Diary of the Besieged Resident in Paris

by Henry Du Pré Labouchere

CHAPTER XIII.

December 6th.

I am by no means certain that I should be a hero at the Equator, but I am fully convinced that I should be an abject coward at the North Pole. Three mornings ago I stood for two hours by the Ambulances de la Presse, and my teeth have not ceased to chatter ever since. I pity the unfortunate fellows who had to keep watch all night on the plateau of Villiers more than those who were put out of their misery the day before. When it is warm weather, one views with a comparative resignation the Prussian batteries, and one has a sort of fanatical belief that the bombs will not burst within striking distance; when the thermometer is below zero, one imagines that every cannon within four miles is pointed at one's head. I do not know how it may be with others, but on me cold has a most unheroic effect. My legs become as wilful as those of Mrs. Dombey's titled relative, and it is only by the strongest effort of mind over matter that I can prevent them carrying me beyond the reach of cannon-balls, bullets, and shells. I have a horrible vision of myself lying all night with a broken leg in a ditch, gradually freezing. On a warm summer's day I do not think very much of the courage of those who fight well; on a cold winter's day, however, any man who does not run away and take shelter by a fire deserves well of his country.

We are by no means a very happy family. General Ducrot and General Blanchard have "had words." The latter, in the course of the dispute, said to the former, "If your sword were as long as your tongue, you would be a wonderful warrior indeed." Ducrot and Trochu are the literary Generals; Vinoy and Blanchard the fighting Generals. It is reported also that General Favé is to be superseded, though why I cannot learn, as his redoubt may be said to have saved the army from a greater disaster. While, however, the military men differ among themselves, they are all agreed in abusing the National Guards, whom they irreverently call "Les Charcutiers"—the pork butchers. When La Gare aux Bœufs was carried by Admiral Pothuan and his sailors, two battalions of these heroes followed in the rear. The Admiral and the sailors were somewhat astonished to find that in the order of the day hardly anything was said of those who really did all the fighting, but that the "pork butchers" were lauded to the skies. General Trochu on this wrote a letter to the Admiral, informing him that it was necessary for political reasons to encourage the National Guard. Whilst the battle was going on at Villiers and Champigny, the marching battalions of the National Guard were drawn up almost out of shot. An order came to form them into line. Their commander, General Clément Thomas, replied that this would be impossible, as they would imagine that they were about to be taken into action. Notwithstanding this, General Trochu congratulates them upon the "moral support" which they afforded him. It is not surprising that the real soldiers should feel hurt at this system of humbug. They declare that at the next sortie they will force the Parisians to fight by putting them in front, and firing on them if they attempt to run away. It must be remembered that these fighting battalions consist of young unmarried men, and if Paris is to be defended, there is no reason why they should not be exposed to danger. The inhabitants of this city seem to consider themselves a sacred race; they clamour for sorties, vow to die for their country, and then wish to do it by procuration. I am utterly disgusted with the difference between their words and their deeds. The Mobiles and the Line have as yet done all the righting, and yet, to read the Paris newspapers, one would suppose that the National Guards, who have kept well out of all danger, have "covered themselves with glory." Since the siege commenced they have done nothing but swagger about in uniforms, and go in turns on the ramparts. They have learnt to knock a penny off a cork at a distance of ten yards, and they have carried on a very successful campaign against the sparrows.

A fresh order was issued yesterday, suppressing all passes until further notice. I have a pass en règle from General Vinoy; but even with this, the last time I went out of the town I was turned back at two gates before I got through at the third. A good deal of discussion has taken place among the foreign correspondents respecting the fairness of going out with an ambulance under guise of the Geneva flag. I see myself no objection to it, provided the correspondent really does make himself useful in picking up the wounded. In the Prussian camp a correspondent has a recognised position; here it is different, and he must use all legitimate means to obtain intelligence of what is passing. My pass, for instance, does not describe me as a correspondent, but as an Englishman accredited by the British Embassy. At the commencement of the siege I begged Mr. Wodehouse to give me a letter of introduction to M. Jules Ferry, one of the members of the Government. This I did not deliver, but at General Vinoy's headquarters I showed it to prove that I was not a Prussian spy, but that I was known by my natural guardian. An aide-de-camp then gave me a pass, and, not knowing precisely what to call me, described me as "accredited by the British Embassy." I move about, therefore, as a mysterious being—perhaps an Ambassador, perhaps an Ambassador's valet. A friend of mine, who is an authority with the Ambulance de la Presse, and who owns a carriage, has promised to call for me when next the ambulances are sent for; but, as I have already said, all my energy oozes out of me when the thermometer is below zero; and unless the next battle is fought on a warm day, I shall not witness it. As a matter of fact, unless one is riding with the staff of the general who commands, one cannot form an idea of what is going on by hanging about, and it is a horrible sight to look with an opera-glass at men and horses being massacred. When knights charged each other with lances there was a certain chivalry in war; but there is nothing either noble or inspiriting in watching a quantity of unfortunate Breton peasants, who cannot even speak French, and an equal number of Berlin grocers, who probably ask for nothing better than to be back in their shops, destroying each other at a distance of two or three miles with balls of lead and iron, many of them filled with explosive materials. I confess that I pity the horses almost as much as the men. It seems a monstrous thing that in order that the Alsacians should be forced into becoming subjects of King William of Prussia, an omnibus horse, who has honestly done his work in the streets of Paris, should be taken outside the walls of the town to have his head blown off or to stump about on three legs until he dies of cold and hunger. Horses have a way when they are wounded of making desperate efforts to get up, and then letting their heads fall with a bang on the soil which is very horrible to witness.

Everybody in authority and out of it seems to have a different opinion as to when the siege will end. I cannot think that when a town with two million inhabitants is reduced to such expedients as this is now, it can hold out very long. The rations, consisting alternately of horse and salt fish, are still distributed, but they are hardly sufficient to keep body and soul together. Unless we make up our minds to kill our artillery horses, we shall soon come to the end of our supply. The rumour to-day is that the Prussians have evacuated Versailles, and that Frederick Charles has been beaten in a battle on the Loire, but I cannot say that I attach great credit to either story. No pigeon has arrived for the last three days, owing, it is supposed, to the cold; and until we know for certain what d'Aurelles de Paladine is doing, we are unable to form an accurate opinion of the chances of the siege being raised. All that can be said is that, left to ourselves, we shall not be able to break through the lines of investment, and that when we have eaten up all our food, we shall have to capitulate.

December 7th.

When this war commenced the Parisians believed in the bulletins which their own Government issued, because they thought it only natural that their arms should be successful, and they disbelieved in any foreign newspaper which ventured to contest their victories. At present they are incredulous alike of everything that comes from friend and foe. Nine-tenths of them are under the impression that Count Moltke, in announcing the defeat of the Army of the Loire, is guilty of a deliberate falsehood; the other tenth supposes that he has grossly exaggerated a slight mishap, and that the occupation of Orleans only proves that Orleans was not defended by a large body of troops. It takes about three days for any information which is not in accordance with the wishes of this extraordinary population to obtain credit, no matter what amount of evidence there may be to prove its truth. If really the Army of the Loire has been put hors de combat, sooner or later the fact will be admitted; then, although we shall still pin our faith to Kératry or Bourbaki, the disaster will no doubt tend to produce a certain degree of discouragement, more particularly as it is coupled with the retreat of Ducrot's forces from the south bank of the Marne. French politicians will insist upon dressing up their facts in order to meet the requirements of the moment, and they never seem to consider that so soon as the real state of things comes out there must be an inevitable reaction, which will be far more depressing than if the truth had been fairly told at once. I hear that when Count Moltke's letter arrived, two of the members of the Government of National Defence were inclined to accept his offer to verify what had occurred on the Loire, but that General Trochu stated that he intended to resist until the last, and that consequently, whether Orleans had fallen, or not, was a matter of no importance. If Trochu really thinks that a further resistance and a further sacrifice of life will materially advance the interests of his country, of course he is right to hold out; but if, disregarding facts, he simply wishes to oblige the Prussians to continue the siege, for no purpose except to prove his own tenacity, he cannot be regarded either as a good patriot or a sensible man. When the vote on the Plebiscite was taken, his majority consisted of "Ouis" which were given because it was supposed that he was about to treat. Since then we have gone on from day to day vaguely hoping that either the Neutral Powers or the armies of the provinces would get us out of the mess in which we are, or, even if these failed us, that by a sortie the town would be revictualled. At present none believe in the intervention of the Neutrals; few in the success of a sortie; but all still cling, as drowning men do to a straw, to the armies of the provinces. To destroy this belief it will be necessary for the Prussians to obtain a substantial advantage not only at Orleans, but over the armies of Kératry and Bourbaki. When once we find that we are entirely left to our own resources, and that it is impossible for us to penetrate the lines of investment, I cannot help thinking that we shall yield to the force of circumstances. At present all the newspapers are for fighting on as long as we have a crust, regardless of the consequences; but then, as a rule, a besieged town is never so near surrendering as when it threatens to hang the first man who speaks of surrender. The majority would even now take a practical view of matters if they dared, but Trochu is their man, and Trochu, much to their secret sorrow, refuses to hear of a capitulation.

Some German officers who are prisoners on parole have been insulted in a restaurant, and for their own safety it has been found necessary to confine them in La Roquette. I am not surprised at this. French officers are, of course, incapable of this contemptible conduct, and it must be owned that the majority of the Parisians have not, under the trying circumstances in which they find themselves, lost that courtesy which is one of the peculiar attributes of the nation. But there is a scum, who lived from hand to mouth during the Empire, and which infests the restaurants and the public places. Some of them wear the uniform of the National Guard; others have attached themselves to the ambulances; and all take very good care not to risk their precious lives. I was peaceably dining last night in a restaurant; a friend with whom I had been talking English had left me, and I found myself alone with four of these worthies, who were dining at a table near me. For my especial benefit they informed each other that all strangers here were outlaws from their own country, and that the Americans and Italians who have established ambulances were in all probability Prussian spies. As I took no notice of these startling generalities, one of them turned to me and said, "You may look at me, sir, but I assert before you that Dr. Evans, the ex-dentist of the Emperor, was a spy." I quietly remarked, that not having the honour to know Dr. Evans, and being myself an Englishman, whilst the Doctor is an American, I was not responsible for him. "You are a Greek," observed another; "I heard you talk Greek just now." I mildly suggested that his knowledge of foreign tongues was, perhaps, somewhat limited. "Well, if you are not a Greek," he said, "I saw you the other morning near the Ambulance of the Press, to which I belong, and so you must be a spy." "If you are an Englishman," cried his friend, "why do you not go back to your own country, and fight Russia?" I replied that the idea was an excellent one, but that it might, perhaps, be difficult to pass through the Prussian lines. "The English Ambassador is a friend of mine, and he will give you a pass at my request," answered the gentleman who had mistaken English for Greek. I thanked him, and assured him that I should esteem it a favour if he would obtain from his friend Lord Lyons this pass for me. He said he would do so, as it would be well to rid Paris of such vermin as myself and my countrymen. He has not yet, however, fulfilled his promise. Scenes such as these are of frequent occurrence at restaurants; bully and coward are generally synonymous terms; any scamp may insult a foreigner now with perfect impunity, for if the foreigner replies he has only to denounce him as a spy, when a crowd will assemble, and either set on him or bear him off to prison. While, as I have already said, nothing can be more courteous than the conduct of French officers, French gentlemen, and, unless they are excited, the French poorer classes, nothing can be more insolent than that of the third-class dandies who reserve their valour for the interior of the town, or who, if ever they venture outside of its fortifications, take care to skulk beneath the protection of the cross of Geneva.

The Journal Officiel contains a decree breaking up the battalion of Belleville. These warriors, says their own Commander, ran away in the presence of the enemy, refused the next day to go to the front, and commenced fighting with their neighbours from La Villette. M. Gustave Flourens, who is the hero of these men of war, and who, although exercising no official rank in the battalion, insisted upon their accepting him as their chief, is to be brought before a Council of War.