Diary of the Besieged Resident in Paris | Page 2

to present a
practical rather than a sentimental view of events, and to recount things
as they were, not as I wished them to be, or as the Parisians, with
perhaps excusable patriotism, wished them to appear.
For the sake of my publishers, I trust that the book will find favour with
the public. For the last three hours I have been correcting the proofs of
my prose, and it struck me that letters written to be inserted in separate
numbers of a daily paper, when published in a collected form, are
somewhat heavy reading. I feel, indeed, just at present, much like a
person who has obtained money under false pretences, but whose
remorse is not sufficiently strong to induce him to return it.

DIARY OF THE BESIEGED RESIDENT IN PARIS.
CHAPTER I.
PARIS, September 18th.
No one walking on the Champs Elysées or on the Boulevards to-day
would suppose that 300,000 Prussians are within a few miles of the city,
and intend to besiege it. Happy, said Laurence Sterne, in his
"Sentimental Journey," the nation which can once a week forget its
cares. The French have not changed since then. To-day is a fête day,
and as a fête day it must be kept. Every one seems to have forgotten the
existence of the Prussians. The Cafés are crowded by a gay crowd. On
the Boulevard, Monsieur and Madame walk quietly along with their
children. In the Champs Elysées honest mechanics and bourgeois are
basking in the sun, and nurserymaids are flirting with soldiers. There is
even a lull in the universal drilling. The regiments of Nationaux and
Mobiles carry large branches of trees stuck into the ends of their
muskets. Round the statue of Strasburg there is the usual crowd, and
speculators are driving a brisk trade in portraits of General Uhrich.
"Here, citizens," cries one, "is the portrait of the heroic defender of
Strasburg, only one sou--it cost me two--I only wish that I were rich
enough to give it away." "Listen, citizens," cries another, "whilst I
declaim the poem of a lady who has escaped from Strasburg. To those
who, after hearing it, may wish to read it to their families, I will give it
as a favour for two sous." I only saw one disturbance. As I passed by
the Rond Point, a very tall woman was mobbed, because it was thought
that she might be a Uhlan in disguise. But it was regarded more as a
joke than anything serious. So bent on being happy was every one that I
really believe that a Uhlan in the midst of them would not have
disturbed their equanimity. "Come what may, to-day we will be merry,"
seemed to be the feeling; "let us leave care to the morrow, and make
the most of what may be our last fête day."
Mr. Malet, the English secretary, who returned yesterday from Meaux,
had no small difficulty in getting through the Prussian lines. He started
on Thursday evening for Creil in a train with a French officer. When

they got to Creil, they knocked up the Mayor, and begged him to
procure them a horse. He gave them an order for the only one in the
town. Its proprietor was in bed, and when they knocked at his door his
wife cried out from the window, "My husband is a coward and won't
open." A voice from within was heard saying, "I go out at night for no
one." So they laid hands on the horse and harnessed it to a gig. All
night long they drove in what they supposed was the direction of the
Prussian outposts, trumpeting occasionally like elephants in a jungle. In
the morning they found themselves in a desert, not a living soul to be
seen, so they turned back towards Paris, got close in to the forts, and
started in another direction. Occasionally they discerned a distant
Uhlan, who rode off when he saw them. On Friday night they slept
among the Francs-tireurs, and on the following morning they pushed
forward again with an escort. Soon they saw a Prussian outpost, and
after waving for some time a white flag, an officer came forward. After
a parley Mr. Malet and his friend were allowed to pass. At three o'clock
they arrived at Meaux. Count Bismarck was just driving into the town;
he at once recognised Mr. Malet, whom he had known in Germany, and
begged him to call upon him at nine o'clock. From Mr. Malet I know
nothing more. I tried to "interview" him with respect to his
conversation with Count Bismarck, but it takes two to make a bargain,
and in this bargain he declined to be the number two. About half an
hour afterwards, however, I met a foreign diplomatist of