Part 23
[81] PARIS AT DINNER.—An ogress, gentleman! A famished creature, faring sumptuously; her face flushed with wine, her eyes bright, her hands trembling. Madame Lutetia is a strapping woman still, with a queenly air about her, in spite of the red patches on her tunic; somewhat shorn of her ornaments, it is true, as she has had to pawn the greater part of her jewelry, but the orgie once over she will be again what she was before. For the time being she is wholly absorbed in her gastronomic exertions. She has already devoured a Bergeret with peas, a Lullier with anchovy sauce, an Assy and potatoes, a Cluseret with tomatos, a Rossel with capers, besides a large quantity of small fry, and she is not yet appeased. The _maître-d’hôtel_ Delescluze waits upon her somewhat in trepidation, with a sickly smile on his face. What if, after such a meal of generals and colonels, the ogress were to devour the waiter!—_Fac simile of design from the “Grelot,” 17th May, 1871_.
[82] He was convinced of the hopelessness of any further struggle after the capture of Fort Issy; gave in his resignation, and hid himself to escape the vengeance of his former colleagues. He was supposed to be in England or Switzerland, whereas, in fact, he had fled no farther than the Boulevard Saint Germain. He was arrested by the police on the ninth of June, disguised as an employé of the Northern Railway. He was first interrogated at the Petit Luxembourg, and afterwards conducted handcuffed to Versailles, where three mouths after he was tried by court-martial and sentenced to military degradation and death.
[83] Delescluze’s wild life began at Dreux, in 1809. Driven from home on account of his bad conduct, he came to Paris, and obtained employment in an attorney’s office, from which he was very soon afterwards, it is said, discharged for robbery. In 1834, he underwent the first of his long list of imprisonments, for the part he took in the April revolution, and in the following year, being compromised in a conspiracy against the safety of the state, he took refuge in Belgium, Where he obtained the editorship of the _Courrier de Charleroi_. In 1840 he returned to Paris, where he founded a journal called the _Révolution Démocratique et Sociale_, which brought him fifteen months’ imprisonment and twenty thousand francs fine. After a long period of liberty of nearly eight years, he was condemned to transportation by the High Court of Justice, but the condemnation was given in his absence, for he had slipped over to England, where he remained until 1853. On his returning in that year to France he was immediately imprisoned at Mazas, transferred afterwards to Belle-Isle, and then successively to the hulks of Corte, Ajaccio, Toulon, Brest, and finally to Cayenne. These sojourns lasted until 1868, when the amnesty permitted him to return to France, where he made haste to bring out another new journal, _Le Réveil_, which of course earned him fines and imprisonments with great rapidity, three of each within the twelvemonth. In the month of February, 1871, he was elected deputy by a large number of votes; and later, when the Assembly went to Bordeaux, sat there for some time, and then gave in his resignation, in order to take part with the Commune. By the Commune he was made delegate at the Ministry of War, after the pretended flight of Rossel, and in a sitting of the 20th of April, in which the project of burning Paris was discussed, Delescluze ended his speech with the words—“If we must die, we will give to Liberty a pile worthy of her.”
[84] “A plot had just been discovered between Bourget of the Internationale, Billioray, member of the Commune, and Cérisier, captain of the 101st Battalion of the insurgent National Guard. For a certain sum of money they were to deliver Port Issy into the hands of General Valentin, of the Versailles army. The succession of Rossel to the Ministry of War frustrated the whole project. “In the night of the 17th of May another attempt of the same kind met with failure. The Communists Bourget, Billioray, Mortier, Cérisier, and Pilotel, the artist, traitors to their own treacherous cause, were to open the gates to the soldiers of Versailles, an hour after midnight, at the Point du Jour; the soldiers to be disguised as National Guards. But, at the appointed hour, Cérisier took fright, and contented himself with the money he had received on account (twenty-five thousand francs) in payment for his treachery, and did no more. When the Versailles troops presented themselves at the gates, they had to beat a retreat under a heavy fire of mitrailleuses.” _Guerre des Communeux_.]
LXXIX.
I was told the following by an eye-witness of the scene. In a small room at the Hôtel de Ville five personages were seated round a table at dinner. The repast was of the most modest kind, and consisted of soup, one dish of meat, one kind of vegetable, cheese, and a bottle of vin ordinaire each. One would have thought, oneself in a restaurant at two francs a head, if it had not been that the condiments had got musty during the siege; besides, there was something solemn and official in the very smell of the viands which took away one’s appetite. However, our five personages swallowed their food as fast as they could. At the head of the table sat Citizen Jourde. Jourde looks about eight and twenty; he has a delicate looking, mathematical head, with brown curly hair and sallow complexion, a kind of Henri Heine of the Finance. Tall and thin, with his red scarf tied round his waist, he reminds us of one of the old Convention of ’89. They sat for some time in silence, as if they were observing each other. At the end of the first course, Jourde took up a spoon and examined it, saying, “Silver! true there is silver at the Hôtel de Ville, I will send for it to-morrow!” One of the other guests said, “Pardon me, I have to answer for it, and shall not give it up.”—“Oh, yes you will,” answered Jourde, “I will have an order sent to you from the Domaine,”[85] and then, as if he were thinking aloud, goes on to express his satisfaction at having found an unexpected sum of three hundred thousand francs, as it were on the dinner-table. A whole day’s pay! He will be able to put by four millions at the end of the week; he tries to be economical, but the war runs away with everything. “You must at least give me three days’ notice for the payment of sums amounting to more than a hundred thousand francs,” says he, with a shrug of the shoulders, particularly addressed to Beslay. Then he speaks of his hopes of reducing the Prussian debt before the year is out, if the Commune lives so long; touches on subjects connected with the taxes, patents and duties, “or else bank-notes worth fire hundred francs in the morning, will only be worth twenty sous in the evening; money is scarce, it is leaving the city. I do not see much copper about, but if you leave me alone, I promise to succeed.” All this was said in a tone of the most sincere conviction. When the dinner was over, he hastily bowed and rushed off, without having taken any notice of what was said to him. Every now and then cries arose in the streets, and made the members of the Commune start as they sat there behind their sombre curtains. “Do you think they can come in?” asked some one of Johannard, to which he replies, “What a wild idea! Delescluze knows it is impossible, and Dombrowski, a cold unexcitable fellow, only laughs when people mention it; does he not, Rigault?” Thereupon the personage addressed, who has not yet spoken, bows his head in sign of acquiescence. He looks young in spite of his thick, black beard; his eyes are weak, his expression is sly and disagreeable, and looks as if he might sometimes have his hours of coarse joviality. Then a portière was lowered, or a door shut, and the person who had overheard the preceding heard and saw no more.
NOTES:
[85] The Commune occupied the Mint, and directed Citizen Camelinat, bronze-fitter, to manufacture gold and silver coin to the amount of 1,500,000 francs. Of that sum, 76,000 francs only was saved by the Versailles troops on their entry. The different articles of gold and silver found at the Hôtel des Monnaies represented a total weight of 1,186 lbs., and consisted of objects taken from the churches, religious houses, and government offices, Imperial plate, and presents to the city of Paris. All these objects have been sent to the repository of the Domaine, where they maybe claimed on identification by their owners.
[86] Fontaine was nominated on the 18th of March director of the public domains and of registration. His name figures in the history of the revolutions, émeutes, and insurrections of Paris from 1848. He was a professional insurgent.
LXXX.
I am beginning to regret Cluseret. He was impatient, especially in speech. He used to say “Every man a National Guard!” But with Cluseret, as with one’s conscience, there were possible conciliations. You had only to answer the decrees of the war-delegate by an enthusiastic “Why I am delighted, indeed I was just going to beg you to send me to the Porte-Maillot;” which having done, one was free to go about one’s business without fear of molestation. As to leaving Paris, in spite of the law which condemned every man under forty to remain in the city; nothing was easier. You had but to go to the Northern Railway Station, and prefer your request to a citizen, seated at a table behind a partition in the passport office.[87] When he asked you your age you had only to answer “Seventy-eight,” passing your hand through your sable locks as you spoke—“Only that? I thought you looked older,” the accommodating individual would answer, at the same time putting into your hand a paper on which was written some cabalistic sign. One day I had taken it into my head to go and spend two hours at Bougival, and my pass bore the strange word “Carnivolus” written on it. Provided with this mysterious document, I was enabled to procure a first-class ticket and jump into the next train that started. I was free, and nothing could have prevented my going, if such had been my wish, to proclaim the Commune at Mont Blanc or Monaco.
How the times are changed! The Committee of Public Safety and the Central Committee now join together in making the lives of the poor _réfractaires_[88] a burthen to them. I do not speak of the disarmaments, which have nothing particularly disagreeable about them, for an unarmed man may clearly nourish the hope that he is not to be sent to battle. But there are other things, and I really should not object to be a little over eighty for a few days. Domiciliary visits have become very frequent. Four National Guards walk into the house of the first citizen they please, and politely or otherwise, explain to him that it is his strict duty to go into the trenches at Vanves and kill as many Frenchmen as he can. If the citizen resists he is carried off, and told that on account of his resistance he will have the honour of being put at the head of his battalion at the first engagement. These visits often end in violence. I am told that in the Rue Oudinot a young man received a savage bayonet thrust because he resisted the corporal’s order; and as these occurrences are not uncommon, the _réfractaires_ cannot be said to live in peace and comfort. They are subject to continual terror, the sour visage of their _concierge_ fills them with misgivings, he may be one of the Commune. As to going to bed, it must not be thought of; it is during the hours of night that the Communal agents are particularly active. This necessity of changing domicile has lead to certain Amélias and Rosalines and other ladies of that description having the words “Hospitality to _Réfractaires_” written in pencil on their cards. Men who decline to take advantage of such opportunities have to go about from hôtel to hôtel, giving imaginary names, suspicious of the waiters, and awaking at the least sound, thinking it is the noise of feet ascending the stairs, or the rattle of muskets on the landing. The day before yesterday a number of _réfractaires_, having the courage of despair, walked to the Porte Saint-Ouen—“Will you let us out?” asked they of the commanding officer, who answered in a decided negative; whereupon the party, which was three hundred strong, fell upon the captain and his men, whom they disarmed, and five minutes afterwards they were running free across the fields.
Others employ softer means of corruption; resort to the wine-shops of Belleville, where they make themselves agreeable in every way, and soon succeed in entering into friendly conversation with some of the least ferocious among the Federals of the place.
“You are on duty, Tuesday, at the Porte de la Chapelle?”—“Why, yes.”—“So that you might very easily let a comrade out who wants to go and pay a visit at Saint-Denis?”—“Quite out of the question; the others would prevent me, or denounce me to the captain.”—“You think there is nothing to be done with the captain?”—“Oh! no; he is a staunch patriot, he is!”—“How very tiresome; and I wanted most particularly to go to Saint-Denis on Tuesday evening. I would gladly give twenty francs out of my own pocket for the sake of a little walk outside the fortifications.”—“There is only one way.”—“And how is that?”—“You don’t care much about going out by the door, do you?”—“Well, no; what I want is to get outside.“—“Oh! then listen to me; come to La-Chapelle early on Tuesday evening, and walk up and down the rampart. I will try and be on duty at eight o’clock, and look out for you. When I see you I will take care not to say _qui vive_.”—“That’s easy enough; and what then?”—“Why, then I will secure around you a thick rope which of course you will have with you!”—“The devil!”—“And I will throw you into the trench.”—“By Jove! That will be a leap.”—“Oh! I will do it very carefully, without hurting you. I will let you slip softly down the wall.”—“Humph!”—“When you reach the ground below, in an instant you can be up and off into the darkness. Do you accept? Yes or no?”—“I should certainly prefer to drive out of the city in a coach and six, but nevertheless I accept.”
Generally, this plan answers admirably. They say that the Federals of Belleville and Montmartre make a nice little income with this kind of business. Sometimes, however, the plan only half succeeds, and either the rope breaks, or the Federal considers, he may manage capitally to reconcile his interest with his duty, by sending a ball after the escaped _réfractaire_.
Disguises are also the order of the day. A poet, whose verses were received at the Comédie Française with enthusiasm during the siege, managed to get away, thanks to an official on the Northern Railway, who lent him his coat and cap. Another poet—they are an ingenious race—conceived a plan of greater boldness. One day on the Boulevard he called a fiacre, having first taken care to choose a coachman of respectable age, “_Cocher_, drive to the Rue Montorgueil, to the best restaurant you can find.” On the way the poet reasoned thus to himself: “This coachman has in his pocket, as they all have, a Communal passport, which allows him to go out and come into Paris as he pleases; let me remember the fourth act of my last melodrama, and I am saved.”
The cab stopped in front of a restaurant of decent exterior not far from Philippe’s. The young man went in, asked for a private room, and told the waiter to send up the coachman, as he had something to say to him, and to procure a boy to hold the horse. The coachman walked into the room, where the breakfast was ready served.
“Now, coachman, I am going to keep you all day, so do not refuse to drink a glass with me to keep up your strength.”
An hour after the poet and the coachman had breakfasted like old friends; six empty bottles testified that neither one nor the other were likely to die of thirst. The poet grumbled internally to himself as he thought of the three bottles of Clos-Vougeot, one of Léoville, two of Moulin-au-Vent, that had been consumed, and the fellow not drunk yet. Then he determined to try surer means, and called to the waiter to bring champagne. “It is no use, young fellow,” laughed the coachman, who was familiar at least, if he was not drunk; “champagne won’t make any difference; if you counted on that to get my passport, you reckoned without your host!”—“The devil I did,” cried the poor young man, horrified to see his scheme fall through, and to think of the prodigious length of the bill he should have to pay for nothing.—“Others, have tried it on, but I am too wide awake by half,” said the coachman, adding as he emptied the last bottle into his glass, “give me two ten-franc pieces and I will get you through.”—“How can I be grateful enough?” cried the poet, although in reality he felt rather humiliated to find that the grand scene in his fourth act had not succeeded.—“Call the waiter, and pay the bill.” The waiter was called, and the bill paid with a sigh. “Now give me your jacket.”—“My jacket?”—“Yes, this thing in velvet you have on your back.” The poet did as he was bid. “Now your waistcoat and trousers.”—“My trousers! Oh, insatiable coachman!”—“Make haste will you, or else I shall take you to the nearest guard-room for a confounded _réfractaire_, as you are.” The clothes were immediately given up. “Very well; now take mine, dress yourself in them, and let’s be off.” While the young man was putting on with decided distaste the garments of the _cocher_, the latter managed to introduce his ponderous bulk into those of the poet. This done, out they went. “Get up on the box.”—“On the box?”—“Yes, idiot,” said the coachman, growing more and more familiar; “I am going to get into the cab, now drive me wherever you please.” The plan was a complete success. At the Porte de Châtillon the disguised poet exhibited his passport, and the National Guard who looked in at the window of the carriage cried out, “Oh, he may pass; he might be my grandfather.” The cab rolled over the draw-bridge, and it was in this way that M ...,—ah! I was just going to let the cat out of the bag—it was in this way that our young poet broke the law of the Commune, and managed to dine that same evening at the Hôtel des Réservoirs at Versailles, with a deputy of the right on his left hand, and a deputy of the left on his right hand.
Shall I go away? Why not? Do I particularly wish to be shut up one morning in some barrack-room, or sent in spite of myself to the out-posts? My position of _réfractaire_ is sensibly aggravated by the fact of my being in rather a dangerous neighbourhood. For the last few days, I have felt rather astonished at the searching glances that a neighbour always casts upon me, when we met in the street. I told my servant to try and find out who this man was. Great heavens! this scowling neighbour of mine is Gérardin—Gérardin of the Commune! Add to this the perilous fact, that our _concierge_ is lieutenant in a Federal battalion, and you will have good reason to consider me the most unfortunate of _réfractaires_. However, what does it matter? I decide on remaining; I will stay and see the end, even should the terrible Pyat and the sweet Vermorel both of them be living under the same roof with me, even if my _concierge_ be M. Delescluze himself!
NOTES:
[87] The decree which rendered obligatory the service in the marching companies of the National Guard, and the establishment of courts-martial, spread terror among the population, and thousands of people thronged daily to the Prefecture of Police. Sometimes, the queue extended from the Place Dauphine to beyond the Pont Neuf. But soon afterwards, stratagems of every kind were put into requisition to escape from the researches of the Commune, which became more eager and determined, from day to day, after the publication of the following decree, the chef-d’oeuvre of the too famous Raoul Rigault:—
“EX-PREFECTURE OF POLICE. “Delivery of Passports.
“Considering that the civil authority cannot favour the non-execution of the decrees of the Commune, without failing in its duty, and that it is highly necessary that all communications with those who carry on this savage war against us should be prevented, “The member of the Committee of Public Safety, Delegate at the Prefecture of Police, “Decrees:— “Art. 1. Passports can only be delivered on the production of satisfactory documents. “Art. 2. No passport will be delivered to individuals between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five years, as such fall within the military law. “Art. 3. No passport will be issued to any member of the old police, or who are in relation with Versailles. “Art. 4. Any persons who come within the conditions of Articles 2 or 3, and apply for passports, will be immediately sent to the dépôt of the ex-Prefecture of Police.
(Signed) “RAOUL RIGAULT, “Member of the Committee of Public Safety.”]
[88] Those who decline to join the Commune.
LXXXI.
Glorious news! I have seen Lullier again. We had lost Cluseret, lost Rossel; Delescluze does not suffice, and except for Dombrowski and La Cécilia with his prima-donna-like name, the company of the Commune would be sadly wanting in stars. Happily! Lullier has been restored to us. What had become of him? he only wrote seven or eight letters a day to Rochefort and Maroteau, that I can find out. How did he manage to employ that indomitable activity of his, and that of his two hundred friends, who with their red Garibaldis and blue sailor trousers made him the most picturesque escort you can imagine? Was he meditating some gigantic enterprises the dictatorship that Cluseret had dreamed of and Rossel disdained, was he about to assume it for the good of the Republic? I have no idea; but whatever he has been doing, I have seen him again at the club held in the church of Saint Jacques.
Ha! ha! Worthless hypocrites and inquisitors, who for the last eighteen hundred years have crushed, degraded, and tortured the poor; you thought our turn was never to come, you monks, priests, and archbishops! Thanks to the Commune you now preach in the prisons of the Republic; you may confess, if you like, the spiders of your dungeons, and give the holy viaticum to the rats which play around your legs! You can no longer do any harm to patriots. No more churches, no more convents! Those who have not houses in the Champs Elysées shall lodge in your convents; in your churches shall be held honest assemblies, which will give the people their rights; as to their duties, that is an invention of reactionists. No more of your sermons or speeches: after Bossuet, Napoléon Gaillard!