Elihu Washburne

by Michael Hill

  On December 4, Washburne issued a private dispatch to the Secretary of State reassuring him of his commitment to stay.

  Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—December 4, 1870

  I hope you approve of my determination to remain here for the present. As I have said before, my remaining here as the only representative of a great power has created a very excellent impression and our government stands first rate with the government of the National Defense and the French people . . .

  I need not tell you how irksome this besieged life is becoming and how anxious I am to join my family, separated from them since the last of August, but in public life, I have never had but one rule and that was to do my duty, at whatever sacrifice . . .

  Unless the French compel the raising of the siege by force, of which I must confess I see no prospect, it is yet to continue a long time. The national feeling of the French against the Prussians has been so aroused and intensified that the Parisians would now endure the most unheard of sufferings if they thought they could only punish their great enemy. I will make no prediction, because in war everything is uncertain, but I will say that I would not be surprised to see Paris hold out till the first of February. And yet, it may not hold one week . . .

  Diary—December 4, 1870

  Sunday morning, 77th day of the siege. A snapping cold it was this morning, and it must have been still more chilling to the French when they read the announcement that Ducrot’s army had recrossed the Marne and were all back again under the walls of Paris. But after all that was the only thing to be done, so long as they could not break the lines of the enemy. Have remained in my room nearly all day hugging my fire very closely. This evening went to Mr. Moulton’s with G[ratiot] as usual now of a Sunday evening. Nothing talked of or thought of but the battles and the siege and the absent ones and our “bright and happy homes so far away.”

  That same day, Washburne sent a dispatch to Count Bismarck about the continuing plight of the Germans trapped in Paris.

  Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Count Bismarck—december 5, 1870

  I have the honor to enclose you herewith a list of the names of all the persons belonging to the nationalities at present at war with France, and who are now imprisoned in Paris. They are not charged with any crime, but have been arrested for being found here after they had been ordered to leave, and for being without any means of existence.

  Their situation is miserable enough, but they are treated, perhaps, as well as could be expected, when you take into consideration the existing state of things in Paris. If they were released they would have to be subsisted by this Legation, and then they would have to be exposed to the hostility of the people of the city. I await instructions in this regard. The number of poor Germans applying for pecuniary assistance at my Legation is increasing every day. It has now reached two hundred and thirteen families, and, including children, there are four hundred and ninety-six souls.

  I now have to employ a man specially to look after them. A great number of these people, reluctant to leave their homes and not supposing that hostilities could last long, determined to remain in Paris, keeping themselves mostly out of sight. They have now, however, exhausted all their means and eaten their last morsel. As a last resource they came to me to relieve their absolute necessities. Without the assistance I render them, through the generosity of your government, they would inevitably starve. I have as yet ample means in my hands for the present emergencies, but I do not know how many more will apply to me, and how long I shall have to support them.

  Diary—December 5, 1870

  78th day of the siege . . . Ducrot’s order of the day appears in which he frankly acknowledges he failed in getting through the Prussian lines, but says he will try again. But nothing can be done so long as this extreme cold continues. It is a bright, cold, bracing morning, and the most complete quiet everywhere. “Not a gun was heard,” etc.

  Diary—December 6, 1870

  79th day of the siege. Bad news for the French. I was down to see Col. Claremont at the English Legation this afternoon and he told me he had just received the news from the Government that the Army of the Loire had been beaten after a three-day fight and that Orléans had been retaken . . . The day today has been cold and grey. A great movement of troops in another part of the city. Another sortie is threatened which only means more butchery. The more we hear of the battles of last week, the more bloody they seem to have been. The French have lost most frightfully and particularly in officers. They have shown a courage bordering on desperation.

  Diary—December 7, 1870

  80th day of the siege. No bag today and we are all disappointed. Bismarck is keeping it longer than usual, for some reason. I sent my bag out yesterday, and a great deal of matter for him and I hope by tomorrow he will send in my bag from London. The day has been a sober and a sad one for the Parisians, but they bear up well under the news of the defeat of the Army of the Loire and the retaking of Orléans. It seems to have made them more determined than ever . . . Never in the history of the world was there a more reckless and devoted courage shown than that displayed by the French officers in the battles of last week. They were always in the thickest of the fight. One regiment alone lost twenty-three officers. Went down town this afternoon. The weather having softened, there was a great many people in the streets, and the Champs-Élysées were filled with the National Guard drilling. The French seem to be making good their threat to resist “à outrance.” [To the utmost, to the bitter end.]

  That same day a letter arrived in Paris for Gratiot from his mother in Brussels.

  Adele Washburne, Brussels—to Gratiot Washburne, Paris—December 7, 1870

  My dear son:

  Your last letter was received a few days ago and I must confess I have had very little heart for anything. The continuance of this horrid war; the separation from your dear Father and all my sons and true old friends . . . but I must keep up joy [for] the dear children’s sake. God bless them. They are the greatest blessing I have. They are so good and so happy and so well, except a little sore throat and cold once in a while. I should not say one word while thousands around me are suffering not only separation from friends but want and sickness . . . I would give anything to be home in dear old Galena with you all around but God only knows if we will ever enjoy that happiness again . . .

  Diary—December 8, 1870

  Thursday, 4 P.M. . . . “Hills peep o’er hills and Alps on Alps arise.”1 And so one day follows another and never an end. Last week was the excitement of the battles, but now, particularly since the disaster at Orléans, all is gloom and sadness. A more doleful day than this has not yet been invented. It snowed a little last night and today it is thawing a little and the dead, leaden sky still threatens the “softening of the brain.” It is so dark that Antoine lighted my lamp at half past three. No bag yet and what can Bismarck mean in retaining it so long. I am slow to make predictions in such circumstances, for no one can tell what will happen in war, but to my mind, peace is farther off than ever. The French people are becoming more and more enraged every day and “à outrance” really seems to have some significance. Notwithstanding the stunning news of Orléans, the dead and wounded of the battles of last week, the sufferings of the people of Paris, not one man cries peace or armistice in all France. The sentiment today is (it may change tomorrow) let the fight go on—take Paris at the last extremity, hold it by military power. We never will treat with you—we will organize our government in the departments—we will levy en masse and raise another army of a million of men—the whole population shall fight you everywhere and with all weapons. We have forty millions of people, a people of a proud and martial spirit and every one of whom is instigated by a feeling of deadly revenge. The whole resources of the country of every nature and description shall be devoted to purging our soil of Prussian foes—it may take one year, two years, three years, but the Prussians shall be chased from France. This is not my talk, but Fre
nch talk and it may come true to a certain extent. And if so, we will hang by the fiddle and the bow in Paris . . . What a scatteration of all the Americans now living here in their apartments! Who can measure the future of Paris and of France judging from the situation today!

  On the 81st day of the siege, Washburne was in a particularly gloomy mood when he sent off a letter to Adele in Brussels.

  Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Adele Washburne, Brussels—December 8, 1870

  It looks to me darker and darker every day for France and with the spirit now aroused peace seems impossible. The French seem determined not to make peace in any terms which the Prussians will grant, and although Paris will eventually be taken, the fight will go on. The government will establish itself somewhere in the Provinces and organize other armies. When Paris is taken and the government goes away then the Legation must follow . . . Oh this horrid war . . . I have had enough of all this terrible business and I begin to hate Paris . . . It is not living[,] it is simply a wretched, fearful, almost unendurable existence. All these precious weeks and months are slipping away and I am separated from you and from the dear children at their most interesting ages. Perhaps I am unusually blue today. The weather is enough to kill me itself and then the universal gloom in the city—the cold, the snow, the funerals in every street, the famine, the wounded, the sick and all increasing. “Horrors on horror’s head accumulate.”2

  That same day Secretary of State Hamilton Fish sent Washburne a personal letter expressing to him gratitude for all he had done.

  Secretary of State Hamilton fish, Washington, D.C.—to Elihu Washburne, Paris—December 8, 1870

  There is universal approbation for your course from Americans. Nothing has been omitted that ought to have been done and what has been done, has been done well. I think you have earned the title, “Protector General” . . .

  Diary—December 9, 1870

  “Hail mighty day.” The good maître d’hôtel, François, has brought me for lunch two fresh eggs boiled . . . the crop from the hens in the garden. Only think, a fresh egg the 82nd day of the siege and in the dead of winter. Who says that Paris will be starved out? I have no news from “outdoors” today, as no one has called, and there is nothing in the morning papers of any interest. The report of the battles of last week appeared yesterday and the loss of the French is in killed 1,008 and wounded 5,022—in all 6,030, no mean loss. The wonder now is how great the Prussian loss was . . .

  Sunday, December 11, was the 84th day of the siege. Conditions were worsening in Paris, winter weather had settled in, and Washburne was, again, worn down and ill.

  Diary—December 11, 1870

  Sunday evening. My cold worse than ever and I am unable to go out. I read my newspapers and write letters. People come in and say the day is horrible outside. For the first time there is talk about the supply of bread getting short and that the rationing must soon commence. When the people are put on a short allowance of bread, having nothing else, it must be the beginning of the end.

  Diary—December 12, 1870

  We are now entered on the 13th week of the siege. The Journal Officiel this morning says that there is bread enough and that there will be no rationing. That means Paris is to hold out for a long time yet. Père [maître d’hôtel] tells me that the baker’s shops are crammed with bread this morning. The news of the disasters outside begin to creep in, in one way or another, but it [does not] abate one jot or tittle of the courage of these people. They imagine something to offset it. It is hard to deal with such a spirit as the French people now exhibit, but it may all change in a day . . .

  Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—December 12, 1870

  The government of the National Defense and the people of Paris seem to have abandoned all idea of an armistice, or of a peace, and to have made up their minds to resist to the last extremity, and until every resource is exhausted . . . A good many people think that the provisions will give out suddenly, to be followed by an irresistible clamor for a surrender. We shall see. You may infer from what I have written that I do not expect to see the siege raised by a successful sortie. Everything seems almost as bad as can be for the people of Paris as well as France . . . The mortality last week was frightful, over two thousand. A great many old people and a great many children perish from the want of suitable food and from the cold.

  Diary—December 13, 1870

  “Short and simple are the annals of the poor”3 and very short and very simple are the annals of this, the 86th day of the siege . . . Took [an] additional cold by going out yesterday and did not get up till noon today and have since been “mulling” over the newspapers from home. I have been unable to leave my room today, and have been rereading the newspapers from home . . .

  Diary—December 14, 1870

  [O]ne of the most wretched, gloomy, long drawn out days of the whole siege. The natural gloom is augmented by the sinister report circulating in the city in regard to reverses in the provinces. But the government is . . . following in the footsteps of the [Second] Empire in keeping back bad news. I have not been out of my room, and my cold is now reinforced by the ague pains. The papers discuss the provision question. One argues there are provisions enough for three months yet. But I think it is nearly all guess work . . . I sigh for the doughnuts and hot rolls at Proctor’s, the sausages and roast potatoes at Stetson’s, the Johnny cake and fresh pork at Crooker’s, and the beef steaks and apple sauce at Gammon’s.

  Diary—December 15, 1870

  Thursday, 6 P.M., 88th day of the siege. The old Latin poet who exclaimed “jam claudite rivos”4 had undoubtedly been reading the diary of a poor devil, shut up going on thirteen weeks in a besieged city. No wonder that he wanted the river shut up. The sortie that was to have come off today seems to have been “postponed on account of the weather,” or for some other reason. No fighting now for two weeks although a vast amount of suffering. But a great deal of burying of the dead. A great number of the wounded have died, particularly from the ambulance of the Grand Hôtel . . .

  Went to the Legation this P.M. at two o’clock. The ante room filled with poor German women asking aid. I am now giving succor to more than six hundred women and children. Bismarck writes me thanking me for what I am doing and asks me to continue. At 4:30 this P.M. called to see my colleague, Count Moltke, the Danish Minister. He says that the Parisians have had bad news, and says that in the late battle the Army of the Loire lost 23,000 men and 96 guns. It was dark when I started home . . . ill-lighted dark and dirty, it was Paris no more. Moltke agrees with me that there is no peace in sight and that we may have to “pack up our duds” as soon as Bismarck comes in, and follow the government of the National Defense. But he says further, and truly, that nobody can tell what the French people will do—they are so fickle and unstable.

  Diary—December 16, 1870

  Friday evening, 89th day of the siege. If anything could dishearten and discourage the French people one would have supposed that it would be the news that came this morning . . . of the disaster at Orléans, at Amiens, at Rouen. But the Parisians seem to take it rather as a matter of course and only wonder that it is not worse. No sign of giving in, but apparently a more fixed determination to hold out and make war “à outrance.” These people seem to have dismissed every idea of peace from their minds and only look now at an indefinite prolongation of the contest. I saw M. Jules Favre this P.M. and much to my surprise found him in good spirits and full of courage. He said there was nothing to discourage the government in the news received and that they were never so determined to hold out as now, and that there was no such thing as a peace. It is hazardous to make predictions in regard to anything in which a people as fickle and unstable as the French are concerned, but it really seems from my standpoint here, that peace is out of the question for a very long time. The occupation of Paris by the Prussians is now reduced down to a question of weeks and then my “occupation” here is gone, not to be resumed for a long time.
The removal of the outside seat of government from Tours to Bordeaux will take the diplomatic corps to the latter place and I shall rejoice to leave Paris and go thither taking the “little family” . . . So long as the Prussians shall hold military possession of Paris, and that may be for two or three years, there is an end of all business and all society. Nobody will want to stay here under such circumstances and I expect all our American friends will only return to arrange about their apartments and then leave . . . What plans deranged, what hopes destroyed, yet “such is life.” The day has been cloudy, but no rain. The streets were unusually full of people this afternoon as I rode down to the Rue Laffitte and when I saw all the horses in the cabs and omnibuses, in the private carriages, in the artillery, in the cavalry, and in the military service generally, and all in good order, I wondered how they could be fed. It is astonishing the amount of stuff that got into Paris before the siege. I still think the city can hold out till the first of February, though M. Jules Favre rather dodged the question this P.M.

  The brutally cold weather in Paris continued. Wickham Hoffman would recall entering the vacant apartment of an American who had fled Paris, where he found the sofas and mattresses filled with dead rats who had “gnawed and burrowed” their way into the furniture, only to die of cold and hunger.

  Diary—December 17, 1870

  Saturday evening, 90th day of the siege. “Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note”5 . . . Called to see my wise old friend, Dr. Kern, the Swiss Minister-Resident, who finds the situation very bad for France. Next door to him, in the Rue Blanche, No. 5, is the butchery for dogs, cats and rats. Being in the neighborhood I looked in where I saw the genuine article on sale. The price of dog . . . has advanced. Many people at the Legation during the day. The distress augments on every hand. The weather continues horrible. Not ten minutes of sun in ten days. No bag yet. Vegetated all day over my bright fire in grim expectation. Two pigeons presented to me today, which I have handed over to Old Père to be fattened.