by Michael Hill
Diary—November 24, 1870
67th day of the siege. And Thanksgiving at that. Visions of beef steak, broiled chicken, hot rolls and waffles for breakfast. Roast beef rare, turkey and cranberry sauce, roast goose and apple sauce, plum pudding, mince pie, pumpkin pie and Livermore cheese for dinner. But not as bad, perhaps, as it might be. We make the best of the cruel situation. Our thoughts go out warmly to the great unbesieged world . . .
Return to the Legation at noon and always something to do, which is a blessing. The people here who have nothing in their hands are desperate. But don’t imagine this is all. A Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant on the [Boulevard des] Italiens . . . Quite a table full and jolly; but the portion of turkey to each guest is painfully small. Toasts, little speeches, &c till half past ten when I came back home . . .
Diary—November 25, 1870
The impression seems to be gaining ground among all classes that the siege is going to continue yet a long time. For some reason there is a more defiant and angry spirit among the Parisians and they are breathing more and more vengeance against their enemy. They believe the city impregnable and some talk about holding out till spring . . .
This has been a regular Paris gray day, a sort of chilly, dismal, dragging day, aggravating my ague pains and depressing my spirits to the “lowest notch in the steelyards”—in fact threatening the “softening of the brain.” The poor Germans keep coming more and more, starved like woodchucks out of their holes. A poor Prussian woman, Mrs. Schultze, who gave birth to the child a week ago, died three days since, leaving six little children. But a good old Huguenot minister and his good old Huguenot wife, God bless them, have found them out and will have them cared for.
The fifty-francs I had sent the poor woman was found in a little box in a drawer after her death, where she had carefully laid it away.
Diary—November 26, 1870
69th day of the siege. A miserable, dull, depressing day. I did not leave the Legation until half past four P.M., a good many people calling . . .
Diary—November 27, 1870
Sunday . . . I must confess that matters look more and more serious. The gates of the city are finally closed and no person not connected with the military can go outside. Everything indicates that we are now to confront the iron realities of besieged life. What a marvel of change in this great city in three or four weeks. All that levity of the Parisian people seems to have disappeared. No more fancy parades of the military with bouquets and green strings stuck in the muzzles of their guns; no more manifestations at the foot of the Statue of Strasbourg; no more gathering of the mob and the National Guard at the place of the Hôtel de Ville. No more singing the Marsellaise and no more arresting of innocent people as “Prussian spies.” Since the revolution of the 31st October, the government of the National Defense reign supreme, and history does not record a parallel to what we have seen in this vast city since the siege began. With an improvised city government, without police, without organization, without effort. Paris has never before been so tranquil and never has there been so little crime. You do not hear of a murder, robbery, theft, or even a row, anywhere. You may go into every part of the city at any hour of the night there, and you will have the most perfect sense of security and safety.
There is now more serious talk then ever of a sortie. There has heretofore been so much gabble on the subject and so many times fixed for this sortie business, that I now pay but little attention to what is said in the papers. The report is that a great movement will soon take place, headed by General [Auguste-Alexandre] Ducrot who, I think is the best soldier in France. The attempt is to be made to break the lines and form a junction with the army of the Loire, if such an army exist. We have had no reliable news of anything outside for three weeks.
Half past 5 P.M. I went out between two and three o’clock and rode down the Champs-Élysées. Though the afternoon has been cloudy and the ground is wet, yet there were great crowds of people walking up and down. I am told of great movements of troops all the forenoon . . .
On November 28, Washburne’s son Pitt sent a letter to his father and brother in Paris telling them of news in London.
Pitt Washburne, London—to Elihu Washburne and Gratiot Washburne, Paris—November 28, 1870
All the London papers are very high in their praise of you for what you have done for the foreigners in Paris and one even said that you have more moral influence than anyone else in the beseiged city which I consider going very far for Englishmen. We hear great stories about Paris, but they are so varied that it is very hard to tell what to believe or not. I suppose that you & Grack keep together all the time, do you not? . . .
By the end of November, plans were being made for a “great sortie” in an attempt to break the siege. The strike called for the army inside Paris, under General Ducrot, to hit the Prussian lines south of Paris, while the Army of the Loire outside Paris drove north from near Orléans. Ducrot was determined to succeed and pledged that he would return “either dead or victorious.” Reports circulated throughout the city of a “great movement of troops,” and notices were sent to the American ambulance to be on alert.
Diary—November 28, 1870
71st day of the siege . . . Sunday evening. Entering on the eleventh week of the siege and after so long a time of writing in this dismal and dreary life of siege & after so many false reports, there is this evening every indication that the hour of action has come finally to strike. The gates of the city were all shut yesterday and there were great movements of troops in all directions. Today that movement continues even on a larger scale . . . It is generally believed that the French will attack in several places at daylight tomorrow morning. The American ambulance will leave at six and I will accompany one of the carriages. A pitched battle is to be fought by the two greatest powers of Europe, under the walls of Paris . . . There is something in the atmosphere and the general appearance of the city that betokens that the time of supreme trial has at last arrived. The day is damp, chilly, gloomy, cloudy, but the streets are filled. The Avenue of the Champs-Élysées is crowded with the National Guard, marching up and down. Great numbers of people on both sides of the Avenue, and a very large crowd in front of the Palace of Industry. The Place de la Concorde is filled and, as we pass up the Boulevard we find the streets almost blocked. All is excitement, stir and bustle. We find no diminution of numbers as we proceed along the Boulevards. Cabs, omnibuses, carriages, National Guards, Mobiles, troops of the line, men, women, children, and etc . . . The scene is exciting. The people understand fully what is going on. There is an earnestness in their look, tone and conversation. There is hope mingled with fear, and yet more hope than seems to have been heretofore . . . All seem to know what is coming. Never have the people of Paris passed a night of such anxiety as they will pass tonight, for before another day may pass the fate of France will perhaps have been decided . . .
When the French attack was launched, Ducrot met with some success, but the Army of the Loire failed in its assault and was pushed back to Orléans, dooming the entire offensive. Inside Paris the city was in “great excitement and anxiety, crowds being collected on the Boulevards and public thoroughfares” awaiting news of the fate of the “great sortie.”
Diary—November 29, 1870
Tuesday evening, 72nd day of the siege. A great disappointment to the people of Paris, who had hoped for better results. The information is not full, but one of the officials told me tonight very frankly that the “results want.” The report is that Ducrot was unexpectedly checked in his attempt to cross the Marne; not enough pontoons, which reminds one of the incidents of our war. I intended to have gone out today with the American ambulance. We started at six o’clock to rendezvous at the Champ de Mars, and on arriving there found orders to return . . . There has been a little fight in the morning . . . but it amounted to nothing. We went within eight hundred yards of the Prussian outposts, but we saw nothing of interest and heard but little. Returned to the Legation between
two and three o’clock . . . It is now said great things are to be done tomorrow, but the evident want of success today does not promise much for tomorrow. But we shall see. These are terrible hours to the Parisians . . .
Diary—November 30, 1870
5 P.M. 73rd day of the siege. I came to the Legation at ten o’clock this morning to find that we had been robbed last night. I have been protecting a German who alleged that he had been abused by the French and that it was not safe for him to be about in the daytime. I therefore permitted him to come and stay in the Legation. By that means he found out where Antoine kept the money and valuables. He concealed himself that night in the Legation and broke open the drawer, took ten or fifteen hundred francs and a gold watch and a diamond ring left here by an American lady. As he could not get out through the door on the street without waking the concierge he took the large window curtains and let himself down out of the window. I hope we may catch the ungrateful rascal whom I have been feeding and lodging for two months.
As the battle seemed to be raging furiously about the walls of the city I took my carriage a little after noon and went . . . again outside the barriers . . . We passed through several little deserted towns and rode into the large village of Charenton. There we heard of the fight at Créteil, a little beyond. We met many ambulances loaded with the wounded, and all gave reports of the ill success of the French . . . Returning we came through the gates of Charenton, and it was a sad sight as we came within the walls of the city. The street for half a mile was literally blocked up with people waiting to hear the news with intense anxiety. The day had been clear but cold, and these poor people had been standing for hours in order to learn something. As we passed they looked at us most anxiously and as we could not tell them anything good, we passed along. There was the greatest number of women and children of the poorer classes, all thinly clad and shivering with cold, and with a look of the most saddening anxiety.
That day a hard, severe frost hit Paris. The streets were cluttered with ambulance wagons making their way back into the city, and the river Seine was filled with small steamboats carrying more dead and wounded. Once again, the people of Paris spent the day burying their dead.
3
DESPERATION AND DESPAIR
The “great sortie” had failed, but Washburne reported to Secretary of State Fish that “all Paris is confronting its sufferings with fortitude and courage.” It would take days to tend to the wounded and dying.
December brought no relief for Washburne or the people of Paris, only more cold, more gloom, and more death. The Seine was filled with “huge masses of ice” and the ground surrounding the city was “hard as marble.” As the “outcry for wood” became desperate, riots broke out in the city. The freezing poor took to unlit streets at night tearing down fences and barricades, hunting for wood anywhere they could find it. The cold and damp brought on disease: pneumonia, smallpox, and cholera. During Christmas week alone, 2,810 people died and, by New Year’s Eve, another 3,280 had perished.
However, the French government remained as defiant as ever, continuing more ill-fated sorties and resisting all calls for surrender. Once again, the radical political clubs began to stir and another revolution appeared imminent.
Washburne’s mood darkened as the Christmas season approached, but he was more determined than ever to stay and fulfill his duty. Although separated from Adele and his young children, he took great comfort and pride in having Gratiot by his side.
Diary—December 1, 1870
74th day of the siege. Leaving the Legation at six o’clock last night I went to the American ambulance. About eighty wounded men had been brought in there and Dr. Swinburne was hard at work at his operations. This ambulance of ours is winning golden opinions from all sets of people. It is by far the most perfect of any here. They have now 120 wounded from the fight of yesterday. A lieutenant colonel died of his wounds there this morning. They behaved nobly on the field yesterday and went out the farthest of any of the carriages. Gratiot went out to assist and all compliment him very highly for his efficiency and even bravery, for he went to the rescue of some wounded in the very neighborhood where the Prussian shells were falling. One poor fellow died in his arms.
The report is there are no military operations today and that the French are entrenching in the positions they gained yesterday. As to the results yesterday I am unable to comprehend them. The French say the “day was good,” but I observe that they have not yet got through the Prussian lines. There are no details and no information; no one knows anything really, as to what has taken place. A few official lines in the Journal Officiel is all that is vouchsafed to the Parisians. There is more known about the battle in Galena this day (from Prussian sources) than I know and I am tolerably wide awake for a “man of my years.” This is the first day of winter and it is clear and cold and the soldiers must suffer much.
Diary—December 2, 1870
75th day of the siege. Cold, frosty morning—ice made last night half an inch thick. The battle seems to have commenced very early this morning. The cannon has been thundering all day, but as I have not been where I could hear anything I am in ignorance of the events of the day. I have just come up from the Boulevard Prince Eugène, and I saw many crowds shivering in the street and apparently much excitement. I walked up to 75 this P.M. to see how things looked there. While waiting, Old Père [the maître d’hôtel] rushed into the room, pale as a ghost, half dead with fright, and utterly unable to speak for the moment. As soon as he was able to articulate he said the Prussians had just broken over the ramparts . . . and were coming right upon us. I laughed at him, but he said it was so because a soldier had so informed him. He soon took courage and went out in the further pursuit of knowledge and returning reported that instead of the Prussians coming in the Mobiles and National Guard were going out to attack the Prussians—“over the left,” I presume. The soldiers must suffer dreadfully tonight with the cold. From all I can hear, there has been a great movement today and all Paris at this moment trembles with anxiety. The great bravery displayed by Ducrot is talked of everywhere. He stands pledged before all France to break out of Paris or die in the attempt.
On Wednesday night one of the American ambulance carriages was unable to come in from the field, and as Ducrot knew that it belonged to our ambulance, he invited the two or three Americans, in charge of it, to stay over night with him. He took them to a house denuded of furniture, and invited them to supper, which consisted only of bread and wine—not a thing besides that. After supper, the General laid down on the floor with the balance of them, and thus passed the night. The men say he was cheerful and filled with hope and courage.
Diary—December 3, 1870
76th day of the siege. Last night after I left the Legation there was, in the language of John Dumont [an old friend from Hallowell, Maine] “great excitement on the lower street.” There were a thousand of the most outlandish and absurd reports, and nobody could tell anything. There had certainly been heavy fighting, all day an intense anxiety reigned in every circle. To get at the facts, I thought I would walk down to the Foreign Office about nine o’clock, and see M. Jules Favre. I found him in excellent spirits and a radiant smile over his huge, benevolent, intellectual face. He said the results of the day had been excellent and very satisfactory so far as the fighting was concerned about Paris. The news from the outside was also good—there was an army of 150,000 men marching on Paris and within twenty-five leagues. Indeed, he was very hopeful. This morning all Paris is claiming a tremendous victory yesterday. They claim to have beaten the Prussians in a pitched battle. They say the enemy attacked with great fury in the morning and drove them back, but that later in the day, they fell upon the Prussians and routed them “horse, foot, and dragoons,” not only recovering all the ground they had lost in the morning but even gaining some and sleeping on what they won. I do not pay much attention to all these reports, but I am told that Ducrot, who is a sober, solid, brave soldier, with no nonsense, is greatly
delighted with the results. At any rate the effect on the Parisians has been like magic and the morale of both the army and the people has been improved at least one hundred per cent. While the attempt to get out on this line has failed, I think the chances for getting out on some other line are greatly improved. The soldiers now have a confidence they have not had before and Ducrot has shown himself to be a true soldier and has acquired the confidence of the army.
There has been no fighting at all anywhere today. There was a very light snow last night and this evening it rains a little. The sufferings of the troops on both sides must have been fearful during these last few days. The French were without blankets and with but little to eat, half-frozen, half-starved, and raw troops at that. Trochu boasts that they have thrashed 100,000 of the élite of the Prussian army!! . . .
Today is the calm after the storm. I have just come from the American ambulance where I saw a poor captain of the regular army breathing his last and his last moments were being soothed by some of our American ladies who are devoting themselves to the sick & dying.
And amid all these scenes, the French will have their fun. One of the illustrated papers exhibits the danger of eating rats by the picture of a cat that has jumped down a man’s throat after the rat, leaving only the hind legs and tail sticking out of the mouth.