Prices of food in Paris had now reached their height. Turkeys, as I have said, sold at $12 apiece, chickens at $6, cats $1.60, rats 15 cents, dogs from 80 cents up, according to size and fat. There was a refinement in rats. They were known as the brewery rat and the sewer rat. The brewery rat was naturally the most delicate titbit, and as the siege progressed and but little food found its way into the sewers, the sewer rats diminished wofully in numbers, while their brethren of the brewery increased. I know of no better evidence of the severity of the cold, and the scarcity of food during that winter, than an incident that came under my own observation. I was called by the concierge of the building to look at the apartment of an American gentleman, on the floor below me. The rats had made their way with great gymnastic agility into the kitchen; they had thrown down and broken two or three dishes which the cook had imperfectly washed, and on which there remained a little grease. They had then made their way into the salons and bedrooms, had gnawed and burrowed into the sofas and mattresses, and there several lay, dead of cold and hunger.
But there was no time in Paris when money would not buy good food, though it could not buy fuel, for that had been seized by the Government. Very late in the siege a man brought to the Legation a piece of filet de bœuf of six pounds, for which he asked four dollars a pound. Mr. Washburne and I did not indulge in such luxuries, living principally upon our national pork and beans, and the poetic fish-ball. A young American happened to be in the office, however, who took it at once, and paid his twenty-four dollars.
In the suburbs of Paris food was more abundant. I breakfasted in December with a French general, who commanded one of the outposts. We had beef, eggs, ham, etc., and, from what I heard, I should say that he and his staff breakfasted as well every day. These noonday breakfasts, by-the-way, ruined the French army. I reached my general's head-quarters at half-past eleven. He and one of his staff were smoking cigars and drinking absinthe. At twelve we breakfasted bountifully, as I have said, and with Champagne and other wines, followed by coffee, brandy, and more cigars. We got through breakfast about three o'clock. This was on an outpost, in presence of the enemy. Had he attacked, what would the general and his staff have been worth? They were very far from being intoxicated, but certainly their heads were not clear, or their judgments sound.
The Prussians soon learned the French habits, and attacked them in the field when they were making their soup. The French soldiers could not catch up their soup and pocket it, and eat it at their leisure. They consequently lost not only their breakfasts, but frequently their cooking utensils too. The Germans, on the other hand, had a liberal ration of meat (fleisch—what a disagreeable word!)—one pound and a half per diem. But, meat failing, they always had a German sausage and a piece of bread in their haversacks, and could eat as they marched. Yet such is the power of habit in France, and the strength of tradition, that I suppose the French soldier will continue to all time to prepare his soup, even at the expense of defeat.
Without stirring from Paris, I had the opportunity during the siege to taste as many varieties of wild meat as the greatest of travelers—as Humboldt himself. It was found to be impossible to procure food for the animals at the Jardin d'Acclimatation, and they were sold and killed. They were bought mostly by the enterprising English butcher of the Avenue Friedland. I indulged from time to time in small portions of elephant, yak, camel, reindeer, porcupine, etc., at an average rate of four dollars a pound. Of all these, reindeer is the best; it has a fine flavor of venison. Elephant is tolerably good. Some of my readers may remember the charming twin elephants, Castor and Pollux, who carried children round the Garden on their backs, in 1867 to 1869. They were done to death with chassepots—shot through the head. I eat a slice of Castor. It was tolerably good only; did very well in time of siege. But all these meats are but poor substitutes for beef and mutton; and when travelers tell us of the delights of elephant's trunk or buffalo's hump, depend upon it, it is the hunter's appetite that gives the flavor.
The main-stay of the population, in the way of fresh meat, was horse. These were requisitioned, and every horseholder having more than one was compelled to contribute toward feeding the population. The horses were liberally paid for, so much per pound. Some individuals made a very good thing out of it. They got in with the horse officials. A fine animal, requisitioned from the owner, who knew no better than to send it, appeared at the shambles. One of these gentry, with the connivance of the official in charge, would take him, and substitute an old screw of equal or greater weight. I know an American in Paris who is daily aggravated by seeing at the Bois a beautiful mare he once owned, and whose loss he had deeply deplored, but had been comforted by the reflection that she had perished to feed the starving Parisians.
The horse-meat was rationed and sold by the Government at reasonable prices: nine ounces and a half were allowed per diem to each adult. There is a refinement in horse-meat, as in rats. A young light-gray is tender and juicy. Black is the worst color; the meat is coarse and tough. But horse-flesh is poor stuff at best. It has a sweet, sickening flavor. Some people spoke highly of it as soup; others when mariné. The only way I found it eatable was as mince mixed with potato.
From horse-meat to beef is but a slight transition, but one more easily made on paper than on the table in those days. The interference of the French Government in almost every detail of private life is something of which happily we know nothing in this country. You can not cut down a tree on your own land without its permission. During the siege you could not kill your own ox without leave from the Minister of Commerce. If you had providently laid in a larger supply of fuel than he thought you needed, he took possession of it, and paid you Government prices for what was then almost priceless. An American lady resident in Paris had a cow. The cow ran dry, and she wanted to convert it into beef. She came to the Legation to secure Mr. Washburne's intervention to obtain for her permission to kill her own cow. At first it was refused, and it required no inconsiderable amount of diplomatic correspondence and the waste of many pages of good foolscap, with a large expenditure of red tape and sealing-wax, before the permission was obtained.
I have said very little of the sorties from Paris. The subject is not a pleasant one. There were five hundred thousand armed men in Paris, and only three hundred and fifty thousand outside. Yet but one serious sortie was ever made. This was to the south-east, under Ducrot; and the fighting was obstinate, and lasted two days. Ducrot had published a proclamation to the effect that he should come back victorious, or be brought back dead. He was defeated, but marched quietly back nevertheless. We are unaccustomed among Anglo-Saxons to this style of proclamation, and call it bombast. I am told, however, by those better acquainted with the French character than I am, that it has its effect upon the French soldier, and is therefore allowable.
The garrison of Paris should have made a sortie every night, sometimes a thousand men, and sometimes a hundred thousand, and in two or three quarters at once. Their central position gave them every opportunity to do this to advantage. Had they done so, they would soon have worn out the Germans with constant alertes, and with comparatively little fatigue to themselves. But this, too, was mismanaged. They surprised and took Le Bourget, a little village to the north-east. Of course we all supposed that it would be strongly garrisoned, and the garrison well supported. Not at all. Two days later the Prussians retook it. The garrison made a most gallant defense, but they were entirely unsupported. Not a regiment of the immense army in Paris came to their assistance. No possible excuse can be given for this abandonment.