During the Revolution of 1848 there had been little intoxication in Paris; but in the twenty-two years that followed, the French had learned to drink absinthe and to frequent such places as “L’Assommoir.”  All accounts speak of the drunkenness in France during the Franco-Prussian war.

Meantime, during the two weeks that preceded the arrival of the Prussians, the streets of Paris were crowded with men in every variety of uniform,—­francs-tireurs in their Opera Comique costume, cuirassiers, artillerymen, lancers, regulars, National Guards, and Mobiles.  Carriages were mixed up with heavy wagons loaded sometimes with worthless household goods, sometimes with supplies.  Peasants’ carts were seen in the midst of frightened flocks of sheep driven by bewildered shepherds.  Everybody was in some one’s way.  All was confusion, excitement,—­and exhilaration.

Till September 19 the railways continued to run.  Then the fifty-one gates of Paris were closed, the railroad entrances were walled up, and the following notice appeared upon the walls:—­

“Citizens!  The last lines which connected Paris with France and Europe were cut yesterday evening.  Paris is left to herself.  She has now only her own courage and her own resources to rely on.  Europe, which has received so much enlightenment from this great city, and has always felt a certain jealousy of her glory, now abandons her.  But Paris, we are persuaded, will prove that she has not ceased to be the most solid rampart of French independence.”

To hold out was the determination of all classes; but the very next day the Reds put forth a manifesto demanding a commune, the dismissal of the police, the sequestration of the property of all rich or influential men, and a public declaration that the king of Prussia would not be treated with so long as his armies occupied one foot of French soil.  “Nothing less than these things,” said the document, “will satisfy the people.”

Here we see the usual assumption of the Parisian Communists that they are “the people.”  They have always assumed that thirty-two millions of Frenchmen outside the walls of Paris counted for nothing.

As the Prussian armies passed to the southward of Paris to take possession of Versailles, an attack, authorized by General Trochu and by General Ducrot (who had escaped from Sedan), was made upon the German columns.  The Zouaves, who had come back to Paris under General Vinoy, demoralized by the disasters of their comrades, were the first to break and run.  The poor little Mobiles stood firm and did their duty.

The official report said:  “Some of our soldiers took to flight with regrettable haste,”—­a phrase which became a great joke among the Parisians.

That night the Reds breathed fire and fury against the Government, “and the respectable part of Paris,” says M. de Sarcey, the great dramatic critic, “saw themselves between two dangers.  It would be hard to say which of them they dreaded most.  They hated the Prussians very much, but they feared the men of Belleville more.”