An Englishman In Paris Part 35

"Personally," he went on, "I am not fighting for Communism, but for Communalism, which, I need not tell you, is quite a different thing. I fail to see why Paris and Lyons should be judged incapable of managing their own munic.i.p.al affairs without the interference of the State, while other great provincial centres are considered capable of doing so. The English Government does not interfere with the munic.i.p.al affairs of London on the plea that it is the capital, with those of Manchester on the plea that it has inaugurated a policy of its own, any more than it interferes with those of Liverpool, Leeds, or Bristol. Your lord-lieutenants of counties are virtually decorative officials, something different from our prefects and our sub-prefects, and your Home Secretary has not a hundredth part of the power of our Minister of the Interior. We wish to go a step further than you, without, however, shirking the financial obligations imposed by a federation. What you would call imperial taxes, we are willing to pay in kind as well as money. This is one of the things we do want; what we do not want is the resuscitation of the Empire. I am not speaking at random when I tell you that there are rumours about traitors in our camp, and that, according to these rumours, the struggle against the Versaillese troops would be a mere pretext to sweep the deck for the unopposed entry of an imperial army into Paris. Whence would that army be recruited? From among the prisoners going to leave Germany, who have been worked all the while in the interest of the Napoleonic dynasty. After all, we have as much right to overthrow the Government of Versailles as the Government of Versailles had the right to upset the Empire. Their powers are by no means more valid by virtue of the recent elections, than was the power of Louis-Napoleon by virtue of the plebiscite of 1870. Does M. Thiers really think that he is a better or greater man than Abraham Lincoln, who treated the Southerns as belligerents, not as insurgents?"

So far Cluseret. I am not prepared to say that he was a strictly honourable man, but he was a very intelligent one, probably the most intelligent among the leaders of the Commune. At any rate, his conversation made me anxious to get a nearer sight of some of the latter, and, as they had evidently made the Bra.s.serie Saint-Severin their princ.i.p.al resort of an evening, I returned thither several times.

A few nights afterwards, I was just in time to witness the arrival of Raoul Rigault, on horseback, accompanied by a staff running by the side of his animal. The whole reminded me irresistibly of Decamp's picture, "La Patrouille Turque." The Prefect of Police was scarcely less magnificently attired than the rest of his fellow-dignitaries. His uniform, if I remember rightly, was blue with red facings, but it is impossible to say, because it was covered everywhere with gold lace. His myrmidons hustled the crowd in order to make room for their chief, and some one laughed: "Mais il n'y a rien de change; c'est absolument comme sous l'Empire." For a moment Rigault sat quite still, surveying the crowd and ogling the women through his double eye-gla.s.ses. Then he alighted, and caught sight of my friend and myself standing on the threshold. "Quels sont ces citoyens?" he inquired, taking us in from top to toe, and stroking his long beard all the while. Some one told him our names, at which he made a wry face, the more that mine must have been familiar to him, seeing that a very near relative of mine, bearing the same, had been a special favourite with General Vinoy. He did not think fit to molest us; had he done so, it might have fared badly with us, for by the time Lord Lyons could have interfered, we might have been shot.

Ever since, my friend and I have been under the impression that we owed our lives to a dark, ugly little man who, at that moment, whispered something to him, and who, my friend told me, immediately afterwards, was the right hand of Raoul Rigault, Theophile Ferre. That name was also familiar to me, as it was to most Parisians, previous to the outbreak of the war, because Ferre was implicated in the plot against Louis-Napoleon's life, and was tried in the early part of '70 at Blois.

Every one knew how he insulted the President, how he refused to answer, and finally exclaimed, "Yes, I am an anarchist, a socialist, an atheist, and woe to you when our turn comes." He kept his word; he was a fiend, and looked one. Whenever there was anything cruel and bloodthirsty going on, he made it a point to be present. He was, though ugly, not half so ugly as Tridon, but one involuntarily recoiled from him.

Curiously enough, this very Theophile Ferre, whom I then saw for the first time, had been the subject of a conversation I had with Gil-Peres, the actor of the Palais-Royal, on the 25th or 26th of March. I had known Gil-Peres from the moment he made his mark in "La Dame aux Camelias" as Gaudens. To my great surprise, a day or two after the proclamation of the Commune, I heard that he had been cruelly maltreated in the Rue Drouot, that he had narrowly escaped being killed. Two days later, I paid him a visit in his lodgings at Montmartre; for he had been severely, though not dangerously hurt, and was unable to leave his bed.

"I am very sorry for your mishap," I said; "but what, in Heaven's name, induced you to meddle with politics?"

He burst out laughing, in that peculiar laugh of his which I have never heard before or since, on or off the stage. The nearest approach to it was that of Gra.s.sot, but the latter's was like a discharge of artillery, while Gil-Peres was like that of a musketry volley.

"I did not meddle with politics," he replied; "but you know how fond I am of going among crowds to study character. This day last week, I was pa.s.sing along the Rue Drouot, when I saw a large group in front of the Mairie. I had left home early in the morning, I knew nothing of what was going on in my neighbourhood, so you may imagine my surprise when I heard them calmly discussing the death of Clement Thomas and Lecomte.

My hair stood positively on end, and I must have pushed a bit in order to get nearer the speakers. I had a long black coat on, and they mistook me for a cure. I did all I could to tell them my name, but, before I could utter a word, I was down, and they began trampling on me. Some one, G.o.d alone knows who, saved me, by telling them my name. I knew nothing more, for I was brought home unconscious. And to think," he added, "that I might have been a member of the Commune myself, if I had liked."

"What do you mean?" I said, for I began to think that he was out of his mind.

"Well, you know that during the siege I tried to do my duty as a National Guard, and in my battalion was this Theophile Ferre of whom you have already heard. A most intelligent creature, but poor as Job and ferocious to a degree. He was a study to me, and, of late, he frequently came to see me in the morning. I generally asked him to stay to breakfast, for I liked to hear him talk of the future Commune, though I had not the slightest faith in his visions. I considered him a downright lunatic. About two or three days before this outbreak, he came, one morning, looking as pale as a ghost, but evidently very much excited.

Before I had time to ask him the cause of his emotion, he exclaimed, 'This time there is no mistake about it; we are the masters.' I suppose my face must have looked a perfect blank, for he proceeded to explain.

'In two days we'll hold our sittings at the Hotel-de-Ville, and the Commune will be proclaimed. And now,' he added, 'what can I do for you, citoyen Gil-Peres? You have always been very kind to me, and I am not likely to forget it when I am at the top of the tree.'

"I told him that I'd feel much obliged to him if he could induce Sardou or Dumas to write me a good part, like the latter had done before, because I wanted to be something more than a comic actor. But I saw that he was getting angry.

"'Do you mean to tell me,' he almost hissed, 'that you do not want to belong to the Commune?'

"'I haven't the slightest ambition that way,' I replied. 'People would only make fun of me, and they would be perfectly right.'

"'Why should people make fun of you?'

"'Because, because----' I stammered.

"He left me no time to finish. 'Because you are a small man,' he said.

'Well, I am a small man, too, and an ugly one into the bargain. I can a.s.sure you that the world will hear as much of me before long as if I had been an Adonis and a Hercules.' With this he disappeared, and I have not seen him since."

My purpose in reporting this conversation is to show that the Commune, with all its evils, might have been prevented by the so-called government of Versailles, if its members had been a little less eager to get their snug berths comfortably settled.

To return for a moment to Ferre and his companions, who, without exception, were sober to a degree, though many were probably fond of good cheer. The English writers, often very insufficiently informed, have generally maintained the contrary, but I know for a fact that, among the leaders of the movement, drunkenness was unknown. Ferre himself was among the soberest of the lot: the few evenings I saw him he drank either cold coffee or some cordial diluted with water.

Nevertheless, it was he who was directly responsible for the death of Archbishop Darboy, whom he could and might have saved.

In every modern tragedy there is a comic element, and in that of the Commune the comic parts were, to a certain extent, sustained by Gambon, Jourde, and a few others whom it is not necessary to mention. Gambon was one of the mildest of creatures, and somewhat of a "communard malgre lui." He would have willingly "left the settlement of all these vexed questions to moral force," and he proposed once or twice a mission to Versailles to that effect. He was about fifty, and a fine specimen of a robust, healthy farmer. His love of "peaceful settlement" arose from an experiment he had made in that way during the Empire, though it is very doubtful whether strictly logical reasoners would have looked upon it as "peaceful." Gambon had been a magistrate and a member of the National a.s.sembly during the Second Republic, and voted with the conservative side. The advent of the Empire made an end of his parliamentary career, and, in order to mark his disapproval of the Coup-d'etat and its sequel, Gambon refused to pay his taxes. The authorities seized one of his cows, and were proceeding to sell it by auction, when Gambon, accompanied by a good many of his former const.i.tuents, appeared on the scene. "This cow,"

he shouts, "has been stolen from me by the Imperial fisc, and whosoever buys it is nothing more than a thief himself." Result: not a single bid for the cow, and the auctioneer was compelled to adjourn the sale for a week. The auctioneer deemed it prudent to transport the cow to a neighbouring commune, but Gambon had got wind of the affair, and adopted the same expedient of moral persuasion. For nearly three months the auctioneer transported the cow from one commune to another, and Gambon followed him everywhere, until they reached the limits of the department. Gambon apprehended that moral persuasion would have no effect among strangers, and he let things take their course. The cost of selling the cow amounted to about ten times its worth. As a matter of course, the whole affair was revived by "les journaux bien pensants" at the advent of the Commune, and Gambon was elected a member by the 10th Arrondiss.e.m.e.nt. Gambon managed to escape into Switzerland; but when the amnesty was proclaimed, he returned, and solicited once more the suffrages of his former const.i.tuents. At the Bra.s.serie Saint-Severin, Gambon was generally to be found at the ladies' table, about the occupants of which I cannot speak, seeing that I was not introduced to them.

Jourde was one of two "financial delegates" of the Commune. He had been a superior employe at the Bank of France, and was considered an authority on financial affairs. It was he to whom the Marquis de Ploeuc, the governor of the Bank, had handed the first million for the use of the Commune. My friend, the doctor, had known him in his former capacity, and often invited him to our table, to which invitation the "paymaster-general" always eagerly responded. One evening, the conversation turned upon the events which had preceded the request for funds. "On the second day of the Commune," he said, "the want of money began to be horribly felt. Eudes proposed that I should go and fetch some from the Bank of France. To be perfectly candid, I did not care about it. Had I been a soldier, I might have invaded the Bank at the head of a regiment; but, to go and ask my former chief for a million or so as a matter of course, was a different thing, and I had not the moral courage. The director of the Bank of France is very little short of a G.o.d to his subordinates, and, in spite of our boasted 'Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality,' there is no nation so ready to bow down before its governors as the French. Seeing that I hung back, Eudes proposed to go himself, and did, refusing to take a single soldier with him. But he did not want the responsibility of handling the million of francs the governor placed at our disposal, so I was, after all, obliged to beard my former chief in his own den. He was very polite, and called me 'Monsieur le delegue aux finances,' but I would have preferred his calling me all the names in the world, for I caught sight of a very ironical smile at the corners of his mouth when, on taking leave of him, he said, 'You may be my successor one day, Monsieur le delegue, and I hope you will profit by the lessons I have always endeavoured to teach my subordinates: obedience to the powers that be.'"

Jourde was by no means a fool or a braggart; he was a very good administrator, and exceedingly conscientious. Like most men who have had the constant handling of important sums of money, he was absolutely indifferent to it; and I feel certain that he did not feather his own nest during the two months he had the chance. But he vainly endeavoured to impress upon the others the necessity for economy. Every now and then he tore his red hair and beard at the waste going on at the Hotel-de-Ville, where, in the beginning, a.s.si was keeping open table.

Not that they were feasting, but every one who had a mind could sit down, and, though the sum charged by the steward was moderate, two francs for breakfast and two francs fifty centimes for dinner, the number of self-invited guests increased day by day, and the paymaster-general was at his wits' end to keep pace with the expenses.

The Central-Committee put a stop to this indiscriminate hospitality by simply arresting a.s.si, whom I never saw.

When the Commune decreed the demolition of the Vendome column, Jourde was still more angry and in despair. He was, first of all, opposed to its destruction, from a patriotic and common-sense point of view: secondly, he objected to the waste of money that destruction entailed; he endeavoured to cut the Gordian knot by stopping the workmen's pay.

Though three or four of his fellow "delegates" were absolutely of the same opinion, the rest sent him a polite intimation that if the necessary funds were not disbursed voluntarily they would send for them, and take the opportunity, at the same time, to "put him against the wall," and make an end of him. That night, Courbet, the painter, who had been the prime mover in this work of destruction, came to the Bra.s.serie Saint-Severin from the Bra.s.serie Andler, hard by, to taste the sweets of his victory. His friend, Chaudey, of the _Siecle_, was no longer with him. Like Mgr. Darboy, the Abbes Lagarde, Crozes, and Deguerry, he had been arrested by Raoul Rigault as a hostage, in virtue of a decree by the Commune, setting forth that every execution of a prisoner of war, taken by the Versaillais, would be followed by the execution of three hostages to be drawn by lot.

Jourde did not wear a uniform; at any rate, I never saw him in one. I happened to remark upon it one evening, and he then gave me a partial explanation why the others did wear them in so ostentatious a manner.

"It is really done to please the National Guards; they mistrust those who remain 'in mufti;' they attribute their reluctance to don the uniform to the fear of being compromised, to the wish to escape unnoticed if things should go wrong. I grant you that all this does not warrant the uniforms most of my colleagues do wear, but to the Latin races the wisdom of Solomon lies in his magnificence, and they trace the elevation of Joseph to its primary cause--his coat of many colours. I am not only 'delegate of finances' and paymaster-general, but head cook and bottle-washer in all that concerns monetary matters to the Central-Committee. I have very few clerks to a.s.sist me in my work, and fewer still upon whose honesty I can depend; consequently, I am compelled to do a good deal of drudgery myself. Yesterday I received the fortnightly accounts of G.o.dillot,[91] the military tailors and accoutrement manufacturers. They seemed to me simply monstrous, not so much in respect of the prices charged for each uniform, as in respect of the number of uniforms supplied. To have sent one of my clerks would have been of no earthly use; there is an old Normand saying about sending the cat to Rome and his coming back mewing; the clerk would have simply come back mewing, saying that there was no mistake, so I went myself. I saw the chief manager.

[Footnote 91: The word "G.o.dillot" has pa.s.sed into the French language, and, at present, means the soldier's shoes.--EDITOR.]

"'I am positive there is no mistake, monsieur,' he said, 'though I may tell you at once that I made the same remark when I pa.s.sed the accounts; the number of uniforms seemed to me inordinately large; mais il faut se rendre a l'evidence, and I ticketed off every item by its corresponding voucher. Still I felt that there is a terrible waste somewhere, and said so to the head of the retail department. "If you will remain downstairs for one hour," was the answer, "you will have the explanation." I can only say the same to you, Monsieur le delegue.'

"I did remain on that ground-floor for one hour," Jourde went on, "and, during that time, no fewer than eight young fellows came in with vouchers for complete uniforms of lieutenants or captains of the staff.

Most of them looked to me as if they had never handled a sword or rifle in their lives--yardsticks seemed more in their line; and the airs they gave themselves positively disgusted me; but I do not want another reminder of the Central-Committee about my cheeseparing, so I'll let things take their course. Look, here is a sample of how we deck ourselves out quand nous allons en guerre."

I looked in the direction pointed out to me, and beheld a somewhat dark individual with lank, black hair, of ordinary height, or a little below perhaps, dressed in a most extraordinary costume. He wore a blue Zouave jacket, large baggy crimson breeches tucked into a pair of quasi-hessian boots, a crimson sash, and a black sombrero hat with a red feather. A long cavalry sabre completed the costume. Upon the whole, he carried himself well, though there was a kind of swashbuckler air about him which smacked of the stage. I was not mistaken; the scent or the smell of the footlights was over it all.

"This is Colonel Maxime Lisbonne, an actor by profession, who has taken to soldiering with a vengeance," said Jourde. "There is no doubt about his bravery, but he is as fit to be a colonel as I am to be a general.

It does not seem to strike my colleagues that, in no matter what profession, one has to serve an apprenticeship, and, most of all, in the science of soldiering; Maxime Lisbonne said he would be a colonel, so they, without more ado, made him one.[92] He never moves without that Turco at his heels."

[Footnote 92: During my stay in Paris, 1881-86, as the correspondent of a London evening paper, I had occasion to see a great deal of M. Maxime Lisbonne, who is a prominent figure at nearly every social function, such as premieres, the unveiling of monuments, the opening of public buildings, etc.

The reason of this prominence has never been very clear to me, unless it be on the a.s.sumption that the Paris journalists, even the foremost of whom he treats on the footing of equality, consider him "good copy." Only as late as a few years ago, he made a considerable sensation in the Paris press by appearing at one of M. Carnot's receptions in evening dress, redolent of benzine, "because the dress had been lying _perdu_ for so many years." It was he who started the famous "taverne du bagne," on the Boulevard Rochechouart, to which "all Paris" flocked.

Previous to this, he had been the lessee of the Bouffes du Nord, at which theatre he brought out Louise Michel's "Nadine."

Though by no means an educated man, he can, on occasions, behave himself very well, and truth compels me to state that he is very good-natured and obliging. One day, on the occasion of an important murder trial, I failed to see Commandant Lunel at the Palais de Justice, and was turning away disconsolately, when, at a sign from M. Lisbonne, the sergeant of the Gardes de Paris, who had refused to admit me on the presentation of my card, relented. That same afternoon, at the mere expression of his wish, the manager of the Jardin de Paris, which had just been opened, presented me with a season ticket, or, to speak correctly, placed my name on the permanent free list. In short, I could mention a score of instances of a similar nature; all tending to show that M. Maxime Lisbonne's "partic.i.p.ation in the events of the Commune" has had the effect of investing him with a kind of social halo.--EDITOR.]

On another occasion I saw the famous General Dombrowski, and the no less famous Colonel or General la Cecilia. I only exchanged a few words with the former, but I sat talking for a whole evening to the latter. He was a short, spare, fidgety man, strongly pitted with small-pox, with a few straggling hairs on the upper lip and chin. He was terribly near-sighted, and wore a pair of thick spectacles. Nervous and restless to a degree, but a voice of remarkable sweetness. His English was faultless, with scarcely any accent, and I was told that he spoke every European language and several Oriental ones with the same accuracy. He was the only Frenchman who could converse with Dombrowski and the other Poles in their native language. He was a clever mathematician, and, that evening, he endeavoured to prove mathematically that Von Moltke had committed several blunders, both at Sadowa and Sedan. "That kind of thing," said Jourde, after he was gone, "was sure to 'fetch' the Central-Committee; he always reminds me of the doctors in Moliere trying to prove that one of their confreres had cured a patient contrary to the principles of medicine. Mind, do not imagine that La Cecilia is not a good soldier. He got all his grades in the Italian army, on the battle-fields of '59-'60, and, during the late war, he directed the brilliant defence of Alencon. But between a good soldier and a great general there is a vast difference."

Physically, Dombrowski was almost the counterpart of La Cecilia, with the exception of the gla.s.ses and the small-pox. But while the Frenchman--for Cecilia was a Frenchman notwithstanding his Italian name--was modest though critical, the Pole was a braggart, though by no means devoid of courage. Up to the very end, he sent in reports of his victories, all of which were purely imaginary. Even as late as the 21st of May, when the Versailles troops were carrying everything before them, the newspaper-boys were shouting, "Brilliant victory of General Dombrowski." Dombrowski had been invested with his high command under the pretext that he had fought under Garibaldi and in the Polish struggle against Russia. It transpired afterwards that he had never seen Garibaldi nor Garibaldi him, and that, so far from having aided his own countrymen, he had been a simple private in the Russian army. Still, he was a better man than his countryman Wrobleski, who showed his courage by going to bed while the Versaillais were sh.e.l.ling Vanves.

Among my papers I find a torn programme of a concert at the Tuileries during the Commune. It reads as follows:--

COMMUNE DE PARIS,

PALAIS DES TUILERIES

Servant pour LA PREMIeRE FOIS a une oeuvre patriotique

GRAND CONCERT

Au Profit des Veuves et Orphelins de la Republique.

---- _Sous le Patronage de la Commune et du Citoyen Dr. Rousselle._ ---- Tout porteur de billet pris a l'avance pourra sans retribution, visiter le Palais des Tuileries.

The rest is missing, but I remember that among the artists who gave their services were Mesdames Agar and Bordas; MM. Coquelin cadet, and Francis Thome, the pianist.

I did not take my ticket beforehand, consequently was not ent.i.tled to a stroll through the Palace previous to the concert. When I entered the Salle des Marechaux, where the concert was to take place, I felt thankful that the trial had been spared to me, and I mentally e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a wish that I might never see that glorious apartment under similar circ.u.mstances. The traces of neglect were too painful to behold, though I am bound to say that I could detect no proofs of wilful damage. My wish was gratified with a vengeance. A little more than a month afterwards, the building was in flames, and, at the hour I write, it is being razed to the ground.

I did not stay long; I heard Madame Agar, dressed in deep mourning, declaim "the Ma.r.s.eillaise," and M. Thome execute a fantasia on well-known operatic airs. Some of the reserved seats were occupied by the minor dignitaries of the Commune, but the greater part of the place was filled by working men and their spouses and the very _pet.i.te bourgeoisie_. The latter seemed to be in doubt whether to enjoy themselves or not; but the former were very vociferous, and had evidently made up their minds that the Commune was the best of all possible regimes, seeing that it enabled them to listen to a concert in a palace for a mere trifle. "That's equality, as I understand it, monsieur," said a workman in a very clean blouse to me, at the same time making room for me on the seat next to him. He and his companion beguiled the time between the first and second number on the programme by sucking barley-sugar.