Mabell S. C. Smith

LOUIS NAPOLEON[8] was the son of Hortense, Josephine’s daughter, who had been forced to marry Napoleon I’s brother, Louis, who disliked her as much as she did him. By the time of Napoleon’s downfall they were divorced and young Louis’ life from his sixth to his twenty-first year was one of constant change as he traveled from one place to another with his mother who was not welcomed as a resident of their towns by many small officials afraid of their political heads. This long period spent out of the country of his birth gave Louis the accent which provoked the passage at arms with Bismarck. Wishing to be polite to the great German he remarked blandly, “I never have heard a stranger speak French as you do;” to which Bismarck promptly responded, “I never have heard a Frenchman speak French as you do.”

When a man grown Louis Napoleon became a soldier of fortune. He fought against the pope; he tried to get up a revolution for his own benefit in the garrison at Strasburg; he entered France from the sea near Boulogne, again with no success; he was captured and imprisoned for six years, escaping in the clothes of a workman. It was only after the abdication of Louis Philippe that he dared to appear in Paris. While he was made a member of the Constituent Assembly, and was wire-pulling to secure his election to the presidency he was so poor that a street vender, a woman well-known because of her skill in getting about on two wooden legs, offered him money from her savings. When his star was in the ascendant he offered her an annuity. She refused it, saying that he wouldn’t take her money and so she wouldn’t take his. BÉranger, the “people’s poet,” and Victor Hugo believed in Bonaparte and used their influence in his behalf.

The election in 1848 put an end to Louis’ poverty but his appetite for power grew by what it fed on. The new constitution decreed that a president could not be a candidate for reËlection until four years had elapsed after his first term of office. This arrangement did not suit Louis’s ambition and in 1851 he followed the great Napoleon’s example in executing a coup d’État. It meant more barricades and more slaughter in the Paris streets, but it disposed of his enemies and left him free to secure yet another constitution which lengthened the president’s term to ten years. As with the great Napoleon, the people elected him emperor for life only a year later. He took the title of Napoleon III.

The cholera ravaged France for many months during the early part of Louis Napoleon’s presidency. On one day there were six hundred and eighty deaths in Paris alone. Yet neither the epidemic nor republican simplicity prevented many elaborate public functions. In the autumn of 1848 the Palais Bourbon was the scene of many balls with a somewhat motley array of guests. It was currently reported in the city that before every ball there was such a washing and starching as never had been known before in the northern and eastern parts of the city, and that the tradesmen of those sections were accustomed to say with an air of pride, “No, we have nothing in ladies’ white kid gloves to-day except in small sizes—seven and under.”

In 1849 on the anniversary of the great Napoleon’s death, a memorial mass was solemnized at the Invalides, the old uniforms of the veterans adding their pathos to the impressive scene as the officers knelt while Louis visited the tomb of his illustrious predecessor. On the first anniversary of Louis’ election a splendid banquet at the HÔtel de Ville expressed the people’s satisfaction. Three years later, on New Year’s Day, the guns of the Invalides fired ten shots for every million of votes that assured Louis’ position for ten years more. A Te Deum of gratitude was sung at Notre Dame, the choir chanting “Domine, salvum fac praesidentem nostrum Napoleonem.” The religious celebration was followed by a ball given by the Prefect of the Seine at the HÔtel de Ville.

Realizing that the chances of success in Paris upheavals usually were with the side which the army favored Louis did his best to make himself popular with the soldiers. In the spring of this same year a series of brilliant festivals gave them recognition—a distribution of flags on the Field of Mars, a ball in honor of the army, a banquet at the Tuileries to the officers, and a banquet of twenty-four hundred covers to the students of the Military School.

The proclamation of the empire was hailed in Paris with enthusiastic demonstrations. The citizens gave Bonaparte an almost solid support (208,615 votes out of 270,710), decorated the city with such inscriptions as “Ave CÆsar Imperator,” and with elaborate illuminations. Napoleon’s entry into the city was a spectacle such as the Parisians always have loved. Heading a splendid array of soldiers he rode into town from Saint Cloud, ten miles out, and, hailed by the guns of all Paris, he entered the city under the Arc de Triumphe de l’Étoile, and then went down the Champs ÉlysÉes to the Tuileries. The new emperor’s decision to have no formal coronation but to give its cost, $50,000, to hospitals and orphanages throughout France, warmly endeared him to his subjects.

The Exposition of 1855 was a drawing card for Paris. By the side of the monumental affairs into which these exhibits have grown the arrangements seem simplicity itself. Yet Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and the royal children spent a happy week visiting the Palais de l’Industrie and being entertained by plays at Saint Cloud, fireworks and a ball at Versailles, a ball at the City Hall, a review of troops on the Field of Mars. When the queen drove to visit Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle the decorated streets were lined with enthusiastic crowds.

Like his great predecessor Napoleon III’s vision saw a noble Paris, and at once he set about improvements which would beautify the city, give work to the poor, make the bourgeois forget his limitation of their power in the municipality, and compensate the suburbs now included within the city limits for the increase of their taxes.

Paris no longer had a mayor, but as to-day, two prefects, one “of the Seine” and the other “of police.” Haussmann, the prefect of the Seine, was a man amply fitted to carry out the emperor’s plans, and it is to him that the city owes much of the openness which is one of her greatest beauties and benefits. His was the idea of laying out streets radiating from a central point as do those around the Arch of the Star. This diagonal arrangement permits not only quick passage from one part of the city to another, but allows a small body of men and a few cannon to hold a commanding position. Napoleon probably had the habits of the Paris mob in mind when he ordered this plan and the asphalt surface which is far less useful for missiles than are paving stones. The rue de Rivoli was carried on eastward partly doing away with an unsavory neighborhood which crowded closely upon the Louvre; a long boulevard called “de Strasbourg” and “de Sebastopol” swept northward from the Seine and southward across the CitÉ to join the boulevard Saint Michel on the right bank. In all twenty-two new thoroughfares were opened and three bridges. Between the Place du ChÂtelet and the HÔtel de Ville was the old tower of Saint Jacques-de-la-Boucherie. It was restored to its former perfection and surrounded by one of the small parks which are the city’s best gifts to the poor and for which she utilizes every available spot. A new HÔtel Dieu on the north side of the Parvis de Notre Dame replaced the ancient building on the south side of the same square, and did a further good work in wiping out many wretched old streets.

[Image unavailable.]

THE STRASBOURG STATUE. See page 372.

THE EIFFEL TOWER. See page 374.

Remembering Napoleon I’s intention with regard to the Louvre the emperor completed the long delayed project of joining the Tuileries and the older palace. On the side of the Seine he built the entrance to the Place du Carrousel, the connecting link between Henry IV’s unfinished gallery and Catherine de Medicis’; on the north side he swept away the remaining tangle of small streets adjoining the rue de Rivoli, thereby enlarging the Place du Carrousel to its present size and permitting the building of three quadrangles to match the three on the south,[9] which are partly of his construction. The architecture is massive, elaborate, over-decorated, yet, taken all in all, superb. Its heavy magnificence lessens our regret at the loss of the Tuileries which completed the rectangle at the west, for those who remember it say that the smaller palace was overpowered by the imposing “New Louvre.”

Several new churches added to the adornment of the city under the empire. One of these, Trinity, renaissance in style, is approached by a “rampe” somewhat recalling that of Saint Vincent-de-Paul. Another church, dedicated to Saint Augustin, is in the Byzantine style, and is ingeniously though not always acceptably adapted to the limitations of a small triangular space.

Among the improvements were the buildings of the present Halles Centrales on the age-old spot where markets have served Paris. An early morning visit to the Halles is an object lesson on the distribution of food for a large city. The crowd is terrific, the volubility ear-splitting. Certain characteristic stalls interest the traveler, as, for example, that where broken food from hotels and restaurants is sold for two sous a plate.

To this time belongs the new building—on the CitÉ now—for the Tribunal of Commerce; enlargements of the National Library and of the Bank of France; the construction of two theaters on the Place du ChÂtelet, one leased now by Sarah Bernhardt, and of the OpÉra. This is huge and elaborate in renaissance style, a building much criticized but also much admired, especially for its staircase and for its decorative frescos and bronzes. It is the home of the National Academy of Music.

The fountain showing the valiant figure of Saint Michel facing the bridge at the corner of the boulevard Saint Michel, has a position like that of the MoliÈre fountain, making a graceful and harmonious decoration for the end of a house lying in the acute angle between two meeting streets.

The extension of the city’s water supply was the more appreciated because it was belated. Twelve thousand gas lamps made a much-needed illumination. Two railway stations added a convenient public service.

Just outside the fortifications is the Bois de Boulogne, originally a forest, but now developed as a park, retaining its naturalness and charm with the addition of good roads, and attractive tea-houses.

Finally, the lovely Parc Monceau was laid out to please the prosperous inhabitants of the recently developed quarter near the Arc de l’Étoile, and an old quarry was ingeniously converted into a thing of seemingly natural beauty for the benefit of the poorer people of Belleville in the north-eastern part of the city. In 1861 the population of Paris was 1,667,841.

Yet even all these public works and the brilliancy of the not at all exclusive court which Napoleon and his wife, EugÉnie (whom he had married with magnificent ceremony at Notre Dame in 1853), held at the Tuileries, could not entirely calm the restless and not yet satisfied Parisians. To the poorer classes “empire” did not ring as true as “republic.” Napoleon boldly laid the question of the empire before the people of France once more, and once more they returned a handsome vote in his support, but Paris was unconvinced. She cast 184,000 Nos against 139,000 Yeses.

As must always happen in connection with foreign affairs the emperor’s attitude provoked hostility as well as approval. There were opponents of the Crimean War as well as advocates; there were adverse critics of the treaty with Austria which closed the war which France undertook in behalf of Italy. Long-continued friction with Germany had brought about a general wish for war. Napoleon planned to secure his own popularity by entering upon a struggle which he knew would be approved by the majority of his subjects. Paris was wildly enthusiastic, crying “On to Berlin!” regardless of the fact that the army was almost entirely unprepared.

A trivial incident furnished the excuse and the emperor in person invaded Germany, but the list of encounters was almost entirely a list of defeats and the Prussian army pressed the French forces back into their own country. Paris was so furious at the realization of what this invasion might mean that it is said that Napoleon never would have passed through the city alive if he had returned then.

The battle of SÉdan, fought on the first of September, 1870, not only was an overwhelming defeat, but there the emperor was taken prisoner. Never again did he see the city he had worked so hard to beautify. After he was released (in 1871) he went to England where he died in 1873.

News of the battle reached Paris on the fourth of September and produced such utter consternation that the mob was frightened into comparative quiet. A great crowd, however, eager and determined, entered the Legislature where the deputies were in session and demanded the abolition of the empire. Jules Favre, Gambetta, Jules Simon and several other deputies of the “opposition” party, led the crowd to the City Hall, formed a provisional government, and declared the Third Republic.

The empress, meanwhile, who had only too good reason to fear the possible temper of the Paris mob, had heard the news in the Tuileries and took instant flight. Accompanied only by one lady and by the Austrian and Italian ambassadors, she traversed the whole length of the Louvre to its eastern end. As she came out on the street facing the church of Saint Germain l’Auxerrois she was recognized by a small boy who called her name. This recognition so terrified the ambassadors that they did not stop to find the carriage that was waiting for them, but pushed the empress and her companion into an ordinary cab, and called to the cabman no more definite direction than “To Boulevard Haussmann.” The two frightened women had not even a handbag with them and not so much as their cab fare. Fortunately the empress happened to think of her dentist, an American named Evans. They drove to his house and through his help managed to leave the city and to escape to England. There EugÉnie still lives.

The new government represented to the Prussians that the war had been the emperor’s affair, and that Prussia had declared that she was fighting the imperial idea. The enemy refused to grant peace, however, and Paris was besieged from September 19, 1870 to January 30, 1871. Several battles around the city resulted in defeat for the French and the loss of some towns. Marshal Bazaine surrendered the “army of Metz” without a struggle. The king of Prussia made the palace at Versailles his headquarters and from it directed the bombardment.

Within Paris suffering increased sadly during the four months and a half of the siege. Outside supplies of fuel and food were cut off and the city’s stores ran very low, though reports of peace were apt to bring out collections which were being kept in hiding to secure high prices when the great pinch should come. The trees in the parks were cut down for fuel and warmth. Bombproof cellars were at premium.

Just as during the siege of Henry IV, animals not usually eaten were now slaughtered for food.

Horace Vernet, the famous artist, mournfully complained to a friend, “They have taken away my saddle horse to eat him—and I’ve had him twenty years!” From which it is a fair assumption that the steaks which he provided were not all tenderloin. Indeed, it is said that while dishes made from the smaller animals were rather fancied so that when the siege was over dogs and cats were scarce, there were left thirty thousand horses, which would seem to prove that even the starving do not like tough meat. Etiquette forbade inquiry of one’s hostess as to the nature of any dish served at a dinner, but it was entirely de rigueur to compliment it after partaking. Rat pies came to be considered a real delicacy. Toward the end the animals in the ZoÖlogical Gardens fell victims to the town’s necessities. A camel was sold for $800 and netted a good deal more than that for the restaurant proprietor who bought him.

A final brave sortie met with such complete defeat that it was clear that the city must surrender. The provisional government yielded, promising to give up all Alsace and half of Lorraine, to pay an indemnity of a billion dollars and, crown of bitterness for Paris, to permit the hostile army to take possession of the city.

On the first of March the Prussians entered from the west. They found massed before the Triumphal Arch of the Star two thousand school boys. Their spokesman, a lad of twelve, approached the commander.

“Sir,” he said, bringing his hand to his cap in salute, “we ask that you will not lead your men under our arch. If you do,” he added firmly, “it will be over our bodies.”

The troops made a circuit.

It was only three days that the Prussians remained in Paris, but during that time the city mourned openly. All the shops were closed, all business was discontinued. When the enemy left everything they had touched was treated as if defiled. It is said that because a Prussian soldier had been seen to leap over one of the chains which swing from post to post to keep a space clear around the Arch of the Star a new chain was substituted.

The pride of Paris was humbled grievously.