The Insurrection in Paris | Page 7

saw it,
the night of her flight, when bed-clothes still littered the floor, and

gloves and little odds and ends of female finery told of recent
occupation! All was silent then with the stillness of a coming storm;
now the walls re-echo with a stir of unhallowed feet, and the spring
sunshine streams in at the open window accompanied by whiffs from
the garden below, while a distant cry reaches us from the street beyond
of "Le Vengeur," "Le Cri du Peuple," "Le dernier ordre du Comité du
Salut Public," and we detect curls of smoke about the Arch of Triumph,
which remind us that the bombardment still goes on. A reflective sentry
at the door of the cabinet de travail begged me to remark the portraits
set round above the doors. "Those are the Empress's favourite ladies,"
he informed me; "are they not salopines, one would say, of the period
of Montespan? And those were the ladies who were models for the
women of our land--no wonder that Paris should have become the
Gomorrah that it is!" In the evening the concert was given, and a
wonderful bear-garden the Imperial Palace presented. Members of the
Commune flitted about in red draperies and tried to find room on the
already crowded benches for the struggling mob, who rubbed their hot
faces with their unaccustomed white gloves, and used such language to
each other as, it is to be hoped, those august walls have seldom heard.
Meanwhile, the crowd increased in numbers, and by 8 o'clock the
reception rooms were full, and some 2,000 people still stood in a long
string in the garden outside. They behaved with the wondrous good
nature which characterizes a French crowd, laughing over the absurdity
of their predicament and waving the tickets, which they would never be
enabled to present, jestingly at one another. In course of time the whole
of the jardin privé was full of people, who looked up at the lights
streaming from the windows, and sat about on chairs quietly smoking
their cigars and enjoying the lovely evening, listening to the occasional
boom at the other end of the long alley, where a bright flash which bore
death upon its wings appeared in the sky from time to time, in mockery
of the gas-lit chandeliers and feeble attempts at revelry that were going
on above our heads.
The reigning scandal of the day is the affair of the Convent of Picpus.
So highly roused has public indignation been by the supposed
discovery of atrocities committed within those jealous walls that the
people have been peremptorily excluded until the investigations of

justice shall be complete. I managed, however, to penetrate within the
precincts by attaching myself to the cortège of an English friend, who
was journeying thither under special official orders, to investigate the
case of an English Sister named Garret. In the Rue de Picpus, near
Mazas prison, stand two large buildings, each surrounded by high walls,
above which may be seen green trees at intervals. The one is an
establishment of the Jesuites; the other the Convent of the White Nuns.
The Jesuites Brothers escaped at the first sign of approaching danger,
but the Sisters held their own until forced into cabs and conveyed to the
cells of St. Lazare, there to await the results of a judicial inquiry into
certain matters that are deemed suspicious. Arrived at the gate of the
Convent, we were obliged to force our way through a crowd of angry
people who demanded instant permission to enter, and who were as
persistently swept back by a group of National Guards--we, however,
being admitted inside the door under cover of the official pass and
signatures. In the court-yard, under the shade of some fine trees, a few
Guards were playing bowls in the Jesuit's alley, and making up to one
of them, whose cap displayed tokens of authority, we mentioned our
business, and begged permission to see what was to be seen. Our friend
was very civil, accepted a cigar, and marched us off to go the rounds.
He pointed out to us the fact, of which there certainly could exist no
kind of doubt, that the two buildings communicated one with the other,
by means of an old door which still exists at the back of a stable, as
well as by other apertures in the garden wall, which show signs of
having been recently closed up. The Jesuit's garden is a most beautiful
one, occupying a space of some 12 acres, laid out with care and
furnished with fruit trees of every description, pruned and trained after
the latest horticultural designs. There are wondrously ingenious plans,
too, for irrigating the beds, forcing pits and hothouses, and long alleys
with vines trained over them. Through the old