At 4 o'clock p.m. on Wednesday I took my departure from Paris, leaving, much with the feelings of Daniel when he emerged from the lions' den, its inhabitants wending their way to the electoral "urns;" the many revolving in their minds how France and Paris were to manage to pay the little bill which their creditor outside is making up against them; the few—the very few—still determined to die rather than yield, sitting in the cafés on the boulevard, which is to be, I presume, their "last ditch." Many correspondents, "special," "our own," and "occasional," had arrived, and were girding up their loins for the benefit of the British public. Baron Rothschild had been kind enough to give me a pass which enabled me to take the Amiens train at the goods station within the walls of the city, instead of driving, as those less fortunate were obliged to do, to Gonesse. My pass had been signed by the proper authorities, and the proper authorities, for reasons best known to themselves—I presume because they had elections on the brain—had dubbed me "Member of the House of Commons, rendering himself to England to assist at the conferences of the Parliament." I have serious thoughts of tendering this document to the doorkeeper of the august sanctuary of the collective wisdom of my country, to discover whether he will recognise its validity.
The train was drawn up before a shed in the midst of an ocean of mud. It consisted of one passenger carriage, and of about half a mile of empty bullock vans. The former was already filled; so, as a bullock, I embarked—I may add, as an ill-used bullock; for I had no straw to sit on. At St. Denis, a Prussian official inspected our passes, and at Gonesse about 200 passengers struggled into the bullock vans. We reached Creil, a distance of thirty miles, at 11.30. I and my fellow-bullocks here made a rush at the buffet. But it was closed. So we had to return to our vans, very hungry, very thirsty, very sulky, and very wet; for it was raining hard. In this pleasant condition we remained until 9 o'clock on Thursday; occasionally slowly progressing for a few miles; then making a halt of an hour or two. Why? No one—not even the guard—could tell. All he knew was, that the Prussians had hung out a signal ordering us, their slaves, to halt, and therefore halt we must. We did the forty miles between Creil and Breteuil in ten hours. There, in a small inn, we found some eggs and bread, which we devoured like a flight of famished locusts. It was very cold, and several of us sought shelter in a room at the station, where there was a fire. In the middle of this room there were two chairs, on one of them sat a Prussian soldier, on the other reposed his legs. He was a big red-haired fellow, and evidently in some corner of his Fatherland passed as a man of wit and humour. He was good enough to explain to us, with a pleasant smile, that in his eyes we were a very contemptible sort of people, and that if we did not consent to all the terms of peace which were proposed by "the Bismarck," he and his fellow warriors would burn our houses over our heads, and in many other ways make things generally uncomfortable to us. "Ah! speak to me of Manteuffel," he occasionally said: and as no one did speak to him of Manteuffel, he did so himself, and narrated to us many tales of the wondrous skill and intelligence of that eminent general. As he called, after the manner of his nation, a batterie a paderie, and otherwise Germanized the French language, much of his interesting conversation was unintelligible.
We had been at Breteuil about an hour when a Prussian train came puffing up. I managed to induce an official to allow me to get into the luggage van; and thus, having started from Paris as a bullock, I reached Amiens at twelve o'clock as a carpet-bag. The Amiens station, a very large one covered in with glass, was crowded with Prussian soldiers; and for one hour I stood there the witness of and sufferer from unmitigated ruffianism. The French were knocked about, and pushed about. Never were negro slaves treated with more contempt and brutality than they were by their conquerors. I could not stand on any spot for two minutes without being gruffly ordered to stand on another by some officer. Twice two soldiers raised their muskets with a general notion of staving in my skull "pour passer le temps." Frenchmen, whatever may be their faults, are always extremely courteous in all their relations with each other, and with strangers. In their wildest moments of excitement they are civil. They may poison you, or run a hook through you; but they will do it, as Isaac Walton did with the worm, "as though they loved" you. They were perfectly cowed with the rough bullying of their masters. It is most astonishing—considering how good-natured Germans are when at home, that they should make themselves so offensive in France, even during a truce. At one o'clock I left this orgie of German terrorism in a train, and from thence to Calais all was straight sailing. At Abbeville we passed from the Prussian into the French lines. Calais we reached at seven p.m., and right glad was I to eat a Calais supper and to sleep in a Calais bed.
THE END.
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
Now published,