lay down your arms 72

lay down your arms 72

On August 20 Count Palikao announced in the Chamber that three army

corps which had coalesced against Bazaine had been thrown into the

quarries at Jaumont (Bravo! Bravo!). It is true that no one knew what

quarries these were, or where they were; nor did any one explain how

they could contain three army corps; but the joyous message went round

from mouth to mouth. “Have you heard? In the quarries----” “Oh yes! Of

Jaumont.” No one uttered a doubt or question. It was as if everybody had

been born at Jaumont, and knew these army-swallowing quarries as well as

his own pocket. About this time the rumour also prevailed that the King

of Prussia had _gone mad_ from despair at the condition of his army.

 

Nothing but monstrous things were heard of. The excitement, the fever,

of the populace increased hourly. The war “_là-bas_” had ceased to be

regarded as an armed promenade. It was felt that the forces which had

been let loose were now bringing something terrible on the world.

Nothing was spoken of but armies annihilated, princes driven mad,

diabolical hordes, war to the knife. I listened to it thundering and

growling. It was the storm of rage and despair that was rising. The

battle at Bazeilles near Metz was described, and it was stated that

inhuman cruelties had been committed there by the Bavarians.

 

“Do you believe that?” I asked Frederick. “Do you believe that of the

gentle Bavarians?”

 

“It is quite possible. Bavarian or Turco, German, French, or Indian, the

warrior who is defending his own life, and lifting up his arm to kill

another, has ceased for the time to be ‘human’. What has been awakened

in him and stirred up with all possible force is nothing else than

bestiality.”

 

* * * * *

 

Metz fallen! The news resounded in the city like some strange and

overpowering cry of terror. To me the news of the taking of a fortress

was a message which brought rather a relief; for I thought, “Well, that

is decisive”. And it was only for this, that the bloody game might be

over, it was for this, only this that I longed. But no, there was

nothing decisive in it--more fortresses remained. After a defeat all

that is to be done is to pick yourself up again, and strike out again at

them twice as hard. The chance of arms may change at any time. Ah yes!

The advantage may be now on this side, now on that. It is only woe that

is certain--death that is certain--to be on both.

 

Trochu felt himself called upon to arouse the spirit of the populace by

a new proclamation, and in it appealed to an old motto of Bretagne,

“With God’s help for our fatherland”. That did not sound new to me. I

had met with something like it before in other proclamations. It did not

fail to have its effect. The people were inspirited. Now, the thing was

to turn Paris into a fortress.

 

Paris a fortress! I could not take in the idea. The city which V. Hugo

called “_la ville-lumière_,” which is the point of attraction for the

whole world of civilisation, riches, the pursuit of art, and the

enjoyment of life--the point from which radiate splendour, fashions,

_esprit_--this city is now to be “fortified”--_i.e._, become the point

at which hostile attacks are to be aimed; the target for shot; to close

itself against all intercourse, and expose itself to the danger of being

set in flames by bombardment, or starved by famine! And that is done by

these people, _de gaieté de cœur_, in the spirit of self-sacrifice,

with joyous emulation, as if it was a question of carrying out the most

useful, the most noble work! The work was proceeded with in feverish

haste. Ramparts had to be erected on which troops could be placed, and

shot holes cut in them; also trenches dug outside the gates, drawbridges

erected, covering works repaired, canals bridged over, and protected by

breastworks, powder magazines built, and a flotilla of gunboats placed

on the Seine. What a fever of activity! What expenditure of exertion and

industry! What gigantic expense in labour and money! How exhilarating

and ennobling all that would have been, if it had been expended on works

of public utility; but for the purpose of working mischief, of

annihilation--a purpose which is not even one’s own, but only a move on

the strategic chess-board--it is inconceivable!

 

In order to be able to stand a siege, which might possibly be a long

one, the city was provisioned. Up to the present time, according to all

experience, no such thing as an impregnable fortification has been

known, capitulation is always only a question of time. And yet

fortresses have always been erected anew, and provisioned anew with

necessaries, in spite of the mathematical _impossibility_ of protecting

oneself against the _duration_ of a blockade.

 

The measures taken were on a great scale. Mills were erected, and

cattle parks laid out, and yet at last the moment _must_ come when the

corn will give out and the meat be consumed. But people do not carry

their thoughts so far--by that time the enemy will be driven back over

the frontier, or annihilated in the country. Now the whole people are

joining the army of the fatherland. Every one offers himself for the

service, or is pressed into it; and all the firemen in the country were

called in to join the garrison of Paris. There might be fires in the

provinces, but what of that? Such little accidents disappear when a

national “disaster” is in question. On Aug. 17, 60,000 firemen had

already been enrolled in the capital. The sailors too were called in,

and new troops of soldiers were formed every day under various

names--_volontaires_, _éclaireurs_, _franc-tireurs_.

 

* * * * *

 

Events followed each other in ever-hastening movement. But now only

military events. Everything else was suspended. Nothing else was any

more thought of around us except “_mort aux Prussiens_”. A storm of

savage hatred collected: it had not yet broken out, but one heard it

rumble. In all official proclamations, in all the street cries, in all

public transactions, the conclusion was always “_mort aux Prussiens_”.

All these troops, regular and irregular, these munitions, these

work-people pressing to the fortifications with their tools and barrows,

these transports for weapons, everything that one sees and hears means,

in its every form and tone, in all its lightning and bluster, in all its

flame and rage, “_mort aux Prussiens_”. Or in other words, and then

indeed it sounds like a cry of love and warms even the softest hearts,

it means “_pour la patrie_,” but in essence it is the same.

 

I asked Frederick: “You are of Prussian extraction, how does all this

unfriendly feeling, which is now finding loud __EXPRESSION__, affect you?”

 

“You said the same to me before, in 1866, and I answered you then as I

do to-day, that I suffer from these __EXPRESSION__s of hatred not as the

subject of any country, but as a man. If I judge of the opinions of the

people here from a national point of view I cannot but think them right,

they call it _la haine sacrée de l’ennemi_, and that motive forms an

important element in warlike patriotism. They are now occupied with this

one thought, to liberate their country from a hostile invasion. That it

is themselves who provoked this invasion by declaring war, they have

forgotten. Indeed it was not they who did it, but their Government,

which they believed on its word; and now they lose no time over

reproaches or reflections, as to who called down this misfortune on

them: it has come, and all their force, all their enthusiasm must be

spent on turning it aside again, or else uniting with unthinking

self-sacrifice in a common ruin. Trust me, there is much noble capacity

for love in us children of men, the pity only is that we lavish it on

the old-world tracks of hatred.... And on the other side, the hated

ones, the invaders, ‘the red-haired eastern barbarians,’ what are they

doing? They were the challenged; and they are pressing forward into the

country of those who threatened to overrun theirs--‘_À Berlin, à

Berlin_’. Do not you recollect how this cry kept pealing through the

whole city, even down from the roofs of omnibusses?”

 

“And now these are marching ‘_Nach Paris_’. Why do the shouters of ‘_À

Berlin_’ attribute that as a crime to them?”

 

“Because there cannot be any logic or justice in that national sentiment

whose foundation is the assumption that _we_ are ourselves, that is the

first, and the others are barbarians. And this forward march of the

Germans from victory to victory strikes me with admiration. I have been

a soldier also, and I know with what a magical power victory fastens on

the mind, what pride, what joy are contained in it. It is in any case

the aim, the reward for all the sacrifices made, for the renunciation of

rest and happiness, for the risk of life.”

 

“But then why do not the conquered adversaries, since they too are

soldiers, and know what fame accompanies victory, why do they not admire

their conquerors? Why is it never said in an account of a battle by the

losing party: ‘The enemy has obtained a glorious victory’?”

 

“I repeat, because the war spirit and patriotic egotism are the _denial

of all justice_.”

 

So it came about--I can see it from all our conversations entered in the

red books in those days--that we did not and could not think of anything

at that time except the result of the present national duel.

 

Our happiness, our poor happiness, we had it, but we dared not enjoy it.

Yes, we possessed everything that might have procured for us a heaven of

delight on earth--boundless love, riches, rank, the charming, growing

boy Rudolf, our heart’s idol Sylvia, independence, ardent interest in

the world of mind; but before all this a curtain had fallen. How dared

we, how could we taste of our joys while around us every one was

suffering and trembling, shrieking and raving? It was as if one should

set oneself to enjoy oneself heartily on board a storm-tossed vessel.

 

“A theatrical fellow, this Trochu,” Frederick told me--it was on August

25. “Such a _coup de theâtre_ has been played off to-day! You will never

guess it.”

 

“The women called out for military service?” I guessed.

 

“Well, it does concern the women; but they are not called out. On the

contrary.”

 

“Then are the sutlers discharged? or the Sisters of Mercy?”

 

“You have not guessed it yet, either. There is something of dismissal in

it to be sure, and as to sutlers, too, in the sense that these ladies

minister the cup of pleasure, and in a sense the ladies dismissed are

merciful too; but in short, without more riddles, the _demimonde_ is

exiled.”

 

“And the Minister of War has taken that step? What connection----?”

 

“I cannot see any either. But the people are in ecstasies over the

regulation. In fact they are always glad when _anything_ happens. From