, because for several years I have known fascinating foreigners who used to frequent the clubs, the Bois, and the salons of the great world, and lead a joyous life without having any recognised means of existence. I have been struck more than once with the anxiety of these gentry to hook themselves on to the train of any lady who was either the relative of a man in power or who was supposed to be on intimate terms with a minister or a courtier. Every man, said Sir Robert Walpole, has his price, and Bismarck might be justified in making the same reflection as far as regards what is called European good society.

The eighth livraison of the Tuileries papers has appeared; it contains two letters from General Ducrot to General Frossard, a despatch from the French Foreign-office to Benedetti, a report on France by Magne, and a letter from a prefect to Pietri. From the few papers of any importance which have been discovered in the Imperial palaces, our friend Badinguet must have had an inkling when he last left Paris that he might not return, and must have put his papers in order, i.e., in the fire-place.



CHAPTER VII.

Evening.

I am very much afraid that it will be some time before my letters reach you, if indeed they ever do. I had entrusted one to Lord Lyons' butler, a very intelligent man, who was to accompany Mr. Hore, our naval attache, to Tours; but, alas, they did not get further than the Prussian lines at Epinay, and they are back again at the Embassy. Mr. Hore had with him a letter from the Nuncio to the Crown Prince, but the officer in command of the outpost declined to take charge of it. The Columbian Minister, too, who was charged with the protest of the Corps Diplomatique to Bismarck on account of his refusal to allow their despatches to go out, has also returned, to re-peruse Grotius and Puffendorf, in order to find more precedents with which to overwhelm Bismarck. The Greek Minister has managed to run the blockade. A son of Commodore Lynch made an attempt to get out, but after being kept twelve hours at the Prussian outposts, and fired on by the French, he has returned to share our imprisonment. This morning I read in one of the papers a wonderful account of what Mr. Lynch had seen when with the Prussians. Meeting him this evening, I asked him whether it was true. He told me that he had already been to the newspaper to protest against its appearance, as every statement in it was destitute of foundation. He could, however, get no redress; the editor or his locum tenens told him that one of their reporters had given it him, and that he knew nothing more about it. This is an instance of the reckless mode in which the business of journalism is conducted here.

I made two visits this afternoon, one to a pothouse in Belleville, the other to a countess in the Faubourg St. Germain. I went to the former in order to find out what the Bellevillites thought of things in general. I found them very discontented with the Government, and divided in opinion as to whether it would be more in the interests of the country to turn it out at present, or to wait, until the Prussians were defeated, and then do so. They are all very angry at the counter-manifestation of the bourgeois against them in the Commune. "The Government," said one of them to me, "is weak and incapable, it means to deceive us, and is thinking more of bringing back the Comte de Paris than of defending the town. We do not wish it to be said that we compromise the success of the defence by agitation, but either it must show more energy, or we will drive it from the Hotel de Ville." I quoted to my friend Mr. Lincoln's saying, about the mistake of changing a horse when half-way over a river. "That is all very well," replied a citizen, who was discussing some fiery compound at a table near me, "but we, unfortunately, have only an ass to carry us over, and he will be swept away down the stream with us on his back." Somebody now asked me what I was doing in Paris. I replied that I was the correspondent of an English newspaper. Several immediately shook me by the hand, and one of them said to me, "Pray tell your countrymen that we men of Belleville are not what the bourgeois and their organs pretend. We do not want to rob our neighbours; all we ask is, to keep the Prussians out of Paris." He said a good deal more which it is needless to repeat, but I willingly fulfil his request, to give my testimony that he, and thousands like him, who are the bugbear of the inhabitants of the richer districts of the city, are not by any means as black as they are painted. They are impulsive and somewhat inclined to exaggerate their own good qualities and the faults of others; they seem to think that anyone who differs from them must be a knave or a fool, and that the form of government which they prefer ought at once to be established, whether it obtains the suffrages of the majority or not; their knowledge, too, of the laws of political and social economy is, to say the least, vague; but they are honest and sincere, mean what they say, do not mistake words for deeds, and after the dreary inflated nonsense one is compelled to listen to from their better educated townsmen, it is refreshing to talk with them. From the Belleville pothouse I went to the Faubourg St. Germain. In this solemn abode of a fossil aristocracy I have a relative—a countess. She is, I believe, my cousin about sixteen times removed, but as she is the only person of rank with whom my family can claim the most distant relationship, we stick to the cousinship and send her every year cheap presents, which she reciprocates with still more meretricious bonbons. When I was ushered into her drawing-room, I found her taking afternoon tea with two old gentlemen, also a mild young man, and a priest. A "Lady of the Faubourg," who has any pretensions to beauty, but who is of Cornelia's mood, always has two or three old gentlemen, a mild young man, and a priest, who drop in to see her almost every afternoon. "Are you come to congratulate us?" said my cousin, as I entered. I kissed her hand. "What," she continued, "have you not heard of the victory?" I opened my eyes. "Madame," said one old gentleman, "alludes to the taking of Choisy le Roy." I mildly hinted that the news of this important event had not reached me. "Surprising!" said he, "I saw Vinoy myself yesterday." "It does not follow," I suggested, "that he has taken Choisy to-day." "Monsieur, perhaps, is not aware," jeered old gentleman No. 2, "that 60,000 men have broken through the Prussian lines, and have gone to the relief of Bazaine." "I have not the slightest doubt of the fact; it is precisely what I expected would occur," I humbly observed. "As for the victory," struck in the mild young man, "I can vouch for it; I myself have seen the prisoners." "Surely," added my cousin, "you must have heard the cannon; ah! you English are all the same; you are all Prussians, your Queen, your 'Tims', and all of you." I took refuge in a cup of tea. One old gentleman came and stood before me. I knew well what was coming—the old, old question. "Well, what does England think of our attitude now?" I said that only one word could properly qualify it—sublime. "We are sacrificing our lives," said the mild young man. I looked at him, and I greatly fear that I smiled—"that is to say," he continued, "we are prepared to sacrifice them." "Monsieur is in the Garde Nationale?" I asked. "Monsieur is the only son of a widow," put in my cousin. "But I mean to go to the ramparts for all that," added the orphan. "You owe yourself to your mother," said the priest—"and to your country," I suggested, but the observation fell very flat. "It is a grand sight," observed one old gentleman, as he put a third lump of sugar in his tea, and another into his pocket, "a glorious spectacle, to see a population that was supposed to be given up to luxury, subsisting cheerfully week after week upon the simplest necessaries of existence." "I have not tasted game once this year, and the beef is far from good," sighed old gentleman No. 2; "but we will continue to endure our hardships for months, or for years if need be, rather than allow the Prussians to enter Paris." This sort of Lacedemonian twaddle went on during the whole time of my visit, and my cousin evidently was proud of being surrounded by such Spartans. I give a specimen of it, as I think these worthies ought to be gratified by their heroic sacrifices being made public. "I'd rough it in a campaign as well as any linesman," said the cornet of her Majesty's Life Guards; "give me a pint of claret and a chicken every day, or a cut at a joint, and I would ask for nothing more;" and the Belgravian knight's idea of the discomforts of war is very like that of the beleaguered Gaul. Want may come, but as yet never has a large city enjoyed greater abundance of bread and meat. The poor are nourished by the State. The rich have, perhaps, some difficulty in getting their supply of meat, but this is the fault of a defective organization; in reality they are only deprived of those luxuries the habitual use of which has impaired the digestions of half of them. It is surely possible to exist for a few weeks on beef, mutton, flour, preserved vegetables, wine, milk, eggs, and every species of sauce that cook ever contrived. At about seven, provisions at the restaurants sometimes run short. I dined to-day at a bouillon at six o'clock for about half-a-crown. I had soup, salt cod, beef (tolerable, but perhaps a shade horsey), rabbit, French beans, apple fritters, grapes, and coffee. This bill of fare is a very long way from starvation.

October 14th.

According to the official account of yesterday's proceedings, General Trochu was anxious to discover whether the Prussians were in force upon the plateau of Chatillon, or had withdrawn from that position. The villages of Chatillon, Bagneux, and Clamart, were consequently attacked, and after an artillery and musketry engagement, the Prussian reserves were brought up, thus proving that the report that they had withdrawn was unfounded. The retreat then commenced under the fire of the forts. About 100 prisoners were taken; in the evening they were brought to the Place Vendome. The newspapers are one and all singing peans over the valour of the Mobiles—those of the Cote d'Or most distinguished themselves. Although the whole thing was little more than a reconnaissance, its effect has been electrical. The battalions of the National Guard sing the Marseillaise as of old, and everyone is full of confidence. Some of the officers who were engaged tell me that the Mobiles really did show coolness under fire, and that they fought well with the bayonet in the village of Bagneux. Between carrying an advanced post and forcing the Prussian army to raise the siege, there is of course a slight difference, but I see no reason why these strong, healthy peasants should not become excellent troops. What they want are commanders who are old soldiers, and would force them to submit to regular discipline. The Official Gazette contains the following decree: "Every officer of the National Guard whose antecedents are of a nature to compromise the dignity of the epaulette, and the consideration of the corps in which he has been elected, can be revoked. The same punishment may be inflicted upon those officers who render themselves guilty of continuous bad conduct, or of acts wanting in delicacy. The revocation will be pronounced by the Government upon a report of the Minister of War." If the Government has enough determination to carry out this decree, the National Guard will greatly profit by it.

Yesterday evening at the Folies Bergeres a demonstration was made against the Princes of the Orleans family, who are said to be in command of an army at Rouen. It was determined to send a deputation to the Government on the subject. This move is important, as the Folies Bergeres is rather the rendezvous of the Moderate Republicans than of the Ultras.

A letter from Havre, dated October 4, has been received, in which it is stated that the ex-Emperor has issued an address to the nation. I do not know what his chances of restoration are in the provinces, but here they are absolutely hopeless. The Napoleonic legend was founded upon victories. Since the name of Napoleon has been coupled with the capitulation of Sedan, it is loathed as much as it once was adulated. Apart from his personal following, Napoleon III. has not 100 adherents in Paris.

October 15th.

Colonel Loyd Lindsay arrived here yesterday morning with L20,000 for the ambulances, and leaves to-morrow with the Comte de Flavigny, the President of the Ambulance Internationale. Mr. Herbert is getting anxious respecting the future of the destitute English still here; and with all due respect to our charitable friends at home, it appears to me that Paris is rich enough to look after its own wounded. The flag of the Cross of Geneva waves over several thousand houses, and such is the desire of brave patriots to become members of an ambulance corps, that the services of neutrals are declined.

October 16th.

We are told that the ex-Emperor has issued a proclamation, urbi orbique, and that his agents are engaged in London and elsewhere in intriguing in his behalf. I cannot believe that they have any chance of gaining adherents to their master's cause in England. That halo of success which blinded a portion of the English press to the iniquities which were concealed beneath the Imperial purple has now disappeared. The publication of the papers discovered in the Tuileries has stripped despotism of its tinsel, and has revealed the vile and contemptible arts by which a gallant nation has been enslaved. The Government of Napoleon, as Mr. Gladstone said of that of Bomba, "was a negation of God upon earth." His councillors were bold bad men, ever plotting against each other, and united alone in a common conspiracy to grow rich at the expense of their country, creverunt in exitio patriae. His court was the El Dorado of pimps and parasites, panders and wantons. For eighteen long years he retained the power, which he had acquired through perjury and violence, by pandering to the baser passions of his subjects, and by an organized system of fraud, mendacity, and espionnage. Beneath his blighting rule French women only sought to surpass each other in reckless extravagance, and Frenchmen lost the courage which had half redeemed their frivolity. Honest citizens there were, indeed, who protested against these Saturnalia of successful villany and rampant vice, but few listened to their warnings. They were jeered at by the vulgar, fined, imprisoned, or banished by Ministers and Magistrates. All that was good, noble, and generous in the nation withered in the uncongenial atmosphere. The language of Pascal and of Corneille became the medium of corrupting the minds of millions. The events of the day were some actress who had discovered a new way to outrage decency, or some new play which deified a prostitute or an adulteress. Paris became the world's fair, to which flocked the vain, the idle, and the debauched from all corners of the globe. For a man to be rich, or for a woman to find favour in the eyes of some Imperial functionary, were ready passports to social recognition. The landmarks between virtue and vice were obliterated. The Court lady smiled in half-recognition on the courtezan, and paid her homage by endeavouring to imitate her dress and her manners. Cardsharpers and stockjobbers, disreputable adventurers and public functionaries were intimate friends. No one, able to insult modest industry by lavish ostentation, was asked how he had acquired his wealth. Honour and honesty were prejudices of the past. What has been the consequence? It is a comment upon despotism, which I hope will not be lost upon those who extol the advantages of personal government, and who would sacrifice the liberty of all to the concentrated energy of one. The armies of France have been scattered to the winds; the Emperor, who knew not even how a Caesar should die, is a prisoner; his creatures are enjoying their booty in ignoble ease, not daring even to fight for the country which they have betrayed. The gay crowd has taken to itself wings; an emasculated bourgeoisie, grown rich upon fashionable follies, and a mob of working men, unused to arms, and distrustful even of their own leaders, are cowering beneath the ramparts of Paris, opposing frantic boasts, pitiful lamentations, unskilled valour, to the stern discipline of the legions of Germany, whose iron grasp is contracting closer and closer every day round the vaunted capital of modern civilization. You know better than we do what is passing in the provinces, but I can answer for it that the Parisians, low as they have fallen, are not so lost to every impulse of honour as to be ready to welcome back in triumph the prime cause of their degradation, the man of December and of Sedan. Titania, in the Midsummer Night's Dream, idealizes the weaver, and invests him with every noble attribute, and then as soon as she regains her senses, turns from him with disgust and exclaims, "Oh, how mine eyes do loathe thee now." So it was and so it is with Paris and Napoleon, "None so poor to do him honour now."

The Government is daily becoming more and more military, and the Parisian Deputies are becoming little more than lay figures. M. Gambetta, the most energetic of them, has left for the provinces. MM. Jules Favre, Picard, and Pelletan are almost forgotten. Rochefort devotes himself to the barricades, and M. Dorian, a hard-headed manufacturer, is occupying himself in stimulating the manufacture of cannon, muskets, and munitions of war. These gentlemen, with the exception of the latter, are rather men of words than of action. They do neither harm nor good. Of General Trochu, into whose hands, by the mere force of circumstances, all civil and military authority is concentrating, Bonum virum, facile dixeris, magnum libenter. He is, I believe, a good general and a good administrator. Although he awakens no enthusiasm, confidence is felt by the majority in his good sense. It is thought, however, that he is wanting in that energy and audacity which are requisite in a leader, if victory is to be wrested from the Germans. He forgets that time is not his ally, and that merely to hold Paris until that surely inevitable hour arrives when the provisions are exhausted will neither save France nor her capital. He is a man slow to form a plan, but obstinate in his adherence to it; unwilling to move until he has his forces perfectly under control, and until every administrative detail is perfected—better fitted to defend Troy for ten years than Paris for a few months—in fact, a species of French M'Clellan.

We are now in a position, according to our military authorities, to hold out as long as our provisions last. If Paris does this, without being so heroic as her citizens imagine that she already is, she will have done her duty by France. Nicholas said, when Sebastopol was besieged, that winter was his best ally; and winter will soon come to our aid. The Prussians are a long way from their homes; if the provinces rise it will be difficult for them to keep their lines of communication open, and to feed their troops. It may also be presumed that they will be harassed by the 300,000 armed men who are cooped up here, and who are acting on the inner circle. Cannon are being cast which, it is expected, will render the sorties far more effective. On the other hand, the question has not yet been solved whether the Parisians will really support the hardships of a siege when they commence, and whether there will not be internal dissensions. At present the greatest confidence is felt in ultimate success. The Parisians cannot realise to themselves the possibility of their city being taken; they are still, in their own estimation, the representative men of "la grande nation," and they still cite the saying of Frederick the Great that, were he King of France, not a sword should be drawn without his permission, as though this were a dictum that a sage had uttered yesterday. They feed every day on the vaunts and falsehoods which their newspapers offer them, and they digest them without a qualm. While they expect the provinces to come to their aid, they are almost angry that they should venture to act independently of their guidance. They are childishly anxious to send out commissaries to take the direction of affairs in Normandy and Touraine, for the provincials are in their eyes slaves, born to serve and to obey the capital. Indeed, they have not yet got over their surprise that the world should continue to move now that it is deprived of its pivot. All this folly may not prevent their fighting well. Fools and braggarts are often brave men. The Parisians have an indomitable pride, they have called upon the world to witness their achievements, and the thought of King William riding in triumph along the Boulevards is so bitter a one, that it may nerve them to the wildest desperation. If, however, Bazaine capitulates, and the armies of the Loire and of Lyons are only the figments of their own brains, it may be that they will bow to what they will call destiny. "Heaven has declared against us," is an expression that I already hear frequently uttered. It is indeed as impossible to predicate here, as it is in London, what may be the mood of this fickle and impulsive population a week hence. All I can positively say is, that at the present moment they are in "King Cambyses' vein." We ought not to judge a foreign nation by our own standard, but it is impossible not to re-echo Lord Bolingbroke's "poor humanity" a hundred times a day, when one reads the inflated bombast of the newspapers, and hears the nonsense that is talked by almost everyone; when one sees the Gaul marching off to the ramparts convinced, because he wears a kepi and a sword, that he is a very Achilles; when regiments solemnly crown a statue with laurel crowns, and sign round robins to die for their country. All these antics ought not to make one forget that these men are fighting for the holiest of causes, the integrity of their country, and that the worst of Republics is better than the best of feudal monarchies; but I confess I frequently despair of their ever attaining to the dignity of free men, until they have been further tried in the school of adversity.

Yesterday M. Jules Favre, in reply to a deputation from the Club of the Folies Bergeres, stated that he was not aware that the Orleans Princes were in France. "If the army of succour," he said, "comes to us, we will extend our hands to it; but if it marches under the Orleans banner, the Government will not recognise that banner. As a man, I deplore the law which proscribes this family; as a citizen and a politician, I maintain it. Even if these Princes were to abdicate their dynastic pretensions, the Government will remember Bonaparte, and how he destroyed the Republic in 1851, and energetically protest against their return." This reply when reported to the Club was greatly applauded. Probably none of its members had ever heard the proverb that beggars ought not to be choosers.

The event of the day has been the arrest of M. Portales, the editor of the Verite. This newspaper, after asserting that the Government has received news from the provinces, asks a series of questions. In the afternoon the editor was arrested, and this morning the Official Gazette thus replies to the queries: No news has been concealed. The last official despatch received is one from Gambetta, announcing his safe arrival at Montdidier. The Government has received an old copy of the Standard, but this journal, "notoriously hostile to France," contained sensational intelligence, which appeared absolutely untrue. To-day it has received a journal of Rouen of the 12th, and it hastens to publish the news derived from this source. Bismarck never proposed an armistice through Burnside. The General only unofficially informed Trochu that Bismarck's views were not altered since he had met Favre at Ferrieres, when he stated that "if he considered an armistice realizable for the convocation of an Assembly, he would only grant it for forty-eight hours; he would refuse to include Metz, or to permit provisions to enter Paris, and exclude from the Assembly our brave and unhappy compatriots of Alsace and Lorraine." The Official Gazette then gives extracts from the Rouen paper, which are very contradictory. Our newspapers, however, in commenting on them, come to the conclusion that there are two armies in the field well equipped, and that they have already achieved important successes. The situation also of Bazaine is proved to be excellent. Quem Dem, &c.

Two of the mayors have ordered all crucifixes to be removed from the ambulances in their arrondissements. Their conduct is almost universally blamed. The enlistment of the Amazons, notwithstanding the efforts of the Government, still continues. The pretty women keep aloof from the movement; the recruits who have already joined are so old and ugly that possibly they may act upon an enemy like the head of Medusa.

October 17th.

The newspapers to-day almost universally blame the arrest of M. Portales. This gentleman, with M.E. Picard, started, just before the siege commenced, a paper called L'Electeur Libre. It was thought that M. Picard's position as a member of the Government rendered it impossible for him to remain the political director of a newspaper, so he withdrew, but appointed his brother as his successor. This did not please M. Portales, who with most of the staff left the Electeur Libre, and founded La Verite. It is, therefore, somewhat suspicious that this new paper should be the only one whose editor has been imprisoned for circulating "falsehoods." In the first place, almost every French newspaper of any circulation trades upon lies; in the second place, it appears that in this particular case the Verite only put in the sensational form of questions a letter from the Times' correspondent at Tours. This letter it publishes to-day, and appeals to the public to judge between M. Portales and M. Picard. The fact is that this population can neither tell nor hear the truth. The English papers are one and all in bad odour because they declined to believe in the Emperor's victories, and if a Daily News comes in here with an account of some new French reverse, I shall probably be imprisoned. Government and people have laid down this axiom, "bad news false news." General Trochu again appears in print in a long circular letter to the commandants of the corps d'armee and the forts. He desires them each to send him in a list of forty men who have distinguished themselves, and their names and no others will appear in the order of the day. "We have," says the General, "to cause this grand thought, which monarchies decline to recognise but which the Republic should hold sacred, to penetrate into the minds of our officers and soldiers—opinion alone can worthily recompense the sacrifice of a life; remember that if you make a bad choice of the men you recommend, you will gravely compromise your responsibility towards me, and at the same time the great principle which I would have prevail." The General is a very copious writer, and it seems to me that he would do well to remember that if he can only drive away the Prussians, he will have time enough afterwards to introduce his "grand thoughts" into the army. Two things, says Thiers, impose upon Frenchmen—military glory and profound silence. Trochu has the first to win, and he apparently scorns the latter. He is a species of military doctrinaire, and he finds it difficult to avoid lecturing soldiers or civilians at least once a day. I was looking at him the other day, and I never saw calm, serene, self-complacency more clearly depicted upon the human countenance. Failure or success will find him the same—confident in himself, in his plans, and his grand thoughts. If he eventually has to surrender, he will console himself by coupling with the announcement of his intention many observations—very wise, very beautiful, very lengthy, and very stale.

Mr. Herbert tells me that there are more English here than he had imagined. He estimates their number at about 4000, about 800 of whom are destitute. The funds at his disposal for them would have already run short had not Mr. Wallace again largely contributed to them. They are fed with rice and Liebig, but the great difficulty has been to find fat to add to this mess. The beasts that are killed are so lean that it is almost impossible to obtain it except at an extravagant price. Tallow candles have been seriously suggested, but they too are scarce. The English, as foreigners, cannot claim rations, and were it not for the kindness of Mr. Herbert and Mr. Wallace, they would, I am afraid, really starve. All their rich fellow-countrymen, with the exception of Mr. Wallace, have left Paris, and even if they were here they would not be able to do anything unless they had money with them, as it is impossible to draw on London. Winter is coming on, and clothes and fuel as well as food will be wanted. I would suggest to the charitable in England to send contributions to Mr. Herbert. I can hardly suppose that Count Bismarck would decline to let the money pass through the Prussian lines. I hear that Mr. Washburne has obtained a half permission to send his countrymen out of the town, if so, I think it would be well if the poor English were also to leave; but this, of course, will require money.

The Nuncio has managed to get away; he declined to take letters with him. E. Washburne, United States Minister, Lopez de Arosemana, Charge d'Affaires of Honduras, Duke Aquaviva, Charge d'Affaires of Monaco, and the other members of the Corps Diplomatique still here, have signed and published a protest against the refusal of Count Bismarck to let their despatches to their respective Governments leave Paris sealed. That Mr. Washburne should be indignant I can well understand; but although I do not personally know either Lopez de Arosemana, or Aquaviva, Charge d'Affaires of Monaco, I can understand Count Bismarck not being absolutely satisfied with the assurance of these potent signors that nothing except official despatches should pass under their seal. That the Prince of Monaco should be debarred for a few months from receiving communications from his representative in Paris, may perhaps be unpleasant to him, but must be a matter of the most profound indifference to the rest of the world.

It is somewhat amusing to observe how justice is administered when any dispute arises in the streets. The sergents-de-ville immediately withdraw, in order not to prejudice the question by their presence. A sort of informal jury is impanelled, each disputant states his case, and the one who is thought by the tribunal to be in fault, is either taken off to prison, or cuffed on the spot. I have bought myself a sugar-loaf hat of the First Republic, and am consequently regarded with deference. To-day a man was bullying a child, and a crowd gathered round him; I happened just then to come up, room was immediately made for me and my hat, and I was asked to give my opinion as to what ought to be done with the culprit. I suggested kicking, and as I walked away, I saw him writhing under the boots of two sturdy executioners, amid the applause of the spectators. "The style is the man," said Buffon; had he lived here now he would rather have said "the hat is the man." An English doctor who goes about in a regulation chimney-pot has already been arrested twenty-seven times; I, thanks to my revolutionary hat, have not been arrested once. I have only to glance from under its brim at any one for him to quail.

October 18th.

A decree has been issued ordering a company of 150 men to be mobilised in each battalion of the National Guard. Three of these companies are together to form a mobilised battalion, and to elect their commander. The Journal Officiel contains two long reports upon the works of defence which have been executed since the commencement of the siege. They give the number of guns on each bastion, and the number of rounds to each gun, the number of cartridges, and the amount of powder in store. Unless these reports be patriotic fictions, it seems strange to publish them in the newspapers, as they must inevitably fall into the hands of the Prussians. Be this as it may, I do not feel at liberty to quote from them. General Ducrot publishes a letter protesting against a statement of the German journals that he escaped from Pont-a-Mousson when on parole. He asserts that his safe-conduct had been given up, and that he consequently was free to get away if he could. His evasion is very similar to that of F. Meagher from Australia. M. Jules Favre publishes a circular to the French Diplomatic Agents abroad, in reply to Count Bismarck's report of the meeting at Ferrieres. You will probably have received it before you get this letter. It is more rhetorical than logical—goes over the old ground of the war having been declared against Napoleon rather than against the French nation, and complains that "the European Cabinets, instead of inaugurating the doctrine of mediation, recommended by justice and their own interests, by their inertness authorise the continuation of a barbarous struggle, which is a disaster for all and an outrage on civilization." M. Jules Favre cannot emancipate himself from the popular delusions of his country, that France can go to war without, if vanquished, submitting to the consequences, and that Paris can take refuge behind her ramparts without being treated as a fortified town; at the same time he very rightly protests against the Prussian theory of the right of conquest implying a moral right to annex provinces against the wishes of their inhabitants.

Few have been in Paris without having driven through the Avenue de l'Imperatrice. What has been done there to render it impregnable to attack will consequently give an idea what has been done everywhere. At the Bois de Boulogne end of the avenue the gate has been closed up by a wall and a moat; behind them there is a redoubt. Between this and the Arc de Triomphe there are three barricades made of masonry and earth, and three ditches. Along the grass on each side of the roadway, the ground has been honey-combed, and in each hole there are pointed stakes. In every house Nationaux are billeted; in two of them there are artillerymen. In the Avenue de Neuilly, and in many other parts of the town, the preparations against an assault are still more formidable. Bagatelles, the villa of the late Lord Hertford, has been almost gutted by 2,000 Mobiles, who make it their headquarters. We are exceedingly proud of having burnt down St. Cloud, and we say that if this does not convince the Prussians that we are in earnest, we will burn down Versailles. I wonder whether the proverb about cutting off one's nose to spite one's face has an equivalent in French.



CHAPTER VIII.

October 19th.

A despatch is published this morning from M. Gambetta, giving a very hopeful account of things in the provinces. As, however, this gentleman on his arrival at Tours issued a proclamation in which he announced that there were one-third more guns in Paris than it is even pretended by the Government that there are, I look with great suspicion upon his utterances. The latest declaration of the Government differs essentially from that which was made at the commencement of the siege. A friend of mine pointed out to one of its members this discrepancy, when he replied that the Government had purposely understated their resources at first. This may be all very fair in war, but it prevents a reasonable person placing the slightest confidence in anything official. Dr. Johnson did not believe in the earthquake at Lisbon for one year after the news reached London, and I shall not believe in the resources of the provinces until they prove their existence by raising the siege. I am very curious to discover what is thought of Paris by the world. There is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous. If really by holding out for several months the situation can be altered for the better, the Parisians are right to do so, but if the Government is only humbugging them with false intelligence, if they are simply destroying their own villages in the neighbourhood, and exhausting their resources within the town, whilst a Prussian army is living at the cost of their country, it seems to me that they are acting like silly schoolboys rather than wise men, and that there really is something in the sneer of Bismarck that the Deputies of Paris are determined, coute qui coute, to preserve the power with which the hazards of a revolution invested them.

The newspapers this morning are full of articles lauding M. Jules Favre's circular, and reviling the proposals of Bismarck. The following extract from the Liberte will serve as an example of their usual tone:—"A word of gratitude to the great citizen, to Jules Favre. Let him know that his honest, eloquent, and brave words give us strength, dry our tears, and cure our wounds. Poor and dear France! Provinces crushed and towns blockaded, populations ruined, and thou, O Paris, once the city of the fairies, now become the city of the grave times of antiquity, raise thy head, be confident, be strong. It is thy heart that has spoken, it is thy soul unconquered, invincible, the soul of thy country that has appealed to the world and told it the truth." The Liberte, after this preliminary burst, goes on to say, that it knew before that Bismarck was everything that was bad, but that it has now discovered that, besides possessing every other vice, he is a liar, and if there is one thing that France and the Liberte cannot endure, it is a man who does not tell the truth. If the Prussians are not driven out of France by words, it certainly will be a proof that mere words have very little effect in shaping the destinies of nations.

Each person now receives 100 grammes of meat per diem, the system of distribution being that every one has to wait on an average two hours before he receives his meat at the door of a butcher's shop. I dine habitually at a bouillon; there horse-flesh is eaten in the place of beef, and cat is called rabbit. Both, however, are excellent, and the former is a little sweeter than beef, but in other respects much like it; the latter something between rabbit and squirrel, with a flavour all its own. It is delicious. I recommend those who have cats with philoprogenitive proclivities, instead of drowning the kittens, to eat them. Either smothered in onions or in a ragout they are excellent. When I return to London I shall frequently treat myself to one of these domestic animals, and ever feel grateful to Bismarck for having taught me that cat served up for dinner is the right animal in the right place.

I went last night to the Theatre of the Porte St. Martin; it has become the rendezvous of the optimists, and speeches were delivered to prove that everything was for the best in the best of worlds, and poetry was recited to prove that the Prussians must eventually be defeated. The chair was taken by M. Coquerel, who with great truth said that Paris had fallen so low that the siege might be considered almost a blessing, and that the longer it lasted, the more likely was it to aid in the work of regeneration, which alone can make this world a globe of honourable men and honest women. It will, indeed, do the Parisians all the good in the world to keep guard on the ramparts instead of doing nothing but gossip till one or two in the morning at cafes.

General Trochu, that complete letter-writer, to-day replies to General Ducrot, telling him that his proclamation respecting his evasion from Pont-a-Mousson is most satisfactory.

The military events of this week have been unimportant. The forts have continued silent, and reconnaissances have been made here and there. The faubourgs, too, have been quiet. Everything is being done to make the siege weigh as little upon the population as possible. Thus, for instance, few lamps are lit in the streets, but the shops and cafes are still a blaze of light; they close, however, early. Here is rather a good story; I can vouch for its truth. The Government recently visited the Tuileries. They were received by the governor, whom they found established in a suite of apartments. He showed them over the palace, and then offered them luncheon. They then incidentally asked him who had nominated him to the post he so ably filled. "Myself," he replied; "just by the same authority as you nominated yourselves, and no less." There was heavy firing all through the night in the direction of Vannes.

M. Mottu, the mayor of the 11th arrondissement, who had entered into a campaign against crucifixes, has been removed. The Government were "interviewed" last night by the chiefs of thirty battalions of Gardes Nationales of the 11th arrondissement on the subject. The deputation was assured that M. Mottu would be reinstated in his mairie if he would promise to moderate his zeal.

October 20th.

"The clients of M. Poiret are informed that they can only have one plate of meat," was the terrible writing which stared me on the wall, when I went to dine at my favourite bouillon—and, good heavens, what a portion it was! Not enough for the dinner of a fine lady who has previously gorged herself at a private luncheon. If meat is, as we are told, so plentiful that it will last for five weeks more, the mode in which it is distributed is radically bad. While at a large popular restaurant, where hundreds of the middle classes dine, each person only gets enough cat or horse to whet his appetite for more; in the expensive cafes on the Boulevards, feasts worthy of Lucullus are still served to those who are ready to part with their money with the proverbial readiness of fools. Far more practical, my worthy Republicans, would it be to establish "liberte, egalite, fraternite" in the cook shops, than to write the words in letters of gold over your churches. In every great city there always is much want and misery; here, although succour is supposed to be afforded to all who require it, many I fear are starving owing to that bureaucrat love of classification which is the curse of France. After my meagre dinner, I was strolling along the quays near the river, l'estomac as leger as M. Ollivier's heart, when I saw a woman leaning over the parapet. She turned as I was passing her, and the lamp from the opposite gate of the Tuileries shone on her face. It was honest and homely, but so careworn, so utterly hopeless, that I stopped to ask her if she was ill. "Only tired and hungry'" she replied; "I have been walking all day, and I have not eaten since yesterday." I took her to a cafe and gave her some bread and coffee, and then she told me her story. She was a peasant girl from Franche Comte, and had come to Paris, where she had gone into service. But she had soon tired of domestic servitude, and for the last year she had supported herself by sewing waistcoats in a great wholesale establishment. At the commencement of the siege she had been discharged, and for some days she found employment in a Government workshop, but for the last three weeks she had wandered here and there, vainly asking for work. One by one she had sold every article of dress she possessed, except the scanty garments she wore, and she had lived upon bread and celery. The day before she had spent her last sou, and when I saw her she had come down to the river, starving and exhausted, to throw herself into it. "But the water looked so cold, I did not dare," she said. Thus spoke the grisette of Paris, very different from the gay, thoughtless being of French romance, who lives in a garret, her window shrouded with flowers, is adored by a student, and earns enough money in a few hours to pass the rest of the week dancing, gossiping, and amusing herself. As I listened to her, I felt ashamed of myself for repining because I had only had one plate of meat. The hopeless, desolate condition of this poor girl is that of many of her class to-day. But why should they complain? Is not King William the instrument of Heaven, and is he not engaged in a holy cause? That Kings should fight and that seamstresses should weep is in the natural order of things. Frenchmen and Frenchwomen only deserve to be massacred or starved if they are so lost to all sense of what is just as to venture to struggle against the dismemberment of their country, and do not understand how meet and right it is that their fellow-countrymen in Alsace should be converted into German subjects.

General Vinoy, who was in the Crimea, and who takes a somewhat larger view of things than the sententious Trochu, has been good enough to furnish me with a pass, which allows me to wander unmolested anywhere within the French outposts. "If you attempt to pass them," observes the General, "you will be shot by the sentinels, in obedience to my orders." A general order also permits anyone to go as far as the line of the forts. Yesterday I chartered a cab and went to Boulogne, a village on the Seine, close by the wood of the same name. We drove through a portion of the Bois; it contained more soldiers than trees. Line and artillerymen were camped everywhere, and every fifty yards a group was engaged in skinning or cutting up a dead horse. The village of Boulogne had been deserted by almost all the inhabitants. Across some of the streets leading to the river there were barricades, others were open. In most of the houses there were soldiers, and others were in rifle-pits and trenches. A brisk exchange of shots was going on with the Prussians, who were concealed in the opposite houses of St. Cloud. I cannot congratulate the enemy upon the accuracy of their aim, for although several evilly disposed Prussians took a shot at my cab, their bullets whistled far above our heads, and after one preliminary kick, the old cab-horse did not even condescend to notice them. As for the cabman, he was slightly in liquor, and at one of the cross-streets leading to the river he got off his box, and performed a war-dance to show his contempt for the skill of the enemies of his nation. In the Grand Place there was a long barricade, and behind it men, women, and children were crouching watching the opposite houses, from which every now and then a puff of smoke issued, followed by a sharp report. The soldiers were very orderly and good-natured; as I had a glass, some of them took me up into the garrets of a deserted house, from the windows of which we tried in vain to espy our assailants. My friends fired into several of the houses from which smoke issued, but with what effect I do not know. The amusement of the place seemed to be to watch soldiers running along an open road which was exposed to fire for about thirty yards. Two had been killed in the morning, but this did not appear in any way to diminish the zest of the sport. At least twenty soldiers ran the gauntlet whilst I was there, but not one of them was wounded. As well as I could make out, the damage done to St. Cloud by the bombs of Mont Valerien is very inconsiderable. A portion of the Palace and a few houses were in ruins, but that was all. There is a large barrack there, which the soldiers assured me is lit up every night, and why this building has not been shelled, neither they nor I could understand. The newspapers say that the Prussians have guns on the unfinished redoubt of Brinborion; it was not above 1,000 yards from where I was standing, but with my glass I could not make out that there were any there. Several officers with whom I spoke said that it was very doubtful. On my return, my cabman, who had got over his liquor, wanted double his fare. "For myself," he said, "I am a Frenchman, and I should scorn to ask for money for running a risk of being shot by a canaille of a German, but think of my horse;" and then he patted the faithful steed, whom I may possibly have the pleasure to meet again, served up in a sauce piquante. The newspapers, almost without exception, protest against the mediation of England and Russia, which they imagine is offered by these Powers. "It is too late," says the organ of M. Picard. "Can France accept a mediation which will snatch from her the enemy at the moment when victory is certain?"