[Footnote 85: The Commune occupied the Mint, and directed Citizen Camelinat, bronze-fitter, to manufacture gold and silver coin to the amount of 1,500,000 francs. Of that sum, 76,000 francs only was saved by the Versailles troops on their entry. The different articles of gold and silver found at the Hotel des Monnaies represented a total weight of 1,186 lbs., and consisted of objects taken from the churches, religious houses, and government offices, Imperial plate, and presents to the city of Paris. All these objects have been sent to the repository of the Domaine, where they maybe claimed on identification by their owners.]

[Footnote 86: Fontaine was nominated on the 18th of March director of the public domains and of registration. His name figures in the history of the revolutions, emeutes, and insurrections of Paris from 1848. He was a professional insurgent.]

Lx.x.x.

I am beginning to regret Cluseret. He was impatient, especially in speech. He used to say "Every man a National Guard!" But with Cluseret, as with one's conscience, there were possible conciliations. You had only to answer the decrees of the war-delegate by an enthusiastic "Why I am delighted, indeed I was just going to beg you to send me to the Porte-Maillot;" which having done, one was free to go about one's business without fear of molestation. As to leaving Paris, in spite of the law which condemned every man under forty to remain in the city; nothing was easier. You had but to go to the Northern Railway Station, and prefer your request to a citizen, seated at a table behind a part.i.tion in the pa.s.sport office.[87] When he asked you your age you had only to answer "Seventy-eight," pa.s.sing your hand through your sable locks as you spoke--"Only that? I thought you looked older," the accommodating individual would answer, at the same time putting into your hand a paper on which was written some cabalistic sign. One day I had taken it into my head to go and spend two hours at Bougival, and my pa.s.s bore the strange word "Carnivolus" written on it. Provided with this mysterious doc.u.ment, I was enabled to procure a first-cla.s.s ticket and jump into the next train that started. I was free, and nothing could have prevented my going, if such had been my wish, to proclaim the Commune at Mont Blanc or Monaco.

How the times are changed! The Committee of Public Safety and the Central Committee now join together in making the lives of the poor _refractaires_[88] a burthen to them. I do not speak of the disarmaments, which have nothing particularly disagreeable about them, for an unarmed man may clearly nourish the hope that he is not to be sent to battle. But there are other things, and I really should not object to be a little over eighty for a few days. Domiciliary visits have become very frequent. Four National Guards walk into the house of the first citizen they please, and politely or otherwise, explain to him that it is his strict duty to go into the trenches at Vanves and kill as many Frenchmen as he can. If the citizen resists he is carried off, and told that on account of his resistance he will have the honour of being put at the head of his battalion at the first engagement. These visits often end in violence. I am told that in the Rue Oudinot a young man received a savage bayonet thrust because he resisted the corporal's order; and as these occurrences are not uncommon, the _refractaires_ cannot be said to live in peace and comfort. They are subject to continual terror, the sour visage of their _concierge_ fills them with misgivings, he may be one of the Commune. As to going to bed, it must not be thought of; it is during the hours of night that the Communal agents are particularly active. This necessity of changing domicile has lead to certain Amelias and Rosalines and other ladies of that description having the words "Hospitality to _Refractaires_" written in pencil on their cards. Men who decline to take advantage of such opportunities have to go about from hotel to hotel, giving imaginary names, suspicious of the waiters, and awaking at the least sound, thinking it is the noise of feet ascending the stairs, or the rattle of muskets on the landing. The day before yesterday a number of _refractaires_, having the courage of despair, walked to the Porte Saint-Ouen--"Will you let us out?" asked they of the commanding officer, who answered in a decided negative; whereupon the party, which was three hundred strong, fell upon the captain and his men, whom they disarmed, and five minutes afterwards they were running free across the fields.

Others employ softer means of corruption; resort to the wine-shops of Belleville, where they make themselves agreeable in every way, and soon succeed in entering into friendly conversation with some of the least ferocious among the Federals of the place.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ReFRACTAIRES ESCAPING FROM PARIS]

"You are on duty, Tuesday, at the Porte de la Chapelle?"--"Why, yes."--"So that you might very easily let a comrade out who wants to go and pay a visit at Saint-Denis?"--"Quite out of the question; the others would prevent me, or denounce me to the captain."--"You think there is nothing to be done with the captain?"--"Oh! no; he is a staunch patriot, he is!"--"How very tiresome; and I wanted most particularly to go to Saint-Denis on Tuesday evening. I would gladly give twenty francs out of my own pocket for the sake of a little walk outside the fortifications."--"There is only one way."--"And how is that?"--"You don't care much about going out by the door, do you?"--"Well, no; what I want is to get outside."--"Oh! then listen to me; come to La-Chapelle early on Tuesday evening, and walk up and down the rampart. I will try and be on duty at eight o'clock, and look out for you. When I see you I will take care not to say _qui vive_."--"That's easy enough; and what then?"--"Why, then I will secure around you a thick rope which of course you will have with you!"--"The devil!"--"And I will throw you into the trench."--"By Jove! That will be a leap."--"Oh! I will do it very carefully, without hurting you. I will let you slip softly down the wall."--"Humph!"--"When you reach the ground below, in an instant you can be up and off into the darkness. Do you accept? Yes or no?"--"I should certainly prefer to drive out of the city in a coach and six, but nevertheless I accept."

Generally, this plan answers admirably. They say that the Federals of Belleville and Montmartre make a nice little income with this kind of business. Sometimes, however, the plan only half succeeds, and either the rope breaks, or the Federal considers, he may manage capitally to reconcile his interest with his duty, by sending a ball after the escaped _refractaire_.

Disguises are also the order of the day. A poet, whose verses were received at the Comedie Francaise with enthusiasm during the siege, managed to get away, thanks to an official on the Northern Railway, who lent him his coat and cap. Another poet--they are an ingenious race--conceived a plan of greater boldness. One day on the Boulevard he called a fiacre, having first taken care to choose a coachman of respectable age, "_Cocher_, drive to the Rue Montorgueil, to the best restaurant you can find." On the way the poet reasoned thus to himself: "This coachman has in his pocket, as they all have, a Communal pa.s.sport, which allows him to go out and come into Paris as he pleases; let me remember the fourth act of my last melodrama, and I am saved."

The cab stopped in front of a restaurant of decent exterior not far from Philippe's. The young man went in, asked for a private room, and told the waiter to send up the coachman, as he had something to say to him, and to procure a boy to hold the horse. The coachman walked into the room, where the breakfast was ready served.

"Now, coachman, I am going to keep you all day, so do not refuse to drink a gla.s.s with me to keep up your strength."

An hour after the poet and the coachman had breakfasted like old friends; six empty bottles testified that neither one nor the other were likely to die of thirst. The poet grumbled internally to himself as he thought of the three bottles of Clos-Vougeot, one of Leoville, two of Moulin-au-Vent, that had been consumed, and the fellow not drunk yet.

Then he determined to try surer means, and called to the waiter to bring champagne. "It is no use, young fellow," laughed the coachman, who was familiar at least, if he was not drunk; "champagne won't make any difference; if you counted on that to get my pa.s.sport, you reckoned without your host!"--"The devil I did," cried the poor young man, horrified to see his scheme fall through, and to think of the prodigious length of the bill he should have to pay for nothing.--"Others, have tried it on, but I am too wide awake by half," said the coachman, adding as he emptied the last bottle into his gla.s.s, "give me two ten-franc pieces and I will get you through."--"How can I be grateful enough?"

cried the poet, although in reality he felt rather humiliated to find that the grand scene in his fourth act had not succeeded.--"Call the waiter, and pay the bill." The waiter was called, and the bill paid with a sigh. "Now give me your jacket."--"My jacket?"--"Yes, this thing in velvet you have on your back." The poet did as he was bid. "Now your waistcoat and trousers."--"My trousers! Oh, insatiable coachman!"--"Make haste will you, or else I shall take you to the nearest guard-room for a confounded _refractaire_, as you are." The clothes were immediately given up. "Very well; now take mine, dress yourself in them, and let's be off." While the young man was putting on with decided distaste the garments of the _cocher_, the latter managed to introduce his ponderous bulk into those of the poet. This done, out they went. "Get up on the box."--"On the box?"--"Yes, idiot," said the coachman, growing more and more familiar; "I am going to get into the cab, now drive me wherever you please." The plan was a complete success. At the Porte de Chatillon the disguised poet exhibited his pa.s.sport, and the National Guard who looked in at the window of the carriage cried out, "Oh, he may pa.s.s; he might be my grandfather." The cab rolled over the draw-bridge, and it was in this way that M ...,--ah! I was just going to let the cat out of the bag--it was in this way that our young poet broke the law of the Commune, and managed to dine that same evening at the Hotel des Reservoirs at Versailles, with a deputy of the right on his left hand, and a deputy of the left on his right hand.

Shall I go away? Why not? Do I particularly wish to be shut up one morning in some barrack-room, or sent in spite of myself to the out-posts? My position of _refractaire_ is sensibly aggravated by the fact of my being in rather a dangerous neighbourhood. For the last few days, I have felt rather astonished at the searching glances that a neighbour always casts upon me, when we met in the street. I told my servant to try and find out who this man was. Great heavens! this scowling neighbour of mine is Gerardin--Gerardin of the Commune! Add to this the perilous fact, that our _concierge_ is lieutenant in a Federal battalion, and you will have good reason to consider me the most unfortunate of _refractaires_. However, what does it matter? I decide on remaining; I will stay and see the end, even should the terrible Pyat and the sweet Vermorel both of them be living under the same roof with me, even if my _concierge_ be M. Delescluze himself!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 87: The decree which rendered obligatory the service in the marching companies of the National Guard, and the establishment of courts-martial, spread terror among the population, and thousands of people thronged daily to the Prefecture of Police. Sometimes, the queue extended from the Place Dauphine to beyond the Pont Neuf. But soon afterwards, stratagems of every kind were put into requisition to escape from the researches of the Commune, which became more eager and determined, from day to day, after the publication of the following decree, the chef-d'oeuvre of the too famous Raoul Rigault:--

"EX-PREFECTURE OF POLICE.

"Delivery of Pa.s.sports.

"Considering that the civil authority cannot favour the non-execution of the decrees of the Commune, without failing in its duty, and that it is highly necessary that all communications with those who carry on this savage war against us should be prevented,

"The member of the Committee of Public Safety, Delegate at the Prefecture of Police,

"Decrees:--

"Art. 1. Pa.s.sports can only be delivered on the production of satisfactory doc.u.ments.

"Art. 2. No pa.s.sport will be delivered to individuals between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five years, as such fall within the military law.

"Art. 3. No pa.s.sport will be issued to any member of the old police, or who are in relation with Versailles.

"Art. 4. Any persons who come within the conditions of Articles 2 or 3, and apply for pa.s.sports, will be immediately sent to the depot of the ex-Prefecture of Police.

(Signed) "RAOUL RIGAULT,

"Member of the Committee of Public Safety."]

[Footnote 88: Those who decline to join the Commune.]

Lx.x.xI.

Glorious news! I have seen Lullier again. We had lost Cluseret, lost Rossel; Delescluze does not suffice, and except for Dombrowski and La Cecilia with his prima-donna-like name, the company of the Commune would be sadly wanting in stars. Happily! Lullier has been restored to us.

What had become of him? he only wrote seven or eight letters a day to Rochefort and Maroteau, that I can find out. How did he manage to employ that indomitable activity of his, and that of his two hundred friends, who with their red Garibaldis and blue sailor trousers made him the most picturesque escort you can imagine? Was he meditating some gigantic enterprises the dictatorship that Cluseret had dreamed of and Rossel disdained, was he about to a.s.sume it for the good of the Republic? I have no idea; but whatever he has been doing, I have seen him again at the club held in the church of Saint Jacques.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GENERAL LA CeCILIA.[89]]

Ha! ha! Worthless hypocrites and inquisitors, who for the last eighteen hundred years have crushed, degraded, and tortured the poor; you thought our turn was never to come, you monks, priests, and archbishops! Thanks to the Commune you now preach in the prisons of the Republic; you may confess, if you like, the spiders of your dungeons, and give the holy viatic.u.m to the rats which play around your legs! You can no longer do any harm to patriots. No more churches, no more convents! Those who have not houses in the Champs Elysees shall lodge in your convents; in your churches shall be held honest a.s.semblies, which will give the people their rights; as to their duties, that is an invention of reactionists. No more of your sermons or speeches: after Bossuet, Napoleon Gaillard!

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHURCH OF SAINT EUSTACHE. Used as a Red Club. Partly destroyed by fire.]

On entering the church of Saint Eustache yesterday, I was agreeably surprised to find the font full of tobacco instead of holy-water, and to see the altar in the distance covered with bottles and gla.s.ses. Some one informed me that was the counter. In one of the lateral chapels, a statue of the Virgin had been dressed out in the uniform of a vivandiere, with a pipe in her mouth. I was, however, particularly charmed with the amiable faces of the people I saw collected there. The s.e.x to which we owe the _tricoteuses_ was decidedly in the majority. It was quite delightful not to see any of those elegant dresses and frivolous manners, which have for so long disgraced the better half of the human race. Thank heaven! my eyes fell with rapture on the heroic rags of those ladies who do us the honour of sweeping our streets for us. Many of these female patriots were proud to bear in the centre of their faces a rubicund nose, that rivalled in colour the Communal flag on the Hotel de Ville. Oh, glorious red nose, the distinguished sign of Republicanism! As to the men, they seemed to have been chosen among the first ranks of the new aristocracy. It was charming to note the military elegance with which their caps were slightly inclined over one ear; their faces, naturally hideous, were illuminated with the joy of freedom, and certainly the thick smoke which emanated from their pipes, must have been more agreeable as an offering, than the faint vapours of incense that used to arise from the gilded censers. "Marriage, citoyennes, is the greatest error of ancient humanity. To be married is to be a slave. Will you be slaves?"--"No, no!" cried all the female part of the audience, and the orator, a tall gaunt woman with a nose like the beak of a hawk, and a jaundice-coloured complexion, flattered by such universal applause, continued, "Marriage, therefore, cannot be tolerated any longer in a free city. It ought to be considered a crime, and suppressed by the most severe measures. n.o.body has the right to sell his liberty, and thereby to set a bad example to his fellow citizens. The matrimonial state is a perpetual crime against morality. Don't tell me that marriage may be tolerated, if you inst.i.tute divorce. Divorce is only an expedient, and if I may be allowed to use the word, an Orleanist expedient!" (Thunders of applause.) "Therefore, I propose to this a.s.sembly, that it should get the Commune of Paris to modify the decree, which a.s.sures pensions to the legitimate or illegitimate companions of the National Guards, killed in the defence of our munic.i.p.al rights. No half measures. We, the illegitimate companions, will no longer suffer the legitimate wives to usurp rights they no longer possess, and which they ought never to have had at all. Let the decree be modified. All for the free women, none for the slaves!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF ST. EUSTACHE--COMMUNIST CLUB.]

The orator descends from the pulpit amidst the most lively congratulations. I am told by some one standing near me, that the orator is a monthly nurse, who used to be a somnambulist in her youth. But the crowd opens now to give place to a male orator, who mounts the spiral staircase, pa.s.ses his hand through his hair, and darts a piercing glance on the mult.i.tude beneath. It is Citizen Lullier.

This young man has really a very agreeable physiognomy; his forehead is intelligent, his eyes pleasant. Looking on M. Lullier's sympathetic face, one is sorry to remember his eccentricities. But what is all this noise about? What has he said? what has he done? I only heard the words "Dombrowski," and "La Cecilia." Every one starts to his feet, exasperated, shouting. Several chairs are about to be flung at the orator. He is surrounded, hooted. "Down with Lullier! Long live Dombrowski!" The tumult increases. Citizen Lullier seems perfectly calm in the midst of it all, but refuses to leave the pulpit; he tries in vain to speak and explain. Two women, two amiable hags, throw themselves upon him; several men rush up also; he is taken up bodily and carried away, resisting to the utmost and shouting to the last. The people jump up on the chairs, Lullier has disappeared, and I hear him no more; what have they done with him!

What do you think of all this, gentlemen and Catholics! Do you still regret the priests and choristers who used awhile ago to preach and chant in the Parisian churches? Where is the man, who at the very sight of this new congregation, so tolerant, so intelligent, listening with such grat.i.tude to these n.o.ble lessons of politics and morality; where is the man, who could any longer blind himself to the admirable influence of the present revolution? Innumerable are the benefits that the Paris Commune showers upon us! As I leave the church, a little vagabond walks up to the font, and taking a pinch of tobacco,--"In the name of the...!"

says he, then fills his pipe; "In the name of the ...!" proceeding to strike a lucifer, adds, "In the name of the ...!"--"Confound the blasphemous rascal!" say I, giving him a good box on the ears. After having written these lines I felt inclined to erase them; on second thoughts I let them remain--they belong to history!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 89: A political refugee, who left his country in 1869 for Prussia, where he taught mathematics in the University of Ulm, and afterwards accepted service under Garibaldi.]

Lx.x.xII.

This morning I took a walk in the most innocent manner, having committed no crime that I knew of. It was lovely weather, and the streets looked gay, as they generally do when it is very bright, even when the hearts of the people are most sad. I pa.s.sed through the Rue Saint-Honore, the Palais Royal, and finally the Rue Richelieu. I beg pardon for these details, but I am particularly careful in indicating the road I took, as I wish the inhabitants of the places in question, to bear witness that I did not steal in pa.s.sing a single quartern loaf, or appropriate the smallest article of jewellery. As I was about to turn on to the boulevards, one of the four National Guards who were on duty, I do not know what for, at the corner of the street, cried out, "You can't pa.s.s!"