Butter rose to five dollars a pound, cabbages were sold by the leaf.  Early in the siege, eggs were three dollars a dozen, and milk soon became unattainable.  “Poor little babies died like flies,” says an eye-witness.  Fuel, too, was growing very scarce and very dear.  The women supported their privations bravely, but it is terrible to think what must have been the sufferings of mothers deprived of wholesome food for their little children.  The firmness and self-sacrifice of the bourgeoisie were above all praise.

All kinds of meats were eaten.  Mule was said to be delicious,—­far superior to beef.  Antelope cost eighteen francs a pound, but was not as good as stewed rabbit; elephant’s trunk was eight dollars a pound, it being esteemed a delicacy.  Bear, kangaroo, ostrich, yak, etc., varied the bill of fare for those who could afford to eat them.

Men of wealth who had lost everything, took their misfortunes cheerfully.  While the worst qualities of the Parisians came out in some classes, the best traits of the French character shone forth in others.  A great deal of charity was dispensed, both public and private and on the whole, the very poorest class was but little the worse for the privations of the siege.

The houses left empty by their owners were made over to the refugees from the villages, and many amusing stories are told of their embarrassment when surrounded by objects of art, and articles of furniture whose use was unknown to them.

At first the theatres were closed, and some of them were turned into military hospitals; but by the beginning of November it was thought better to reopen them.  At one theatre, Victor Hugo’s “Les Chatiments” was recited,—­that bitterest arraignment of Napoleon III. and the Second Empire; at another, Beethoven and Mendelssohn were played, with apologies for their being Germans.

The hospital parts of the theatres were railed off, and in the corridors ballet-girls, actors, and sisters of charity mingled together.

Victor Hugo was in Paris during the siege, but he lent his name to no party or demonstration.  The recitation of his verses at the theatre afforded him great delight, but the triumph was short-lived.  The attraction of “Les Chatiments” soon died away.

The most popular places of resort for idle men were the clubs.  On November 21, one of these was visited by our American observer.  He says,—­

“The hall was filled to suffocation.  Every man present had a pipe or cigar in his mouth.  It was a sulphurous place, a Pandemonium, a Zoological Garden, a Pantomime, a Comedy, a Backwoods Fourth of July, and a Donnybrook Fair, all combined.  Women too were there, the fiercest in the place.  Orators roared, and fingers were shaken.  One speech was on the infringement of the liberties of the citizen because soldiers were made to march left or right according to the will of their officers.  Another considered that the sluggards who went on hospital service with red crosses on their caps were no better than cowards.  Then they discovered a spy (as they supposed) in their midst, and time was consumed in hustling him out.  Lastly an orator concluded his speech with awful blasphemy, wishing that he were a Titan, and could drive a dagger into the Christian’s God.”