"Yesterday evening, towards ten o'clock, the attention of the pa.s.sers-by in the Rue St. Denis was attracted by cries which seemed to proceed from a four-storied house situated at the corner of the Rue Sainte-Apolline. The cries were evidently cries of despair. Some people went to the nearest guardhouse to make the fact known, and four National Guards, preceded by their corporal, entered the house.

Guided by the sound of the cries they arrived at the fourth storey, and broke open the door. A horrible spectacle was then exposed to the view of the Guards and of the persons who had followed them in their quest. Three young children lay stretched on the floor of the room, the disorder of which denoted a recent struggle. The poor little things were without any covering whatever, and there were traces of blows upon their bodies; one of them had a cut across the forehead. The National Guards questioned the children with an almost maternal kindness. They had not eaten for four days, and, in consequence of this prolonged fast, they were in such a state of moral and physical abas.e.m.e.nt that no precise information could be obtained from them. The corporal then addressed himself to the neighbours, and soon became acquainted with a part of the terrible truth.

"In this room lived a poor work-girl, young and pretty. One day, as she was carrying back her work to the shop, she observed that she was followed by a well-dressed man, whose physiognomy indicated the lowest pa.s.sions. He spoke to her, and was at first repulsed; but, like the tempter Faust offering jewels to Marguerite, he tempted her with bright promises, and the poor girl, to whom work did not always come, listened to the base seducer. Blame her not too harshly, pity her rather, and reserve all your indignation for the wretch who betrayed her.

"After three years, which were but anguish and remorse to the miserable woman, and during which she had no other consolation but the smiles of the children whose very existence was a crime, she was becoming reconciled at last to her life, when the father of her children deserted her.

"This desertion coincided with the glorious revolution of the 18th of March; and the poor work-girl, who had still room in her heart for patriotism, found some consolation in reflecting that the day, so miserable for her, had at least brought happiness to France.

"A fortnight pa.s.sed, the poor abandoned mother had given up all hope of ever seeing the father of her three children again, when one evening--it was last Friday--a man, wrapped in a black cloak, introduced himself into the house, and made inquiries of the _concierge_--a great patriot, and commander of the 114th Battalion--whether Mademoiselle O... were at home? Upon an answer in the affirmative from the heroic defender of Right and Liberties of Paris, the man mounted the stairs to the poor workwoman's rooms. It was he--the seducer; the _concierge_ had recognised him. What pa.s.sed between the murderer and his victims? That will be known, perhaps--never! But certain it is, that an hour afterwards he went out, still enveloped in his black mantle.

"The next day, and the days following, the _concierge_ was much astonished not to see his lodger of the fourth floor, who was accustomed to stop and talk with him on her way to fetch her _cafe au lait_. But his deep sense of duty as commander of the 114th Battalion occupied his mind so thoroughly, that he paid but little attention to the incident. Neither did he regard the sighs and sobs which were heard from the upper stories. He can scarcely be blamed for this negligence; he was studying his _vade-mec.u.m_.

"On the fourth day, however, the cries were so violent that they began to inspire the pa.s.sers-by with alarm, and we have related how four men, headed by their _caporal_, were sought for to inquire into the cause.

"We have already told what was seen and heard, but the explanations of the neighbours were not sufficient to clear up the darkest side of the mystery, and perhaps the truth would never have been known if the _caporal_--exhibiting, by a rare proof of intelligence, how far he was worthy of the grade with which his comrades had honoured him--had not been inspired with the idea of lifting up the curtain of the bed.

"Horror! Upon the bed lay stretched the corpse of the unhappy mother, a dagger plunged into her heart, and in her clutched hand was found a paper upon which the victim, before rendering her last breath, had traced the following lines:--

"'I die, murdered by him who has betrayed me; he would have murdered also my three children, if a noise in the next room had not caused him to take flight. He had come from Versailles for the express purpose of accomplishing this quadruple crime, and, by this means, obliterate every trace of his past villany. His name is Jules Ferry.

You who read this, revenge me!'"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 72: Vermesch, who was born at Lille, in 1846, though not an official member of the Commune, was one of its most powerful champions.

He was founder and princ.i.p.al editor of the _Pere d.u.c.h.esne_, a poor imitation of the journal, published under the same t.i.tle, by Hebert, in the time of the first Revolution. This paper, one of the most characteristic of the Commune, was filled with trivialities, in the vilest taste and slang, which cannot be rendered in English. The first number of Vermesch's journal was published on the 6th of March, but was suppressed by General Vinoy; it re-appeared, however, on the eighteenth of the same month, and met with such prodigious success, that even its editor himself was astonished. Intoxicated with the result, the writers became more and more virulent, and not content with penning the vilest personal abuse, Vermesch a.s.sumed the _role_ of public informer. For instance, he denounced M. Gustave Chaudey, a writer in the _Siecle_, in the _Pere d.u.c.h.esne_ of the 12th of April, and that journalist was arrested in consequence on the following day. The journal became, not only the medium of all kinds of personal abuse and vengeance, but did the duty of inquisitor for the Communal Government, for whom it produced a terrible crop of victims. The _Official Journal_ contained a number of decrees, the drafts of which at first appeared in _Pere d.u.c.h.esne_.

Amongst other acts, Vermesch organised what he called the battalion of the Enfants of the _Pere d.u.c.h.esne_, and considering the origin of this corps, the character of the rabble which filled its ranks may easily be imagined. The children of such a father could only be found amidst the lowest dregs of the Parisian population; fit instruments for the infamous work which was afterwards to be done.]

[Footnote 73: Paschal Grousset prepared himself for politics by the study of medicine; from the anatomy of heads he pa.s.sed to the dissection of ideas. Having turned journalist, he wrote scientific articles in _Figaro_, contributed to the _Standard_, and was one of the editors of the _Ma.r.s.eillaise_ when the challenge, which gave rise to the death of Victor Noir and the famous trial at Tours, was sent to Prince Pierre Bonaparte. Immediately after the revolution of the eighteenth of March he started the _Nouvelle Republique_, an ephemeral publication which only lived a week. On the second of April he commenced the _Affranchi_, or journal of free men, as he called it, Vesinier joining him in the management of it. The popularity of Grousset caused him to be elected a member of the Commune in April, and the Government soon appointed him Minister of Foreign Affairs. He communicated circulars to the representatives of different nations at Paris, in order to obtain a recognition of the Commune; he also sent proclamations to the large towns of France, appealing to arms. But his means of communication with other governments, and indeed with his own envoys, was very restricted.

He was one of those who took refuge at the _Mairie_ of the Eleventh Arrondiss.e.m.e.nt, and who, knowing well that the struggle was really over, said to the silly heroes who protected them, "All is well. The Versailles mob is turned, and you will soon join your brethren in the Champs Elysees." Many of them that night entered the valley of the shadow of death! On the third of June the ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs was arrested in the Rue Condorcet, dressed as a woman, and marched off to Versailles.]

LXX.

"Issy is taken!

"Issy is not taken!

"Megy[74] has delivered it up!

"Eudes holds it still."

I have heard nothing but contradictory news since this morning. Is Fort Issy in the hands of the Versailles troops--yes or no? Hoping to get better information by approaching the scene of conflict, I went to the Porte d'Issy, but returned without having succeeded in learning anything.

There were but few people in that direction; some National Guards, sheltered by a casemate, and a few women, watching for the return of their sons and husbands, were all I saw. The cannonading was terrific; in less than a quarter of an hour I heard five sh.e.l.ls whistle over my head.

Towards twelve o'clock the drawbridge was lowered, and I saw a party of about sixty soldiers, dusty, tired, and dejected, advancing towards me.

These were some of the "revengers of the Republic."

"Where do you come from?" I asked them.

"From the trenches. There were four hundred of us, and we are all that remain."

But when I asked them whether the Fort of Issy were taken, they made no answer.

Following the soldiers came four men, bearing a litter, on which a dead body lay stretched; and it was with this sad procession that I re-entered Paris. From time to time the men deposited their load on the ground, and went into a wine-shop to drink. I took advantage of one of these moments when the corpse lay abandoned, to lift the cloak that had been spread over it. It was the body of a young man, almost a lad; his wound was hidden, but the collar of his shirt was dyed crimson with blood. When the men returned for the third time, their gait was so unsteady that it was with difficulty they raised the poor boy's bier, and then went off staggering. At the turning of a street the corpse fell, and I ran up as it was being picked from the ground; one of the drunken men was shedding tears, and maudling out, "My poor brother!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 74: Megy, the famous governor of the Fort of Issy, was implicated in the last, supposed, plot against the life of Napoleon III.

Having shot one of the police agents charged with his arrest, he was tried and condemned to death. He was, however, delivered from prison on the fourth of September, and appointed to the command of a battalion of National Guards, with which he marched against the Hotel de Ville on the thirty-first of October and the twentieth of January. He was named a member of the Commune on the eighteenth of March, and set fire to the Cour des Comptes and the Palace of the Legion d'Honneur on the twenty-third of May, 1871.]

LXXI.

We shall see no more of Cluseret! Cluseret is done for, Cluseret is in prison![75] What has he done? Is he in disgrace on account of Fort Issy?

This would scarcely be just, considering that if the fort were evacuated yesterday it was reoccupied this morning; by the bye, I cannot explain satisfactorily to myself why the Versaillais should have abandoned this position, which they seem to have considered of some importance. If it is not on account of Fort Issy that Cluseret was politely asked to go and keep Monseigneur Darboy company, why was it? I remember hearing yesterday and the day before something about a letter of General Fabrice, in which that amiable Prussian, it is reported, begged General Cluseret to intercede with the Commune in behalf of the imprisoned priests. Is it possible that the Communal delegate, at the risk of pa.s.sing for a Jesuit, could have made the required demand? Why, M.

Cluseret, that was quite enough for you to be put in prison, and shot too into the bargain. However, you did not intercede for anybody, for the very excellent reason that General Fabrice no more thought of writing to you, than of giving back Alsace and Lorraine. So we must search somewhere else for the motive of this sudden eclipse. Some say there was a quarrel with Dombrowski, that the latter thought fit to sign a truce without the authority of Cluseret--a truce, what an idea!

Has Dombrowski any scruples about slaughter?--that Cluseret flew into a great rage; but that his rival got the best of it in the end. You see if one is an American and the other a Pole, the Commune must have a hard time of it between the two!

No, neither the evacuation of Fort Issy--in spite of what the _Journal Officiel_ says--Monseigneur Darboy, nor the quarrel with Dombrowski are the real causes of the fall of Cluseret. Cluseret's destiny was to fall; Cluseret has fallen because he did not like gold lace and embroidery--"that is the question," all the rest are pretexts.

So the n.o.ble delegate imagined he could quietly issue a proclamation one morning commanding all the officers under his orders to rip off the gold and silver bands which luxuriantly ornament their sleeves and caps![76]

He thought his staff would forego epaulets and other military gewgaws.

Why, the man must have been mad! What would Cora or Armentine have said if they had seen their military heroes stalk into the Cafe de Suede or the Cafe de Madrid, shorn of all their brilliant appendages, which made them look so wonderfully like the monkey-general at the Neuilly fair, in the good old times, when there were such things as fairs, and before Neuilly was a ruin. Ask any soldier, Federal or otherwise, if he will give up his pay, or his jingling sword, or even his rank; he may perhaps consent, but ask him to rip off his embroidery, and he will answer, never! How can you imagine a man of sense consenting not to look like a mountebank?

Another of these absurd prescriptions has done much to lower Cluseret in public estimation. One day he took it into his head to prevent his officers from galloping in the streets and boulevards, under the miserable pretext that the rapid evolutions of these hors.e.m.e.n had occasioned several accidents. Well, and if they had, do you think a gallant captain of horse is going to deprive himself of the pleasure of curvetting within sight of his lady love, for the pitiful reason, that he may perchance upset an old woman or two or three children? Citizen Cluseret does not know what he is talking about! It is certain that if this valiant general has such a very great horror of accidents, he should begin by stopping the firing at Courbevoie, which is a great deal more dangerous than the galloping of a horse on the Boulevard Montmartre. As you may imagine, the officers went on galloping and wearing their finery under the very nose of the general, while he walked about stoically in plain clothes. However, although they did not obey him, they owed him a grudge for the orders he had given. Opposition was being hatched, and was ready to burst forth on the first opportunity, which happened to be the evacuation of Fort Issy.[76] Cluseret has fallen a victim to his taste for simplicity, but he carries with him the regrets of all the illused cab-horses which, in the absence of thoroughbreds, have to suffice the gallant staff, and who, poor creatures, were only too delighted not to gallop.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 75: General Cluseret was a great personage for a time with the Communists, and his military talents were lauded to the skies, but suddenly he was committed to prison, and was succeeded in the command of the army by Rossel. The cause of his imprisonment is not clear. Some say that he was discovered to be in correspondence with the Thiers government, others that he was suspected of aiming at the Dictatorship.

During the confusion that occurred on the first entry of the Versailles troops into Paris, when the Archbishop of Paris and the other so-called "hostages" had been barbarously a.s.sa.s.sinated, when the Louvre, the Palais Royal, and the Hotel de Ville were in flames, Cluseret escaped from prison, and was not heard of again until it was reported that his body had been found buried beneath the rubbish of the last barricade.

Was report correct?]

[Footnote 76: "THE MINISTER OF WAR TO THE NATIONAL GUARD.

"CITOYENS,--I notice with pain that, forgetful of our modest origin, the ridiculous mania for tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, embroidery, and shoulder-knots has begun to take hold upon you.

"To work! You have for the first time accomplished a revolution by, and for, labour.

"Let us not forget our origin, and, above all, do not let us be ashamed of it, Workmen we were! workmen let us remain!