Up to the 16th of August, the Germans have lost already 144,000 men. The rest are almost starving. The last reserves are coming up from Germany—“la landwehr et la landsturm.” Old men of sixty, with flint muskets, with an enormous tobacco pouch on their right side and a still larger schnaps-flask on their left, a long clay pipe in their mouth; stooping under the weight of the knapsack (on the top of which there must not be omitted the coffee mill and the elder tea inside), are crawling along, coughing and blowing their noses, from the right to the left bank of the Rhine, cursing those who have torn them from the embraces of their grandchildren, to lead them on to certain death. “As to the news of victory, brought from German sources,” it was said in the French newspapers, “they are the usual Prussian lies.”
On August 20 Count Palikao announced in the Chamber that three army corps which had coalesced against Bazaine had been thrown into the quarries at Jaumont (Bravo! Bravo!). It is true that no one knew what quarries these were, or where they were; nor did anyone explain how they could contain three army corps; but the joyous message went round from mouth to mouth. “Have you heard? In the quarries—” “Oh yes! Of Jaumont.” No one uttered a doubt or question. It was as if everybody had been born at Jaumont, and knew these army-swallowing quarries as well as his own pocket. About this time the rumour also prevailed that the King of Prussia had gone mad from despair at the condition of his army.
Nothing but monstrous things were heard of. The excitement, the fever, of the populace increased hourly. The war “là-bas” had ceased to be regarded as an armed promenade. It was felt that the forces which had been let loose were now bringing something terrible on the world. Nothing was spoken of but armies annihilated, princes driven mad, diabolical hordes, war to the knife. I listened to it thundering and growling. It was the storm of rage and despair that was rising. The battle at Bazeilles near Metz was described, and it was stated that inhuman cruelties had been committed there by the Bavarians.
“Do you believe that?” I asked Frederick. “Do you believe that of the gentle Bavarians?”
“It is quite possible. Bavarian or Turco, German, French, or Indian, the warrior who is defending his own life, and lifting up his arm to kill another, has ceased for the time to be ‘human.’ What has been awakened in him and stirred up with all possible force is nothing else than bestiality.”
Metz fallen! The news resounded in the city like some strange and overpowering cry of terror. To me the news of the taking of a fortress was a message which brought rather a relief; for I thought, “Well, that is decisive.” And it was only for this, that the bloody game might be over, it was for this, only this that I longed. But no, there was nothing decisive in it—more fortresses remained. After a defeat all that is to be done is to pick yourself up again, and strike out again at them twice as hard. The chance of arms may change at any time. Ah yes! The advantage may be now on this side, now on that. It is only woe that is certain—death that is certain—to be on both.
Trochu felt himself called upon to arouse the spirit of the populace by a new proclamation, and in it appealed to an old motto of Bretagne, “With God’s help for our fatherland.” That did not sound new to me. I had met with something like it before in other proclamations. It did not fail to have its effect. The people were inspirited. Now, the thing was to turn Paris into a fortress.
Paris a fortress! I could not take in the idea. The city which V. Hugo called “la ville-lumière,” which is the point of attraction for the whole world of civilisation, riches, the pursuit of art, and the enjoyment of life—the point from which radiate splendour, fashions, esprit—this city is now to be “fortified”—i.e., become the point at which hostile attacks are to be aimed; the target for shot; to close itself against all intercourse, and expose itself to the danger of being set in flames by bombardment, or starved by famine! And that is done by these people, de gaieté de cœur, in the spirit of self-sacrifice, with joyous emulation, as if it was a question of carrying out the most useful, the most noble work! The work was proceeded with in feverish haste. Ramparts had to be erected on which troops could be placed, and shot holes cut in them; also trenches dug outside the gates, drawbridges erected, covering works repaired, canals bridged over, and protected by breastworks, powder magazines built, and a flotilla
