This letter, penned by an American who had elected to remain in Paris during the siege, gives pretty well the idea of the spirit that prevailed among the Bonapartists, and the one which animated the grand monde, or at least those who had not fled abroad. To complete the picture, I must give another letter, one from an old lady whose name I have already mentioned in these pages—Madame Lacroix, who had returned from St. Germain after the 4th of September, and, notwithstanding her great age, had remained in Paris, where her salon was the rendezvous of her numerous friends, and just as animated as it had been formerly.

“Our situation is always the same, just as lamentable and just as sad. Nothing seems to change around us, save the fact that provisions are getting scarcer and scarcer, that butter is not to be had for love or money, and that dogs, rats, and cats appear on the best tables in place of beef and mutton. Gas also is a thing of the past, and one has to exercise strict economy in oil and paraffin. I have now only one lamp burning in my drawing-room, which we take along with us when we go to the dining-room. The population begins to get exasperated at this heavy inaction that weighs upon it; the absence of all reliable news also tells on the hearts and minds. On the 29th of November we were awakened by the sound of the cannon, and one heard that at last the government had decided to make an effort to attack the enemy, in the endeavour to effect a junction with the army of the Loire, which, as it seems, was quite near to us; at least this is what our government choose to tell us. Trochu has published another proclamation, addressed to the population, just as devoid of common sense as all his previous ones have been. For about three days we were left absolutely without news, though it was rumoured that the Prussians had been defeated by Ducrot, but at last it leaked out that the plans of Trochu had failed, and that the effort made by the garrison of Paris had been unsuccessful.

“On the 5th of December we were startled by the news of the defeat of the army of Chanzy near Orleans, and I must confess to you that now the most sanguine hopes have been shattered, and the only feeling left is the desire to see this nightmare under which we are living come to an end.”

This letter was written just before the end of that sad year 1870, which had begun so brilliantly with a reception at the Tuileries, now standing deserted and abandoned by its former masters. In the first fortnight of January a curious incident occurred, which, I believe, has not been widely known among the public, but yet, in view of the events that happened later on, offers a certain interest. I will relate it in the words of the friend who informed me of it, the American whose letter I have already given:

“I am going to tell you something which will probably appear to you rather like a scene taken out of a comic opera, but which I am assured really took place the other day. A friend of the Orleans princes asked General Trochu to grant him an interview, and tried to win his support to a proposition to ask the Duke of Aumale to accept, if only for an intermediary period, the post of President of the National Defence. Trochu, after having indulged in the usual rhetoric of which he is so fond, at last pathetically replied that he had sworn fidelity to the Republic, and that as a soldier he could not break his oath; to this his visitor retorted that probably that oath was sworn on something he respected more than the one he had made to the Empress Eugénie when he told her she could rely on his honour as a soldier, a Catholic, and a Breton. Trochu was silent for a few minutes, and then said: ‘J’ai fait passer la patrie avant tout lorsque——’ ‘Lorsque il s’est agi pour vous de vous mettre à la tête du gouvernement vous-même’ (‘I put my country first when——’ ‘When it was a question of placing yourself at the head of its government’) interrupted the other.

“I cannot, of course, vouch for the truth of the anecdote, but it was told to me by a person who is generally well informed. But what I do know, is that very few people have been or are despised to the extent of General Trochu, for whom no one finds a good word to say, and everyone is hoping that his colleagues will oblige him either to sign the capitulation of Paris, which cannot be delayed much longer, especially now that the bombardment has commenced [this letter was written on the 25th of January], or else to resign his functions altogether. His dispatch of the 20th only confirmed the opinion one had as to his military ability, and certainly nothing could be more lamentable than the sight of the troops returning into the town after the battles of the 19th and 20th, weary, hungry, worn out, and exasperated against their leaders. That exasperation has again brought down from the faubourgs the agitators that have ever since the 4th of September kept Paris in a state of turmoil, and on the 22nd of January in the night they invaded the prison of Mazas, and delivered several political men detained there, among others Flourens. They also made an attempt to occupy the mairie of the 20th arrondissement. A battle has taken place opposite the Hôtel de Ville, and the government is entirely discredited; even among the former most determined partisans of war being continued at any price, the feeling prevails that peace, no matter on what conditions, would be better than the present state of things, which is only favourable to promoters of disorder, of which there are but too many.”

As is known, the capitulation of Paris took place on the 28th of January, and I prepared myself at once to return. After a journey devoid of serious incidents, but long and fatiguing, I reached Versailles on the 31st of that month, having taken four days to do so. I had started from Berlin, where I had been waiting for the first opportunity to return to my post in Paris. At Versailles I found M. Thiers, who was already busy negotiating the conditions of a peace that most certainly the Empress Regent, had she only taken the responsibility of its conclusion, would have been able to sign under more favourable clauses than those to which France had to submit. It is possible, if not probable, that the Imperial eagles would not have witnessed the entry of the German troops into Paris, a humiliation which old King William did not see the necessity to spare a Republic for which it was impossible to feel the least respect.

Before closing this chapter I must mention one letter among the many which reached me at Versailles during those days from friends who were in Paris, giving me some details concerning this crowning episode to the many sad and disgraceful ones that will make the war of 1870 for ever memorable.

March 4th, 1871.

“We were all waiting with anxiety for that 1st of March that was to see the German troops enter the capital. Grave apprehensions were entertained on the subject by many people, who declared that very probably the excited Parisians would indulge in demonstrations of hostility against the Prussians, which would assuredly have terrible consequences. On the 27th of February I called at Rothschild’s bank in the Rue Lafitte, hoping to hear some news there, where they were generally better informed than anywhere else. One of the principal employees, whom I knew well, told me with tears in his eyes that no efforts of Jules Favre had availed, and that the German army would occupy Paris on the 1st, but that, as a last concession, that occupation would be limited to a certain zone, and not extend itself to the whole city. Great preparations had been made, and the shopkeepers in the streets through which the troops of the enemy were to pass had declared that they would close their doors and shutters ‘pour ne pas assister à cette honte,’ as one of them told me himself; it was also tacitly understood that private houses would pull down their blinds. Curious to see how things would go on, and feeling convinced that, in spite of the apprehensions entertained in certain quarters, no disturbances of any kind would occur, Frenchmen being always cowed down whenever they see real strength before them, I was up very early, and, rejoicing at the splendid weather which had suddenly set in after very dark and gloomy days, as if to welcome the triumph of Prussia, I went down the Champs Elysées, and was present when the first German detachments made their appearance. The sight was imposing, and could only suggest many philosophical thoughts. The greatest discipline prevailed, and this discipline seemed to make a great impression on the numerous throngs that lined the streets to see the unusual spectacle. A few women were weeping with a certain affectation, but there were also some girls smiling and welcoming with glances full of coquetry the Prussian officers riding in front of their regiments. At about four o’clock everything was over, and the soldiers settled in the cantonments which had been allotted to them for the night. The next day the sight was stranger still. The population of Paris, notwithstanding what may have been told to you to the contrary, had fraternised with the enemy, and one saw the usual camelots that appear in the streets of Paris whenever there is something new to see, offer to the Prussian soldiers cigarettes, matches, and newspapers, whilst girls timidly extended some flowers to them—not, however, before looking carefully around them to see whether anyone watched them doing so. When, on the 3rd of March, the German troops retired, I heard that typical remark, from a woman who had been watching their going away with eager eyes: ‘Après tout, ce sont de beaux soldats que ceux-là!’ she cried.