Late in October, M. Thiers came into Paris on a peace mission, but met with no success. He brought the news of the fall of Metz. There was great excitement in Paris. The mob collected, marched to the HÔtel de Ville, and took possession. They arrested several members of the Government, and shut them up—others escaped. They then proceeded to depose the Government, and to set up one of their own. Ducrot begged Trochu to let him fire on the mob; he could disperse them, he said, in five minutes. The Mobiles were eager to fire; for the Mobiles and the National Guard lived like cat and dog together. Trochu would not consent. The insurgents remained in possession of the HÔtel de Ville all that night, and the next day gradually melted away. It was one of those unfortunate mob triumphs which contributed not a little to the success of the Commune.

The siege found about two hundred Americans in Paris. I ought to say "citizens of the United States;" but we have taken to ourselves the broader title, and in Europe it is generally accorded to us. Of these two hundred about fifty went away, and about one hundred and fifty remained. The French live from hand to mouth, buying only what is necessary for the day, and laying no stores in. This comes, I think, from their system of living in apartments, and the want of store-rooms. The Americans, as a rule, laid in a stock of provisions. The grocers of Paris had imported a large quantity of canned food for the use of the colonie amÉricaine, which was then, and still is, a power in Paris. The greater part of the colonie having gone, there remained a quantity of canned vegetables, fruit, deviled ham and turkey, oysters, lobsters, etc., etc., and, above all, hominy and grits. The French knew nothing of these eatables till late in the siege, when they discovered their merits. In the mean time the Americans had bought up nearly all there was on hand.

As Thanksgiving approached we determined to celebrate it, notwithstanding our supposed forlorn condition. Some thirty of us met at a restaurant on the Boulevard, where we feasted on the traditional turkey, or, rather, on two of them, at twelve dollars apiece. Under the circumstances, we had quite an Epicurean repast. Mr. Washburne presided, and made a humorous speech, dwelling provokingly on the good things our unbesieged countrymen were then enjoying at home. Professor Shepherd, of Chicago, was present, and made some clever and appropriate remarks. The Professor has written one of the most readable and reliable books upon the siege I have met with.

Prices of food in Paris had now reached their height. Turkeys, as I have said, sold at $12 apiece, chickens at $6, cats $1.60, rats 15 cents, dogs from 80 cents up, according to size and fat. There was a refinement in rats. They were known as the brewery rat and the sewer rat. The brewery rat was naturally the most delicate titbit, and as the siege progressed and but little food found its way into the sewers, the sewer rats diminished wofully in numbers, while their brethren of the brewery increased. I know of no better evidence of the severity of the cold, and the scarcity of food during that winter, than an incident that came under my own observation. I was called by the concierge of the building to look at the apartment of an American gentleman, on the floor below me. The rats had made their way with great gymnastic agility into the kitchen; they had thrown down and broken two or three dishes which the cook had imperfectly washed, and on which there remained a little grease. They had then made their way into the salons and bedrooms, had gnawed and burrowed into the sofas and mattresses, and there several lay, dead of cold and hunger.

But there was no time in Paris when money would not buy good food, though it could not buy fuel, for that had been seized by the Government. Very late in the siege a man brought to the Legation a piece of filet de boeuf of six pounds, for which he asked four dollars a pound. Mr. Washburne and I did not indulge in such luxuries, living principally upon our national pork and beans, and the poetic fish-ball. A young American happened to be in the office, however, who took it at once, and paid his twenty-four dollars.

In the suburbs of Paris food was more abundant. I breakfasted in December with a French general, who commanded one of the outposts. We had beef, eggs, ham, etc., and, from what I heard, I should say that he and his staff breakfasted as well every day. These noonday breakfasts, by-the-way, ruined the French army. I reached my general's head-quarters at half-past eleven. He and one of his staff were smoking cigars and drinking absinthe. At twelve we breakfasted bountifully, as I have said, and with Champagne and other wines, followed by coffee, brandy, and more cigars. We got through breakfast about three o'clock. This was on an outpost, in presence of the enemy. Had he attacked, what would the general and his staff have been worth? They were very far from being intoxicated, but certainly their heads were not clear, or their judgments sound.

The Prussians soon learned the French habits, and attacked them in the field when they were making their soup. The French soldiers could not catch up their soup and pocket it, and eat it at their leisure. They consequently lost not only their breakfasts, but frequently their cooking utensils too. The Germans, on the other hand, had a liberal ration of meat (fleisch—what a disagreeable word!)—one pound and a half per diem. But, meat failing, they always had a German sausage and a piece of bread in their haversacks, and could eat as they marched. Yet such is the power of habit in France, and the strength of tradition, that I suppose the French soldier will continue to all time to prepare his soup, even at the expense of defeat.

Without stirring from Paris, I had the opportunity during the siege to taste as many varieties of wild meat as the greatest of travelers—as Humboldt himself. It was found to be impossible to procure food for the animals at the Jardin d'Acclimatation, and they were sold and killed. They were bought mostly by the enterprising English butcher of the Avenue Friedland. I indulged from time to time in small portions of elephant, yak, camel, reindeer, porcupine, etc., at an average rate of four dollars a pound. Of all these, reindeer is the best; it has a fine flavor of venison. Elephant is tolerably good. Some of my readers may remember the charming twin elephants, Castor and Pollux, who carried children round the Garden on their backs, in 1867 to 1869. They were done to death with chassepots—shot through the head. I eat a slice of Castor. It was tolerably good only; did very well in time of siege. But all these meats are but poor substitutes for beef and mutton; and when travelers tell us of the delights of elephant's trunk or buffalo's hump, depend upon it, it is the hunter's appetite that gives the flavor.

The main-stay of the population, in the way of fresh meat, was horse. These were requisitioned, and every horseholder having more than one was compelled to contribute toward feeding the population. The horses were liberally paid for, so much per pound. Some individuals made a very good thing out of it. They got in with the horse officials. A fine animal, requisitioned from the owner, who knew no better than to send it, appeared at the shambles. One of these gentry, with the connivance of the official in charge, would take him, and substitute an old screw of equal or greater weight. I know an American in Paris who is daily aggravated by seeing at the Bois a beautiful mare he once owned, and whose loss he had deeply deplored, but had been comforted by the reflection that she had perished to feed the starving Parisians.

The horse-meat was rationed and sold by the Government at reasonable prices: nine ounces and a half were allowed per diem to each adult. There is a refinement in horse-meat, as in rats. A young light-gray is tender and juicy. Black is the worst color; the meat is coarse and tough. But horse-flesh is poor stuff at best. It has a sweet, sickening flavor. Some people spoke highly of it as soup; others when marinÉ. The only way I found it eatable was as mince mixed with potato.

From horse-meat to beef is but a slight transition, but one more easily made on paper than on the table in those days. The interference of the French Government in almost every detail of private life is something of which happily we know nothing in this country. You can not cut down a tree on your own land without its permission. During the siege you could not kill your own ox without leave from the Minister of Commerce. If you had providently laid in a larger supply of fuel than he thought you needed, he took possession of it, and paid you Government prices for what was then almost priceless. An American lady resident in Paris had a cow. The cow ran dry, and she wanted to convert it into beef. She came to the Legation to secure Mr. Washburne's intervention to obtain for her permission to kill her own cow. At first it was refused, and it required no inconsiderable amount of diplomatic correspondence and the waste of many pages of good foolscap, with a large expenditure of red tape and sealing-wax, before the permission was obtained.

I have said very little of the sorties from Paris. The subject is not a pleasant one. There were five hundred thousand armed men in Paris, and only three hundred and fifty thousand outside. Yet but one serious sortie was ever made. This was to the south-east, under Ducrot; and the fighting was obstinate, and lasted two days. Ducrot had published a proclamation to the effect that he should come back victorious, or be brought back dead. He was defeated, but marched quietly back nevertheless. We are unaccustomed among Anglo-Saxons to this style of proclamation, and call it bombast. I am told, however, by those better acquainted with the French character than I am, that it has its effect upon the French soldier, and is therefore allowable.

The garrison of Paris should have made a sortie every night, sometimes a thousand men, and sometimes a hundred thousand, and in two or three quarters at once. Their central position gave them every opportunity to do this to advantage. Had they done so, they would soon have worn out the Germans with constant alertes, and with comparatively little fatigue to themselves. But this, too, was mismanaged. They surprised and took Le Bourget, a little village to the north-east. Of course we all supposed that it would be strongly garrisoned, and the garrison well supported. Not at all. Two days later the Prussians retook it. The garrison made a most gallant defense, but they were entirely unsupported. Not a regiment of the immense army in Paris came to their assistance. No possible excuse can be given for this abandonment.

The loss of Le Bourget produced great discontent among the Parisians; and Trochu was blamed, and most justly. He made an effort to retake it, but in vain. The sailors, under their gallant officers, made a spirited assault, but were repulsed with great loss; for they were not supported by the soldiers. The officers made every effort to lead them on, but they would not assault.

The French naval officers are a very superior class of men. They compare most favorably with those of any other nation. They are painstaking, intelligent, and well-informed. Under their command the sailors fought gallantly during the war, for there was a large number of them detailed to the army, as they had little to do at sea. They felt strongly the deterioration of their sister service, the army. At Versailles I was once dining at a restaurant near a naval officer. An army officer, accompanied by two non-commissioned officers, entered, called loudly for dinner, and made a great disturbance. They were evidently the worse for liquor. I overheard the naval officer muttering to himself, "Cette pauvre armÉe franÇaise! cette pauvre armÉe franÇaise!"

There was always blundering. They had shut up a brigade of cavalry in Paris. Jerome Bonaparte, who commanded one of the regiments, told me he had no idea why he was ordered in, unless it was to eat up his horses. This they proceeded to do so soon as they were fairly trained, and so doubled in value. Trochu organized a sortie to the north-west. Two columns left Paris one night by different gates, and were to take up their positions simultaneously and attack at daylight. He forgot that one road crossed the other, and that one column must necessarily halt for the other to pass. Of course one of them arrived late on the ground, and the attack failed. When a sortie was to be made, a flag was hoisted on Mount ValÉrien. The Germans soon knew its meaning as well as the French, and prepared accordingly. An intended sortie was known at least twenty-four hours before it took place, and its chances discussed on the boulevards. The National Guard, too, with some honorable exceptions, would not fight. The heroes of Belleville howled to be led against the enemy. They got as far as the barriers, and refused to go farther. "They were enlisted to defend Paris, and they would not go beyond the enceinte; the Reactionists wanted to get them out, that they might deliver Paris over to the enemy." There was a popular song they sung as they marched through the streets which perfectly illustrates their sentiments and character:

An officer commanding a fort applied for re-enforcements to relieve his exhausted men. They sent him a battalion of our Belleville gentlemen. The next day he sent them back, saying they had been drunk and fought in the trenches all night, and that he preferred to get along as well as he could with his overworked garrison.

Trochu planned a sortie to the south-east. It was necessary to cross the Marne. The troops arrived at the appointed hour, but the pontoons did not. A whole day was lost, and the sortie was une affaire manquÉe. Outside, things were nearly as badly managed. No serious effort was ever made to cut the German lines of communication. The railways to the east were all-important to them, not so much for provisions (for they drew these mostly from France), but for ammunition. With the enormous guns in use, the transportation of ammunition was a serious matter, taxing the railroad facilities of the Germans to the uttermost. An interruption might have compelled them to raise the siege. Sheridan, who, being at the King's head-quarters, and treated with the greatest kindness and attention, naturally sympathized with the Germans, could not help exclaiming that if he had been outside with thirty thousand cavalry, he would have made the King *** Well, it is not worth while to quote Sheridan's exact words; they were a little in the style, of the commander of the Imperial Guard at Waterloo; but the substance of them was, that an active officer with a good cavalry force could have so broken up the communications of the German army as to compel it to raise the siege. For the Germans are not particularly handy at repairing a broken road or bridge; and a German general does not, as the rebel soldier said of Sherman, carry a duplicate tunnel in his pocket.

As I am quoting Sheridan, let me here record his opinion of the German army. He believed that they were brave soldiers. They were well disciplined, well led, and had every appearance of thorough soldiers; but he could not say so positively, for, so far as his observation went, they had never met with any serious resistance. He looked upon the German army as in no respect superior to one of our great armies at the close of the war—the Army of the Potomac, for instance—except as regards the staff. That was far superior to ours, and to any staff in Europe. Their field telegraph, too, excited his admiration. It had been borrowed from us, but improved.