Paris under the Commune Part 32

"I cannot understand men who have pa.s.sed their life in combating the errors of despotism, falling into the same faults when they arrive at power. Of two things one: either secret imprisonment is an indispensable and good thing; or, it is odious. If it was good it was wrong to oppose it, and if it be odious and immoral, we ought not to continue it."

What on earth had he then to do in the Commune?

"Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?"]

[Footnote 94: "REPUBLICAN FEDERATION OF THE NATIONAL GUARD.

"Central Committee.

"To the People of Paris! To the National Guard!

"Rumours of dissensions between the majority of the Commune and the Central Committee have been spread by our common enemies with a persistency which, once for all, must be crushed by public compact.

"The Central Committee, appointed to the administration of military affairs by the Committee of Public Safety, will enter upon office from this day.

"This Committee, which has upheld the standard of the Communal revolution, has undergone no change and no deterioration. It is today what it was yesterday, the legitimate defender of the Commune, the basis of its power, at the same time as it is the determined enemy of civil war; the sentinel placed by the people to protect the rights that they have conquered,

"In the name, then, of the Commune, and of the Central Committee, who sign this pact of good faith, let these gross suspicions and calumnies be swept away. Let hearts beat, let hands be ready to strike in the good cause, and may we triumph in the name of union and fraternity.

"Long live the Republic!

"Long live the Commune!

"Long live the Communal Federation!

"The Commission of the Commune, BERGERET, CHAMPY, GERESME, LEDROIT, LONGLAS, URBAIN.

"The Central Committee. "Paris, 18th May, 1871."

Lx.x.xVI.

It was five o'clock in the afternoon. The day had been splendid and the sun shone brilliantly on Caesar still standing on the glorious pedestal of his victories. Outside the barricades of the Rue de la Paix and the Rue Castiglione, the crowd was standing in a compact ma.s.s, as far as the Tuileries on one side and the New Opera House on the other. There must have been from twenty to twenty-fire thousand people there. Strangers accosted each other by the t.i.tle of Citizen, I heard some talking about an eccentric Englishman who had paid three thousand francs for the pleasure of being the last to climb to the summit of the column. Nearly every one blamed him for not having given the money to the people.

Others said that Citizen Jourde would not manage to cover his expenses; Abadie[95] the engineer had asked thirty-two thousand francs to pull down the great trophy, and that the stone and plaster was after all, not covered with more than an inch or two of bronze, that it was not so many metres high, and would not make a great many two-sous pieces after all.

These sous seemed to occupy the public mind exceedingly, but the princ.i.p.al subjects of conversation, were the fears concerning the probable effects of the fall.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BARRICADE OF THE RUE CASTIGLIONE, FROM THE PLACE VENDoME.]

The event was slow in accomplishment. The wide Place was thinly sprinkled with spectators, not more than three hundred in all, privileged beings with tickets, or wearing masonic badges; or officers of the staff. Bergeret at one of the windows was coolly smoking a cigarette; military bands were a.s.sembled at the four angles of the Place; the sound of female laughter reached us from the open windows of the Ministere de la Justice. The horses of the mounted sentinels curvetted with impatience; bayonets glittered in the sun; children gaped wearily, seated on the curbstone. The hour of the ceremony was past; a rope had broken. Around the piled f.a.ggots on which the column was to fall, great fascines of flags of the favourite colour were flying.

The crowd did not seem to enjoy being kept in suspense, and proclaimed their impatience by stamping with measured tread, and crying "Music!"

At half-past five there was a sudden movement and bustle around the barricade of the Rue Castiglione. The members of the Commune appeared with their inevitable red scarfs.[96] Then there was a great hush. At the same instant the windla.s.s creaked; the ropes which hung from the summit of the column tightened; the gaping hole in the masonry below, gradually closed; the statue bent forward in the rays of the setting sun, and then suddenly describing in the air a gigantic sweep, fell among the flags with a dull, heavy thud, scattering a whirlwind of blinding dust in the air.

Then the bands struck up the "Ma.r.s.eillaise," and cries of "Vive la Commune" were re-echoed on all sides by the terror or the indifference of the mult.i.tude. In a marvellously short time, however, all was quiet again, so quiet, indeed, that I distinctly heard a dog bark as it ran frightened across the Place.

I daresay the members of the Commune, who presided over the accomplishment of this disgraceful deed, exclaimed in the pride of their miserable hearts, "Caesar, those whom you salute shall live!"

Everybody of course wished to get a bit of the ruin, as visitors to Paris eagerly bought bits of siege bread framed and glazed, and there was a general rush towards the place; but the National Guards crossed, their bayonets in front of the barricade, and no one was allowed to pa.s.s. So that the crowd quickly dispersed to its respective dinners. "It is fallen!" said some to those who had not been fortunate enough to see the sight. "The head of the statue came off--no one was killed." The boys cried out, "Oh, it was a jolly sight all the same!" But the greater part of the people were silent as they trudged away.

Then night came on, and next day a land-mark and a finger-post seemed missing in our every-day journey. Until we lose a familiar object we hardly appreciate its existence.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 95: Abadie arranged to demolish the Colonne Vendome for 32,000 or 38,000 francs, forfeiting 600 francs for every day's delay after the fourth of May. This reduced the sum to be paid to him by 6000 francs.]

[Footnote 96: Regarding Courbet and the destruction of the Column, he rejects the accusation on the ground that this decree had been voted previously to his admission in the Commune, and on the request he had made under the Government of the 4th of May of removing the column to the esplanade of the Invalides. He affirms that the official paper has altered his own words at the Commune, and he pretends having proposed to the Government to rebuild the column at his own expense, if it can be proved that he has been the cause of its destruction.]

Lx.x.xVII.

On the sixteenth, I received a prospectus through my concierge. There was to be a concert, mixed with speeches--a sort of popular fete at the Tuileries. The places varied in price from ten sous to five francs. Five francs the Salle des Marechaux; ten sous the garden, which was to be illuminated with Venetian lamps among the orange-trees; the whole to be enlivened by fireworks from the Courbevoie batteries.

I had tact enough not to put on white gloves, and set out for the palace.

It was not a fairy-like sight; indeed, it was a most depressing spectacle. A crowd of thieves and vagabonds, of dustmen and rag-pickers, with four or five gold bands on their sleeves and caps, (the insignia of officers of the National Guard), were hurrying along down the grand staircase, chewing "imperiales," spitting, and repeating the old jokes of '93. As to the women--they were sadly out of place. They simpered, and gave themselves airs, and some of them even beat time with their fans, as Mademoiselle Caillot was singing, to look as if they knew something about music.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PALACE OF THE TUILERIES, FROM THE GARDEN. The last concert held in the Tuileries by the Commune took place on Sunday, the 21st of March, when Anteuil and Pa.s.sy had been in the power of the army for several hours. Two days later the old palace was in flames. Citizen Felix Pyat had advanced the preservation of the Tuileries in the _Vengeur_, proposing to convert it into an asylum for the victims of work and the martyrs of the Republic. "This residence," he wrote, "ought to be devoted to the people, who had already taken possession of it."]

The concert took place in the Salle des Marechaux: a platform had been erected for the performers. The velvet curtains with their golden bees still draped the windows. From the gallery above I could see all that was going on. The Imperial balcony opens out of it; I went there, and leaned on the bal.u.s.trade with a certain feeling of emotion. Below were the illuminated gardens, and far away at the end of the Champs Elysees, almost lost in the purple of the sky, rose the Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile.

The roaring of the cannon at Vanves and Montrouge reached me where I stood. When the duet of the "_Maitre de Chapelle_" was over, I returned into the hall; the distant crashing of the mitrailleuse at Neuilly, borne towards us on the fresh spring breeze, in through the open windows, joined its voice to the applause of the audience.

Oh! what an audience! The faces in general looked fit subjects for the gibbet; others were simply disgusting: surprise, pleasure, and fear of Equality were reflected on every physiognomy. The carpenter, Pindy, military governor of the Hotel de Ville, was in close conversation with a girl from Philippe's. The ex-spy Clemence muttered soft speeches into the ear of a retired _chiffonniere_, who smiled awkwardly in reply. The cobbler Dereure was intently contemplating his boots; while Brilier, late coachman, hissed the singers by way of encouragement, as he would have done to his horses. They were going to recite some verses: I only waited to hear--

"PUIS, QUEL AVEUGLEMENT! QUEL NON-SENS POLITIQUE!"

an Alexandrine, doubtless, launched at the National a.s.sembly, and made my way to the garden as quickly as I could.

There, in spite of the Venetian lamps, all was very dull and dark. The walks were almost deserted, although it was scarcely half-past nine. I took a turn beneath the trees: the evening was cold; and I soon left the gardens by the Rue de Rivoli gate. A good many people were standing there "to see the grand people come from the fete"--a fete given by lackeys in a deserted mansion!

Lx.x.xVIII.

I was busy writing, when suddenly I heard a fearful detonation, followed by report on report. The windows rattled: I thought the house was shaking under me. The noise continued: it seemed as if cannon were roaring on all sides. I rushed down into the street; frightened people were running hither and thither, and asking questions. Some thought that the Versaillais were bombarding Paris on all sides. On the Boulevards I was told it was the fort of Vanves that had been blown up. At last I arrived on the Place de la Concorde: there the consternation was great, but nothing was known for certain. Looking up, I saw high up in the sky what looked like a dark cloud, but which was not a cloud. I tried again and again to obtain information. It appeared pretty certain that an explosion had taken place near the Ecole Militaire-doubtless at the Grenelle powder-magazine, I then turned into the Champs Elysees. A distant cracking was audible, like the noise of a formidable battery of mitrailleuses. Puffs of white smoke arose in the air and mingled with the dark cloud there. I no longer walked, I ran: I hoped to be able to see something from the Rond Point de l'Etoile. Once there, a grand and fearful sight met my eyes. Vast columns of smoke rolled over one another towards the sky. Every now and then the wind swept them a little on one side, and for an instant a portion of the city was visible beneath the rolling vapours. Then in an instant a flame burst out--only one, but that gigantic, erect, brilliant, as one that might dart forth from a Tolcano suddenly opened, up through the smoke which was reddened, illumined by the eruption of the fire. At the same moment there were explosions as of a hundred waggons of powder blown up one after another.

All this scene, in its hideous splendour, blinded and deafened me. I wanted to get nearer, to feel the heat of the burning, to rush on. I had the fire-frenzy!

[Ill.u.s.tration: RAZOUA, GOVERNOR OF THE eCOLE MILITAIRE.[97]]