Elihu Washburne
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At ten o’clock the “rappel” [the drumbeat to call soldiers to arms] was beaten all over Paris—that terrible sound which in the first revolution so often curdled the blood. I heard it under the window at the Legation. It meant “every man to his post.” About ten o’clock the troops began to pour in from every direction towards the Hôtel de Ville. They soon filled the Place Vendôme and the neighboring streets, and formed in line of battle from the Rue de Castiglione to the Hôtel de Ville, which they completely surrounded. In the presence of this immense force, all shouting “Vive Trochu!” and “À bas la Commune!” [“Down with the Commune!”] The Red forces of Flourens seem to have realized their weakness, and before midnight they had mostly disappeared and the members of the government were released and comparative quiet restored all over the city. I left the Legation to go to my lodgings in the Rue de Londres7 at half past twelve, and going by the Champs-Élysées . . . I found all of the streets deserted and the stillness of death everywhere. What a city! One moment revolution and violence, the next the most profound calm . . .
I hope there is a prospect of an armistice and from that I hope for peace. The suffering in Paris and the devastation outside and inside, surpass belief . . . [T]oday for the first time I saw that they had cut down a great portion of those magnificent trees in the garden of the Tuileries, which have withstood the ravages of a century and the revolutions of a century, to build barracks for soldiers. How I thought of the hundreds of thousands of little children who have played beneath their shades! . . . When shall we again see peace?
Diary—November 2, 1870
This has been a day of unusual quiet. The government seems to be again established. The more I learn of the strange affair on Monday, the more curious it appears. For a few hours the revolutionists seem to have had everything their own way. The members of the government of the National Defense were outrageously abused when they were under arrest. They were most grossly insulted and loaded pistols placed at their heads with threats of instant death if they dared to stir . . .
Still reeling from the attempted coup, on November 3 the government of National Defense sought a vote of confidence from the people of Paris. The government survived the plebiscite with an overwhelming 560,000 to 53,000 majority. However, with such turmoil and discontent in Paris, there was optimism that the government of National Defense might now seek an armistice with the Prussians to bring an end to the siege.
Diary—November 3, 1870, Thursday evening
46th day of the siege. This has been election day. The government of France has asked a vote of confidence of the people of Paris. It is said to have been all one way—that is, for the government of the National Defense. I hope it may give them some strength, and enable them to prevent a repetition of the 31st of October. At four o’clock rode out into the Bois de Boulogne, entering from the Avenue de l’Impératrice. As you go on the road to the lake, all the trees on the left-hand side, embracing more than a quarter section, are cut down. It is the desolation of desolations . . .
That same day Washburne wrote to Adele to reassure her that he and Gratiot were doing well.
Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Adele Washburne, Brussels—November 3, 1870
I am so happy to find that you are all so well when you wrote and that you feel so little anxiety about me, trusting that a little starvation might do me good. But such starvation does not come to me . . . Tho’ provisions are becoming scarce, yet we live very well. Therefore do continue to be easy about us . . . This horrid war has broken up everything. I shall never be reconciled to the derangement of our plans last summer. If I could only have had the full cure at Carlsbad I think I would have escaped all my attacks this fall. And then how glorious it would have been to have breathed the sea air with you at La Rochelle . . . But never mind, we will hope I will be different another time . . . Who can tell what is in the future for poor France. I shall hope to see it out and pray the end will come soon. Mr. Fish gives me no instructions to leave Paris and so I must stay. And here is my post of duty. How glad I did not run away with the other ministers . . .
Diary—November 7, 1870
50th day of the siege . . . [A]fter breakfast visited the defenses for about two miles. They are a prodigy of strength and wonder. Indeed, the defenses all round the city present a spectacle without a parallel in the whole world. I could conceive of nothing so complete. By the vote of Thursday the government received a very strong endorsement. Friday and Saturday everybody believed in an armistice, but yesterday morning all hopes were blasted by the announcement in the Official Journal that it was not agreed to. There is great disappointment and nobody can tell what will happen. A few more Americans will leave tomorrow . . .
Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—November 7, 1870
I think the large vote of confidence which the government received was the result of a desire of vast numbers of people that it should be so strengthened that it would be enabled to make terms for an armistice. The question of such an armistice has been the great topic of conversation for the last few days, and the sentiment in favor of such an armistice as it was supposed could be had was overwhelming. There was a general belief that there would be an armistice which would finally lead to peace, and there was quite a buoyant feeling. Yesterday morning, however, the Official Journal announced, to the great surprise of the Paris public, that terms for an armistice could not be agreed upon. The announcement created a profound feeling of despondency, and everybody is inquiring, “What next?”
Diary—November 8, 1870
51st day of the siege . . . Paris is in a stupor. The circular from Jules Favre shows that there is no possibility of an armistice; and the French now ask, what can be done? The day has been gloomy and chilly.
Diary—November 9, 1870
52nd day of the siege . . . It has been one of the heaviest days of the siege, cloudy, dour, dismal. Everybody has been greatly depressed. Two Protestant clergymen called tonight to see me in the interest of peace. They want me to forward a letter to Bismarck, appealing to the King of Prussia from a religious point of view. A good deal of talk about a sortie. That is always to be resorted to when matters get very low down. “Well, now, we must make a big sortie of 100,000 men, cut through the Prussian lines and raise the siege.” Such is the wild talk, but no sortie is ever made.
Diary—November 10, 1870
Evening. Went to the Legation in the rain this morning and there remained all day without leaving it. It has been raining, snowing and sleeting all day long, and dark and dreary. I had my lamp lighted before four o’clock. As wretched as the weather was, a good many people came to see me . . . The English have had great trouble in getting out, and are perfectly raving to think that I slipped out all the Americans so nicely, while they were left here. They are all coming to see me to ask if I cannot do something for them.
Diary—November 11, 1870
54th day of the siege. Stopped raining last night and the day has been comparatively pleasant . . . Everybody is clear down! The papers begin to talk very plainly about an armistice.
Diary—November 12, 1870
55th day of the siege. Evening. I might as well stop my diary, for there is absolutely nothing to record. There are no military or even political movements. The streets are becoming more and more vacant and the people more and more sober. But the papers continue to lie to suit their purposes. Last night and this morning they all said that an armistice was certain and some of them gave the terms of it. I called at five this afternoon to see M. Jules Favre, who told me that there was not one word of truth in all that the papers had said—that the government had not heard anything from the outside since M. Thiers had left, carrying with him the rejection of the terms which were proposed by the Prussians. The situation here is dreadful. They can’t get an armistice and they can’t make peace. The Prussians can’t get into Paris and the French can’t get out. Within the last few days the suffering has greatly increased. The cr
owds at the offices of the various mayors (for Paris has eighteen) are now very large, and all are without food . . .
It had now been nearly a month since Washburne had received any word from Adele. On November 13—the 56th day of the siege—Washburne poured out his frustrations in a letter to her in Brussels.
Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Adele Washburne, Brussels—November 13, 1870
This terrible isolation is hard to bear. Nothing from you since the 22nd instant and then you write so little and tell me so little about yourself and the children and what is going on in the world. You tell me nothing of how you pass your time, who you see or what the news is from home. Nothing, nothing, nothing . . . If you knew how much Grack and I want to hear from you and of you, you would take more time and think of us more during these long, dismal, uninteresting days . . .
The days are long and the nights are longer. I never go out anymore of an evening because there is nobody to go and see except Mr. Moulton of a Sunday evening. How I miss the cheerful evenings with you and the children, with glowing coal fire in the grate. It seems as if this business would never end . It is eight weeks today that we have been shut up. In that time I could have gone to Galena and returned and have stayed there a month.
This is Sunday noon as I write. Grack has gone out . . . to buy some drawers for the weather is getting to be cold . . . We don’t think now that there will be any bombardment and I hope all will be safe at the house and I should be happy when we all get back there again . . .
But to the Secretary of State, Washburne once again expressed his determination to stay.
Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—November 14, 1870
Private and Confidential.
All is gloom now in Paris and I can see no solution of things. I have concluded to stay till the end, for never . . . have we had more use for a representative than now. There are many Americans still in Paris and a great deal of property to protect. I have much to do for the Germans and am in constant correspondence with Bismarck . . . My remaining here, while the representatives of all the other great powers fled, has given a good impression. People of all countries, even Japan and Persia, are coming to me every day for advice and assistance . . .
Diary—November 15, 1870
58th day of the siege. After making my memorandum yesterday . . . great excitement was produced by the appearance of a soldier on horseback at the door of the building in which the Legation is. Two little dispatch bags hung over his saddle, like the grist in the bag which I used to put on the back of the horse to go to Gibb’s mill to have ground by Abel Delano. And great excitement all through the Legation. One of the bags was filled with newspapers, but all of an old date . . . My dispatches from the State Department are all very satisfactory and my remaining in Paris seems to be highly approved. As I am not ordered to leave, I shall remain here, at least for the present . . . I did not go to the Legation today but ordered a fire built in my house, at No. 75 and thither I went with my budget [Washburne is using the term to mean a pouch or wallet] at ten o’clock this morning and remained till three entirely undisturbed, nobody knowing where I was. This was a happy time at 75 as there have been happy times before. It having been noised about that I had received a [dispatch] bag and late papers, the people began flocking to the Legation early in the morning. I had left some numbers there to be read by persons calling. There is really not much in the papers after all the waiting. The world seems to have moved very quietly along since we have been in jail here.
Diary—November 16, 1870
59th day of the siege. Wednesday evening. Legation filled with people reading English and American newspapers . . . It is evident that the siege begins to pinch. Fresh meat is getting almost out of the question, that is, beef, mutton, veal, pork. Horse meat and mule meat is very generally eaten now and they have commenced on dogs, cats and rats. Butchers shops have been regularly opened for the last mentioned. So there are “cat butchers” even in Paris. The gas is also giving out and today the order appears that only one street lamp in six is hereafter to be lighted at night. Only to think, Paris in darkness; but then, no longer Paris except in name. No more foreigners to go out. The government last night decided that in view of the fact that such large numbers have applied to go, they say that they have given them full opportunities to go, which were not availed of and that now they cannot stop their military operations to permit them to go out. The Prussians have also decided to let none hereafter go through their lines except those who have already had permission. Count Bismarck writes to me that some of those who have gone out have violated their paroles and taken out letters.8 A very few more Americans would like to go, but now must stay. I was very fortunate in getting the great body of them out before the gates were finally closed.
Diary—November 17, 1870
60th day of the siege. Look at that, sixty days closely besieged in a city of nearly two millions of people. But after all I am favored, for I am the only man in all this vast population who is permitted to receive anything from the outside. Nothing to record today. Was not out of the Legation until half past seven this evening, except to go down to see the Barons Rothschilds, both very intelligent and agreeable men, talking English perfectly.9 They are very much discouraged in regard to matters.
Diary—November 18, 1870
61st day of the siege . . . Two months today since the siege commenced, and I am more disappointed that it has lasted so long as it now has, than I shall be if it lasts into the first of January. Should there be some successes in the provinces, like that reported at Orléans on the 9th instant, and should a successful sortie be made, these Parisian people will hold out indefinitely. They do not now seem to fear either an assault or a bombardment.
By mid-November a dark gloom settled over Paris. Galignani’s Messenger reported that the weather was “exceedingly wet and stormy,” and the death rate in the city from disease and starvation had reached 2,064 during the week of November 19. Markets were nearly out of food and merchants were attacked by starving Parisians. Despite the bleak state of affairs in Paris, Washburne took time to reflect on his beloved father back in Livermore:
Diary—November 18, 1870
This is the eighty-sixth birthday of my father. All hail to the glorious, great-hearted, great-headed, noble old man, in truth, the “noblest Roman of them all.” How intelligent, how kind, how genial, how hospitable, how true, but yet when in the course of nature a kind Providence shall call him hence, I would have the hand of filial affection only trace this simple inscription upon his monument: “He was a kind father and an honest man.” It cannot be long before the last of the earlier settlers of Livermore will have passed away. And what a class of men they were, distinguished for intelligence, nobility, honor, thrift, illustrating their lives by all these virtues which belong to the best type of New England character . . . And here in this far off, besieged city, in these long and dismal days, I think of them all and would pay a tribute of respect to their memories.
Diary—November 19, 1870
62nd day of the siege. I came to my lodgings tonight quite under the weather after a busy day at the Legation. The weather has been wretched and I can hear nothing taking place of any importance. It was said there was to be a fight and the ambulances were ordered out only to be ordered back again. It is seriously alleged, however, that there is to be a great battle tomorrow and I am invited to go out with the American ambulance and I may go if I feel well enough. I will eat no dinner, take two blue pills, go to bed and put hot water to my feet and see how I come out in the morning.
Diary—November 20, 1870
63rd day of the siege. Sunday afternoon. I do not go out of my room today . . . But one person has been to see me so far and he had heard nothing of the proposed battle that was to be fought . . . One of the features of a siege are the thousand rumors and reports that are constantly flying about. The most absurd and ridiculous canards are circulated . . . and these French
people are in a position to believe anything, even that the moon is made of green cheese. Some of the editors are the most deliberate, inventive and circumstantial liars of modern times . . . These people, gay, light, frivolous as they are, would endure wonders could you convince them that anything was to be gained. They are arriving down to what we call in the Galena lead mines the hard pan .
Fresh meat cannot last much longer, including horse and mule. The vegetables really seem to be holding out very well, but the prices are so high that the poor can buy but very little. Butter is selling for $4.00 a pound, turkey $16 a piece, chickens $6.00 a piece, rabbits $4.00 each, eggs $1.50 a dozen, and so on. The price of bread, however, fixed by the city, is about as cheap as usual. Wine is also quite cheap. Bread and wine will soon be about all the poorer classes will have to eat and drink. What misery, what suffering, what desolation. Everyday new Germans come to the Legation for assistance and thank fortune, I have funds to assist them. One poor woman who was left with five little children gave birth to another yesterday. I sent her a present of fifty francs yesterday . . .
Diary—November 22, 1870
65th day of the siege . . . I have several dispatches from the Secretary of State which were delayed in reaching me and they are, each and all of them, in cordial approval of my official acts in the difficult and trying circumstances in which I have been placed . . . The streets are more and more deserted, yet the omnibuses thunder along as usual, and apparently there are as many cabs as ever. There does not seem to be a ripple against the government just now. Nothing of interest today. Raining outside—cold, cheerless, dreary, but a warm wood fire inside and I read, read, read all the papers.
Diary—November 23, 1870
66th day of the siege. Rainy till noon. It had cleared off and I went to the photographer, who complained of my being too sober. Have been laying in some canned green corn, lima beans, oysters etc. All these sort of things are being “gobbled.” Nobody can tell how long we are in for it and to what extremities we will be pushed. I first put the siege at sixty days and here we are at sixty-six and no light ahead. The French seem to be getting more and more “uppish” every day. Gambetta sends his proclamations pinned to a pigeon’s tail, and tells of a great many things in the provinces, and then all at once, here in Paris, “pop goes the weasel.” The new quotations for today are as follows: For cats; a common cat, eight francs, a Thomas cat, ten francs; for rats, a common rat, two francs, long-tailed rat, two francs and a half; for dogs . . . two francs a pound; for a fat dog, two and a half francs . . .