Book: The Insurrection in Paris

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The Column Vendome is to be rebuilt.

With an English friend I this morning made my way along the line of
Boulevards running east of the Madeleine. A marvellous change had come
over them since yesterday; they were crowded with troops of the Line and
civilians fraternizing with them, and wandering about to look for the
traces of the recent conflict without danger of being shot from windows
or being pressed into the service of the Communists to build or fight
behind a barricade. It was our plan to make for the Hotel de Ville, and
we took the Bourse in our way. Everything was so quiet that we half
hoped the fighting in that part of Paris at any rate was over, and we
were in consequence greatly astonished to hear near us the furious
beating of the _rappel_, as regulars were all about. We thought for a
moment a hot conflict was at hand, but we had forgotten, not
unnaturally, considering how long it is since we had seen or heard of
them, the Party of Order. It was they who were rallying valiantly at the
Bourse round the new tricolour banner and a few gentlemen who wore
tricolour _brassards_ or pretty bunches of tricolour riband, and whose
general tidiness and freshness contrasted strikingly with the grimy,
business-like look of the real soldiers close by. These were streaming
into the Place des Victoires, close by, receiving cheers and
congratulations from the people about in the square or at the windows,
who seemed delighted to see them. The men were in capital spirits, and
told us they were carrying everything before them, that the Insurgents
fought often well enough so far as mere pluck went, but were everywhere
outmanoeuvred, and at nearly every barricade found themselves taken at
once in front, flank, and rear. This exactly tallied with what we had
already heard and seen. An officer told his men to keep a sharp look out
on the windows of the houses about, lest they should be surprised by a
fusillade. "No fear of that," said a _bourgeois_; "not a gun will be
fired at you in this Quarter." This looked peaceful enough, and we were
considerably astonished therefore as we went up a street a little
further on, the Rue d'Aboukir, I think, to find ourselves facing a
barricade about 150 yards off, manned, and with a flag floating over it
that looked very red. We stared hard and long, but the flag was
unmistakably red, and therefore, supposing any Regulars to advance, we
were directly between two fires. We accordingly turned into a side
street and waited patiently, as it seemed impossible that Regulars and
Reds so near each other should escape collision. The Regulars were sure
to come on; the only question was whether the Reds would run. As I
looked up another parallel street, the Rue de Clery, I think, I found
the question answered in an odd way. There, within thirty yards, were
two officers of Reds lounging leisurely about and stopping now and then
to talk to people at doors. I suppose they were told of the near
approach of the Regulars, for they turned back in the direction of their
barricade. But meantime the Regulars had advanced, and, therefore, the
enemies were at one moment within 40 paces of each other, though, being
in different streets, they were unconscious of each other's near
vicinity. Both parties seemed, as they well might, thoroughly at home,
the people, whatever might be their secret sympathies, showing a decent
appearance, at least, of impartiality to all men with arms in their
hands, and yet in a few minutes or seconds--for there was now no doubt
that they were about to fight--everybody was on the _qui vive_, getting
ready to escape if necessary. The extraordinary feature of these Paris
street fights is that many of them go on with a crowd of non-combatants,
men, women, and children, as close to them on both sides as if the whole
affair were a theatrical representation of a sensational melodramatic
kind, where a good deal of powder and blue lights would be burnt, but no
bullets or lives would be spent. In streets in which fighting actually
occurs no one of course shows except combatants, and these show as
little as possible, lying down or sheltering behind extempore
barricades and windows. The people indoors, as may be supposed, do not
keep near them, as the bullets fired down the sides of the streets under
cover of doorways or corner houses glance and ricochet about in the
wildest way. Scarcely a window escapes if the fight lasts long, but
adjoining streets running at right angles to the fighting ground are for
the moment comparatively safe, and the people crowd about the doorways
in these, the more venturesome getting close to street corners, and
every now and then cautiously craning their necks round to see, if
possible, whether shots tell.

Perhaps the strangest thing about a Paris street fight is that up to the
very last moment one sees people running quietly along, utterly
unconscious of danger, right between two lines of fire, with loaded
mitrailleuses within a hundred yards of them. One minute before the
fight I am describing began this morning, an old lady, with a large
market basket on her arm, was leisurely walking down the Rue d'Aboukir
between the barricades and soldiers mustering quietly at the corner of
the Rue Montmartre. She was probably making way to the Halles Centrales
close by to get something for breakfast, in happy ignorance of the fact
that at that very moment soldiers were firing, as far as we could see,
right into it. I found afterwards that the Reds were then in occupation
of it, and had loop-holed the Church of St. Eustache, which they held in
great force. Shouts of warning from the crowd standing near me at the
corner of the Rue Montmartre made her at last quicken her pace, though I
doubt whether she quite understood them or knew her danger. I scarcely
know whether Paris combatants at this period are considerate enough to
wait till the ground is clear of non-combatants, or whether out of
politeness each side was waiting for the other to fire first. In any
case the regulars did not wait long. A colonel of the Staff, with cane
in one hand and in the other a map of Paris, studying, stood at the
corner of a side street, gave his men the order to commence instantly. A
soldier on each side took a step forward, and exposing himself as little
as possible fired up at the barricade. After he had fired he fell back
to reload, and another all ready took his place, so that, though there
were at first very few men--not more than 20 perhaps--firing was pretty
hot. Quick came back the response of the Reds, and whizzing went their
bullets down the street, or crashing against projecting corners of the
houses, so near one's ears that it was at first hard to keep from
dodging, despite one's convictions that only Irish guns shoot round
corners. Ricochet balls were not only not more dangerous, but probably
were less dangerous, at the corner than farther off. Some stood as near
as they could to the soldiers. It would be impossible to do this with
the Reds, as they would insist one's taking up a rifle and shooting or
being shot; but the Regulars, so far from forcing, would not even allow
an amateur to indulge in fancy shooting. But taking hurried shots round
a corner at men crouched hundreds of yards off behind well-built
barricades is too slow work to be satisfactory, and the officials came
and began to show signs of impatience. The leader, from a safe post of
observation, was able to take a cool searching view of the situation,
and ordered some of his men, whose numbers were gradually increasing as
they hurried up the street below, ducking heads and hugging walls, to
mount some of the corner houses, while others extemporized a barricade
in the street. To mount the houses was easy enough, though the door of
one had to be broken in, and presently we heard glass tumbling down as
muzzles of rifles were poked through the upper panes, and soon sharp
cracks and thick puffs of smoke leaping out showed that the men had
settled down to their work. The barricade was a more difficult matter,
as it had to be made full in front of the enemy's fire; but it was
contrived with wonderful coolness and rapidity, the civilians about
eagerly bringing stones. Two or three barrels appeared as if by magic.
By pushing the barricade cautiously across the street, by lying down
under cover of one bit as they built another, the Regulars soon had
cover enough to fire comparatively at ease straight up at the barricade,
while their comrades at the windows took it from above in flank. I was
sometimes within a few feet of them, and was much struck by their
coolness and military common sense, if I may use the expression. They
did the work before them in a quiet, business-like way, in what, during
the late war, was considered by some the best feature of Prussian
fighting, not shirking risk when it was necessary, but, on the other
hand, not needlessly exposing themselves for the sake of swagger,
especially of the officers. This morning, the officers not being wanted,
had the sense to keep quietly out of harm's way and smoke their
cigarettes like unconcerned civilians when not giving orders to their
men. The Reds, on the other hand, fought capitally, keeping up a brisk
and well-directed fire. Yet, strange to say, nobody was wounded; I mean
on our side.


MAY 28th.

A week has elapsed to-day since the Versailles troops established
themselves inside the _enceinte_, and the fighting has been incessant
ever since; this is hard work enough for the assailants, who number
nearly 150,000 men; but for the soldiers--if soldiers they can be
called--of the Commune, the effort has already been almost superhuman.
Gradually diminishing in numbers, constantly finding themselves forced
upon a smaller area, and, therefore, the target of a more concentrated
fire, hemmed in upon all sides, with ammunition and provisions falling
short, exposed to a heavy rain, which has been falling incessantly for
48 hours, unable to seek repose in any spot sheltered from the shells of
the enemy, which are pouring in unremitting showers upon every corner of
their position, the situation of the Insurgents is desperate in the
extreme, and it cannot be denied that they are fighting with an energy
and a heroism worthy of a better cause. Reports are so varied and
contradictory as to the fate of their leaders that even the Generals of
the French army do not know positively who is commanding them; but if
the prisoners are to be believed, the irrepressible Cluseret has again
risen to the surface, and is the heart and soul of the defence. As the
position of the Insurgents becomes desperate, it seems to produce a
greater ferocity on both sides. The rebels neither ask nor give quarter;
they have made up their minds that death, whether as combatants or as
prisoners, is their only alternative, and men and women seem to be
lashed up to a frenzy which has converted them into a set of wild beasts
caught in a trap, and rendering their extermination a necessity. I went
yesterday to the Jardin des Plantes, as the entire left bank of the
Seine is now in the hands of the Government troops, and found M.
Decaisne, the celebrated botanical professor, still safe and sound,
after having passed through three days of unparalleled suspense. On
Wednesday the _rappel_ had been beaten by the Insurgents, and notice was
publicly given that the Pantheon was to be blown up at 2 o'clock. The
result was a general "stampede" of the inhabitants in an agony of terror
and dismay. For two or three hours women and children came pouring out
of the doomed quarter, unable to save any of their property, and not
even yet assured that they had escaped the limits of the explosion. At 5
o'clock no explosion had occurred, and the rumour spread that the
attempt had failed for want of a sufficient quantity of powder. I told
you how the Pantheon was saved; the people went back to their houses,
only to witness severe street fighting, the result of which was to drive
the Insurgents slowly across the river, where they made a fierce stand
at a _tete du pont_ erected at the end of the bridge of Austerlitz. This
had only been carried the evening before my visit to it, and bore all
the marks of an actual battlefield. Here were eight or ten bodies strewn
behind the barricade, with groups of women and young children gathered
round inspecting them, and lifting, with a morbid curiosity, the cloths
which had been thrown over them to conceal their distorted countenances.
These men had been killed in hard fighting, men and accoutrements were
strewn thickly around, the houses were smashed and riddled with shot.
The barricade, a formidable earthwork and battery, was pounded into a
mere heap--everything betokened a bitter struggle; and, indeed, I had
already heard from a Staff officer that the Line had lost more heavily
at this point than elsewhere. Passing along the side of the canal, we
endeavoured to reach the Bastille, but were stopped by a battery which
was firing at Pere-Lachaise, and which was receiving shells in reply
from the cemetery. We therefore retraced our steps past the long gaunt
skeleton of the Prefecture of the Police, which was still smoking, and
which had contained a body of political prisoners incarcerated by the
Insurgents, but released by them in order to work at barricades. This
proved their salvation, as they were enabled to effect their escape on
the approach of the troops. It is reported, nevertheless, that some
still lie buried beneath these smouldering ruins. To the right of the
Bastille we could see a heavy volume of smoke rising apparently from a
point corresponding to the position of the prison of Mazas. We are still
in utter darkness as to the fate of the Archbishop and the clergy in
confinement with him, but the tragedy of the Dominicans leaves us little
hope. About 20 of these priests were imprisoned on Friday, the 19th, at
Fort Bicetre. On Thursday, when this had to be abandoned, they were
hurried away to the Gobelins on the promise of being set at liberty.
Instead of this they were driven to work on the barricades, then dragged
to a prison in the Avenue d'Italie. At half-past 4 in the afternoon they
were visited by a certain M. Cerisier with a company of the 101st
battalion of the National Guards, who deliberately loaded in their
presence. The outside door of the prison was then thrown open, and they
were ordered to leave it one by one. As they marched out singly they
were shot successively by order of Cerisier, with the exception of the
narrator of the occurrence, and one or two others who were either missed
or slightly wounded and escaped. Twelve bodies of these unhappy men have
already been recovered.

There is also no doubt that M. Gustave Chaudey, one of the principal
editors of the _Siecle_, and a literary man of some eminence and high
character, who had incurred the displeasure of the Communists, has been
shot by them. On the other side the executions are wholesale. It is
estimated that upwards of 2,000 persons have been shot already on the
left bank of the Seine alone, evidently a small proportion of the total
number. Wherever women and children are to be observed leaning over the
parapet of the Seine intently regarding some object below, one may be
sure that the attraction is a group of hideously mutilated corpses of
men who have been brought down to the river side, and then with their
backs to the wall have met their doom. On the sloping roads leading down
from the _quai_ to the river may also be seen inequalities where the
road has been recently disturbed and where the freshly-turned earth
indicates burial-places. Not far from these bodies were lying several
dead horses, from which the people were cutting steaks. The inside of
the Hotel de Ville presents a curious scene, the solid masses of stone
and lime of which the rubbish is composed having fallen in in the form
of a crater, which fills up the whole central place. Under this mound
are said to be buried from 200 to 300 Insurgents who were unable to
escape at the last moment, and thus fell the victims of the
conflagration they had themselves originated. The mutilation of the
ornamental work of this magnificent specimen of architecture is simply
hideous; there is scarcely a square inch of the _facade_ untouched by
shot or shell. Anxious, if possible, to judge of the progress of the
attack which was being made on the Insurgent position at Pere-Lachaise,
I reached the Place Chateau d'Eau, which had been taken the day before
from the Insurgents. I found it, however, impossible to go beyond the
angle of the Wall near the Ambigu. Here a small crowd was collected
which was dispersed by a shot just as I approached, and the place itself
was a solitary desert, for it was swept from the heights of Belleville
down the Faubourg du Temple. Passing along the Boulevard Magenta, we
obtained from the point where the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis traverses
the Rue Lafayette, a view of an Insurgent barricade, on which a red flag
was still flying, and which was turned by the troops while we were
there. We were looking down the long, straight line of street totally
deserted, and in the far distance watching the barricade, beyond which
rose the occasional puffs of smoke from a musketry fire, when we
suddenly saw the red trousers scampering across in twos and threes, and
then in larger numbers, and knew that the barricade had been taken, and
that it was safe to come out of our cover and walk on the opposite side
of the street. All this time the whistling and bursting of the shell
overhead was as incessant and loud as I have ever heard on the field of
battle. We were directly in the line of fire between Montmartre and Pere
la Chaise, although completely protected from it, as everything passed
overhead. But the terrific rushing through the air of the projectiles,
and the cracking and bursting at each end when they reached their
destination, made a music which it requires a Parisian education
thoroughly to appreciate. Heavy volumes of smoke rose from the besieged
quarter, and the destruction of life and property upon the doomed area
which the Insurgents have chosen as their final stronghold must be
something appalling. Near the angle of the street at which we stood lay
the dead body of a man, covered with a cloth, who had been shot not many
hours before in an adjoining Court. It was evident from the looks and
tone of the inhabitants of this neighbourhood that their sympathies were
strongly with the Communists. They muttered gloomily and savagely to
each other, scarcely daring to raise their suspicious glances from the
ground, for they knew not which of their neighbours might not have
denounced them, and that the day of danger was by no means past.
Probably two-thirds of the men now gathered at their shopdoors had
fought actively for the Commune. At the Prevote of the 5th corps I had
an interesting instance of the effect of denunciations. While there some
men who had been intrusted with the arrest of General Henry returned
from their expedition. General Henry, it will be remembered, was one of
the earliest leaders of the movement, and I went down to see where he
had openly established himself as Commander-in-Chief of the National
Guard in the Vaugirard quarter. About the 16th of March, or two days
before the Revolution several attempts were made to arrest him but the
task was so dangerous that they all failed. Throughout the movement this
man has exhibited daring and intelligence, and his capture is much
desired. In consequence of the information received his haunt was
visited, and the result I saw in the shape of a blue Prussian overcoat
stained with blood and perforated with a bullet-hole, a tunic still
more bloody and torn, a very jaunty braided jacket quite clean and new,
a Prussian undress cap, and a very handsome sword. The proprietor had
evidently been wounded, and had succeeded in evading his captors, if
still alive, by some secret contrivance, which, however, the honour of
the denouncer was pledged to discover; it was evident that he had
provided himself with a Prussian uniform, in the hope of passing through
the German lines, and the blood on his coat would seem to indicate that
he had made the attempt and failed. From this barrack, just prior to my
visit, had been removed several wounded children, most of them under
eight years old. One of the most horrible features of the war in a
thickly-peopled city is to be found in the sufferings which it entails
upon the innocent who are thus early familiarized with scenes of blood
and violence, and who too often, unfortunately, are themselves the
victims of them. The _gamins_ of Paris love to dabble in petroleum and
play with lucifer matches, and revel in destruction and conflagration.
More daring than their elders, they stick with their mothers to
barricades after the father of the family has deemed it prudent to
retire, and numerous are the stories of their heroism and courage.
Unfortunately, their propensities for arson render them liable to be
shot, and it is sad to see how many children are often comprised in a
band of prisoners. I went underground to the cells in which the
prisoners were confined at the Prevote, and wandered along narrow,
subterranean passages, where the noisome exhalations were almost
stifling, into dark cells, where the eye got at last sufficiently
accustomed to the light to distinguish the relics left by the prisoners:
here a pair of stays of which some female prisoner had divested herself,
there a red cockade, all kinds of articles of clothing steeped in slime
of indescribable foulness; and cowering at one end of the corridor a
dozen prisoners waiting to know their fate. They were more respectable
than usual, and not apparently of a very sanguinary type. They were all
men. To-day no less than a hundred women were marched down the streets
in one gang. The papers are so full of false reports that it is scarcely
safe to give news which has not been verified. Thus, unless I had seen
the Genius of Liberty on the top of the column in the Place de la
Bastille, and visited the Jardin des Plantes, I might have reported the
accounts, of which the papers are full, of the destruction of the figure
on the Column and of the animals and rare plants in the gardens, which
you will be happy to hear are all in a state of perfect health and
preservation. I am afraid, however, it is only too true that half the
Gobelins are destroyed, and that 67 of the "Freres de la Doctrine
Chretienne" have been shot by their fellow-Christians of the Commune. A
friend of mine saw Madame Milliere in a prisoners' gang, and we have
authentic intelligence to-day that her husband, one of the most
pestilent of the apostles of Fraternity and wholesale slaughter, has
been executed.

The streets are full of the National Guards of Order, carrying their
rifles to the different depots to be given up, for the disarmament of
the entire National Guard has been determined on, and it is to be hoped
that this most useless body in time of foreign invasion and most
dangerous one in moments of internal trouble will be extinguished and
abolished for ever throughout all the towns of France. Meantime the
Boulevards and streets from which the fighting has receded are slowly
waking into life, the tricolor waves from the windows in token of
loyalty and sympathy with the Government, and at least two cafes are
open on the Boulevards, but as yet only here and there the shutters of a
shop are lowered.

The roar of the batteries from Montmartre is still continuous, but it is
hardly possible that the Insurgents can continue the struggle for 24
hours longer.

Fighting was going on at Belleville about an hour ago, but still there
is every reason the believe that the insurrection is virtually over. A
great number of prisoners, escorted by cavalry, have just been marched
down the Boulevards. They were said to be 5,000, but this is probably an
exaggeration. They came from the Buttes Chaumont, where many of them
have been kept two days and a half without food. A more villainous
collection of faces I never beheld. There were many women, among them
some in men's clothes, some as _cantinieres_ or _ambulancieres_, and
very young boys and old men. Nearly 1,500 were Regular soldiers, or at
least wore their uniform. Their coats were turned inside out, as a mark
of disgrace. As they passed through the crowd lining each side of the
Boulevards they were met with cries of "_A mort, crapule,
fusillez-les!_" Four women in the Amazon uniform and the Regulars
excited special indignation. One prisoner, near the New Opera, refused
to march, and was twice stabbed with bayonets. He was then tied to a
horse's tail, and afterwards placed on the horse, but he threw himself
off, and again refused to march. He was put into a cart and carried off
to the nearest place of execution to be shot. Another prisoner, who
also refused to march, was dragged by the hands and hair of the head
along the road. The crowd called out to the soldiers to shoot him, and
declared that but for the presence of the soldiers they would themselves
execute summary justice on him. The troops, headed by the Marquis de
Galifet, were loudly cheered as they passed.

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