Lay Down Your Arms

who would never marry any other husband than one of her own choice. It was arranged that Ollivier should pay a visit to Baden, and there be introduced as if by chance to the young lady. When Meyerbeer died suddenly a fortnight after this ball, it was Ollivier, if you recollect, who pronounced his éloge and funeral oration at the Northern Railway Station. Now, I affirm, nay I am certain of it, that if Ollivier had married Meyerbeer’s daughter, the war between France and Germany would not have broken out. Look how plausible my proofs are. In the first place, Meyerbeer, who hated the empire to the point of contempt, would never have permitted his daughter’s husband to become a minister of the emperor. It is well known that, if Ollivier had threatened the Chamber to give in his resignation sooner than declare war, the Chamber would never have declared war. The present war is the work of three backstairs confidants and secret ministers of the empress, named, Jerôme David, Paul de Cassagnac, and the Duc de Grammont. The empress, excited by the Pope, whose religious puppet she is, would have this war, as to the success of which she never doubted, in order to ensure her son’s succession. She said: ‘C’est ma guerre à moi et à mon fils,’ and the three above-named papal ‘anabaptists’ were her secret tools to force the emperor, who did not want any war, and the Chamber into war by false and secret despatches from Germany.”

“And this is what is called diplomacy!” I interrupted with a shudder.

“Listen further,” pursued Alexander Weill. “Ollivier said to me on July 15, when I met him on the Place de la Concorde: ‘Peace is assured, or I resign.’ Whence came it then that this same man, a few days later, instead of resigning, declared war himself, ‘d’un cœur léger,’ as he said in the Chamber?”

“With a light heart!” I cried, shuddering again.

“There is a secret in this that I can throw light upon. The emperor, for whom money had never any other value than to purchase love or friendship with it (he believes, like Jugurtha in Rome, that all in France, men and women, have their price), has the custom, when he takes a minister who is not rich, of binding him more closely to himself by a present of a million francs. Daru alone, who told me this secret, declined this present⁠—‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.’ And he alone, being unfettered, sent in his resignation. As long as the emperor hesitated, Ollivier, being bound to his master by this chain of gold, declared himself neutral⁠—rather inclined to peace. But as soon as the emperor had been overborne by his wife and her three ultramontane anabaptists, Ollivier declared for war, and gave it lively utterance, with light heart, ‘and with full pockets.’ ”10

XVIII

First Days of the War in Paris⁠—Constant Reverses of the French Arms⁠—Fall of Metz⁠—Paris Turned Into a Fortress⁠—The Prussians Expelled from Paris⁠—Surrender of the Emperor Napoleon and His Army at Sedan⁠—Proclamation of the Republic⁠—Futile Negotiations for Peace⁠—We Determine to Quit Paris⁠—This Is Prevented by My Illness⁠—When I Recover the Winter Has Set In, and Paris Has Long Been Beleaguered⁠—Fall of Strasbourg⁠—Paris Bombarded⁠—The Proclamation of the German Empire at Versailles⁠—Dreams of Release and Future Happiness Suddenly Interrupted by the Arrest and Execution of My Husband by the Communards.

“Oh monsieur! Oh madame! What happiness! What great news!” With these words Frederick’s valet rushed into our room one day, and the cook after him. It was the day of Wörth.

“What is it?”

“A telegram has been posted up at the Bourse. We have conquered. The King of Prussia’s army is as good as annihilated. The city is adorning itself with tricolour flags. There will be an illumination tonight.”

But in the course of the afternoon it turned out that the news was false⁠—a Bourse trick. Ollivier made a speech to the crowd from his balcony. Well, so much the better; at least one would not be obliged to illuminate. These joyful tidings of “armies annihilated”⁠—i.e., of numberless lives torn asunder, and hearts broken⁠—awoke again in me too the same wish as Flaubert’s⁠—“Oh that I were with the Bedouins!”

On August 7, news of a catastrophe. The emperor hastened from St. Cloud to the theatre of war. The enemy had penetrated into the country. The newspapers could not give expression hot enough to their rage at the “invasion.” The cry “À Berlin,” as it seemed to me, pointed to an intended invasion; but in that there was nothing to cause anger. But that these eastern barbarians should venture to make an incursion into beautiful, God-beloved France⁠—that was sheer savagery and sin. That must be stopped, and quickly too.

The Minister of War ad interim published a decree that all citizens fit for service, from the age of thirty to forty, who did not belong to the National Guard, should be immediately enrolled in that body. A Ministry of the Defence of the Country was formed. The war loan of 500 millions, which had been voted, was raised to 1000. It is quite refreshing to see how freely people always offer up the money and the lives of others. A trifling financial unpleasantness, to be sure, was soon perceptible to the public. If one wanted to change bank notes one had to pay the money-changer ten percent. There was not gold at hand to meet all the notes which the Bank of France was authorised to issue.

And now, victory after victory on the German side.

The physiognomy of the city of Paris and its inhabitants altered. Instead of its proud, magnificent, resplendent mood, came confusion and savage indignation. The feeling spread ever wider and wider that a horde of Vandals had descended on to the land⁠—something terrible, unheard of, like some cloud of locusts, or some such natural portent. That they had themselves brought this