By order of General Cluseret every man in Paris was to be forced to bear arms for the Commune.  His neighbors were expected to see that he did so, and to arrest him at once if he seemed anxious to decline.  “Thus, every man walking along the street was liable to have the first Federal who passed him, seize him by the collar and say:  ’Come along, and be killed on behalf of my municipal independence.’”

It would be hardly possible to follow the details of the fighting, the arrests, the bombardment, or even the changes that took place among those high in office in the Council of the Commune during the seventy-three days that its power lasted; the state of things in Paris will be best exhibited by detached sketches of what individuals saw and experienced during those dreadful days.

Here is the narrative of an English lady who was compelled to visit Paris on Easter Sunday, April 9, while it was under the administration of Cluseret.[1]

[Footnote 1:  A Catholic lady in “Red” Paris.  London Spectator, April, 1871 (Living Age, May 13, 1871).]

The streets she found for the most part silent and empty.  There were a few omnibuses, filled with National Guards and men en blouse, and heavy ammunition-wagons under the disorderly escort of men in motley uniforms, with guns and bayonets.  Here and there were groups of “patriots” seated on the curbstones, playing pitch-farthing, known in France by the name of “bouchon.”  Their guns were resting quietly against the wall behind them, with, in many instances, a loaf of bread stuck on the bayonet.  The sky was gray, the wind piercingly cold.  The swarming life of Paris was hushed.  There was no movement, and scarcely any sound.  The shop-windows were shut, many were boarded up; from a few hung shabby red flags, but the very buildings looked dead.  She says,—­

“I felt bewildered.  I could see no traces of the siege, and all my previous ideas of a revolution were dispersed.  I passed several churches, not then closed, and being a Catholic, I entered the Madeleine.  The precious articles on the altar had been removed by the priests, but except the words ‘Liberte,’ ‘Egalite,’ ‘Fraternite,’ deeply cut in the stone over the great door, the church had not, so far, been desecrated.  I went also to mass at Notre Dame des Victoires; but before telling my cabman to drive me there, I hesitated, believing it to be in a bad part of the city.  ’There are no bad parts,’ he said, ’except towards the Arch of Triumph and Neuilly.  The rest of Paris is as quiet as a bird’s nest.’  The church was very full of men as well as women.  It was a solemn, devout crowd; every woman wore a plain black dress, every face was anxious, grave, and grieved, but none looked frightened.  As the aged priest who officiated read the first words of the Gospel for the day, ’Be not afraid, ye seek Jesus who was crucified,’ the bombardment recommenced with a fearful roar, shaking the heavy leathern curtain