A Girl of the Commune, G. A. Henty [great novels to read txt] 📗

longer was it an article of faith that Paris would be saved; but the thought of surrender was farther than ever from men's minds. Paris would resist to the last. She would give time to France to reorganize herself, and would set such an example of devotion and patience under suffering, that when at last famine forced her to surrender, the world should at least say that Paris had proved herself worthy of her reputation.

The defences had been strengthened to an enormous extent; the outlying forts which, when the siege began, could have been carried without much difficulty by a resolute attack, had now been rendered practically impregnable, their approaches had been thickly mined, obstacles of all sorts erected round them, and the casements, barracks, and magazines protected by coverings of trunks of trees and so great a depth of earth as to be able to defy the heaviest shell.

The walls of the enciente had been repaired and greatly strengthened, and covered by bastions and other works, so that even were one of the forts taken the work of the enemy[Pg 122] would but be begun. The theatres had been closed from the first. The café's chantants, and the open-air concerts had long since followed the example, partly because of the increasing seriousness of the temper of the people, partly because of the failure of the gas. The café's themselves were no longer crowded until midnight; the dim lights of the lamps that had taken the place of gas gave a sombre air to these establishments, and by eight o'clock in the evening most of them put up their shutters.

The National Guard were being reorganized. From each battalion, three or four hundred of the most able-bodied, for the most part unmarried, men, had by order of the Government, been selected and formed into companies for service in the field, and these promised in a short time to develop into troops equal in physique and spirit to the mobiles, and vastly superior to the line.

Ladies no longer appeared in the streets in rich dresses. It was felt that these were out of place now, and all adornments had been rigidly given up, and the women of the better class set the example of dressing in the simplest of costumes and the quietest of colors. Great numbers had devoted themselves to the services of the hospitals and ambulances, and spent the whole of their time in ministering to the sick and wounded.

As yet there was little real suffering in Paris, and the privations and inconveniences were borne uncomplainingly, and even cheerfully. Beef had become almost unobtainable, but it was agreed that horse-flesh was not a bad substitute; cats and dogs were fast disappearing from the streets, and their flesh, prepared in a variety of ways, took the place on the cards of the restaurants of hares and game, and the change was hardly noticed.

Cuthbert was working hard. The school was now definitely closed, but those who liked to do so were free to work there when they chose. M. Goudé had taken advantage of the cessation of lessons to paint on his own account, and was engaged upon a large canvas which he announced was intended for the Salon.[Pg 123]

"All this," he said, "has wiped away old quarrels. If I were fit for it I would do as so many of the artists of Paris have done—take my place in the ranks—but I am past the age for marching and sleeping in ditches; but I can entertain no further anger against men who are fighting for France. It is the duty of those who cannot fight to paint. When the Salon opens we must show the world that, in spite of these barbarians, France still holds her head high, and is at the head of civilization."

Cuthbert, however, was not among the number of those who used the painting-room. He had chosen his lodging so as to have a north light, and kept his door closed from early morning until the light faded. An ardor for work had seized him, and it was with reluctance that he put aside his brush when the day's work was over. He was engaged upon two pictures, and worked upon them alternately as the mood seized him. When he had done for the day the canvas was always covered up and the easels placed behind a screen in the corner of the room and the doors opened to his friends.

Once a week for two days, when the corps marched out to take its turn at outpost work, the work was laid by. Between the regular troops on either side there was but an occasional exchange of shots, except when one or the other side attempted to advance its position, but this was seldom, for every post of advantage and every village was now so strongly fortified as to defy capture except by a large force.

The Germans had recognized already that Paris was not to be taken by force, at the cost except of a tremendous expenditure of life, therefore, they were content to close every avenue of escape and to leave it to famine to do the work for them. The French on their side felt that minor operations to enlarge their boundary somewhat, were but a vain effort, and reserved themselves for a great attempt to break through the line. The Franc-tireurs, however, were ever active. They kept up an increasing fusilade upon the Prussian outposts night and day, keeping them in a state of perpetual irritation and watchfulness.

Except when on this service, Cuthbert saw but little of Arnold[Pg 124] Dampierre. The latter had entirely given up painting and was seldom at his lodgings; nor when at home did he join in the smoking-parties at one or other of the students rooms. Other luxuries had given out, but tobacco was still fairly cheap and its solace made up for many privations. Nor was Arnold's absence regretted. He had never been popular, and on the few occasions when he appeared among them, he was so moody and taciturn that his absence was felt as a relief. When on duty with the corps, however, he was always in good spirits. He seemed to delight in action and was ever ready to volunteer for any dangerous work, such as crawling up close to the German outposts to ascertain their precise positions. He had so many narrow escapes that his comrades declared that he held a charmed life against Prussian bullets.

"The American would be a pleasant fellow if we were always under arms," Pierre Leroux said one evening; "he is not the same man directly we get outside the walls—he is cheerful, good-tempered, and full of ardor—here he is a bear. He will get into trouble if he does not mind. I was this afternoon opposite the Hôtel de Ville. There were many of the unwashed denouncing the Government and its ways to all who would listen to them. Dampierre was standing in one of the groups where a man, whom I knew to be Minette's father, for he came to the studio one day to say that she was unwell and could not come, was addressing them. He was pouring out threats against the bourgeois, against the Government, against every one in fact. He said that at present the true patriots, the working-men of Paris, were disarmed, but even had they arms, they would not imperil the defence of Paris by civil war; but that as soon as the accursed Germans had turned their backs, their day would come, and the true principles of the Republic, the principles of '79, would then be triumphant, and France would be free of the incubus of the selfish capitalists who ground down the people. I could see that Dampierre thoroughly sympathized with the fellow, and I believe that if there is trouble he is capable of putting on a red cap and marching with the scum of Belleville.[Pg 125]

"It is not Minette's father, but Minette, who has converted him. I saw her marching at the head of one of the Belleville battalions the other day, dressed as a cantinière, and carrying herself with the air of a young Amazon."

"That girl is capable of anything," Cuthbert said; "I have always said that she was a small sleeping volcano, and if there are barricades I can fancy her standing on the top of one of them and waving a red flag, however thickly the bullets might be whistling around. I went as far as I could in the way of warning Dampierre in the early days, but I soon saw that if we were to continue on terms of amity I must drop it. It is an infatuation and a most unfortunate one, but it must run its course. Dampierre is a gentleman, and although at present he may be carried away by the enthusiasm of these people, I fancy that if they should happen, which, God forbid, to get the upper hand, he would soon be shocked when they proceeded to carry their theories into execution. As to Minette, if he is ever mad enough to marry her, the best thing would be to do so as soon as Paris is open and to take her straight away to New Orleans.

"She is a born actress, and is as clever as she is pretty, and I have no doubt she would have the good sense to play the part of a grande dame admirably, and would soon become a leader of French society there; but I should be sorry to predict how long it would last and what would come after it, and I believe in my heart that the best thing that could happen for him would be to be knocked over by a Prussian bullet. But after all the thing may never come off. A girl like Minette must have lovers in her own class. I have no doubt she is fond of Dampierre at present, but no one can say how long it will last. I can imagine that she is proud of her conquest. He is good-looking, a gentleman, and rich. No doubt she is envied in her quarter, and besides it must be a gratification to her to have induced or fascinated him into casting in his lot with the reds, but all that will pall in time. If I were in his place I should never feel sure of her until I had placed the ring on her finger."[Pg 126]

"That is the time when I should begin not to feel sure of her," René laughed, "my anxieties would begin then. She is as changeable as an April sky. She could love passionately for a time, but for how long I should be sorry to guess. You see her in the studio, she is delighted with every fresh dress and fresh pose. Never was there so good a model for a few days, then she gets tired of it, and wants something fresh. She is like a child with a new doll; for a bit she will be wild over it; she cannot sleep without it, she takes it with her everywhere, she adores it, but will it soon be thrown by, and perhaps she will be battering its head with a stick. When Minette first came to the studio I was mad about her, now I would as soon have a tiger-cat for a mistress."

"That is too severe, René," a young man who had joined the studio but three months before, expostulated. "She seemed to me a charming young woman. I cannot understand what you and Cuthbert are talking of her in this way for."

René laughed.

"Ah, you haven't got over the first stage yet, and many of the others will agree with you. We all like her, you know, we are all glad to have her with us; she is like a glass of champagne, and we cannot say anything against her in that quality. It is only when one comes to talk about her as a wife that one is frightened."

"I believe all this is on account of her standing last month as Judith about to kill Holofernes."

"Perhaps you are right, Clement. I admit that was a revelation to me. I used to laugh at Cuthbert, who declared she frightened him, but I felt then he was right. Good heavens, what a Judith she was; it was enough to make one shiver to see the look of hate, of triumph and of vengeance in her face. One knew that one blow would do it; that his head would be severed by that heavy knife she held as surely as a Maître d'Armes would cut a dead sheep in two."

"It was only a piece of acting, René. You might as well say that a tragedienne would be capable