Diary of the Besieged Resident in Paris. Henry Labouchere
swear every half-hour to die for their country, nor yell the "Marseillaise." If Paris be saved, it will be thanks to them and to the working men of the capital. But it will be the old sic vos non vobis story; their brave deeds and undemonstrative heroism will be forgotten, and Jules and Alphonse, the dandies and braggarts of the Boulevard, will swear to their own heroism. I trust that the Prussians will fail to take Paris, because I think that the French are right to fight on rather than submit to the dismemberment of their country; and because I prefer a Republic to a Monarchy where a King reigns by right divine. But when I read the bombastic articles in the newspapers—when I see the insane conceit and the utter ignorance of those with whom I am thrown—when I find them really believing that they are heroes because they are going, they say, to win battles, it is difficult to entertain any great sympathy for them. How utterly must poor old Badinguet, before whom they cringed for years—who used them, bought them, and made his market out of their vanity, their ignorance, and their love of theatrical claptrap, despise them, as he dreams again through life's dream in the gardens of his German prison. They call him now a "sinister scoundrel" and a "lugubrious stage player." But he was their master for many a long year, and they owe their emancipation from his yoke to Prussian arms and not to themselves.
A committee of "subsistence" has been established. The feud between the butchers and the public still continues, and most of the meat stalls are closed. The grocers, too, are charging absurd prices for their goods. La Liberté suggests that their clients should do themselves justice, and one of these mornings, unless these gentry abate their prices, some grocer will be found hanging before his door. Although provisions are plentiful, the misery is very great. Beggars increase in number every day—they are like one of the plagues of Egypt. I was taking a cup of coffee this morning before a café, and I counted twenty-three beggars who asked me for money whilst I was sitting there. We still derive much comfort from caricaturing Badinguet, William, and Bismarck. The latest effort represents Badinguet and William as Robert Macaire and Bertrand. Another represents Badinguet eating an eagle. "Coquin," says William, "what are you doing with your eagle?" "Eating it," replies Badinguet; "what else can I do with it?" Little statuettes, too, of the "two friends," Badinguet and William, are in great request. William, with an immense moustache, scowls at Badinguet, who humbly kneels before him.
M. Jules Favre, in reply to the English press deputation, sent last night to say that each correspondent must make a personal application to General Trochu. I know what that means already. All I ask is that my letters should be put up in a balloon. As for passes, I have one already, and it has not been of the slightest service to me. Les Nouvelles heads an article "English Spies," and proposes that to simplify the question of whether they are spies or not, all English in Paris should at once be shot. I cannot say that I personally have found any ill-feeling to exist against me because I am an Englishman. Yesterday afternoon I was in a crowd, and some one suggested that I was a spy; I immediately mounted on a chair and explained that I was a "journaliste Anglais," and pointed out to my friends that they ought to be obliged to me for remaining here. "If any one doubts me," I added, "let us go to the nearest commissary." No one did doubt me, and fifty patriots immediately shook hands with me. The French people are apt to form hasty judgments sometimes, and to act on them still more hastily, but if one can get them to listen for a moment, they are reasonable, and soon their natural good nature asserts itself. The zealous but well-intended Mobiles are the most dangerous, for they shoot you first and then apologise to your corpse. An order is placarded to-day of Governor Trochu's, announcing that anyone trying to pass the lines will be sent before the Courts Martial, or if he or she runs away when ordered to stop, will be shot on the spot. This latter clause allows a very great latitude for zeal, more particularly as the "lines" just now are little more than a geographical expression. Their Emperor is a prisoner, the enemy is thundering at their gates, they are shut up here like rats in a hole; they have been vanquished in the only engagement they have had with their besiegers, and yet the Parisians believe that, compared with them, the Germans are an inferior race, and, like the slave before Marius, will shrink abashed before the majesty of Paris. "If we," say their newspapers, "the wisest, the best, the noblest of human beings, have to succumb to this horde of barbarians that environ us, we shall cease to believe in the existence of a Providence."
The movement on the part of the "Ultras" to elect at once a municipality is gaining strength. Yesterday several chiefs of the faubourg battalions of the National Guard interviewed Jules Ferry on the subject. Ledru Rollin has declared himself in favour of it, and this morning there are evidences that the Government is inclined to give way to the pressure, for a decree is published in the Journal Officiel ordering a registration of voters. The worst of Frenchmen is that, no matter how patriotic each one may be, he is convinced that the interests of his country require that he should be one of its rulers. The men of '48 who have returned from exile are surprised that they are almost forgotten by the present generation, which regards them as interesting historical relics, and puts its faith in new gods. At the clubs every evening the Government is denounced for refusing to admit into its ranks this or that patriot, or adjourning the municipal elections, and for not sending revolutionary agents into the provinces. A newspaper this morning makes the excellent suggestion that M. Blanqui, M.F. Pyat, and their principal adherents should be invited to proceed at once to the provinces in a balloon, invested with the rank of Government agents. "They cannot," it adds, "do so much harm there as they are doing here; and then, too, the balloon may burst." Personally, I should be glad to see a moderate Republic established here, for I regard a Court as a waste of public money; but it seems to me that Republicans should remember that it is for the nation, and not for them, to decide what shall henceforward be the form of government.
CHAPTER IV
September 30th.
We are still beating our tom-toms like the Chinese, to frighten away the enemy, and our braves still fire off powder at invisible Uhlans. The Prussians, to our intense disgust, will not condescend even to notice us. We jeer at them, we revile them, and yet they will not attack us. What they are doing we cannot understand. They appear to have withdrawn from the advanced positions which they held. We know that they are in the habit of making war in a thoroughly ungentlemanly manner, and we cannot make up our minds whether our "attitude" is causing them to hesitate, or whether they are not devising some new trick to take us by surprise. That they are starving, that their communications with Germany are cut off, that their leaders are at loggerheads, that the Army of the Loire will soon be here to help us to demolish them, we have not the slightest doubt. The question is no longer whether Paris will be taken—that we have solved already—it is whether the Prussians will be able to get back to the Rhine. We are thankful that Bismarck did not accept Jules Favre's offer of a money indemnity. We would not give a hundred francs now to ensure peace or an armistice. I went this morning into a shop, the proprietor of which, a bootmaker, I have long known, and I listened with interest to the conversation of this worthy man with some of his neighbours who had dropped in to have a gossip, and to congratulate him on his martial achievements, as he had been on guard in a bastion. We first discussed why the Army of the Loire had not arrived, and we came to the conclusion that it was engaged in rallying Bazaine. "I should like to read your English newspapers now," said one; "your Tims told us we ought to cede Alsace and Lorraine, but its editor must now acknowledge that Paris is invincible." I told him that I felt convinced that he did so regularly every morning. "No peace," shouted a little tailor, who had been prancing about on an imaginary steed, killing imaginary Prussians, "we have made a pact with death; the world knows now what are the consequences of attacking us." The all-absorbing question of subsistence then came up, and some one remarked that beef would give out sooner than mutton. "We must learn," observed a jolly-looking grocer, "to vanquish the prejudices of our stomachs. Even those who do not like mutton must make the sacrifice of their taste to their country." I mildly suggested that perhaps in a few weeks the stomachs which had a prejudice against rats would have to overcome it. At this the countenance of the gossips fell considerably, when the bootmaker, after mysteriously closing the door, whispered, "A secret was confided to me this morning by an intimate friend of General Trochu. There is a tunnel which connects Paris with the provinces, and through it flocks and herds are entering the town." This news cheered us up amazingly. My bootmaker's wife came in to help him off with his military accoutrements; so, with a compliment about Venus disarming Mars, I withdrew