Elihu Washburne

by Michael Hill

  Within days of the armistice Washburne made plans to leave for Brussels to be with his family. “Grack and I are very well,” he wrote Adele on February 3, “I hope to start for Brussels next Tuesday.” But he was cautioned by Dr. W. E. Johnston of the American ambulance about bringing his family back too soon. “All doctors are giving the same advice to absent families: not to return till we see a permanent improvement in the health of the city. It is usual to see pestilence follow a prolonged siege; we do not yet know what is to be our condition for a few weeks . . .”

  Before departing for Brussels, Washburne sent a dispatch to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish in Washington.

  Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—February 5, 1871

  Now that the siege is over I am thankful that I have remained through it all, for I believe that I have been of some service to the interests with which I have been charged. It is with pleasure that I am enabled to state that I have succeeded in protecting all American property in Paris, and that no harm has come to any of our Americans who have remained here. This statement must be qualified, however, so as not to apply to the young American, Mr. Swager, who lost his life by having his foot torn to pieces by a Prussian shell, and to the two young men whose property was destroyed by the bursting of a shell in their apartment in the Latin quarter . . .

  A “good deal worn out” and anxious to see his family, Washburne left for Brussels on February 9. The journey by train was long and difficult. He arrived in Belgium after traveling “all night in a cold, cheerless car.” For months he had dreamed of being reunited with his family, but it was a bittersweet and short-lived reunion. When word of his arrival in Brussels became known to the large colony of Parisian-Americans who had fled there after the war broke out, he was deluged with queries and requests for favors. Frustrated and distracted, he decided to return to Paris and have Adele and the children follow when conditions improved.

  Once resettled in Paris, Washburne followed the progress of the peace negotiations between France and Prussia with a deep sense of anxiety. With the nation on its knees, Adolphe Thiers, now head of France, knew a just and reasonable peace for France was impossible. On February 26, after weeks of frustrating negotiations with a firm and unyielding Prussia, the new government signed a peace accord. Under the treaty, France would pay huge war reparations to Prussia in the amount of 5 billion francs; Alsace and Lorraine would be ceded to Germany; a portion of France would be occupied until the reparations were fully paid off; and the Prussian army would be allowed to march into Paris and occupy the city for two days.

  The humiliating terms of surrender were received in Paris with “universal and violent” outrage. The lower classes and members of the National Guard felt a “sense of betrayal.” Resentment spread throughout the city, and the radicals seized every opportunity they could to try to push the people to “anarchy and disorder.”

  On March 1, 1870, under the terms of the treaty, the Prussians entered Paris in triumph. Shops throughout every quarter of the city were closed, some posted with signs: FERMÉ POUR CAUSE DE DEUIL NATIONAL [CLOSED DUE TO NATIONAL MOURNING], and many statues throughout the city were covered in black crepe. As the victorious Germans marched in, Washburne was on hand to witness the humiliation of Paris.

  Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—March 1, 1871

  They have come in. At 9 o’clock this A.M. three blue hussars entered the Porte Maillot, proceeded up the avenue of the Grand Army, and walked their horses slowly down the magnificent avenue of the Champs-Élysées, with carbines cocked and fingers upon the trigger. These hussars looked carefully into the side streets and proceeded slowly down the avenue. But few people were out at that early hour in the morning. Soon after, six more made their appearance by the same route, and every few minutes thereafter the number increased. Then came in the main body of the advance guard, numbering about one thousand men, consisting of cavalry and infantry, Bavarian and Prussian . . . By this time the crowd on the Champs-Élysées had increased and met the advancing Germans with hisses and insult. A portion of the German troops then halted and with great deliberation loaded their pieces, whereat the crowd, composed of boys and “roughs,” incontinently took to their heels . . .

  From what I learn this evening the great body of the troops were reviewed by the Emperor of the new German Empire at Long Champs, before their entry into Paris. Instead, therefore, of the great mass of the troops entering at ten o’clock, as had been previously announced, it was not until about half past one o’clock in the afternoon that the royal guard of Prussia, in four solid bodies, surrounded the Arc of Triumph. Then, a company of Uhlans, with their spears struck in their saddles, and ornamented by the little flags of blue and white, headed the advancing column. They were followed by the Saxons, with their light blue coats, who were succeeded by the Bavarian riflemen, with their heavy uniform and martial tread . . . Now come the artillery, with its pieces of six, which must have extorted the admiration of all military men by its splendid appearance and wonderful precision of movement. Next fell into line the royal guard of Prussia, with their shining casques and glittering bayonets, which had been massed around the world renowned Arc of Triumph, erected (and with what bitter sarcasm it may now be said!) to the glory of the grand army . . . At first the troops were met with hisses, cat calls, and all sorts of insulting cries, but as they poured in thicker and faster and forming by companies, as they swept down the avenue to the strains of martial music, the crowd seemed to be awed into silence, and no other sound was heard but the tramp of the soldiery and the occasional word of command . . .

  As I now write it is eleven o’clock at night. The day opened cloudy and somber, with a raw and chilly atmosphere. A little after noon the sun came out bright and warm, and the close of the day was magnificent . . . From the Boulevard du Temple to the Arc of Triumph not a store or a restaurant is open, with the exception of two of the latter on the Champs-Élysées, which the Germans have ordered to be kept open. There are no excited crowds on the boulevards, and, what is very remarkable and without precedent in the memory of the “oldest inhabitant,” not an omnibus is running in the whole city . . . Neither is there a private or a public carriage to be seen . . . Paris seems literally to have died out. There is neither song nor shout in all her streets. The whole population is marching about as if under a cloud of oppression. The gas is not yet lighted, and the streets present a sinister and somber aspect. All the butchers’, and bakers’ shops in that part of the city occupied by the Germans are closed . . . It is but just to say that the people of Paris have borne themselves today with a degree of dignity and forbearance which does them infinite credit . . .

  Two days later, the Prussians left. Their departure began “in the midst of a thick fog” and when the last German left the “sun shone out brightly.”

  Elihu Washburne, Paris—to Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—March 8, 1871

  They have gone out. Consummatum est. [It is finished]3 . . . The German troops commenced moving out at the appointed time, marching up the Champs-Élysées and passing under the Arch of Triumph, with great cheering. At eleven o’clock precisely the last German soldier passed through the gate of the Porte Maillot, and Paris breathed free . . . No sooner were the troops fairly on their way out of the city than the closed stores, cafés, restaurants, and hotels threw open their doors, and the avenue Champs-Élysées was swept and sprinkled, and the magnificent fountains in the Place de la Concorde began to play . . .

  Washburne’s trip to Brussels, the continued separation from his family, and the resumption of his diplomatic duties in Paris had all taken a toll on him. In mid-February, Doctors Johnston and Swinburne of the American ambulance had taken him under their care in Paris after he was “taken very suddenly and severely ill.” By early March, Washburne was still weak, fatigued, and overworked, worn down by the “old attacks” he had battled for years.

 
Elihu Washburne, Paris—to H. H. Houghton, editor, Galena (Illinois) Gazette—March 6, 1871

  I cannot get the ague out of my bones that I contracted in 1840 when we slept in the straw together in the old log building adjoining Larry Ryan’s calf yard. I think I can hear those calves howl now. I have had an ugly attack lately and am not yet fully recovered . . . I got along through the siege as well as could have been expected, but it was a hard trial. My position has been a very awkward and trying one, but I have made the best of it. I believe all hands are satisfied . . .

  Praise for Washburne’s efforts began to flow into the city including a dispatch from the Secretary of State on March 21, 1871.

  Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, Washington, D.C.—to Elihu Washburne, Paris—March 21, 1871

  Your government has sympathized deeply with you in the trials and privations and annoyances to which you were subjected during the long continued siege of the capital to which you were officially accredited, and where a high sense of duty, which is appreciated and commended, induced you to remain in the efficient and heroic discharge of the most difficult and delicate responsibilities that fall within the province of diplomatic service.

  The President recognizes that your continuance within the besieged capital after the discretionary permission given you . . . has been from the promptings of your own conviction that the interests committed to you required the very great sacrifice of comfort; of the separation from your family; isolation from the intercourse of friends, personal discomforts, and risk of health and life. This sacrifice and these trials you have endured, and I desire officially to record the high appreciation and warm approval of your government. You have done your duty faithfully and ably, and the President tenders you his thanks for the manner in which you have discharged the delicate duties devolving upon you, and have, on all occasions, maintained the dignity of your position and the rights of your government.

  An acknowledgment is also due to Mr. Hoffman . . . for his faithful and able service during this long period of trial. You will please express to him the sense of the Department of his conduct . . .

  Washburne dismissed all such tributes to his own conduct, telling a friend in Illinois: “I fear I am too much praised. It is always perilous to be too popular.”

  Washburne suspended his diary during the month of February, reflecting a brief respite from the suffering and horrors of the siege. But by the middle of March political and social discontent among the lower classes and radical political clubs—which had simmered ominously beneath the surface since October—broke out in an “orgie of crime, incendiarism, ruin, cruelty, desolation . . . [and] blood.” For the next two months the streets of Paris would be filled with the “most horrible events and consequences ever recorded in history.” Now trapped again in Paris under a reign of terror, Washburne would resume his diary, recording the events of one of the most savage periods in the history of France.

  6

  REIGN OF TERROR

  It all began on the heights of Montmartre in the north end of Paris.

  In late February a group of “die-hard” National Guard insurgents—“tinctured with [a] revolutionary and insurrectionary spirit”—seized some 200 cannon and hauled them to a strategic outpost overlooking the city. At first the insurrectionists were viewed as an “amusing comedy” in the aftermath of war, but matters soon turned serious and deadly. For weeks the new government, led by Adolphe Thiers, failed to take any determined action against the insurgents, allowing the “rabble in arms” to gain strength and confidence daily. “The officers with broad, red belts, high boots and long swords, paraded with cigars in their mouths and seemed almost overpowered with the importance of the high mission which had so suddenly devolved upon them,” wrote Elihu Washburne with disdain.

  The insurgents resisted any attempt at negotiation and refused to give in, recognizing “no authority than that of their own fancy, and . . . ready to defend themselves against any power that may venture to be of a different opinion.” Washburne was angered and bewildered at the government’s refusal to take swift action, knowing that each day its “weakness encouraged all elements of discontent.”

  As these “grave incidents” unfolded, Washburne could clearly foresee “the storm which was soon to break upon Paris.”

  Diary—March 18, 1871

  I had seen Mr. Jules Favre last night in regard to certain official matters, and in taking leave of him I asked him how long the scandal of Montmartre was to continue. He said they would have it under control in two or three days —that it was a great outrage and shame that such a state of things should exist. However, it would all be ended soon. Yet, I was struck by the idea that it was still three days that the Government was to tolerate their defiance. This morning in going to the Legation I met an American in the Avenue Joséphine who told me that there was trouble and that many cannon had been heard in the direction of Montmartre . . .

  That same day the government finally acted, mounting an assault against the insurgents on the “Butte Montmartre.” In announcing the operation, Adolphe Thiers proclaimed: “Evilly-disposed men . . . have taken control of a part of the city. You will approve our recourse to force, for it is necessary, at all cost . . . that order, the very basis of your well-being, should be re-born.”

  When the attack was launched, Washburne was in the Office of Foreign Affairs, meeting with Jules Favre.

  Diary—March 18, 1871 (continued)

  I found the court of the Hôtel of Foreign Affairs filled with carriages and the horses of military men. On entering the building I was told the government was in council. I sent in word to Favre that I must see him for a moment. He at once came out into the ante-room which I found full of officers . . . While waiting to deliver my message, Thiers . . . came out into the ante-room. I had no idea of the gravity of the situation and I do not believe the Government had. At about noon . . . I saw a member of the National Guard who told me that the Government had got the cannon away from the insurgents and that all was over. He therefore went off feeling quite easy . . . As we approached the Place de la Bastille we found the circulation interdicted in the main streets and we were turned into the bye streets. We soon found ourselves impeded in our way by barricades improvised in the streets. After being stopped several times we finally made our way out of the obstructed quarter and got safely home. I heard various wild rumors of the shooting of the Generals &c, but paid no attention to them. After dinner Gratiot and I walked down to the Legation, but the streets were all deserted, not a carriage or scarcely a person to be seen. We heard no news however and returned home about half past nine.

  The government’s attempt to recapture the cannons on Montmartre had actually failed miserably. Although they had seized the cannon, the attack stalled when horses needed to haul them away did not arrive on time. As the regular forces waited, the insurgents mobilized a hostile antigovernment crowd composed of “the worst riff-raff from the Montmartre slums.” Now surrounded and threatened by the unruly mob, the government force sent to subdue the insurrectionists surrendered, reversing their weapons and raising their rifle butts in the air. Chaos filled the streets and the mob turned ugly. “It was a strange sight to see the women and children all coming into the streets, taking part with the insurrectionary forces and howling like a pack of wolves,” Washburne later wrote.

  The rumor he had heard about the shooting of two French generals was soon confirmed. The drunk and angry crowd had grabbed General Claude Martin Lecomte, in command of a part of the attack force, and General Jacques Léon Clément-Thomas, a despised ex-Commander of the National Guard, who had the misfortune to be recognized as he passed by the scene. Both prisoners were dragged away to a nearby house for interrogation and a “mock tribunal.” Afterward, they were taken outside, stood up against a garden wall, and summarily executed. Worked into a “frenzy,” the bloodthirsty executioners continued to riddle the dead bodies with bullets and then stood aside as a group of women urinated on the corpses—all under t
he watchful eye of children perched on the garden wall. As the mob went wild, Georges Clemenceau, then Mayor of Montmartre, saw the crowd “shrieking like wild beasts . . . dancing about and jostling each other in a kind of savage fury. It was one of those extraordinary nervous outbursts, so frequent in the Middle Ages, which still occur amongst masses of human beings under the stress of some primaeval emotion.”

  Diary—March 19, 1871

  I heard nothing till about ten o’clock this morning when Mr.

  [Joseph Karrick] Riggs1 called at the house and said rumors were prevailing that were of the most sinister character—that the National Guard and the troops of the line had fraternized and the authority of the Government had been overcome and two Generals killed. He hardly believed the rumors though the papers confirmed them. But the killing of such a man as General Clément-Thomas who was such an old Republican, seemed so absurd that I discredited the whole story. Therefore Mr. Riggs and Gratiot having left, I went to reading my newspapers very quietly.

  Soon at eleven o’clock, two ladies called in a great fright. One, an American-born lady and the wife of a French General, wanted my aid to get out of town. She then told me all that had happened the day before and the last night—that the National Guard had affected a revolution—that the troops of the line had fraternized with the Guard and that Thiers and all the members of his government had been chased from Paris—that General Clément-Thomas and General Lecomte had been murdered by the troops the afternoon before and in fact that the government of the mob was in the “full tide of successful experiment.”2 I then started to the Legation with the ladies and though I could not get the wife of the French General any passport, I gave her a great big paper covered all over with seals asking protection for her. I then started for the Foreign Office to see what was the situation there, though I was warned I had better keep out of the way. I could not, however, see the least shadow of danger. At the Foreign Office, I found . . . not another soul in that magnificent palace, which Mr. Thiers had adopted as his official residence. They told me that Thiers, Jules Favre and the whole concern had left the night before, at half past nine, for Versailles. At four o’clock in the afternoon before a battalion of the vagabond National Guard had marched in the front of the building yelling “à bas Thiers, à bas Jules Favre.” As there was no force to oppose these blood thirsty ruffians, I supposed it was deemed necessary in the interests of personal safety to get out of the way as soon as possible . . .