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My Days of Adventure

E >> Ernest Alfred Vizetelly >> My Days of Adventure




I immediately recognized Trochu's extremely bald head and determined jaw,
for since his nomination as Governor, Paris had been flooded with
portraits of him. He had opened the door, I believe, to look for an
officer, but on seeing me standing there with a letter in my hand he
inquired what I wanted. I replied that I had brought a letter from the
British Embassy, and he may perhaps have thought that I was an Embassy
messenger. At all events, he took the letter from me, saying curtly:
"C'est bien, je m'en occuperai, revenez cet après-midi." With those words
he stepped back into the room and carefully placed the letter on the top
of several others which were neatly disposed on a side-table.

The incident was trivial in itself, yet it afforded a glimpse of Trochu's
character. Here was the man who, in his earlier years, had organized the
French Expedition to the Crimea in a manner far superior to that in which
our own had been organized; a man of method, order, precision, fully
qualified to prepare the defence of Paris, though not to lead her army in
the field. Brief as was that interview of mine, I could not help noticing
how perfectly calm and self-possessed he was, for his demeanour greatly
contrasted with the anxious or excited bearing of his subordinates. Yet he
had reached the supreme crisis of his life. The Empire was falling, a
first offer of Power had been made to him on the previous evening; and a
second offer, which he finally accepted, [See my book, "Republican
France," p. 8.] was almost imminent. Yet on that morning of
Revolution he appeared as cool as a cucumber.

I quitted the Louvre, going towards the Rue Royale, it having been
arranged with my father that we should take _déjeuner_ at a well-known
restaurant there. It was called "His Lordship's Larder," and was
pre-eminently an English house, though the landlord bore the German name
of Weber. He and his family were unhappily suffocated in the cellars of
their establishment during one of the conflagrations which marked the
Bloody Week of the Commune. At the time when I met my father, that is
about noon, there was nothing particularly ominous in the appearance of
the streets along which I myself passed. It was a fine bright Sunday, and,
as was usual on such a day, there were plenty of people abroad. Recently
enrolled National Guards certainly predominated among the men, but the
latter included many in civilian attire, and there was no lack of women
and children. As for agitation, I saw no sign of it.

As I was afterwards told, however, by Delmas, the landlord of the Café
Grétry, [Note] matters were very different that morning on the Boulevards,
and particularly on the Boulevard Montmartre. By ten o'clock, indeed,
great crowds had assembled there, and the excitement grew apace. The same
words were on all lips: "Sedan--the whole French army taken--the wretched
Emperor's sword surrendered--unworthy to reign--dethrone him!" Just as, in
another crisis of French history, men had climbed on to the chairs and
tables in the garden of the Palais Royal to denounce Monsieur and Madame
Véto and urge the Parisians to march upon Versailles, so now others
climbed on the chairs outside the Boulevard cafés to denounce the Empire,
and urge a march upon the Palais Bourbon, where the Legislative Body was
about to meet. And amidst the general clamour one cry persistently
prevailed. It was: "Déchéance! Déchéance!--Dethronement! Dethronement!"

[Note: This was a little café on the Boulevard des Italiens, and was noted
for its quietude during the afternoon, though in the evening it was, by
reason of its proximity to the "Petite Bourse" (held on the side-walk in
front of it), invaded by noisy speculators. Captain Bingham, my father,
and myself long frequented the Café Grétry, often writing our "Paris
letters" there. Subsequent to the war, Bingham and I removed to the Café
Cardinal, where, however, the everlasting rattle of dominoes proved very
disturbing. In the end, on that account, and in order to be nearer to a
club to which we both belonged, we emigrated to the Café Napolitain. One
reason for writing one's copy at a café instead of at one's club was that,
at the former, one could at any moment receive messengers bringing late
news; in addition to which, afternoon newspapers were instantly
available.]

At every moment the numbers of the crowd increased. New-comers continually
arrived from the eastern districts by way of the Boulevards, and from the
north by way of the Faubourg Montmartre and the Rue Drouot, whilst from
the south--the Quartier Latin and its neighbourhood--contingents made
their way across the Pont St. Michel and the Pont Notre Dame, and thence,
past the Halles, along the Boulevard de Sebastopol and the Rue Montmartre.
Why the Quartier Latin element did not advance direct on the Palais
Bourbon from its own side of the river I cannot exactly say; but it was, I
believe, thought desirable to join hands, in the first instance, with the
Revolutionary elements of northern Paris. All this took place whilst my
father and myself were partaking of our meal. When we quitted the
"Larder," a little before one o'clock, all the small parties of National
Guards and civilians whom we had observed strolling about at an earlier
hour, had congregated on the Place de la Concorde, attracted thither by
the news of the special Sunday sitting, at which the Legislative Body
would undoubtedly take momentous decisions.

It should be added that nearly all the National Guards who assembled on
the Place de la Concorde before one o'clock were absolutely unarmed. At
that hour, however, a large force of them, equivalent to a couple of
battalions or thereabouts, came marching down the Rue Royale from the
Boulevards, and these men (who were preceded by a solitary drummer)
carried, some of them, chassepots and others _fusils-à-tabatière,_ having
moreover, in most instances, their bayonets fixed. They belonged to the
north of Paris, though I cannot say precisely to what particular
districts, nor do I know exactly by whose orders they had been assembled
and instructed to march on the Palais Bourbon, as they speedily did. But
it is certain that all the fermentation of the morning and all that
occurred afterwards was the outcome of the night-work of the secret
Republican Committees.

As the guards marched on, loud cries of "Déchéance! Déchéance!" arose
among them, and were at once taken up by the spectators. Perfect
unanimity, indeed, appeared to prevail on the question of dethroning the
Emperor. Even the soldiers who were scattered here and there--a few
Linesmen, a few Zouaves, a few Turcos, some of them invalided from
MacMahon's forces--eagerly joined in the universal cry, and began to
follow the guards on to the Place de la Concorde. Never, I believe, had
that square been more crowded--not even in the days when it was known as
the Place Louis Quinze, and when hundreds of people were crushed to death
there whilst witnessing a display of fireworks in connection with the
espousals of the future Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, not even when it
had become the Place de la Révolution and was thronged by all who wished
to witness the successive executions of the last King and Queen of the old
French monarchy. From the end of the Rue Royale to the bridge conducting
across the Seine to the Palais Bourbon, from the gate of the Tuileries
garden to the horses of Marly at the entrance of the Champs Elysées,
around the obelisk of Luxor, and the fountains which were playing as usual
in the bright sunshine which fell from the blue sky, along all the
balustrades connecting the seated statues of the cities of France, here,
there, and everywhere, indeed, you saw human heads. And the clamour was
universal. The great square had again become one of Revolution, and yet
it remained one of Concord also, for there was absolute agreement among
the hundred thousand or hundred and fifty thousand people who had chosen
it as their meeting-place, an agreement attested by that universal and
never-ceasing cry of "Dethronement!"

As the armed National Guards debouched from the Rue Royale, their solitary
drummer plied his sticks. But the roll of the drum was scarcely heard in
the general uproar, and so dense was the crowd that the men could advance
but very slowly. For a while it took some minutes to make only a few
steps. Meantime the ranks of the men were broken here and there, other
people got among them, and at last my father and myself were caught in the
stream and carried with it, still somewhat slowly, in the direction of the
Pont de la Concorde. I read recently that the bridge was defended by
mounted men of the Garde de Paris (the forerunner of the Garde
Républicaine of to-day); a French writer, in recalling the scene,
referring to "the men's helmets glistening in the sunshine." But that is
pure imagination. The bridge was defended by a cordon of police ranged in
front of a large body of Gendarmerie mobile, wearing the familiar dark
blue white-braided _képis_ and the dark blue tunics with white
aiguillettes. At first, as I have already said, we advanced but slowly
towards that defending force; but, all at once, we were swept onward by
other men who had come from the Boulevards, in our wake. A minute later an
abrupt halt ensued, whereupon it was only with great difficulty that we
were able to resist the pressure from behind.

I at last contrived to raise myself on tiptoes. Our first ranks had
effected a breach in those of the sergents-de-ville, but before us were
the mounted gendarmes, whose officer suddenly gave a command and drew his
sword. For an instant I saw him plainly: his face was intensely pale. But
a sudden rattle succeeded his command, for his men responded to it by
drawing their sabres, which flashed ominously. A minute, perhaps two
minutes, elapsed, the pressure in our rear still and ever increasing. I do
not know what happened exactly at the head of our column: the uproar was
greater than ever, and it seemed as if, in another moment, we should be
charged, ridden over, cut down, or dispersed. I believe, however, that in
presence of that great concourse of people, in presence too of the
universal reprobation of the Empire which had brought defeat, invasion,
humiliation upon France, the officer commanding the gendarmes shrank from
carrying out his orders. There must have been a brief parley with the
leaders of our column. In any case, the ranks of the gendarmes suddenly
opened, many of them taking to the footways of the bridge, over which our
column swept at the double-quick, raising exultant shouts of "Vive la
République!" It was almost a race as to who should be the first to reach
the Palais Bourbon. Those in the rear were ever impelling the foremost
onward, and there was no time to look about one. But in a rapid vision, as
it were, I saw the gendarmes reining in their horses on either side of us;
and, here and there, medals gleamed on their dark tunics, and it seemed to
me as if more than one face wore an angry expression. These men had fought
under the imperial eagles, they had been decorated for their valour in the
Crimean, Italian, and Cochin-China wars. Veterans all, and faithful
servants of the Empire, they saw the _régime_ for which they had fought,
collapsing. Had their commanding officer ordered it, they might well have
charged us; but, obedient to discipline, they had opened their ranks, and
now the Will of the People was sweeping past them.

None of our column had a particularly threatening mien; the general
demeanour was rather suggestive of joyful expectancy. But, the bridge once
crossed, there was a fresh pause at the gates shutting off the steps of
the Palais Bourbon. Here infantry were assembled, with their chassepots in
readiness. Another very brief but exciting interval ensued. Then the
Linesmen were withdrawn, the gates swung open, and everybody rushed up the
steps. I was carried hither and thither, and at last from the portico into
the building, where I contrived to halt beside one of the statues in the
"Salle des Pas Perdus." I looked for my father, but could not see him, and
remained wedged in my corner for quite a considerable time. Finally,
however, another rush of invaders dislodged me, and I was swept with many
others into the Chamber itself. All was uproar and confusion there. Very
few deputies were present. The public galleries, the seats of the members,
the hemicycle in front of the tribune, were crowded with National Guards.
Some were standing on the stenographers' table and on the ushers' chairs
below the tribune. There were others on the tribune stairs. And at the
tribune itself, with his hat on his head, stood Gambetta, hoarsely
shouting, amidst the general din, that Louis Napoleon Bonaparte and his
dynasty had for ever ceased to reign. Then, again and again, arose the cry
of "Vive la République!" In the twinkling of an eye, however, Gambetta was
lost to view--he and other Republican deputies betaking themselves, as I
afterwards learnt, to the palace steps, where the dethronement of the
Bonapartes was again proclaimed. The invaders of the chamber swarmed after
them, and I was watching their departure when I suddenly saw my father
quietly leaning back in one of the ministerial seats--perhaps that which,
in the past, had been occupied by Billault, Rouher, Ollivier, and other
powerful and prominent men of the fallen _régime_.

At the outset of the proceedings that day Palikao had proposed the
formation of a Council of Government and National Defence which was to
include five members of the Legislative Body. The ministers were to be
appointed by this Council, and he was to be Lieutenant-General of France.
It so happened that the more fervent Imperialists had previously offered
him a dictatorship, but he had declined it. Jules Favre met the General's
proposal by claiming priority for the motion which he had submitted at the
midnight sitting, whilst Thiers tried to bring about a compromise by
suggesting such a Committee as Palikao had indicated, but placing the
choice of its members entirely in the hands of the Legislative Body,
omitting all reference to Palikao's Lieutenancy, and, further, setting
forth that a Constituent Assembly should be convoked as soon as
circumstances might permit. The three proposals--Thiers', Favre's, and
Palikao's--were submitted to the _bureaux_, and whilst these _bureaux_
were deliberating in various rooms the first invasion of the Chamber took
place in spite of the efforts of Jules Ferry, who had promised Palikao
that the proceedings of the Legislature should not be disturbed. When the
sitting was resumed the "invaders," who, at that moment, mainly occupied
the galleries, would listen neither to President Schneider nor to their
favourite Gambetta, though both appealed to them for silence and order.
Jules Favre alone secured a few moments' quietude, during which he begged
that there might be no violence. Palikao was present, but did not speak.
[Later in the day, after urging Trochu to accept the presidency of the new
Government, as otherwise "all might be lost," Palikao quitted Paris for
Belgium. He stayed at Namur during the remainder of the war, and
afterwards lived in retirement at Versailles, where he died in January,
1878.] Amidst the general confusion came the second invasion of the
Chamber, when I was swept off my feet and carried on to the floor of the
house. That second invasion precipitated events. Even Gambetta wished the
dethronement of the dynasty to be signified by a formal vote, but the
"invaders" would brook no delay.

Both of us, my father and I, were tired and thirsty after our unexpected
experiences. Accordingly we did not follow the crowd back to the steps
overlooking the Place de la Concorde, but, like a good many other people,
we went off by way of the Place de Bourgogne. No damage had been done in
the Chamber itself, but as we quitted the building we noticed several
inscriptions scrawled upon the walls. In some instances the words were
merely "Vive la République!" and "Mort aux Prussiens!" At other times,
however, they were too disgusting to be set down here. In or near the Rue
de Bourgogne we found a fairly quiet wine-shop, where we rested and
refreshed ourselves with _cannettes_ of so-called Bière de Strasbourg.
We did not go at that moment to the Hôtel-de-Ville, whither a large part
of the crowd betook itself by way of the quays, and where the Republic
was again proclaimed; but returned to the Place de la Concorde, where some
thousands of people still remained. Everybody was looking very animated
and very pleased. Everybody imagined that, the Empire being overthrown,
France would soon drive back the German invader. All fears for the future
seemed, indeed, to have departed. Universal confidence prevailed, and
everybody congratulated everybody else. There was, in any case, one
good cause for congratulation: the Revolution had been absolutely
bloodless--the first and only phenomenon of the kind in all French
history.

Whilst we were strolling about the Place de la Concorde I noticed that the
chief gate of the Tuileries garden had been forced open and damaged. The
gilded eagles which had decorated it had been struck off and pounded to
pieces, this, it appeared, having been chiefly the work of an enterprising
Turco. A few days later Victorien Sardou wrote an interesting account of
how he and others obtained admittance, first to the reserved garden, and
then to the palace itself. On glancing towards it I observed that the flag
which had still waved over the principal pavilion that morning, had now
disappeared. It had been lowered after the departure of the Empress. Of
the last hours which she spent in the palace, before she quitted it with
Prince Metternich and Count Nigra to seek a momentary refuge at the
residence of her dentist, Dr. Evans, I have given a detailed account,
based on reliable narratives and documents, in my "Court of the
Tuileries."

Quitting, at last, the Place de la Concorde, we strolled slowly homeward.
Some tradespeople in the Rue Royale and the Faubourg St. Honoré, former
purveyors to the Emperor or the Empress, were already hastily removing the
imperial arms from above their shops. That same afternoon and during the
ensuing Monday and Tuesday every escutcheon, every initial N, every crown,
every eagle, every inscription that recalled the Empire, was removed or
obliterated in one or another manner. George Augustus Sala, whose recent
adventure confined him to his room at the Grand Hotel, spent most of his
time in watching the men who removed the eagles, crowns, and Ns from the
then unfinished Opera-house. Even the streets which recalled the imperial
_regime_ were hastily renamed. The Avenue de l'Impératrice at once became
the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne; and the Rue du Dix-Décembre (so called in
memory of Napoleon's assumption of the imperial dignity) was rechristened
Rue du Quatre Septembre--this being the "happy thought" of a Zouave, who,
mounted on a ladder, set the new name above the old one, whilst the plate
bearing the latter was struck off with a hammer by a young workman.

As we went home on the afternoon of that memorable Fourth, we noticed that
all the cafés and wine-shops were doing a brisk trade. Neither then nor
during the evening, however, did I perceive much actual drunkenness. It
was rather a universal jollity, as though some great victory had been
gained. Truth to tell, the increase of drunkenness in Paris was an effect
of the German Siege of the city, when drink was so plentiful and food so
scarce.

My father and I had reached the corner of our street when we witnessed an
incident which I have related in detail in the first pages of my book,
"Republican France." It was the arrival of Gambetta at the Ministry of the
Interior, by way of the Avenue de Marigny, with an escort of red-shirted
Francs-tireurs de la Presse. The future Dictator had seven companions with
him, all huddled inside or on the roof of a four-wheel cab, which was
drawn by two Breton nags. I can still picture him alighting from the
vehicle and, in the name of the Republic, ordering a chubby little
Linesman, who was mounting guard at the gate of the Ministry, to have the
said gate opened; and I can see the sleek and elderly _concierge_, who had
bowed to many an Imperial Minister, complying with the said injunction,
and respectfully doffing his tasselled smoking-cap and bending double
whilst he admitted his new master. Then the gate is closed, and from
behind the finely-wrought ornamental iron-work Gambetta briefly addresses
the little throng which has recognized him, saying that the Empire is
dead, but that France is wounded, and that her very wounds will inflame
her with fresh courage; promising, too, that the whole nation shall be
armed; and asking one and all to place confidence in the new Government,
even as the latter will place confidence in the people.

In the evening I strolled with my father to the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville,
where many people were congregated, A fairly large body of National Guards
was posted in front of the building, most of whose windows were lighted
up. The members of the New Government of National Defence were
deliberating there. Trochu had become its President, and Jules Favre its
Vice-President and Minister for Foreign Affairs. Henri Rochefort, released
that afternoon by his admirers from the prison of Sainte Pélagie, was
included in the administration, this being in the main composed of the
deputies for Paris. Only one of the latter, the cautious Thiers, refused
to join it. He presided, however, that same evening over a gathering of
some two hundred members of the moribund Legislative Body, which then made
a forlorn attempt to retain some measure of authority, by coming to some
agreement with the new Government. But Jules Favre and Jules Simon, who
attended the meeting on the latter's behalf, would not entertain the
suggestion. It was politely signified to the deputies that their support
in Paris was not required, and that if they desired to serve their country
in any way, they had better betake themselves to their former
constituencies in the provinces. So far as the Legislative Body and the
Senate, [Note] also, were concerned, everything ended in a
delightful bit of comedy. Not only were the doors of their respective
meeting halls looked, but they were "secured" with strips of tape and
seals of red wax. The awe with which red sealing-wax inspires Frenchmen is
distinctly a trait of the national character. Had there been, however, a
real Bonaparte in Paris at that time, he would probably have cut off the
aforesaid seals with his sword.

[Note: The Senate, over which Rouher presided, dispensed quietly on
hearing of the invasion of the Chamber. The proposal that it should
adjourn till more fortunate times emanated from Rouher himself. A few
cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" were raised as the assembly dispersed.
Almost immediately afterwards, however, most of the Senators, including
Rouher, who knew that he was very obnoxious to the Parisians, quitted the
city and even France.]

On the morning of September 5, the _Charivari_--otherwise the daily
Parisian _Punch_--came out with a cartoon designed to sum up the whole
period covered by the imperial rule. It depicted France bound hand and
foot and placed between the mouths of two cannons, one inscribed "Paris,
1851," and the other "Sedan, 1870"--those names and dates representing the
Alpha and Omega of the Second Empire.



IV

FROM REVOLUTION TO SIEGE

The Government of National Defence--The Army of Paris--The Return
of Victor Hugo--The German advance on Paris--The National Guard
reviewed--Hospitable Preparations for the Germans--They draw nearer
still--Departure of Lord Lyons--Our Last Day of Liberty--On the
Fortifications--The Bois de Boulogne and our Live Stock--Mass before
the Statue of Strasbourg--Devout Breton Mobiles--Evening on the
Boulevards and in the Clubs--Trochu and Ducrot--The Fight and Panic
of Chatillon--The Siege begins.


As I shall have occasion in these pages to mention a good many members
of the self-constituted Government which succeeded the Empire, it may be
as well for me to set down here their names and the offices they held.
I have already mentioned that Trochu was President, and Jules Favre
Vice-President, of the new administration. The former also retained his
office as Governor of Paris, and at the same time became Generalissimo.
Favre, for his part, took the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. With him and
Trochu were Gambetta, Minister of the Interior; Jules Simon, Minister of
Public Instruction; Adolphe Crémieux, Minister of Justice; Ernest Picard,
Minister of Finance; Jules Ferry, Secretary-General to the Government, and
later Mayor of Paris; and Henri Rochefort, President of the Committee of
Barricades. Four of their colleagues, Emmanuel Arago, Garnier-Pagès,
Eugène Pelletan, and Glais-Bizoin, did not take charge of any particular
administrative departments, the remainder of these being allotted to men
whose co-operation was secured. For instance, old General Le Flô became
Minister of War--under Trochu, however, and not over him. Vice-Admiral
Fourichon was appointed Minister of Marine; Magnin, an iron-master,
became Minister of Commerce and Agriculture; Frédéric Dorian, another
iron-master, took the department of Public Works; Count Emile de Kératry
acted as Prefect of Police, and Etienne Arago, in the earlier days, as
Mayor of Paris.

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