The Germans, after two days’ hard fighting, drove the French back into Paris, with the loss of 6,000 men; but they themselves were very disheartened.
Their loss in officers was very large. The 108th Regiment lost thirty-six officers out of forty-five. In the knapsacks of the French soldiers were found provisions for six days, showing that they had hoped to co-operate with the Southern Army of the Loire.
One day the Prince of Saxe-Weimar went to visit the wounded Würtembergers, a big man and a kindly heart. He went round with a box of cigars under his arm, asking each patient, “Can you smoke?” It was pitiful to see how they all tried to smoke, though some were too weak to enjoy their weed. Now the Prince comes upon a stalwart under officer.
“Are you married?”
“No, Highness; but my mother—she has three sons down, all wounded, and it might be bad for her.”
The Prince took out a gold piece.
“Here, my man, send that to the mother, and let her know it comes from your Queen.”
It seems that the Germans had quite mistaken the amount of provisions existing in Paris. According to their calculations by the middle of December Paris ought to be feeling very hungry, on salt rations at the very best. They had not yet prepared for a bombardment with siege guns, hoping that Lady Famine would drive the Parisians to surrender. But they made no sign.
Down at Argenteuil, on the north-west of Paris, there was the crackling of the chasse-pot from over the river, and yet most of the population had come back to their shops. They gossiped in the streets with French gaiety and unconcern, while the bullets sang overhead pretty freely. The steeple of their beautiful church made a good observatory, though its sides were riddled with holes made by shells. The French peasants drove their carts into the market-place below the church and sold eggs and butter full merrily; yet somehow, if a German stood at a window to gaze out, the French sharpshooters would aim at him. At Lagny there were generally 1,000 prisoners a day passing through to Germany. Some were so ravenous with hunger that they stooped to pick up turnip-tops and bones from the gutter, until the British Society organized a relief with stores of preserved meat and bread. And there was no hospital for the wounded! the poor creatures were dumped down in sheds, vans, the station-rooms, the church, the mairie. In one day there arrived 1,800 wounded. They were bestowed—frozen, hungry, hopeless—in the cold comfort of the church. Madame Simon, the lady superintendent of the Saxon ambulance, did noble things day and night—a most devoted woman. There were feats of quiet bravery done every day. There was a colporteur of the English Bible Society who used to drive his waggon on a road between Gonesse and Aulnay, a road exposed to shell-fire more than most.
“Yes,” he said, “it is a good time for the men to read good words when they are standing with the shadow of death hanging over them.”