An Englishman in Paris: Notes and Recollections

by Albert D. Vandam

Tout porteur de billet pris à l'avance pourra sans rétribution, visiter le Palais des Tuileries.

The rest is missing, but I remember that among the artists who gave their services were Mesdames Agar and Bordas; MM. Coquelin cadet, and Francis Thomé, the pianist.

I did not take my ticket beforehand, consequently was not entitled to a stroll through the Palace previous to the concert. When I entered the Salle des Maréchaux, where the concert was to take place, I felt thankful that the trial had been spared to me, and I mentally ejaculated a wish that I might never see that glorious apartment under similar circumstances. The traces of neglect were too painful to behold, though I am bound to say that I could detect no proofs of wilful damage. My wish was gratified with a vengeance. A little more than a month afterwards, the building was in flames, and, at the hour I write, it is being razed to the ground.

I did not stay long; I heard Madame Agar, dressed in deep mourning, declaim "the Marseillaise," and M. Thomé execute a fantasia on well-known operatic airs. Some of the reserved seats were occupied by the minor dignitaries of the Commune, but the greater part of the place was filled by working men and their spouses and the very petite bourgeoisie. The latter seemed to be in doubt whether to enjoy themselves or not; but the former were very vociferous, and had evidently made up their minds that the Commune was the best of all possible régimes, seeing that it enabled them to listen to a concert in a palace for a mere trifle. "That's equality, as I understand it, monsieur," said a workman in a very clean blouse to me, at the same time making room for me on the seat next to him. He and his companion beguiled the time between the first and second number on the programme by sucking barley-sugar.

About a month later—on Wednesday, May 17th, but I will not be certain—I was present at the first gala-performance organized by the Commune, although the Versailles troops were within gunshot of the fortifications. This time I had taken a ticket beforehand. The performance was to take place at the Opéra-Comique, and long before the appointed hour the Boulevards and the streets adjoining the theatre were crowded with idlers, anxious to watch the arrival of the bigwigs under whose immediate patronage the entertainment was to be given. The papers had been full of it for days and days beforehand; the posters on the walls had set forth its many attractions. In accordance with traditional usage on such occasions, the programme was a miscellaneous one, and the wags did not fail to remark that the Commune ought to have struck out something original instead of blindly following the precedents of tyrants; but in reality the Commune had no choice. Few of the principal artists of the subsidized theatres were available, and there was an evident reluctance to co-operate among some of those who were; hence it was decided to give fragments of such operas or comedies, calculated to stimulate still further the patriotic and republican sentiments with which the majority of the spectators were credited. There had been less difficulty in recruiting the orchestra, and a very fair band was got together. A great many invitations had been issued; few of the seats, especially in the better parts, were paid for.

All the entrances had been thrown open, and around every one there was a considerable gathering, almost exclusively composed of National Guards in uniform, and women of the working classes, who enthusiastically cheered each known personage on his arrival. The latter were too magnificent for words, the clanking sabres, resplendent uniforms, and waving plumes only paled in contrast with the toilettes of their female companions who hung proudly on their arms. For them, at any rate, "le jour de gloire était arrivé."

The crowd, especially the fairer portion of it, was decidedly enthusiastic, perhaps somewhat too enthusiastic, in their ultra-cordial greetings and recognition of the ladies, so suddenly promoted in the social scale. Mélanie and Clarisse would have been satisfied with a less literal interpretation of "Auld Lang Syne," as they stepped out of the carriages, the horses of which belied the boast that at the end of the siege there were 30,000 serviceable animals of that kind left.

The performance had been timed for half-past seven; at half-past eight, the principal box set apart for the chiefs of the new régime was still empty. As I have already said, disquieting rumours had been afloat for the last few days with regard to the approach of the Versailles troops, the guns had been thundering all day long, and, what was worse, for the last forty-eight hours no "startling victory" had been announced either on the walls of Paris or in the papers. Some of the "great men," among the audience in the stalls and dress-circle, and easily to be distinguished from the ruck of ordinary mortals, professed themselves unable to supply authentic information, but as the performance had not been countermanded, they suggested that things were not so bad as they looked.

The theatre was crammed from floor to ceiling, and the din was something terrible. The heat was oppressive; luckily the gas was burning low because the companies were as yet unable to provide a full supply. There were few people out of uniform in either stalls or dress-circle, but the upper parts were occupied by blouses with a fair sprinkling of cloth coats. The women seemed to me to make the most infernal noise. The two stage-boxes were still empty; in the others there were a good many journalists and ladies who had come to criticize the appearance and demeanour of the "dames de nos nouveaux gouvernants." There was one box which attracted particular attention; one of its occupants, evidently a "dame du monde," was in evening dress, wearing some magnificent diamonds, while it was very patent that those of her own social status had made it a point to dress as simply as possible. I have never been able to find out the name of the lady; I had not seen her before, I have not seen her since.

At about a quarter to nine the doors of the stage-boxes were flung back, and the guests of the evening appeared. But alas, they were not the chief members of the Commune, only the secondary characters. It is doubtful, though, whether the former could have been more magnificently attired than were the latter. Their uniforms were positively hidden beneath the gold lace.