Of all his fantastic inventions, the most fantastic was one published immediately after Bazaine had shut himself up with his army in Metz.  A despatch was published, and universally accepted with confidence and enthusiasm, announcing that three German army corps had been overthrown at the Quarries of Jaumont.  There are no quarries at Jaumont, there were no Prussians anywhere near the spot, and none had been defeated; but the Parisians were well satisfied.

After the first panic caused by the despatch that Paris must prepare for defence, means were taken for provisioning the city.  Clement Duvernois, an ex-radical, an ex-Bonapartist, and one of the members of the Ministry of Defence, gave ignorant and reckless orders for supplies, which, in spite of the gravity of the situation, amused the Parisians immensely.

Droves of cattle passed all day along the Boulevards, going to be pastured in the Bois de Boulogne, where they were tended by Gardes Mobiles from the rural districts.  The cattle, the camps, and the fortifications attracted crowds of curious spectators.

The tap of the drum was wellnigh incessant in the city; and while the enemy was drawing near, and bloody defeats followed each other in rapid succession, the Parisians seemed chiefly stimulated to write fresh libels in the newspapers, and to amuse each other with caricatures and satires.

Among other foolish measures was that of ordering all firemen from the departments up to Paris.  They remained in the city a week, and were then sent home.  In their absurd and heavy uniforms, and with nothing whatever to do, the poor country fellows presented a miserable appearance as they sat in rows along the curbstones of the avenues, with their helmets glittering in the August sun, “looking,” as some one remarked, “like so many rare beetles on exhibition,” the spectacle being all the more ludicrous from the extreme dejection of the innocent heroes.

Troops were always on the move.  The Gardes Mobiles, formed into companies, were not wanted anywhere.  Being too raw as yet for active service, they were transferred from one barrack to another, and were drilled in the open streets and in the public squares.  The forts absorbed a number of them; others were employed as shepherds and drovers.  The surplus was billeted on the citizens.

Towards the end of August there began to be a notion that the city was full of spies, and all suspected persons were called Prussians.  The mania for spy-hunting became general, and was frequently very inconvenient to Americans and Englishmen.  Germans in Paris, many of whom had intermarried with the French, naturally found themselves in a most unhappy situation.  At first they were strictly forbidden to leave Paris; then suddenly they were ordered away, on three days’ notice, under penalty of being treated as prisoners of war.