[Illustration: ELIHU WASHBURN
United States Minister to France during the Commune]
The men who accosted us were not discourteous, but spoke quite decidedly, as if they did not expect to be contradicted. We did not care to contradict them, either.
"We know you, Monsieur, by reputation, and we know that you are well disposed toward France. How do you feel toward la Commune?" Mr. Washburn hesitating a moment, the man added, cynically, "Perhaps you would like to add a stone to our barricades." He made as if he would open the door of the carriage; but Mr. Washburn answered, holding back the door, "I take it for granted, Monsieur, that I have your permission to drive on, as I have something very important to attend to at my Legation," and gave the man a defiant look, which rather frightened him, and we drove through the crowd. All along the Rue de Rivoli we saw the soldiers massing together in groups, La Garde nationale (Mr. Washburn said they so called themselves since yesterday), a miserable-looking set of men, talking very loud and flourishing their guns as if they were walking-sticks.
In passing the Rue Castiglione we saw it was full of soldiers, and looking toward the Place de la Concorde we saw more barricades there.
This was a sight to behold! The space around the Column was filled with paving-stones and all sorts of débris (strange to say, my eyes saw more brooms than anything else); and cannon pointing everywhere. A very impertinent, common-looking voyou said, on looking at Mr. Washburn's card, "Vous êtes tous très chic… mais vous ne passerez pas, tout de même."
We shook in our shoes.
But Mr. Washburn, equal to the occasion, said something which had the desired effect, and we passed on.
All along the Rue de Rivoli the yesterday-fledged soldiers were straggling about, glad to have a day of leisure. They brandished their bayonets with a newly acquired grace, pointing them in front of them in such a reckless way that people made a large circle around them, frightened to death.
As we passed the Hôtel de Ville we saw the red flag of the Communards waving over the Palace. Barricades and cannon filled the space between that and the Rue de Rivoli. Here we were stopped again, and tired Mr. Washburn, annoyed to death, answered more stupid questions, showed his card and documents, and gave a little biography of himself. I thought we should never get on.
I could have cried when I saw the Tuileries; it was only last August I had had a delightful half-hour with the Empress (she asked me to take tea with her). Then she was full of confidence in the triumph of the Emperor (who could have doubted it?), pleased that her son should have received le baptême du feu, as the Emperor telegraphed—oh, the pity of it all! and that was only last August—seven months ago.