The Porte Maillot has been entirely destroyed for some time, in spite of what the Commune has told us to the contrary; the drawbridge is torn from its place, the ruined walls and bastions have fallen into the moat.

The railway-station is a shapeless ma.s.s of blackened bricks, broken stones, gla.s.s, and iron-work; the cutting where the trains used to pa.s.s is half filled up with the ruins. It is impossible to get along that way. Fancy the hopeless confusion here, arising among this myriad of anxious beings, these hundreds of carts and waggons, all crowding to the same spot. Each one presses onwards, pushing his neighbour, screaming and vociferating; the National Guards try in vain to keep order. To add to the difficulties there is some form to be gone through about pa.s.ses.

I manage to hang on to a cart which is just going over the bridge; after a thousand stoppages and a great deal of pushing and squeezing, I succeeded in getting out, my clothes in rags. A desolate scene meets my eyes. In front of us, is the open s.p.a.ce called the military zone, a dusty desert, with but one building remaining, the chapel of Longchamps; it has been converted into an ambulance, and the white flag with the red cross is waving above it. Truly the wounded there must be in no little danger from the sh.e.l.ls, as it lies directly in their path. To the left is the Bois de Boulogne, or rather what used to be the wood, for from where I stand but few trees are visible, the rest is a barren waste. I hasten on, besides I am hard pressed from behind. Here we are in Neuilly, at last. The desolation is fearful, the reality surpa.s.sing all I could have imagined. Nearly all the roofs of the houses are battered in, rafters stick out of the broken windows; some of the walls, too, have fallen, and those that remain standing are riddled with blackened holes. It is there that the dreadful sh.e.l.ls have entered, breaking, grinding furniture, pictures, gla.s.ses, and even human beings. We crunch broken gla.s.s beneath our feet at every step; there is not a whole pane in all the windows. Here and there are houses which the bullets seemed to have delighted to pound to atoms, and from which dense clouds of red and white dust are wafted towards us. Well, Parisians, what do you say to that? Do you not think that Citizen Cluseret, although an American, is an excellent patriot, and "In consideration of Neuilly being in ruins, and of this happy result being chiefly due to the glorious resistance organized by the delegate Citizen Cluseret, decrees: That the destroyer of Neuilly, Citizen Cluseret, has merited the grat.i.tude of France and the Republic."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE INHABITANTS OF NEUILLY ENTERING PARIS DURING THE ARMISTICE OF THE 28TH OF APRIL

The firing ceased from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon, when Paris cabs, furniture-vans, ambulance-waggons, band-barrows, and all sorts of vehicles were requisitioned to bring in the sad remains and dilapidated household goods of the suburban _bombardes_. They entered by the gate of Ternes--for that of Porte Maillot was in ruins and impa.s.sable. Many went to the Palais de l'Industrie, in the Champs Elysees, where a commission sat to allot vacant apartments in Paris. On this occasion some robberies were committed, and refractories escaped: it is even said that hard-hearted landlords wished to prevent their lodgers from departing--an object in which the proprietors were not very successful. The poor woman perched on the top of her relics, saved from the cellar in which she had lived in terror for fourteen days, deplores the loss of her husband and the shapeless ma.s.s of ruin and rubbish she once called her happy home; whilst her boys bring in green stuff from the surburban gardens, and a middle-aged neighbour stalks along with his pet parrot, the bird all the while amusing himself with elaborate imitations of the growl of the mitrailleuse and the hissing of sh.e.l.ls ending with terrific and oft-repeated explosions.]

Out of all the houses, or rather from what was once the houses, emerge the inhabitants carrying different articles of furniture, tables, mattresses, boxes. They come out as it were from their graves. Relations meet and embrace, after having suffered almost the bitterness of death.

Thousands run backwards and forwards; the carts are heaped up to overflowing, everything that is not destroyed must be carried away. A large van filled with orphan children moves on towards the barrier; a sister of charity is seated beside the driver. The most impatient of the refugees are already through the Porte Maillot; who will give them hospitality there? No one seems to think of that. The excitement caused by all this movement is almost joyous under the brilliant rays of the sun. But time presses, in a few minutes the short truce will have expired. Stragglers hurry along with heavy loads. At the gates, the crowding and confusion are greater than in the morning. Carts heavily laden, move slowly and with difficulty; the contents of several are spilled on the highway. More shouting, crowding, and pushing, until the gates are pa.s.sed at last, and the emigrant crowd disperses along the different streets and avenues into the heart of Paris. A happy release from bondage, but what a dismal promised land!

Then the cannonading and musketry on either side recommences. Destroy, kill, this horrible quarrel can only end with the annihilation of one of the two parties engaged. Go on killing each other if you will have it so, combatants, fellow-countrymen. Some wretched women and children will at least sleep in safety to-night, in spite of you!

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Federal Officer_. Pardon, Monsieur, but we cannot allow civilians to remain here.

_Monsieur_. I wait for Valerien to open upon us.]

Yes, my good friends and idlers, the sad scene would not have been complete without your presence to relieve its sadness. If respect for your persons kept you away from danger, it at least gives zest to the place, a locality that in a few short minutes will be dangerous again.

At five the armistice was over, but for all that, the National Guard had great difficulty in clearing the ground, until real danger, the excitement sought for, arrived, and sent the spectators much further up the Avenue de la Grande Armee.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MDLLE, ET SES COUSINES. 5.30. Great guns of Valerien, why do you not begin! Know you that tubes charged with bright eyes are directed against you!]

LXIII.

I had almost made up my mind not to continue these notes. Tired and weary, I remained two days at home, wishing to see nothing, hear nothing, trying to absorb myself in my books, and to take up the lost thread of my interrupted studies, but all to no purpose.

It is ten in the morning, and I am out again in search of news. How many things may have happened in two days! Not far from the Hotel de Ville excited groups are a.s.sembled at the corners of the streets that lead out of the Rue de Rivoli. They seem waiting for something--what are they waiting for? Vague rumours, princ.i.p.ally of a peaceful and conciliatory nature, circulate from group to group, where women decidedly predominate.

"If _they_ help us we are saved!" says a workwoman, who is holding a little boy in the dress of a national guard by the hand.--"Who?" I ask.--"Ah! Monsieur, it is the Freemasons who are taking the side of the Commune; they are going to cross Paris before our eyes. The Commune must be in the right if the Freemasons think so."--"Here they come!" says the little boy, pulling his mother along with all his strength.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PROTOT[66], DELEGATE OF JUSTICE.]

The vehicles draw up on one side to make room, the crowd presses to the edge of the pavement. The drums beat, a military band strikes up the "Ma.r.s.eillaise." First come five staff-officers, and then six members of the Commune, wearing their red scarfs, fringed with gold. I fancy I recognize Citizens Delescluze and Protot among them. "They are going to the Hotel de Ville!" cries an enthusiastic butcher-boy, holding a large basket of meat on his head, which he steadies with one hand, while with the other he makes wild signs to two companions on the other side of the way. "I saw them this morning in the Place du Carrousel," he continues in the same strain. "That was fine, I tell you! And then this battalion came to fetch them, with the music and all. Now they are going to salute the Republic; come along, I say. Double quick time!" So the butcher-boy, and the woman with the child, and myself, and all the rest of the bystanders, turn and follow the eight or ten thousand members of Parisian freemasonry who are crowding along the Rue de Rivoli. In the front and rear of the procession I notice a large number of unarmed men, dressed in loose Zouave trousers of dark-blue cloth, with white gaiters, white bands, and blue jackets. Their heads are mostly bare. I am told these are the Communist sharpshooters. Ever so far on in front of us a large white banner is floating, bearing an inscription which I cannot manage to read on account of the distance. However, the butcher-boy has made it out, and informs us that "Love one another" is written there.

Happy, delusive Freemasons! "Tolerate one another" is scarcely practicable! In the meantime we continue to follow at the heels of the procession. There is much shouting and noise, here and there a feeble "_Vive la Commune!_" But the princ.i.p.al cries are, "Down with the murderers! Death to a.s.sa.s.sins! Down with Versailles!" A Freemason doffs his hat and shouts, "_Vive la Paix!_ It is peace we are going to seek!"

I am still sadly confused, and cannot make up my mind what all this is about. Patience, however, I shall know all at the Hotel de Ville. Here we are. The National Guard keeps the ground, and the whole procession files into the Cour d'Honneur. Carried on by the crowd, I find myself near the entrance and can see what is going on inside. The whole of the Commune is out on the balcony, at the top of the grand staircase, in front of the statue of the Republic, which like the Communists wears a red scarf. Great trophies of red flags are waving everywhere. Men bearing the banners of the society are stationed on every step; on each is inscribed, in golden letters, mottos of peace and fraternity. A patriarchal Freemason, wearing his collar and badges, has arrived in a carriage; they help him to alight with marks of the greatest respect.

The court is by this time full to overflowing, an enthusiastic cry of "Vive la Franc Maconnerie! Vive la Republique Universelle!" is re-echoed from mouth to mouth. Citizen Felix Pyat, member of the Commune, who is on the balcony, comes forward to speak. I congratulate myself on being at last about to hear what all this means. But I am disappointed. The pushing and squeezing is unbearable. I have vigorously to defend my hat, stick, purse, and cigar-case, and am half stifled besides. I almost despair of catching a single word, but at last succeed in hearing a few detached sentences:--"Universal nationality.... liberty, equality, and fraternity.... manifestos of the heart...." (what is that?) "the standard of humanity.... ramparts...." If I could only get a little nearer--the words "homicidal b.a.l.l.s.... fratricidal bullets.... universal peace...." alone reach me. Is it to hear such stuff as this, that the Freemasons have come to the Hotel de Ville? I suppose so, for after a little more of the same kind the whole is drowned in a stupendous roar of "Vive la Commune!" and "Vive la Republique!" I have given up all hope of ever understanding.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FeLIX PYAT.[67]]

"They have come to draw lots to see who is to go and kill M. Thiers,"

cries a red-haired gamin.--"Idiot," retorts his comrade, "they have no arms!"--"Listen, and you will hear," says the first, which is capital advice, if I could but follow it. The pushing becomes intolerable, when suddenly the bald head of an unfortunate citizen executes a fatal plunge--I can breathe at last--and the following words reach me pretty clearly:--"The Commune has decided that we shall choose five members who are to have the honour of escorting you, and we are to draw lots...."--"There! was I not right?" cries he of the carrotty hair; "I knew they were going to draw lots!" A cleverly administered blow, however, soon silences his elation, and we hear that the lots have been drawn, and that five members are chosen to aid "this glorious, this victorious act." There seems more rhyme than reason in this. "An act that will be read of in the future history of France and of humanity."

Here the irrepressible breaks out again:--"Now I am sure they are going to kill M. Thiers!" Whereupon his irritated adversary seizes him by the collar, gives his head some well-applied blows against the curb-stone, and then, pushing through the crowd, carries him off bodily. As for me, my curiosity unsatisfied, I grow resigned--may the will of the Commune be done--and I give it up. More hopeless mystification from the Citizen Beslay, who regrets not having been chosen to aid in this "heroic act."

He also alludes to the drawing of lots, and I begin after all to fancy poor M. Thiers must be at the bottom of it all, but he continues: --"Citizens, what can I say after the eloquent discourse of Felix Pyat? You are about to interest yourselves in an act of fraternity...." (then something horrible is surely contemplated) "in hoisting your banner on the walls of our city, and mixing in our ranks against our enemies of Versailles." A sudden light breaks upon me. In the meantime Citizen Beslay is embracing the nearest Freemason, while another begs the honour of being the first to plant his banner, the Perseverance, which was unfurled in 1790, on the ramparts. Here a band plays the "Ma.r.s.eillaise," horribly out of tune; a red flag is given to the Freemasons, with an appropriate harangue; then the Citizen Terifocq takes back the flag, with another harangue, and ends by waving it aloft and roaring, "Now, citizens, no more words; to action!"

This is clear, the Freemasons are to hoist their banner on to the walls of Paris side by side with the standard of the Commune; and who is blind enough to imagine, that the sh.e.l.ls and bullets, indiscriminately homicidal, fratricidal, and infanticidal as they prove, are imbued with tact sufficient to steer clear of the Freemasons' banners, and injure in their flight only those of the Commune? As the Versailles projectiles have only one end in view, that of piercing both the Parisians and their standards, as a national consequence if both Parisians and standards are pierced, it is likewise most probable that the Masonic banners will not remain unscathed in so dangerous a neighbourhood. And if so, what will be the result? According to Citizen Terifocq "the Freemasons of Paris will call to their aid the direst vengeance; the Masons of all the provinces of France will follow their example; everywhere the brothers will fraternise with the troops which are marching on to help Paris. On the other hand, if the Versailles gunners do not aim at the Masons, but only at the National Guards (_sic!_), then the Masons will join the battalions in the field, and encourage by their example the gallant soldiers, defenders of the city." This is all rather complicated--what can come of it? Escorted by an ever-increasing crowd, we reach the Place de la Bastille. Several discourses are spouted forth at the foot of the column, but the combined effects of noise, dust, and fatigue have blunted my senses, and I hear nothing; it seems, however to be about the same thing over again, for the same acclamations of the crowd greet the same gestures on the part of the orators.

We are off again down the Boulevards; the long procession, with its waving banners and glittering signs, is hailed by the populace with delight. Having reached the Place de la Concorde, I loiter behind.

Groups are stationed here and there. I go from one to another, trying to gather what these open-air politicians think of all this Masonic parade.

Shortly fugitives are seen hurrying back from the Champs Elysees, shouting, and gesticulating. "Horror! Abomination! They respect nothing!

Vengeance!" I hear a brother-mason has been killed by a sh.e.l.l opposite the Rue du Colysee; that the white flag is riddled with shot; that the Versailles rifles have singled out, killed and wounded several masons.

In a very short time the terrible news, increased and exaggerated as it spread, filled every quarter of Paris with consternation. I returned home in a most perplexed state of mind, from which I could not arouse myself until the arrival, towards evening, of a friend, a freemason, and consequently well informed. This, it appears, is what took place.

"At the moment when the procession arrived in the Champs Elysees it formed itself into several groups, each choosing a separate avenue or street. One followed the Faubourg St. Honore and the Avenue Friedland as far as the Triumphal Arch, till it reached the Porte Maillot; a second proceeded to the Porte des Ternes by the Avenue des Ternes; a third to the Porte Dauphine by the Avenue uhrich. Not a single freemason was wounded on the way, though sh.e.l.ls fell on their pa.s.sage from time to time. The VV.'.[Transcriber's note: triangular symbol of three dots here]

of each lodge marched at the head, displaying their masonic banners.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FREEMASONS AT THE RAMPARTS. GAMINS COLLECTING Sh.e.l.lS.]

"As soon as the white flag was seen flying from the bastion on the right of the Porte Maillot, the Versailles batteries ceased firing. The freemasons were then able to pa.s.s the ramparts and proceed towards Neuilly. There they were received rather coldly by the colonel in command of the detachment. The officers, including those in high command, were violently indignant against Paris. But the soldiers themselves seemed utterly weary of war.

"After some parleying the members of the manifestation obtained leave to send a certain number of delegates to Versailles, in order to make a second attempt at conciliation with the Government."

Will this new effort be more successful than the preceding one? Will the company of freemasons obtain what the Republican Union failed in procuring? I would fain believe it, but cannot. The obstinacy of the Versailles a.s.sembly has become absolute deafness, though we must admit that the freemasons' way of trying to bring about reconciliation was rather singular, somewhat like holding a knife at Monsieur Thiers'

throat and crying out, "Peace or your life!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 66: Memoir, see Appendix 6.]

[Footnote 67: Felix Pyat was born in 1810 at Vierzon. He came to Paris for the purpose of studying law, but soon abandoned his intention for the more genial profession of journalist. He contributed to the _Figaro_, the _Charivari_, the _Revue de Paris_, and the _National_. In 1848 he was named Commissary-General, and subsequently deputy of the department of the Cher. Having signed Ledru-Rollin's call to arms, he was obliged after the events of June to take refuge in England. Profiting by the amnesty of the fifteenth of August, 1869, he returned to France, but made himself so obnoxious to the Government by his virulent abuse of the Empire, that he was again expelled. The revolution of the fourth of September allowed him to re-enter France. He commenced an immediate and violent attack on the new government, which he continued until his journal, _Le Combat_, was suppressed. Needless to say that he was one of the chief actors in the insurrections of the thirty-first of October and the twenty-second of January. He was elected deputy, but soon resigned, for the purpose of connecting himself with the cause of the Commune. He edited the _Vengeur_ and the _Commune_ newspapers, and obtained a decree suppressing nearly all rival or antagonistic publications. At the fall of the Commune he fled no one knows where.]

LXIV.

No! no! Monsieur Felix Pyat, you must remain, if you please. You have been of it, you are of it, and you shall be of it. It is well that you should go through all the tenses of the verb, I am not astonished that a man as clever as you, finding that things were taking a bad turn, should have thought fit to give in your resignation. When the house is burning, one jumps out of window. But your cleverness has been so much pure loss, for your amiable confederates are waiting in the street to thrust you back into the midst of the flames again. It is in vain that you have written the following letter, a chef-d'oeuvre in its way, to the president of

"CITIZEN PRESIDENT,--If I had not been detained at the Ministry of War on the day when the election took place, I should have voted with the minority of the Commune. I think that the majority, for this once, is in the wrong."

"For this once" is polite.

"I doubt if she will ever retrieve her error."

If the Commune were to retrace its steps at each error it made, it would advance slowly.

"I think that the elected have not the right of replacing the electors. I think that the representatives have not the right of taking the place of the sovereign power. I think that the Commune cannot create a single one of its own members, neither make them nor unmake them; and, therefore, that it cannot of itself furnish that which is wanted to legalise their nominations'."

Oh! Monsieur Felix Pyat, legality is strangely out of fashion, and it is well for Versailles that it is so.

"I think also, seeing that the war has changed the population...."

Yes; the war has changed the population, if not in the way you understand it, at least in this sense, that a great many reasonable people have gone mad, and that many--ah! how many?--are now dead.