The Insurrection in Paris

by Davy

may 7^th.

In consequence of a large placard posted over the walls of Paris this morning I passed through the gate of the private garden of the Tuileries, and made my way, in company with a crowd of citizens of all classes, through the apartments occupied but a few months ago by the ex-Emperor and Empress. The printed invitation announced that we might see the rooms in which the "tyrant" had lived, for the modest sum of 50c., but that, should we think proper to take tickets for the concert, "whereby these saloons might be at length rendered useful to the people," we should be permitted to enjoy the extra show gratis. I took a ticket, and joined myself to a thick stream of people who belonged to every nationality and rank of life, and whose remarks and criticisms were most edifying. There were shopkeepers and their wives, only too delighted to take advantage of the mildest dissipation; gentlemen whose National Guard trousers were rendered respectable by the gray jacket or blouse of a citizen; humdrum housewives who approved everything, and gaped their admiration of so much gorgeous wall-colouring; there were flaunting ladies in bonnets of the latest fashion and marvellous petticoats, who criticized the curtains and pointed the parasol of scorn at faded draperies; people who felt the heavy hand of the spectre of departed glory, and people who exulted at beholding the hidden recesses of an Imperial mansion laid bare to the jokes and ribaldry of Belleville and La Villette. Every class of Parisian society was represented in the throng that swayed and hustled through the rooms, but the saddest sight of all was a knot or two of decrepit veterans from the Invalides who leant against the balustrade of the grand staircase, and gazed with pinched-up lips and dry eyes at the National Guards on duty, lounging and carousing down below. The stairs were littered with bedding and cooking utensils, shirts and stockings hanging to dry over the gilt railings, while in the square at the stairs' foot were ranged benches and boards on trestles, and there the soldiers of the Guard sat in picturesque groups enough, contrasting in the carelessness and dirt of their general appearance with the lavish ornaments of marble and gilt work which served as a background to their figures. Marching orders, more or less thumbed and torn, hung in fragments from the panelled walls; names in pencil and names in ink, and names scrawled with a finger-nail, defaced the doors and staircase wall. A sentry stood at every door to see that the citizens behaved themselves—a precaution by no means unnecessary, the outward aspect of certain members of the crowd being taken into consideration. In the Salle de la Paix a number of women were busy uncovering a number of chairs for the promised concert, and in the Salle des Maréchaux beyond, where the concert was to be given, velvet benches were already occupied by old ladies in white caps with baskets in their hands, who presented a stern aspect of endurance, as though they were determined to sit there through the preparations as well as the promised entertainment, and still to continue sitting until turned out by sword and bayonet. The "Salle des Maréchaux" exists no more except in name, for men on ladders were employed covering up the portraits which decorate the hall with screens of red silk—I suppose lest the past glory of French heroes should pale the brilliancy of the National Guard, just as the bas-reliefs of the Vendôme Column act as an outrage upon the susceptibilities of the Commune. White cloths were being tied over the busts of Napoleon's Generals, and everything relating to the past carefully obliterated—a rather foolish proceeding, considering that the bee-spangled Imperial curtains still hang over the doors, and festoons of the same drapery decorate the gallery above. The brocaded panels of the Salle du Trône were objects of much remark among the ladies, as were the tapestries of the Salle des Gobelins; but the bareness and total absence of furniture were commented on freely on all sides. Not a chair or a window blind, or even a door-plate or handle, is to be seen in any of the rooms, except in those used for the concerts, and the question arose, naturally enough. "Where is it all gone to?" The same demand was made so often of an elderly bourgeois on duty at the end of the Salle de Diane that he was fairly bewildered, and looked round for help, and hailing the gold stripes on my cap as a haven of relief, he forthwith seized upon me as a superior officer, and insisted on an explanation. "You know there were quantities of cases carried off during the time before Sedan," he said, "but, with all their cunning, they can't have dismantled a whole palace of this size, can they?" And the crowd stood round endeavouring to account for the nakedness of the land, until a remark that the Commune had been feathering their nests with the chairs and tables dispersed them laughing. The Empress's bedroom was a great attraction, Chaplin's charming decorations being subjects of sufficient interest, independent of the absent furniture. The looking-glasses which spring from the walls called down ejaculations of delight from a party of dressmakers, who carefully took notes of the mechanism, "in order to imitate it, my dear, when Paris becomes itself again." There was a large placard upon the wall of a kind of library, inviting the attention of the public to the secret arrangements in a recess whereby the Empress obtained her dresses and linen from some manufactory of garments above, and an old lady, after having carefully examined the elaborate details, turned away with a sigh and a shake of the head. "How foolish of them, after all, not to have done a little for us in order that they might have continued to abide in this paradise!" How different was the Empress's apartment this morning, bare and crowded with the dregs of the Paris population, from the night when I last saw it, the night of her flight, when bed-clothes still littered the floor, and gloves and little odds and ends of female finery told of recent occupation! All was silent then with the stillness of a coming storm; now the walls re-echo with a stir of unhallowed feet, and the spring sunshine streams in at the open window accompanied by whiffs from the garden below, while a distant cry reaches us from the street beyond of "Le Vengeur," "Le Cri du Peuple," "Le dernier ordre du Comité du Salut Public," and we detect curls of smoke about the Arch of Triumph, which remind us that the bombardment still goes on. A reflective sentry at the door of the cabinet de travail begged me to remark the portraits set round above the doors. "Those are the Empress's favourite ladies," he informed me; "are they not salopines, one would say, of the period of Montespan? And those were the ladies who were models for the women of our land—no wonder that Paris should have become the Gomorrah that it is!" In the evening the concert was given, and a wonderful bear-garden the Imperial Palace presented. Members of the Commune flitted about in red draperies and tried to find room on the already crowded benches for the struggling mob, who rubbed their hot faces with their unaccustomed white gloves, and used such language to each other as, it is to be hoped, those august walls have seldom heard. Meanwhile, the crowd increased in numbers, and by 8 o'clock the reception rooms were full, and some 2,000 people still stood in a long string in the garden outside. They behaved with the wondrous good nature which characterizes a French crowd, laughing over the absurdity of their predicament and waving the tickets, which they would never be enabled to present, jestingly at one another. In course of time the whole of the jardin privé was full of people, who looked up at the lights streaming from the windows, and sat about on chairs quietly smoking their cigars and enjoying the lovely evening, listening to the occasional boom at the other end of the long alley, where a bright flash which bore death upon its wings appeared in the sky from time to time, in mockery of the gas-lit chandeliers and feeble attempts at revelry that were going on above our heads.

The reigning scandal of the day is the affair of the Convent of Picpus. So highly roused has public indignation been by the supposed discovery of atrocities committed within those jealous walls that the people have been peremptorily excluded until the investigations of justice shall be complete. I managed, however, to penetrate within the precincts by attaching myself to the cortège of an English friend, who was journeying thither under special official orders, to investigate the case of an English Sister named Garret. In the Rue de Picpus, near Mazas prison, stand two large buildings, each surrounded by high walls, above which may be seen green trees at intervals. The one is an establishment of the Jesuites; the other the Convent of the White Nuns. The Jesuites Brothers escaped at the first sign of approaching danger, but the Sisters held their own until forced into cabs and conveyed to the cells of St. Lazare, there to await the results of a judicial inquiry into certain matters that are deemed suspicious. Arrived at the gate of the Convent, we were obliged to force our way through a crowd of angry people who demanded instant permission to enter, and who were as persistently swept back by a group of National Guards—we, however, being admitted inside the door under cover of the official pass and signatures. In the court-yard, under the shade of some fine trees, a few Guards were playing bowls in the Jesuit's alley, and making up to one of them, whose cap displayed tokens of authority, we mentioned our business, and begged permission to see what was to be seen. Our friend was very civil, accepted a cigar, and marched us off to go the rounds. He pointed out to us the fact, of which there certainly could exist no kind of doubt, that the two buildings communicated one with the other, by means of an old door which still exists at the back of a stable, as well as by other apertures in the garden wall, which show signs of having been recently closed up. The Jesuit's garden is a most beautiful one, occupying a space of some 12 acres, laid out with care and furnished with fruit trees of every description, pruned and trained after the latest horticultural designs. There are wondrously ingenious plans, too, for irrigating the beds, forcing pits and hothouses, and long alleys with vines trained over them. Through the old door above mentioned we passed into the Sister's garden, equally large and beautiful, though not kept with the same care. In the centre stands a gymnasium, I suppose for the use of the children brought up under the Sisters' care, and further is their cemetery, a lovely spot, where, under the heavy shade of ancient cypresses, lie bearers of some of the most ancient names in France—"Prince of Salm-Kyrbourg, immolated under the Terror, aged 49;" "Rochefoucauld," "De Noailles," "Montmorency," "the great Lafayette," the whole family of the Talleyrand-Périgords, and legions of Princes and Princesses. Some of the vaults have been opened, and many lead coffins, half-covered with rotting velvet and gold lace, lie exposed to the light of day, awaiting an examination at the hands of the Minister of Justice. At the extreme end of the garden, however, are the three little conical huts, side by side, resembling white ants' nests, which have been the prime cause of so much excitement and judicial inquiry. When the Convent was occupied by the National Guards these little huts were tenanted each by an old woman, enclosed in a wooden cage, like a chickens' pen, the three buildings being similar in size and construction, six feet square by seven in height, with a slate roof, through which daylight was visible, while the three old women were all of them hopeless idiots. The Lady Superior has kept her lips resolutely closed up to the present time, but admitted, when first questioned, that the three sufferers had lived in their hideous prison for nine years, in an atmosphere of stifling heat throughout the summer and half frozen with cold throughout the winter; "but," she added, "they were idiots when they came." The conductor of the inquiry replied that, if such were the case, it was illegal to have admitted them to the Convent at all, and that even supposing them to have been admitted, the place where they were found was not a fit dwelling-place for a dog. A key was discovered among her papers, labelled "key of the great vault;" but where this great vault may be has not yet been found out. The Superior and her nuns keep a uniform and persistent silence upon the point; excavations have been made at different points in the garden, and under the high altar of the chapel, but hitherto without effect. At one end of the nuns' garden stands an isolated building, in which were found mattresses furnished with straps and buckles, also two iron corsets, an iron skull-cap, and a species of rack turned by a cog-wheel, evidently intended for bending back the body with force. The Superior explained that these were orthopædic instruments—a superficial falsehood. The mattresses and straps struck me as being easily accounted for; I have seen such things used in French midwifery, and in cases of violent delirium; but the rack and its adjuncts are justly objects of grave suspicion, for they imply a use of brutal force which no disease at present known would justify. On our way back through the gardens our guide made a détour in order to show us a great subterranean warehouse, where an enormous quantity of potatoes was stored, as well as barrels full of salt pork, while in a yard hard by lay grunting a fat pig. "Look at this!" cried our National Guard indignantly. "Look at these stores, which might have helped to feed the starving poor of the arrondissement during our six months' siege, and think that these people were begging from door to door the whole time for money to buy broken victuals for their pensioners!" Arrived at the entrance gate our guide nudged me, telling me in whispers to look at the old woman who was wandering about, followed by a younger one, stooping from time to time to pick up a leaf or rub her hands with sand and gravel. "That is Sœur Bernadine," he said, "one of the three prisoners of the wooden cages. She is the most sane in mind of the three, and we keep her here under the care of one of our wives to cheer her up. She is only 50, though she looks past 70. The other two have been removed, as they were rendered violent by the crowd and change of scene." I passed close to her and she looked up—a soft, pale face, with sunken eyes shaded by the frills of a great cap. She looked at me dazedly, without taking any notice, and stooping again, filled her hands with refuse coffee grounds, which she put into her mouth until prevented by her companion. Without showing the least prejudice in the matter, I think I can safely say that the ladies now shut up at St. Lazare will find it no easy matter to clear themselves of blame; for, though there are doubtless many suspicious circumstances that maybe explained away, there are also hard facts which will remain hard facts in spite of the most elaborate attempts at refutation.

may 8^th.

In consequence of the bombardment daily expected from the Montretout batteries people have been hurriedly leaving Paris in great numbers.

Fort Vanves took fire last night, and had to be evacuated. It was found impossible to extinguish the fire. It is still burning.

The explosion at Issy arose from a torpedo, not a powder magazine. The Fort is evacuated.

There has been a general heavy firing to-day, and the Point du Jour has suffered severely.

Father Hogan, the curé of St. Sulpice, a British subject, was again arrested yesterday. Mr. Malet has with difficulty procured his release on condition that he leaves Paris.

The Government troops were compelled to evacuate the railway station at Clamart in consequence of the effluvia arising from the great number of unburied corpses in and about the station, which was then occupied by the Federalists, subsequently again evacuated by them upon the approach of the Versailles troops.