Diary of the Besieged Resident in Paris | Page 5

have converted the Palais into a
barrack. Their camp fires were seen last night in the forest of Bondy.
Uhlans have made their appearance at St. Cloud. "Fritz" has taken up
his quarters at Ferrières, the château of Baron Rothschild.
"William"--we are very familiar when we speak of the Prussian Royal
family--is still at Meaux. "No thunderbolt," adds the correspondent,
"has yet fallen on him." The Prussian outposts are at the distance of
three kilometres from St. Denis. Near Vitry shots have been heard. In
the environs of Vincennes there has been fighting. It appears General
Ambert was arrested yesterday. He was reviewing some regiments of
Nationaux, and when they cried, "Vive la République" he told them
that the Republic did not exist. The men immediately surrounded him,
and carried him to the Ministry of the Interior, where I presume he still
is. The Rappel finds faults with Jules Favre's circular. Its tone, it says,
is too humble. The Rappel gives a list of "valets of Bonaparte, ce
coquin sinistre," who still occupy official positions, and demands that

they shall at once be relieved from their functions. The Rappel also
informs its readers that letters have been discovered (where?) proving
that Queen Victoria had promised before the war to do her best to aid
Germany.
Butler of a friend of mine, whose house is close by the fortifications,
and who has left it in his charge, has just been to see me. The house is a
"poste" of the National Guard. Butler says the men do not sleep on the
ramparts, but in the neighbouring houses. They are changed every
twenty-four hours. He had rather a hard time of it last night with a
company from the Faubourg St. Antoine. As a rule, however, he says
they are decent, orderly men. They complain very much that their
business is going to rack and ruin; when they are away from their shops,
they say, impecunious patriots come in to purchase goods of their
wives, and promise to call another day to pay for them. On Saturday
night the butler reports 300 National Guards were drawn up before his
master's house, and twenty-five volunteers were demanded for a service
of danger. After some time the twenty-five stepped forward, but having
heard for what they were wanted, eighteen declined to go.
A British coachman just turned up offers to carry letters
through--seems a sharp plucky fellow. I shall employ him as soon as
the Post-office is definitely closed. British coachman does not think
much of the citizen soldiers in Paris. "Lor' bless you, sir, I'd rather have
10,000 Englishmen than the lot of them. In my stable I make my men
obey me, but these chaps they don't seem to care what their officers
says to them. I seed them drill this morning; a pretty green lot they was.
Why, sir, giving them fellow Chassepots is much like giving watches to
naked savages."
The Breton Mobiles are making pilgrimages to the churches. I hope it
may do them good. I hear the curés of Paris have divided the ramparts
between them, and are on the fortifications--bravo! curés. By-the-bye,
that fire-eater, Paul de Cassagnac, has not followed the example of his
brother Imperial journalists. He enlisted as a Zouave, fought well, and
was taken prisoner at Sedan. He is now employed by his captors in
making bread. I hope his bread will be better than his articles.

1.30 P.M.
Been sitting with a friend who commands a company of National
Guards. The company is now outside the fortifications. Friend tells me
that the men in his company are mostly small shopkeepers. At first it
was difficult to get them to come to drill, but within the last few days
they have been drilling hard, and he is convinced that they will fight
well. Friend tells me that a large number of National Guards have run
away from Paris, and that those who remain are very indignant with
them. He requests me to beg my countrymen, if they see a sturdy
Monsieur swelling it down Regent Street, to kick him, as he ought to be
defending his country. I fulfil his request with the greatest pleasure and
endorse it. I have just seen a Prussian spy taken to prison. I was seated
before a café on the Boulevard des Capucines. Suddenly there was a
shout of "un Prussien;" every one rushed towards the Place de l'Opéra,
and from the Boulevard Haussmann came a crowd with a soldier,
dressed as an artilleryman, on a horse. He was preceded and followed
by about one hundred Mobiles. By his side rode a woman. No one
touched them. Whether he and his "lady friend" were Germans I do not
know; but they certainly looked Germans, and extremely
uncomfortable.
3 P.M.
Been