Part 16 (1/2)

CHAPTER XVIII.

_January 27th._

I write this, as I hear that the last balloon is to start to-night. How lucky for the English public that, just when the siege of Paris ceases, the conscript fathers of the nation will furnish them with reading at their breakfast tables. The light, airy wit of Professor Fawcett, and the pleasant fancy of Mr. Newdegate, will be served up for them with their hot rolls every morning instead of the bulletins of Count Moltke--lucky public!

Most of us here are much like heirs at a rich man's funeral. We have long faces, we sigh and we groan, but we are not quite so unhappy as we look. The _Journal Officiel_ of this morning announces that Paris will not be occupied, and that the National Guard will not go to Germany.

This is, we say, very different from a capitulation--it is a political incident; in a few days I expect to hear it called a victory. The editor of the _Liberte_--why is this gentleman still alive? for the last three months he has been making pacts with death--explains that Paris never would have and never will capitulate, but that an armistice is a very different sort of thing. Last night, notwithstanding the cold which has again set in, the Boulevard was blocked up with groups of patriots and wiseacres discussing the state of things, and explaining what Paris would agree to and what she would not agree to. Occasionally some ”pure”--a ”pure” is an Ultra--threw out that the Parisians themselves were only reaping what they had sown; but the pure, I need hardly say, was soon silenced, and it seemed to be generally agreed that Paris has been sublime and heroic, but that if she has been neither, it has been the fault of the traitors to whom she has confided her destinies. Some said that the admirals had stated that they would blow up their forts rather than surrender them; but if the worthies who vouched for this had been informed by the admirals of their intentions, I can only say that these honest tars had chosen strange confidants.

Paris, as I have already said more than once, has been fighting as much for her own supremacy over the provinces as for victory over the Prussians. The news--whether true or false I know not--that Gambetta, who is regarded as the representative of Paris, has been replaced by a sort of Council of Regency, and that this Council of Regency is treating, has filled everyone here with indignation. Far better, everyone seems to think, that Alsace should be lost to France, than that France should be lost to Paris. The victories of Prussia have been bitter to Frenchmen, because they had each of them individually a.s.sumed a vicarious glory in the victories of the First Empire; but the real patriotism of the Parisians does not extend farther than the walls of their own town. If the result of this war is to cause France to undertake the conduct of its own affairs, and not to allow the population of Paris and the journalists of Paris to ride roughshod over her, the country will have gained more than she has lost by her defeats, no matter what may be the indemnity she be called upon to pay. The martial spirit of the National Guard has of course been lauded to the skies by those newspapers which depend for their circulation on these braves. The question what they have done may, however, be reduced to figures. They number above 300,000. According to their own statements they have been fighting for nearly five months, and I venture to say that during the whole campaign they have not lost 500 men. They have occasionally done duty in the trenches, but this duty has been a very brief one, and they have had very long intervals of repose. I do not question that in the National Guard there are many brave men, but one can only judge of the fighting qualities of an army by comparison, and if the losses of the National Guard be statistically compared with those of the Line, of the Mobiles, and of the sailors, it will be shown that--to use an Americanism--their record is a bad one. The soldiers and the sailors have fought, and the women have suffered during the siege.

The male population of Paris has done little more than bl.u.s.ter and drink and brag.

To-day there is no firing, and I suppose that the last sh.e.l.l has fallen into Paris. I went out yesterday to St. Denis. Along the road there were a few people coming into Paris with their beds and tables in hand-carts.

In the town the bombardment, although not so heavy as it had been, was far too heavy to be pleasant. Most of the people still remaining have established themselves in their cellars, and every moment one came against some chimney emerging from the soil. Some were still on the ground-floor of their houses, and had heaped up mattresses against their windows. The inhabitants occasionally ran from one house to another, like rabbits in a warren from hole to hole. All the doors were open, and whenever one heard the premonitory whistle which announced the arrival of one of the messengers of our psychological friends outside, one had to dodge into some door. I did not see any one hit. The houses were a good deal knocked about; the cathedral, it was said, had been hit, but as sh.e.l.ls were falling in the Place before it, I reserved investigations for a more quiet moment. Some of the garrison told me that the forts had been ”scratched,” but as to how far this scratching process had been carried I cannot say from personal observation, as I thought I might be scratched myself if I pushed my reconnaissance farther. I am not a military man, and do not profess to know anything about bombs technically, but it seems to me, considering that it is their object to burst, and considering the number of scientific persons who have devoted their time to make them burst, it is very strange how very few do burst.

I am told that one reason for this is the following:--when they lose the velocity of the impelling force they turn over in the air, and as the percussion cap is on the lighter end, the heavier one strikes the ground. Many of these, too, which have fallen in the town, and which have burst, have done no mischief, because the lead in which they are enveloped has kept the pieces together. The danger, indeed, to life and limb of a bombardment is very slight. I would at any time prefer to be for 24 hours in the most exposed portion of a bombarded town, than walk 24 times across Oxford Street in the middle of the day. A bomb is a joke in comparison with those great heavy wagons which are hurled at pedestrians by their drivers in the streets of London.

_January 28th._

The Government has not yet made up its mind to bell the cat, and to let us know the terms of the armistice or capitulation, whichever it is to be called. We hear that it is expected that trains will run to England on Tuesday or Wednesday, and by the first train I for one shall endeavour to get out of this prison. It will be such a relief to find oneself once more among people who have glimpses of common sense, who are not all in uniform, and who did not insist so very strongly on their sublime att.i.tude. Yesterday evening there were a series of open-air clubs held on the Boulevards and other public places. The orators were in most instances women or aged men. These Joans of Arc and ancient Pistols talked very loudly of making a revolution in order to prevent the capitulation; and it seemed to me that among their hearers, precisely those who whilst they had an opportunity to fight thought it wise not to do so, were most vociferous in their applause. The language of the National Guard is indeed most warlike. Several hundred of their officers have indulged in the cheap patriotism of signing a declaration that they wish to die rather than yield. This morning many battalions of the National Guard are under arms, and are hanging about in the streets with their arms stacked before them. Many of the men, however, have not answered to the rappel, and are remaining at home, as a mode of protesting against what is pa.s.sing. General Vinoy has a body of troops ready to act, and as he is a man of energy I do not antic.i.p.ate serious disturbances for the moment. As for the soldiers and the Mobiles, they are wandering about in twos and threes without arms, and do not affect to conceal that they are heartily glad that all is over. Poor fellows, their torn and tattered uniforms contrast with the spick and span military gear of the National Guard. They have had during the siege hard work, and they have done good duty, with but little thanks for it. The newspapers are one and all down on the Government. It is of course held to be their fault that the lines of the besiegers have not been forced.

General Trochu is not a military genius, and his colleagues have not proved themselves better administrators than half a dozen lawyers who have got themselves elected to a legislative a.s.sembly by the gift of the gab were likely to be; but still this system of sacrificing the leaders whenever any disaster takes place, and accusing them of treachery and incompetence, is one of the worst features in the French character. If it continues, eventually every man of rank will be dubbed by his own countrymen either a knave or a fool.

_January 31st._

_Finita la Comedia._ Let fall the curtain. The siege of Paris is over; the last balloon has carried our letters through the clouds; the last shot has been fired. The Prussians are in the forts, and the Prussian armies are only not in the streets because they prefer to keep watch and guard outside the vanquished city. What will be the verdict of history on the defence? Who knows! On the one hand the Parisians have kept a powerful army at bay far longer than was antic.i.p.ated; on the other hand, every sortie that they have made has been unsuccessful--every attempt to arrest the approach of the besiegers has failed. Pa.s.sively and inertly they have allowed their store of provisions to grow less and less, until they have been forced to capitulate, without their defences having been stormed, or the cannon silenced. The General complains of his soldiers, the soldiers complain of their General; and on both sides there is cause of complaint. Trochu is not a Todleben. His best friends describe him as a sort of military Hamlet, wise of speech, but weak and hesitating in action--making plans, and then criticising them instead of accomplis.h.i.+ng them. As a commander, his task was a difficult one; when the siege commenced he had no army; when the army was formed, it was encompa.s.sed by earthworks and redoubts so strong that even better soldiers would have failed to carry them. As a statesman, he never was the master of the situation. He followed rather than led public opinion, and subordinated everything to the dread of displeasing any section of a population, which, to be ruled--even in quiet times--must be ruled with a rod of iron. Success is the criterion of ability in this country, and poor Trochu is as politically dead as though he never had lived. His enemies call him a traitor; his friends defend him from the charge by saying that he is only a vain fool.

As regards the armed force, the sailors have behaved so well that I wonder at the ease with which our own tars have always beaten them. They have been kept under a rigid discipline by their naval commanders. The line, composed of depot battalions, and of the regiments which Vinoy brought back from Mezieres, without being equal to old seasoned troops, have fought creditably. Their great defect has been an absence of strict discipline. The Mobiles, raw peasants fresh from their homes, have shown themselves brave in action, and have supported the hards.h.i.+p of lengthy outpost duty without a murmur. Unfortunately they elected their own officers, and this weakened their efficiency for offensive purposes.

When the siege commenced, every citizen indiscriminately a.s.sumed the uniform of the National Guard. Each battalion of this motley force elected its officers, and both men and officers united in despising discipline as a restraint to natural valour. The National Guard mounted guard occasionally on the ramparts, and the rest of their time they pa.s.sed in parading the streets, drinking in the pothouses, and discussing the conduct of their military superiors. General Trochu soon discovered that this force was, for all purposes of war, absolutely useless. He called for volunteers, and he antic.i.p.ated that 100,000 men would answer to the appeal; not 10,000 did so. He then ordered a marching company to be formed from each battalion. Complaints innumerable arose. Instead of a generous emulation to fight, each man sought for an excuse to avoid it. This man had a mother, that man a daughter; one had weak lungs, and another weak legs. At length, by dint of pressure and coaxing, the marching battalions were formed. Farewell suppers were offered them by their comrades. They were given new coats, new trousers, and new saucepans to strap on their haversacks. They have done some duty in the trenches, but they were always kept away from serious fighting, and only gave a ”moral support” to those engaged in the conflict, until the fiasco in the Isthmus of Gennevilliers a fortnight ago. Then, near the walls of Buzanval, the few companies which were in action fought fairly if not successfully, whilst in another part of the field of battle, those who formed the reserves broke and fled as soon as the Prussian bombs fell into their ranks. The entire National Guard, sedentary and marching battalions, has not, I imagine, lost 500 men during its four months' campaign. This can hardly be called fighting to the death _pro aris et focis_, and sublimity is hardly the word to apply to these warriors. If the 300 at Thermopylae had, after exhausting their food, surrendered to the Persian armies, after the loss of less than one per cent. of their number--say of three men, they might have been very worthy fellows, but history would not have embalmed their act.

Politically, with the exception of the riot on October 31, the Government of National Defence has met with no opposition since September last. There are several reasons for this. Among the bourgeoisie there was little of either love or confidence felt in Trochu and his colleagues, but they represented the cause of order, and were indeed the only barrier against absolute anarchy. Among the poorer cla.s.ses everyone who liked was clothed, was fed, and was paid by Government for doing nothing, and consequently many who otherwise would have been ready to join in a revolt, thought it well not to disturb a state of things so eminently to their satisfaction. Among the Ultras, there was a very strong distaste to face the fire either of Prussians or of Frenchmen. They had, too, no leaders worthy of the name, and many of them were determined not to justify Count Bismarck's taunt that the ”populace” would aid him by exciting civil discord. The Government of September, consequently, is still the Government of to-day, although its chief has shown himself a poor general, and its members, one and all, have shown themselves wretched administrators. In unblus.h.i.+ng mendacity they have equalled, if not surpa.s.sed, their immediate predecessor, the virtuous Palikao. The only two of them who would have had a chance of figuring in England, even as vestrymen, are M. Jules Favre and M. Ernest Picard. The former has all the brilliancy and all the faults of an able lawyer--the latter, although a lawyer, is not without a certain modic.u.m of that plain practical common sense, which we are apt to regard as peculiarly an English characteristic.

The sufferings caused by the dearth of provisions and of fuel have fallen almost exclusively on the women and children. Among the well-to-do cla.s.ses, there has been an absence of many of those luxuries which habit had made almost necessaries, but this is all. The men of the poorer cla.s.ses, as a rule, preferred to idle away their time on the 1fr.

50c. which they received from the Government, rather than gain 4 or 5fr.

a day by working at their trades; consequently if they drank more and ate less than was good for them, they have had only themselves to thank for it. Their wives and children have been very miserable. Scantily clad, ill fed, without fuel, they have been obliged to pa.s.s half the day before the bakers' doors, waiting for their pittance of bread. The mortality and the suffering have been very great among them, and yet, it must be said to their credit, they have neither repined nor complained.

Business has, of course, been at a standstill since last September. At the Bourse the transactions have been of the most trifling description, much to the disgust of the many thousands who live here by peddling gains and doubtful speculations in this temple of filthy lucre. By a series of decrees payment of rent and of bills of exchange has been deferred from month to month. Most of the wholesale exporting houses have been absolutely closed. In the retail shops nothing has been sold except by the grocers, who must have made large profits. Whether the city has a recuperative power strong enough to enable it to recover from this period of stagnation, and to pay its taxation, which henceforward will be enormous, has yet to be seen. The world is the market for _articles de Paris_, but then to preserve this market, the prices of these articles must be low. Foreigners, too, will not come here if the cost of living is too exorbitant, and yet I do not see how it is to be otherwise. The talk of the people now is, that they mean to become serious--no longer to pander to the extravagances of strangers, and no longer to encourage their presence amongst them. If they carry out these intentions, I am afraid that, however their morals may be improved, their material interests will suffer. Gambling tables may not be an advantage to Europe, but without them Homburg and Baden would go to the wall. Paris is a city of pleasure--a cosmopolitan city; it has made its profit out of the follies and the vices of the world. Its prices are too high, its houses are too large, its promenades and its public places have cost too much for it to be able to pay its way as the sober, decent capital of a moderate-sized country, where there are few great fortunes. If the Parisians decide to become poor and respectable, they are to be congratulated upon the resolve, but the present notion seems to be that they are to become rich and respectable--a thing more difficult. Paris--the Paris of the Empire and of Haussmann--is a house of cards. Its prosperity was a forced and artificial one. The war and the siege have knocked down the cards, and it is doubtful whether they will ever serve to build a new house.

As regards public opinion, I cannot see that it has changed one iota for the better since the fall of the Empire, or that common sense has made any headway. There are of course sensible men in Paris, but either they hold their tongues, or their voices are lost in the chorus of blatant nonsense, which is dinned into the public ears. _Mutatis mutandis_ the newspapers, with some few exceptions, are much what they were when they wors.h.i.+pped Caesar, chronicled the doings of the _demi-monde_, clamoured for the Rhine, and invented Imperial victories. Their ignorance respecting everything beyond the frontiers of France is such, that a charity-schoolboy in England or Germany would be deservedly whipped for it. _La Liberte_ has, I am told, the largest circulation at present.

Every day since the commencement of the siege I have invested two sous in this journal, and I may say, without exaggeration, that never once--except one evening when it was burnt on the boulevard for inadvertently telling the truth--have I been able to discover in its columns one single line of common sense. Its facts are sensational--its articles gross appeals to popular folly, popular ignorance, and popular vanity. Every petty skirmish of the National Guard has been magnified into a stupendous victory; every battalion which visited a tomb, crowned a statue, or signed some manifesto pre-eminent in its absurdity, has been lauded in language which would have been exaggerated if applied to the veterans of the first Napoleon. The editor is, I believe, the author of the ”pact with death,” which has been so deservedly ridiculed in the German newspapers. The orators of the clubs have not been wiser than the journalists. At the Ultra gatherings, a man who says that he is a republican is regarded as the possessor of every virtue. The remedy for all the ills of France has been held to be, to copy exactly what was done during the First Revolution. ”Citizens, we must have a _Commune_, and then we shall drive the Prussians out of France,” was always received with a round of sympathetic applause, although I have never yet found two persons to agree in their explanation of what is meant by the word ”_Commune_.” At the Moderate clubs, the speeches generally consisted of ignorant abuse of Germany, attempts to disprove well-established facts, and extravagant self-laudation. I have attended many clubs--Ultra and Moderate--and I never heard a speaker at one of them who would have been tolerated for five minutes by an ordinary English political meeting.

The best minister whom the Parisians have, is M. Dorian. He is a manufacturer, and as hard-headed and practical as a Scotsman. Thanks to his energy and business qualities, cannon have been cast, old muskets converted into breechloaders, and ammunition fabricated. He has had endless difficulties to overcome, and has overcome them. The French are entirely without what New Englanders call s.h.i.+ftiness. As long as all the wheels of an administration work well, the administrative coach moves on, but let the smallest wheel of the machine get out of order, and everything stands still. To move on again takes a month's discussion and a hundred despatches. A redoubt which the Americans during their civil war would have thrown up in a night has taken the Parisians weeks to make. Their advanced batteries usually were without traverses, because they were too idle to form them. Although in modern sieges the spade ought to play as important a part as the cannon, they seem to have considered it beneath their dignity to dig--500 navvies would have done more for the defence of the town than 500,000 National Guards did do. At the commencement of October, ridiculous barricades were made far inside the ramparts, and although the generals have complained ever since that they impeded the movements of their troops, they have never been removed.

I like the Parisians and I like the French. They have much of the old Latin _urbanitas_, many kindly qualities, and most of the minor virtues which do duty as the small change of social intercourse. But for the sake of France, I am glad that Paris has lost its _prestige_, for its rule has been a blight and a curse to the entire country; and for the sake of Europe, I am glad that France has lost her military prestige, for this prestige has been the cause of most of the wars of Europe during the last 150 years. It is impossible so to adapt the equilibrium of power, that every great European Power shall be co-equal in strength.

The balance tips now to the side of Germany. That country has attained the unity after which she has so long sighed, and I do not think she will embroil the continent in wars, waged for conquest, for an ”idea,”

or for the dynastic interests of her princes. The Germans are a brave race, but not a war-loving race. Much, therefore, as I regret that French provinces should against the will of their inhabitants become German, and strongly as I sympathise with my poor friends here in the overthrow of all their illusions, I console myself with the thought that the result of the present war will be to consolidate peace. France will no doubt look wistfully after her lost possessions, and talk loudly of her intention to re-conquer them. But the difficulty of the task will prevent the attempt. Until now, to the majority of Frenchmen, a war meant a successful military promenade, a plentiful distribution of decorations, and an inscription on some triumphal arch. Germany was to them the Germany of Jena and Austerlitz. Their surprise at seeing the Prussians victors at the doors of Paris, is much that which the Americans would feel if a war with the Sioux Indians were to bring these savages to the suburbs of New York. The French have now learnt that they are not invincible, and that if war may mean victory, it may also mean defeat, invasion, and ruin. When, therefore, they have paid the bill for their _a Berlin_ folly, they will think twice before they open a fresh account with fortune.