Such is this infamous struggle! Such is this savage strife! Will it not cease until there is no more blood to shed? In the meantime, Paris of the boulevards, the elegant and fast-living Paris, lounges, strolls, and smiles. In spite of the numerous departures there are still enough blase dandies and beauties of light locks and lighter reputation to bring the blush to an honest man's cheek. The theatres are open; "_La Piece du Pape_" is being played. Do you know "The Pope's Money?" It is a suitable piece for diverting the thoughts from the horrors of civil war. A year ago the Pope was supported by French bayonets, but his light coinage would not pa.s.s in Paris. Now Papal zouaves are killing the citizens of Paris, and we take light silver and lighter paper. The piece is flimsy enough. It is not its political significance that makes it diverting, but the _double-entendre_ therein. One must laugh a little, you understand. Men are dying out yonder, we might as well laugh a little here. Low whispers in the _baignoires_, munching of sugared violets in the stage boxes--everything's for the best. Mademoiselle Nenuphar (named so by ant.i.thesis) is said to have the most beautiful eyes in the world.

I will wager that that handsome man behind her has already compared them to mitraille shot, seeing the ravages they commit. It would be impossible to be more complimentary,--more witty and to the point. Ah!

look you, those who are fighting at this moment, who to-day by their cannon and cha.s.sepots are exposing Paris to a terrible revenge, guilty as these men are, I hold them higher than those who roar with laughter when the whole city is in despair, who have not even the modesty to hide their joys from our distresses, and who amuse themselves openly with shameless women, while mothers are weeping for their children!

On the boulevards it is worse still; there, vice exhibits itself and triumphs. Is it then true what a young fellow, a poor student and bitter philosopher, said to me just now: "When all Paris is destroyed, when its houses, its palaces, and its monuments thrown down and crushed, strew its accursed soil and form but one vast ruin beneath the sky, then, from out of this shapeless ma.s.s will rise as from a huge sepulchre, the phantom of a woman, a skeleton dressed in a brilliant dress, with shoulders bared, and a toquet on its head; and this phantom, running from ruin to ruin, turning its head every now and then to see if some libertine is following her through the waste--this phantom is the leprous soul of Paris!"

When midnight approaches, the _cafes_ are shut. The delegates of the Central Committee at the ex-prefecture have the habit of sending patrols of National Guards to hasten and overlook the closing of all public places. But this precaution, like so many others, is useless. There are secret doors which escape the closest investigations. When the shutters are put up, light filters through the interstices of the boards. Go close up to them, apply your eye to one of those lighted crevices, listen to the cannon roaring, the mitrailleuses horribly spitting, the musketry cracking, and then look into the interior of the closed rooms.

People are talking, eating, and smoking; waiters go to and fro. There are women too. The men are gay and silly. Champagne bottles are being uncorked. "Ah! ah! it's the fusillade!" Lovers and mistresses are in common here. This orgie has the most telling effect, I tell you, in the midst of the city loaded with maledictions, a few steps from the battle-field where the bayonets are dealing their death thrusts, and the sh.e.l.ls are scattering blood. And later, after the laughter and the songs and the drink, they take an open carriage, if the night is fine, and go to the Champs Elysees, and there mount upon the box by the coachman to try and see the fight--if "those people" knew how to die as well as they know how to laugh it would be better for them.

Other _bons viveurs_, more discreet, hide themselves on the first floors of some houses and in some of the clubs. But they are betrayed by the sparkle of the chandeliers which pierces the heavy curtains. If you walk along by the walls you will hear the conversation of the gamesters and the joyous clink of the gold pieces.

Ah! the cowardice of the merry ones! Oh, thrice pardonable anger of those who starve!

XXIX.

At one o'clock this morning, the 5th of April, on my return from one of these nightly excursions through Paris, I was following the Rue du Mont Thabor so as to gain the boulevards, when on crossing the Rue Saint-Honore I perceived a small number of National Guards ranged along the pavement. The incident was a common one, and I took no notice of it.

In the Rue du Mont Thabor not a person was to be seen; all was in silence and solitude. Suddenly a door opened a few steps in front of me; a man came out and hurried away in the direction opposite to that of the church. This departure looked like a flight. I stopped and lent my attention. Soon two National Guards rushed out by the same door, ran, shouting as they went, after the fugitive, who had had but a short start of them, and overtaking him, without difficulty brought him back between them, while the National Guards that I had seen in the Rue Saint-Honore ran up at the noise. The exclamations and insults of all kinds that were vociferated led me to ascertain that the man they had arrested was the Abbe Deguerry, _cure_ of the Madeleine. He was dragged into the house, the door was shut, and all sank into silence again.

That morning I learned that Monseigneur Darboy, the Archbishop of Paris, was taken at the same hour and in almost similar circ.u.mstances.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ABBe DEGUERRY, Cure of the Madeleine.]

The arrests of several other ecclesiastics are cited. The _cure_ of St.

Severin and the _cure_ of St. Eustache have been made prisoners, it is said; the first in his own house, the second at the moment when he was leaving his church. The _cure_ of Notre-Dame-des-Victoires was to have been arrested also, but warned in time, he was able to place himself in safety.

Monseigneur Darboy, being conducted to the ex-prefecture (why the _ex_-prefecture? It seems to me it works just as well as when it was purely and simply a prefecture), was cross-examined there by the citizen delegate Rigault. It must be said that Monsieur Rigault had begun to make himself talked about during these last few days. He is evidently a man who has a natural vocation for the employment he has chosen, for he arrests, and arrests, and still arrests. He is young, cold, and cynical.

But his cynicism does not exclude him from a certain gaiety, as we shall see. It was the Citizen Rigault, then, who examined the Archbishop of Paris. I am not inordinately curious, but I should very much like to know what the cynical member of the Commune could ask of Monseigneur Darboy. Having committed apparently but one crime, that of being a priest, and having no inclination to disguise it, it is difficult to know what the interrogatory could turn upon. Monsieur Rigault's imagination furnished him no doubt with ample materials for the interview, and he has probably as much vocation for the part of a magistrate as for that of a police officer. But however it may be, the journals of the Commune record this fragment with ill-disguised admiration.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RAOUL RIGAULT[36]]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MONSEIGNEUR DARBOY, Archbishop of Paris.]

"My children"--the white-haired Archbishop of Paris is reported to have said at one moment.

"Citizen," interrupted the Citizen Rigault, who is not yet thirty, "you are not before children, but before magistrates."

That was smart! And I can conceive the enthusiasm with which Monsieur Rigault inspires the members of the Commune. But this excellent citizen did not confine himself to this haughty repartee. I am informed (and I have reason to believe with truth) that he added: "Moreover, that's too old a tale. You have been trying it on these eighteen hundred years."

Now everyone must admit that this is as remarkable for its wit as for its elegance, and it is just what might be expected of the amiable delegate, who, the other day, in a moment of exaggerated clemency, permitted an abbe to visit a prisoner in the Conciergerie, and furnished him with a _laisser-pa.s.ser_ that ran thus: "Admit the bearer, who styles himself the servant of one of the name of G.o.d." Oh! what graceful, charming wit!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 36: Rigault became connected with Rochefort in the year 1869, and with him was engaged on the journal called the _Ma.r.s.eillaise_, and produced articles which subjected him more than once to fine and imprisonment. In the month of September, 1870, he was appointed by the Government of the National Defence, Commissaire of Police, but having taken part in the insurrection of the 31st of October, he was, on the following day, dismissed from office. Shortly after this he made his appearance as a writer in Blanqui's paper the _Patrie en Danger_; but, presently, he took a military turn, and got himself elected to the command of a battalion of the National Guard. He seems to have been born an informer or police spy, for we are told when at school, he used to amuse himself by filling up lists of proscriptions, with the names of his fellow-pupils. With such charming natural instincts, it is not at all surprising that he was on the 18th of March, appointed by the Commune Government, Prefect of Police.]

x.x.x.

I am beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable. This new decree of the Commune seriously endangers the liberty of all those who are so unfortunate as to have incurred the ill-will of their concierge, or whose dealings with his next-door neighbour have not been of a strictly amicable nature. Let us copy the 1st article of this ferocious decree.

"All persons accused of complicity with the Government of Versailles shall be immediately taken and incarcerated."[37]

Pest! they do not mince matters! Why, the first good-for-nothing rascal--to whom, perhaps, I refused to lend five francs seven years ago--may go round to Citizen Rigault and tell him that I am in regular communication with Versailles, whereupon I am immediately incarcerated.

For, I beg it may be observed, it is not necessary that the complicity with "the traitors" should be proved. The denunciation is quite sufficient for one to be sent to contemplate the blue sky through the bars of the Conciergerie.[38] Besides, what do the words "complicity with the Government of Versailles" mean? All depends upon the way one looks at those things. I am not sure that I am innocent. I remember distinctly having several times bowed to a pleasant fellow--I say pleasant fellow, hoping that these lines will not fall under the observation of any one at the Prefecture of Police--who at this very moment is quite capable, the rogue, of eating a comfortable dinner at the Hotel des Reservoirs at Versailles in company with one or more of the members of the National a.s.sembly. You can understand now why I am beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. To know a man who knows a deputy, const.i.tutes, I am fully persuaded--otherwise I am unworthy to live under the paternal government of the Commune--a most decided complicity with the men of Versailles. I really think it would be only commonly prudent to steal out of Paris in a coal sack, as a friend of mine did the other day, or in some other agreeable fashion.[39] See what may come of a bow!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 37: DECREE CONCERNING THE SUSPECTED.

"Commune of Paris:

"Considering that the Government of Versailles has wantonly trampled on the rights of humanity, and set at defiance the rights of war; that it has perpetrated horrors such as even the invaders of our soil have shrunk from committing;

"Considering that the representatives of the Commune of Paris have an imperative duty devolving upon them,--that of defending the lives and honour of two millions of inhabitants, who have committed their destinies to their charge; and that it behoves them at once to take measures equal to the gravity of the situation;

"Considering that the politicians and magistrates of the city ought to reconcile the general weal with respect for public liberty,

"Decrees:

"Art. 1. All persons charged with complicity with the Government of Versailles will be immediately brought to justice and incarcerated.

"Art. 2. A 'jury, of accusation' will be summoned within the twenty-four hours to examine the charges brought before it.

"Art. 3. The jury must pa.s.s sentence within the forty-eight hours.

"Art. 4. All the accused, convicted by the jury, will be retained as hostages by the People of Paris.

"Art. 6. Every execution of a prisoner of war, or of a member of the regular Government of the Commune of Paris, will be at once followed by the execution of a triple number of hostages, retained by virtue of article 4, who will be chosen by lot.

"Art. 6. All prisoners of war will be summoned before the 'jury of accusation,' who will decide whether they be immediately set at liberty or retained as hostages."]

x.x.xI.

Flourens is dead: we heard that last night for certain. A National Guard had previously brought back the colonel's horse from Bougival, but it was only a few hours ago that we heard any details. An attempt was made to take him prisoner at Rueil. A gendarme called out to him to surrender, he replied by a pistol shot; another gendarme advanced, and wounded him in the side, a third cleft his skull with a sabre out. Some people do not believe in the pistol shot, and talk of a.s.sa.s.sination. How many such events are there, the truth of which will never be clearly proved! One thing certain is, that Flourens is dead. His body was recognised at Versailles by some one in the service of Garnier freres.

His mother started this morning to fetch the corpse of her son. It is strange that one is so painfully affected by the violent death of this man. He has been mixed up in all the revolutionary attempts of the last few years, and ought to be particularly obnoxious to all peaceful and order-loving citizens; but the truth is, his was a sincerely ardent and enthusiastic spirit. He was a thorough believer in the principles he maintained. Whatever may be the religion he professes, the apostle inspires esteem, and the martyr compa.s.sion. This apostle, this martyr, was born to affluence; son of an ill.u.s.trious savant, he may be almost said to have been born to hereditary distinction. He was still quite young when he threw himself heart and soul into politics. There was fighting in Crete, and so off he went. There he revolted against the revolt itself, got imprisoned, escaped, outwitted the gendarmes, got retaken: his adventures sound like a legend or romance. It is because he was so romantic, that he is so interesting. He returned to France full of generous impulses. He was as prodigal of his money as he had been of his blood. In the bitter cold winters he fed and clothed the poor of Belleville, going from attic to attic with money and consolation. You remember what Victor Hugo says of the sublime Pauline Roland. The spirit of Flourens much resembled hers. The patriot could act the part of a sister of charity. At other times, an enthusiast in search of a social Eldorado, he would put himself at the service of the most forlorn cause; never was anyone so imprudent. He was of a most active and critical disposition: it was impossible for him to remain quiet. When he was not seemingly employed, he was agitating something in the shade. His friendship for Rochefort was great. These two turbulent spirits, one with his pen, the other with his physical activity, remind us each of the other. Both ran to extremes, Rochefort in his literary invectives, Flourens in his hairbreadth adventures. Although they were often allied, these two, they were sometimes opposed. Have you never seen two young artists in a studio performing the old trick, one making a speech, while the other, with his head and body hidden in the folds of a cloak, stretches forth his arms and executes the most extravagant gestures?

Rochefort and Flourens performed this farce in politics, the former talking, the latter gesticulating; but on the day of the burial of Victor Noir they went different ways. On that day Rochefort, to do him justice, saved a large mult.i.tude of men from terrible danger. Flourens, always the same, wished the body to be carried to Pere Lachaise; on the road there must have been a collision; that was what he desired, but he was defeated. The tongue prevailed, a hundred thousand cries of vengeance filled the air, but they were only cries, and no mischief was done, except to a few graves in the Neuilly cemetery. Flourens awaited a better occasion, but by no means pa.s.sively. He was a man of barricades; he did not seem to think that paving-stones were made to walk on, he only cared to see them heaped up across a street for the protection of armed patriots. Although he always wore the dress of a gentleman, he was not one of those black-coated individuals who incite the men to rebellion and keep out of the way while the fight is going on; he helped to defend the barricades he had ordered to be thrown up. Wherever there was a chance of being killed, he was sure to be; and in the midst of all this he never lost his placid expression, nor the politeness of a gentleman, nor the look of extreme youth which beamed from his eyes, and must have been on his face even when he fell under the cruel blows of the gendarmes. Now he is dead. He is judged harshly, he is condemned, but he cannot be hated. He was a madman, but he was a hero. The conduct of Flourens at the Hotel de Ville in the night of the 31st October is hardly in keeping with so favourable a view. The French forgive and forget with facility--let that pa.s.s.

[Ill.u.s.tration: COLONEL FLOURENS.[40]]