An Englishman In Paris Part 27

he growled, "very clever fellow." And then, in short jerky sentences, he told me the whole of the story, asking my opinion as to who was right and who was wrong. I told him frankly that I thought that the young diplomatist was right. "That's what I think," he spluttered; "but you'll admit that it is d----d annoying to be wrong."

It would be wrong to infer that the marshal, though deficient as a strategist, was the rough-and-ready soldier, indifferent to more cultured pursuits, as so many of his fellow-officers were. He was very fond of certain branches of science, and rarely missed a meeting of the scientific section of the Academie, of which he was a member. What attracted him most, however, was astronomy; next to that came entomology and botany. Still, though an enthusiast, and often risking a cold to observe an astral phenomenon, he objected to wasting thousands of pounds for a similar purpose; in fact, when it came to disbursing government money for a scientific or other vaguely defined purpose, his economic tendencies got the better of him. "I am a very interesting scientific phenomenon myself," he used to say, "or, at any rate, I was; and yet no one spent any money to come and see me."

He was alluding to a fact which he often told me himself, and afterwards narrated in his "memoirs."

"For a long while, especially from 1818 to 1830, when the weather happened to be very dry and cold, and when I returned to my grateless, humble room, after having spent the day in heated apartments, I was both the spectator and the medium of strange electrical phenomena.

"The moment I had undressed and stood in my s.h.i.+rt, the latter began to crackle and became absolutely luminous, emitting a lot of sparks; the tails stuck together, and remained like that for some time."

I asked him, on one occasion, whether he had ever communicated all this to scientific authorities. His answer, though not a direct one to my question, was not only very characteristic of the mental and moral att.i.tude of the soldiers of the Empire towards the Bourbons, but, to a great extent, of the att.i.tude of the Bourbons themselves towards everybody and everything that was not absolutely in accordance with the policy, sociology, and religious tenets of their adherents, whether laymen or priests.

"You must remember, my dear fellow," he replied, "the regime under which we lived when I was subject to those electrical manifestations; you must further remember that I had fought at Ligny and at Waterloo, and, though not absolutely put on the retired list in 1815, I and the rest of the Emperor's soldiers were watched, and our most innocent acts construed into so many small attempts at conspiracy. You have not the slightest idea what the police were like under the Restauration, let alone the priesthood. If I couple these two, I am not speaking at random. If I had communicated the things I told you of, to no matter what savant, he would necessarily have published the result of his observations and experiments, and do you know what would have happened? I should have been tried, and perhaps condemned, for witchcraft--yes, for witchcraft,--or else I should have been taken hold of by the priests, not as a scientific phenomenon, but as a religious one, a kind of _stigmatise_. They would have made it out to their satisfaction that I was either half a saint, or a whole devil, and in either case my life would have become a burden to me. Only those who have lived under the Bourbons can form an idea of the terrorizing to which they lent themselves. People may tell you that they were kind and charitable, and this, that, and the other. There never were greater tyrants than they were at heart; and if the Duc d'Angouleme or the Comte de Chambord had come to the throne, France would have sunk to the intellectual level of Spain. I would sooner see the most G.o.dless republic than a return of that state of things, and I need not tell you that I firmly believe that not a sparrow falls to the earth without G.o.d's will. No, I held my tongue about my electrical sensations; if I had not, you would not now be talking to Marshal Vaillant--I should have become a jabbering idiot, if I had lived long enough." It is the longest speech I have ever heard the marshal make.

The marshal's own rooms were simply crammed with cases full of beetles, b.u.t.terflies, etc. The s.p.a.ce not taken up by these was devoted to herbariums; and in the midst of the most interesting conversation--interesting to the listener especially, for the old soldier was an inexhaustible mine of anecdote--he, the listener, would be invited to look at a bit of withered gra.s.s or a wriggling caterpillar.

After the Franco-Austrian war, there was an addition to the marshal's household--I might say family, for the old man became as fond of Brusca as if she had been a human being. The story went that she had been bequeathed to him at Solferino by her former master, an Austrian general; and the marshal did not deny it. At any rate, he found Brusca sitting by the dying man, and licking the blood oozing from his wounds.

Brusca was not much to look at, and you might safely have defied a committee of the most eminent authorities on canine breeds to determine hers, but she was very intelligent, and of a most affectionate disposition. Nevertheless, she was always more or less distant with civilians: it took me many years to worm myself into her good graces, and I am almost certain that I was the only _pekin_ thus favoured. The very word made her p.r.i.c.k up her ears, show her teeth, and straighten her tail as far as she could. For the appendage did not lend itself readily to the effort; it was in texture like that of a colley or Pomeranian, and twisted like that of a pug. Curiously enough, her objection to civilians did not extend to the female portion, but the sight of a blouse drove her frantic with rage. On such occasions, she had to be chained up. As a rule, however, Brusca's manifestations, whether of pleasure or the reverse, were uttered in a minor key and unaccompanied by any change of position on her part. She mostly lay at the marshal's feet, if she was not perched on the back of his chair, for Brusca was not a large dog. She accompanied the marshal in his walks and drives, she sat by his side at table, she slept on a rug at the foot of his bed.

Now and then she took a gentle stroll through the apartment, carefully examining the dried plants and beetles. But one day, or rather one evening, there was a complete change in her behaviour: it was at one of the marshal's receptions, on the occasion of Emperor Francis-Joseph's visit to Paris. Some of the officers of his Majesty's suite had been invited, and at the sight of the, to her, once familiar uniforms her delight knew no bounds. She was standing at the top of the landing when she caught sight of them, and all those present thought for a moment that the creature was going mad. As a matter of course, Brusca was not allowed to come into the reception-rooms, but on that night there was no keeping her out. Locked up in the marshal's bedroom, she made the place ring with her barks and yells, and they had to let her out. With one bound she was in the drawing-rooms, and for three hours she did not leave the side of the Austrian officers. When they took their departure, Brusca was perfectly ready, nay eager, to abandon her home and her fond master for their sake, and had to be forcibly prevented from doing so. The marshal did not know whether to cry or to laugh, but in the end he felt ready to forgive Brusca for her contemplated desertion of him in favour of her countrymen. Some one who objected to the term got the snub direct. "Je maintiens ce que j'ai dit, compatriotes; et je serais rudement fier d'avoir une compatriote comme elle."

If possible, Brusca from that moment rose in the marshal's estimation; she was a perfect paragon. "Cette chienne n'a pas seulement toutes les qualites de son genre, elle n'a meme pas les vices de son s.e.xe. Elle m'aime tellement bien qu'elle ne veut etre distraite par aucun autre amour. Elle vit dans le plus rigoureux celibat. La malheureuse," he said every now and then, "elle a failli se compromettre."

In spite of the marshal's boast about Brusca's morals, he was one day compelled to admit a faux pas on her part, and for some weeks the "vet"

had an anxious time for it. "Elle a mal tourne, mais que voulez-vous, je ne vais pas l'abandonner." And when the crisis was over: "Son incartade ne lui a pas porte bonheur. Esperons que la lecon lui profitera."

Brusca had her portrait painted by the "Michael-Angelo of dogs," Jadin, and when it was finished the visitors were given an opportunity of admiring it in the drawing-room, where it was on view for several consecutive Tuesdays. After that, a great many of the marshal's familiars, supposed to be capable of doing justice to Brusca's character in verse, were appealed to, to write her panegyric, but though several Academicians tried their hands, their lucubrations were not deemed worthy to be inscribed on the frame of Brusca's portrait, albeit that one or two--the first in Greek--were engrossed on vellum, and adorned the drawing-room table. The effusion that did eventually adorn the frame was by an anonymous author--it was shrewdly suspected that it was by the marshal himself, and ran as follows:--

"Si je suis pres de lui, c'est que je le merite.

Revez mon sort brilliant; revez, ambitieux!

Du bien de mon maitre en ami je profite, J'aimerais son pain noir s'il etait malheureux."

Another peculiarity of Marshal Vaillant was never to accept a letter not prepaid or insufficiently paid. The rule was so strictly enforced, both in his private and official capacity, that many a valuable report was ruthlessly refused, and had to be traced afterwards through the various post-offices of Europe.

Seven times out of ten the marshal, when travelling by himself, missed his train. This would lead one to infer that he was unpunctual; on the contrary, he was the spirit of punctuality. Unfortunately, he over-did the thing. He generally reached the station half an hour or three-quarters before the time, seated himself down in a corner, dozed off, and did not wake up until it was too late. The marshal was a native of Dyon; and at Nuits, situated between the former town and Beaune, there lived a middle-aged spinster cousin whom he often went to visit.

He nearly always returned by the last train to Dyon, where he had his quarters at the Hotel de la Cloche; and although often in the midst of a pleasant family party, insisted upon leaving long before it was necessary. As a matter of course, the station was in semi-darkness--for Nuits is not a large place--and the booking-office was not open. One night, it being very warm, he stretched himself leisurely on a gra.s.s plot, instead of on the hard seat, and there he was found at six in the morning; several trains had come and gone, but no one had dared to wake him. "Mais, monsieur le marechal, on aurait cru vous manquer de respect en vous eveillant. Apres tout, vous n'etes pas tout le monde, il y des distinctions," said the stationmaster apologetically. "La mort et le sommeil, monsieur," was the answer, "font table rase de toute distinction." It was a French version of our "Death levels all:" the marshal was fond of paraphrasing quotations, especially from the English, of which he had a very fair knowledge, having translated some military works many years before. However, from that day forth, instructions were given to take no heed of his rank, and to awaken him like any other mortal, rather than have him miss his train.

In fact, the marshal did not like to be constantly reminded of his rank; if anything, he was rather proud of his very humble origin, and, instead of hiding his pedigree like a good many parvenus, he took delight in publis.h.i.+ng it. I have seen a letter of his to some one who inquired on the subject, not from sheer curiosity. "My grandfather was a silkmercer in a small way on the place St. Vincent, at Dyon. His father had been a coppersmith. I am unable to trace back further than that; my quarters of n.o.bility stop there. Let me add, at the same time, that there is no more silly proverb than the one 'Like father like son.' My father died poor, and respected by every one. I do not believe that he had a single enemy.

His friends called him Christ, he was so good and kind to everybody. I am not the least like him. He was short and slim, I am rather tall and stout; he was gentle, and people say that I am abrupt and harsh. In short, he had as many virtues as I am supposed to have faults, and I am afraid the world is not at all mistaken in that respect."

I, who knew him as well as most people, am afraid that the world was very much mistaken. As a matter of course, the old soldier had many faults, but his good qualities far outweighed the latter. He was modest to a degree, and the flatteries to which men in his position are naturally exposed produced not the slightest effect upon him. When in an amiable mood, he used to cut them short with a "Oui, oui; le marechal Vaillant est un grand homme, il n'y a pas de doute; tout le monde est d'accord sur ce chapitre la, donc, n'en parlons plus." When not in an amiable mood, he showed them the door, saying, "Monsieur, si je suis aussi grand homme que vous le dites, je suis trop grand pour m'occuper de vos pet.i.tes affaires. J'ai l'honneur de vous saluer."

He was fond of his native town, one of whose streets bore or still bears his name, though, according to all authorities, it never smelt sweet by whatsoever appellation it went. But he objected to being lionized, so he never stayed with the prefect, the maire, or the general commanding the district, and simply took up his quarters at the hotel, insisting on being treated like any other visitor. The maire respected his wishes; the population did not, which was a sore point with the marshal.

Nevertheless, when, in 1858, during their Exhibition, they wanted him to distribute the prizes, he consented to do so, on condition that his reception should be of the simplest. The Dyonnais promised, and to a certain extent kept their word. Next morning the prefect, accompanied by the authorities, fetched him in his carriage. The ceremony was to take place in the park itself, and at the entrance was posted General Picard, accompanied by his staff, and at the head of several battalions. The moment the marshal set foot to the ground, the general saluted, the drums rolled, and the bands played. The marshal felt wroth, and at the conclusion of the distribution sent for the general, whom, not to mince matters, he roundly bullied.

General Picard did not interrupt him. "Have you finished, monsieur le marechal?" he asked at last.

"Of course, I have finished."

"Very well; the next time you come out as a simple bourgeois, you had better leave the grand cordon of the Legion of Honour at home. If I had not saluted you as I did, I should have had the reprimand of the minister of war, and of the chancellor of the Legion of Honour. After all, I prefer yours."

"But I am the minister for war."

"I know nothing about that. I only saw an old gentleman with the grand cordon. If you are the minister for war, perhaps you will be good enough to tell Marechal Vaillant, when you see him, that he must not tempt old soldiers like myself to forget their duty."

"You are right, general. But what a hot fiery lot these Dyonnais are, aren't they?" Picard was a native of Dyon also.

CHAPTER XIX.

The Franco-German War -- Friday, July 15, 1870, 6 p.m. -- My friends "confident of France being able to chastise the insolence of the King of Prussia" -- I do not share their confidence; but do not expect a crus.h.i.+ng defeat -- Napoleon III.'s presence aggravated the disasters; his absence would not have averted them -- He himself had no illusions about the efficiency of the army, did not suspect the rottenness of it -- His previous endeavours at reorganization -- The real drift of his proposed inquiries -- His plan meant also compulsory service for every one -- Why the legislature opposed it -- The makes.h.i.+ft proposed by it -- Napoleon weary, body and soul -- His physical condition -- A great consultation and the upshot of it -- Dr. Ricord and what he told me -- I am determined to see and hear, though not to speak -- I sally forth -- The streets on the evening of Friday, the 15th of July -- The illuminations -- Patriotism or Chauvinism -- The announcement of a bookseller -- What Moltke thought of it -- The opinion of a dramatist on the war -- The people; no horse-play -- No work done on Sat.u.r.day and Sunday -- Cabmen -- "A man does not pay for his own funeral, monsieur" -- The northern station on Sunday -- The departing Germans -- The Emperor's particular instructions with regard to them -- Alfred de Musset's "Rhin Allemand" -- Prevost-Paradol and the news of his suicide -- The probable cause of it -- A chat with a superior officer -- The Emperor's Sunday receptions at the Tuileries -- Promotions in the army, upon what basis -- Good and bad officers -- The officers'

mess does not exist -- Another general officer gives his opinion -- Marshal Niel and Leboeuf -- The plan of campaign suddenly altered -- The reason -- The Emperor leaves St. Cloud -- His confidence shaken before then -- Some telegrams from the commanders of divisions -- Thiers is appealed to, to stem the tide of retrenchment; afterwards to take the portfolio of war -- The Emperor's opinion persistently disregarded at the Tuileries -- Trochu -- The dancing colonels at the Tuileries.

After the lapse of thirteen years, it is difficult to put the exact hour and date to each exciting incident of a period which was absolutely phenomenal throughout. I kept no diary, only a few rough notes, because at that time I never thought of committing my recollections to paper, and have, therefore, to trust almost wholly to my memory; nevertheless I am positive as to main facts, whether witnessed by myself or communicated to me by friends and acquaintances. I remember, for instance, that, immediately after the declaration of war, I was warned by my friends not to go abroad more than I could help, to keep away as much as possible from crowds. "You are a foreigner," said one, "and that will be sufficient for any ragam.u.f.fin, who wants to do you a bad turn, to draw attention to you. By the time you have satisfactorily proved your nationality you will be beaten black and blue, if not worse."

The advice was given on Friday, the 15th of July, about six in the afternoon; that is, a few hours after the news of the scenes in the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate had spread, and when the centre of Paris was getting gradually congested with the inhabitants of the faubourgs. My friends were men of culture and education, and not at all likely to be carried away by the delirium which, on that same night and for the next week, converted Paris into one vast lunatic asylum, whose inmates had managed to throw off the control of their keepers; yet there was not a single civilian among them who had a doubt about the eventual victory of France, about her ability "to chastise the arrogance of the King of Prussia," to put the matter in their own words.

"To try to be wise after the event" is a thing I particularly detest, but I can honestly affirm that I did not share their confidence, although I did not suspect for a moment that the defeat would be so crus.h.i.+ng as it was. I remembered many incidents that had happened during the previous four years of which they seemed conveniently oblivious; I was also aware, perhaps, of certain matters of which they were either profoundly ignorant, or professed to be; but, above all, I took to heart the advice, tendered in the shape of, "You are a foreigner;" and though I feared no violence or even verbal recrimination on their part, I chose to hold my tongue.

I hold no brief for the late Emperor, but I sincerely believe that he was utterly averse to the war. I, moreover, think that if he had consented to remain in Paris or at St. Cloud, the disaster would have happened all the same. He had no illusions about the efficiency of his armies, though he may not have been cognizant of the thorough rottenness of the whole. But to have said so at any time, especially during the last four years, would have been simply to sign the death-warrant of his dynasty. He endeavoured to remedy the defects in a roundabout way as early as October, '66, by appointing a commission to draw up a plan for the reorganization of the army. Apparently, Napoleon wanted larger contingents; in reality, he hoped that the inquiry would lay bare such evidence of corruption as would justify him in dismissing several of the men surrounding him from their high commands. But both those who only saw the apparent drift as well as those who guessed at the real one were equally determined in their opposition. It was the majority in the Legislature which first uttered the cry, immediately taken up by the adversaries of the regime, "If this bill becomes law there will be an end of favourable numbers." In fact, the bill meant compulsory service for every one, and the consent of the deputies to it would at once have forfeited their position with their electors, especially with the peasantry, to whom to apply the word "patriotism" at any time is tantamount to the vilest prost.i.tution of it.

Of the makes.h.i.+ft for that law I need say little or nothing. Without a single spy in France, without a single attache in the Rue de Lille, Bismarck was enabled by that only to determine beforehand the effects of one serious military defeat on the dynasty of the Emperor; he was enabled to calculate the exact strength of the chain of defence which would be offered subsequently. The French army was like the Scotch lad's porridge, "sour, burnt, gritty, cold, and, ---- it, there was not enough of it." It is not underrating Bismarck's genius to say that a man of far inferior abilities than he would have plainly seen the course to pursue.

Was Napoleon III. steeped in such cra.s.s ignorance as not to have had an inkling of all this? Certainly not; but he was weary, body and soul, and, but for his wife and son, he would, perhaps willingly, have abdicated. He had been suffering for years from one of the most excruciating diseases, and a fortnight before the declaration of war the symptoms had become so alarming that a great consultation was held between MM. Nelaton, Ricord, Fauvel, G. See, and Corvisart. The result was the unanimous conclusion of those eminent medical men that an immediate operation was absolutely necessary. Curiously enough, however, the report embodying this decision was only signed by one, and not communicated to the Empress at all. It may be taken for granted that, had she known of her husband's condition, she would not have agitated in favour of the war, as she undoubtedly did.

It was only after the Emperor's death at Chislehurst that the doc.u.ment in question was found, but I happened to know Dr. Ricord intimately, and most of the facts, besides those stated above, were known to me on that memorable Friday, the 15th of July, 1870. As I have said already, I thought it wiser to hold my tongue.

But though determined _not to speak_--knowing that it would do no earthly good--I was equally determined _to see and to hear_; so, at about eight, I sallied forth. The heat was positively stifling, and it was still daylight, but, in their eagerness to show their joy, the Parisians would not wait for darkness to set in, and, as I went along, I saw several matrons of the better cla.s.ses, aided by their maids, make preparations on the balcony for illuminating the moment the last rays of the sun should set behind the horizon. I distinctly say matrons of the better cla.s.ses, because my way lay through the Chaussee d'Antin, where the tenancy of an apartment on the first, second, or third floor implied a more than average income. I was, and am, aware that neither refinement nor good sense should be measured by the money at one's command, but under similar circ.u.mstances it is impossible to apply any other valid test. In the streets there was one closely wedged-in, seething ma.s.s, and the noise was deafening; nevertheless, at the sight of one of those matrons thus engaged there was a momentary lull, followed immediately by vociferous applause and the cry of "Les meres de la patrie." From a cursory glance upward, I came to the conclusion that the progeny of these ladies, if they were blessed with any, could as yet contribute but very little to the glory of the nation; still, I reflected, at the same time, that they had probably brothers and husbands who, within a few hours, might be called to the front, "nevermore to return;" that, therefore, the outburst of patriotism could not be called an altogether cheap one. In fact, none but the thoroughly irreclaimable sceptic could fail to be struck with the genuine outburst of national resentment against a whole nation on the part of another nation, which, as I take it, means something different from unalloyed patriotism. It was a mixture of hatred and chauvinism, rather than the latter and more elevated sentiment. The "sacred soil of France"--though why more sacred than any other soil, I have never been able to make out--was not threatened in this instance by Prussia; carefully considered, it was not even a question of national honour offended for which Paris professed itself ready as one man to draw the sword, and yet the thousands in the street that night behaved as if each of them had a personal quarrel to settle, not with one or two Germans, but with every son and daughter of the Fatherland.

It was, perhaps, a quarter after eight when I found myself in the Chaussee d'Antin, and the distance to the Boulevard des Italiens was certainly not more than two hundred and fifty yards; nevertheless, it took me more than half an hour to get over it, for immediately on my emerging into the main thoroughfare I looked at a clock which pointed to nine. Two things stand out vividly in my memory: the first, the preparations of several business houses to illuminate on a grand scale, there and then; _i. e._ the putting up of the elaborate crystal devices used by them on the 15th of August, the Emperor's fete-day. It was exactly a month before that date, and a neighbour of an enthusiastic tradesman remarked upon the fact. "I know," was the answer; "I'll leave it there till the 14th of next month, and then I'll add two bigger ones to it." On the day proposed, not only were there none added, but the original one had also disappeared, for by that time the Second Empire was virtually in the throes of death. The second thing I remember was the enormous strip of calico outside a bookseller's shop, with the announcement, "Dictionnaire Francais-Allemand a l'usage des Francais a Berlin." In less than two months I read the following; it was an extract from the interview between Bismarck and Moltke on the one side and General de Wimpffen on the other, on the eve of the capitulation of Sedan: "You do not know the topography of the environs of Sedan,"

replied General von Moltke; "and, seeing that we are on the subject, let me give you a small instance which thoroughly shows the presumption, the want of method, of your nation. At the beginning of the campaign, you provided your officers with maps of Germany, when they utterly lacked the means of studying the geography of their own country, seeing that you had no maps of your own territory." I could not help thinking of the bookseller, and wondering how many dictionaries he sold during those first few days.

I did not get very far that night, only as far as the Maison d'Or, where I was perforce obliged to stop and look on. I stood for nearly an hour and a half, for there was no possibility of getting a seat, and during that time I only heard one opinion adverse to the war. It was that of a justly celebrated dramatist, who is by no means hostile to either the Emperor or the Empire, albeit that he had declined several years ago to be presented to Napoleon when Princess Mathilde offered him to do so. He positively hates the Germans, but his hatred did not blind him to their great intellectual qualities and to their powers of organization. "It is all very fine to shout 'a Berlin!'" he said; "and it is very probable that some of these bellowers (braillards) will get there, though not in the order of procession they expect; they will be in front, and the Germans at their backs." He spoke very low, and begged me not to repeat what he had said. "If I am mistaken, I do not want to be twitted with having thrown cold water on the martial ardour of my countrymen; if I am right, I will willingly forego the honour of having prophesied the humiliation of my countrymen." That is why I suppress his name here, but I have often thought of his words since; and when people, Englishmen especially, have accused him of having contributed to the corruption of the Second Empire by his stage works, I have smiled to myself. With the exception of one, he has never written a play that did not teach a valuable moral lesson; but he is an excellent husband, father, and son, though he is perhaps not over generous with his money.

I am bound to say that, though the noise on the Boulevards was terrific, and the crowds the densest I have ever seen in Paris or anywhere, they refrained from that horse-play so objectionable in England under similar circ.u.mstances. Of course there were exceptions; such as, for instance, the demonstration at the Prussian Emba.s.sy: but, in the main, the behaviour was orderly throughout. I do not know what might have been the result of any foreigners--German or otherwise--showing themselves conspicuously, but they were either altogether absent, or else concealed their nationality as much as possible by keeping commendably silent.

Nevertheless, the Parisian shopkeeper, who is the most arrant coward on the face of the earth where a crowd is concerned, put up his shutters during the whole of Sat.u.r.day and Sunday, except those who professed for cater for the inner man. I doubt whether, on the first-named day, there was a single stroke of work done by the three or four hundred thousand of Parisian artisans. I exclude cabmen, railway porters, and the like.

They had their hands full, because the exodus began before the war news was four and twenty hours old. Our own countrymen seemed in the greatest hurry to put the Channel between themselves and France. If the enemy had been already at the gates of Paris their retreat could have been scarcely more sudden. The words "bouches inutiles" had as yet not been p.r.o.nounced or invented officially; but I have a notion that a cabman suggested them first, in a conversation with a brother Jehu. "Voila des bouches utiles qui s'en vont, mon vieux," he said, while waiting on the Place Vendome to take pa.s.sengers to the railway. Until then I had never heard the word used in that sense.

Apropos of cabmen, I heard a story that day for the truth of which I will, however, not vouch. There was a cab-stand near the Prussian Emba.s.sy, and most of the drivers knew every one of the attaches, the latter being frequent customers. On the Sat.u.r.day morning, a cab was called from the rank to take a young attache to the eastern railway station. He was going to join his regiment. On alighting from the cab, the attache was about to pay his fare; the driver refused the money. "A man does not pay for his own funeral, monsieur; and you may take it that I have performed that office for you. Adieu, monsieur." With that he drove off. True or not, the mere invention of the tale would prove that, at any rate, the lower middle cla.s.ses were c.o.c.ksure of the utter annihilation of the Germans.

I happened to have occasion to go to the northern station on the Sunday, to see some one off by the mail. That large, cold, bare hall, which does duty as a waiting-room, was crowded, and a number of young Germans were among the pa.s.sengers; respectable, stalwart fellows who, to judge by their dress, had occupied good commercial positions in the French capital. Most of them were accompanied by friends or relations. They seemed by no means elated at the prospect before them, and scarcely spoke to one another. As a matter of course, they were scattered all over the place, in groups of three and four. I noticed that there was an exceedingly strong contingent of sergents de ville, and several couples of officiers de paix--what in England we should call superintendents of police. The latter had evidently received particular instructions, for they had posted, as much as possible, a sergent de ville close to every group. At first I mistook the drift of the supervision, but it was soon explained to me when one of the officiers de paix came up to a group somewhat larger than the others. "Messieurs," he said very politely, "vous etes Allemands, et je vous prierai de vous mettre ensemble, afin de pouvoir vous proteger, s'il y a besoin." I heard afterwards that, amidst all his weighty occupations, the Emperor himself had given orders to have the Germans especially protected, as he feared some violence on the part of the Parisians.

During the next week the excitement did not abate, but, save for some minor incidents, it was the same thing over and over again: impromptu processions along the main thoroughfares to the singing of the "Ma.r.s.eillaise" and the "Chant du Depart," until the crowds had got by heart Alfred de Musset's "Rhin Allemand," of which, until then, not one in a thousand had ever heard.

Meanwhile the news had spread of the suicide of Prevost-Paradol, the newly appointed French amba.s.sador at Was.h.i.+ngton, and the republicans were trying to make capital out of it. According to them, it was political shame and remorse at having deserted his colours, despair at the turn events were taking, that prompted the step. These falsehoods have been repeated until they became legends connected with the fall of the Second Empire. To the majority of Englishmen, Prevost-Paradol is not even a name; talented as he was, Frenchmen would have scarcely known more about him if some politicians, for purposes of their own, had not chosen to convert him into a self-immolated martyr to the Imperialist cause--or, rather, to that part of the cause which aimed at the recovery of the left banks of the Rhine. I knew Prevost-Paradol, and he was only distinguished from hundreds of thousands of Frenchmen in that his "France Nouvelle" was a magnificent attempt to spur his countrymen's ambition in that direction; but this very fact is an additional argument against the alleged cause of his self-destruction. He shot himself during the night of the 10th and 11th of July, when not the most pessimistically inclined could foresee the certainty of a war, and, least of all, the disastrous result of it to France. Those who would know the real cause of Prevost-Paradol's suicide had better read a short tale that appeared anonymously in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ of February, 1860. The hero of "Madame de Marcay" is none other than the brilliant journalist himself, and the germs of suicidal mania were so plainly discernible in him, as to make those who knew the writer wonder that he had not killed himself long before he did.