Part 69

"The French Government. Is that not yours?"

The man could not find anything to answer, and turned away mumbling, "Comme vous voulez," which applied to nothing at all, and addressed Mr. Moulton again, "Nous avons des ordres, Monsieur!" But Mr. Moulton interrupted him, "Ça m'est égal, je refiuse le vache."

Some one in the crowd called out, "Gardez le vache!" This was received with a burst of applause. I think that these men, rough as they were, could not but admire the plucky old gentleman who stood there so calmly looking at them over his spectacles. The servants were all huddled together behind the glass windows in the antichambre, scared out of their wits, while the terrible Communards were choking with laughter.

It was heart-rending to see poor Louis's grief when he led out the dear, gentle horse we loved so fondly; the tears rolled down his cheeks, as they did down mine, and I think a great many of the ruffians around us had a tear of sympathy for our sorrow, for the merriment of the few moments before faded suddenly from their pale and haggard faces.

When Louis leaned his kind old face against the nose of his companion of the stable he sobbed aloud, and when he gave the bridle over to the man who was to take the horse away he moaned an adieu, saying, "Be good to her!"

I went down the steps of the perron (the men politely making way for me) and kissed my poor darling Medjé, and passed my hand over her soft neck before she left us for her unknown fate. She seemed to understand our sorrow, for, as she was being led out of the courtyard, she turned her head toward us with a patient, inquiring look, as if to say, "What does it all mean?"

I hope she will be returned when "no longer needed," as they promise, and Louis will have the joy of seeing her again.

The now-subdued mob left us, filing out quietly through the gates; they had come in like roaring lions, but went out like the meekest of lambs.

We returned sorrowfully to the salon. I was so unstrung that Mademoiselle, who in the meantime had returned, administered a cup of camomile tea to restore my nerves.

After the fright caused by this last réquisitionnement, two of the servants thought it expedient to find safer quarters in the center of Paris, and to live in seclusion, rather than run the risk of being requisitioned themselves.

The forts Mont Valérien, Montrouge, Vanves, and Issy keep up an incessant firing. We would not be surprised if at any moment a bomb reached us, but so far we have escaped this calamity. The "Reds" are fighting all around Paris with more or less success. If one could believe what is written in the Le Journal de la Commune, one would say they were triumphant all along the line. We have just heard that General Bergeret has been arrested, no one knows why, except that he did not succeed in his last sortie, and had then by displeased his colleagues generally. It does not take more than that to arrest people in these days.

The good Archbishop of Paris (Darboy), the curé of La Madeleine (Monseigneur Duguerry), also President Bonjean, and the others who were arrested on the 10th of May, have been kept in Mazas Prison ever since. I saw a letter of marvelous forbearance and resignation, written by the Archbishop to the Sisters of the St. Augustine Convent; and the beloved curé of the Madeleine beseeches people to pray for order to be restored. Poor martyrs! I hope that their prison will not prove to be the antechamber of the scaffold; as Rochefort says, "Mazas est l'antichambre de l'échafaud."

It appears that Félix Pyat really did give his demission as a member of the Commune, but his colleagues would not accept it.

10th May.--While Mr. Moulton was reading this morning's news to us we were startled by a terrible crash. We were paralyzed with terror, and for a moment speechless, fearing that all we had dreaded was about to be realized. After somewhat recovering our equilibrium, we sent for Louis to find out what dreadful thing had happened.

Louis appeared with the concierge, both trembling from head to foot, and announced that a portion of a bomb which had fallen and exploded near us had come through the roof, shattering many windows and causing great havoc. On further examination of the disaster we were greatly relieved to hear that it was only a question of a damaged roof, windows, and masonry. No one was killed or even wounded; but all were so completely frightened that no one dares to sleep on the upper floor. Consequently we have moved down on the drawing-room floor, and have abandoned the upper stories to future bombs. Mr. Moulton is located in the salon; Mademoiselle has taken the salon jaune, and I the boudoir. Louis has improvised a bedroom in the small dining-room, that he may be near us at night if we should need him. The other servants sleep in the basement.

Our family is now reduced to Mr. Moulton, Mademoiselle, Louis, my maid, and the cook. Louis has proved himself invaluable. He is the man of all work. After milking the cow and doing his farming (in the conservatory) in the early morning, he waits at table, does errands, and gathers whatever news there is in the neighborhood, helps in the kitchen, and aids Mr. Moulton in his toilet and into his slippers. He is never tired; is always ready, early in the morning and late at night, to do anything required of him. He fills all gaps.

The untiring hens have made their nests in obscure corners in the hothouse and dream serenely of future posterity, while the one cock scratches for tired worms to provide for their repasts. I go every morning after breakfast with a little offering of scraps to add to their meager meals.

It is one of my few occupations.

Louis has succeeded in some of his agricultural schemes, and has raided mushrooms, radishes, and watercresses, which appear quite a luxury in contrast to our usual canned things, and almost make us forget other privations.

This farming of Louis's in the hothouse goes to prove how an unnecessary palm-garden in time of peace can be transformed into a useful kitchen garden in time of war. Louis expends the same energy and water that he used in washing his carriages, much to the detriment of the once fine greenhouse.

The days are very monotonous. I never imagined a day could have so many hours. I, who have always been over-busy, and have never found the days long enough to do all I wanted to do, pass the most forlorn hours listening and waiting and wondering what will happen next. I wait and wait all through the sleepless nights. I am so nervous I cannot sleep. I do not even take off my clothes.

I have my writing-table put in the ball-room, and here I sit and write these sad letters to you. I play the piano; but I have not the heart to sing, as you may imagine.

We know that there are many tragedies going on about us, and we hear, through Louis, awful things; but we only believe the half of what he tells us.

May 11th.

The Minister of Finance has spent in a month twenty-six millions for the war expenses alone.

My two friends, Pascal Grousset and (Rascal) Rigault, spent for their menus plaisirs nearly half a million, whereas Jourde, who is Minister of Finance, and could take all the money he liked from the banks, lives in the same modest apartment, and his wife still continues to take in washing as of old, showing that he, at least, is honest among thieves.

Grousset's appeal to the large cities of France is very theatrical. He reproaches them with their lukewarmness and their platonic sympathy, and calls them aux armes, as in the "Marseillaise."

We had a very sad experience yesterday. At seven o'clock the concierge was awakened from his slumbers, which (if one can judge from the repeated efforts at his bell of persons who come before breakfast) must be of the sweetest and most profound nature.