The days pa.s.sed, and the boom of the cannon continued. Finally, one morning there was a great racket in the court-yard of our house. Cries, threats, oaths! The noise came up and up. Great blows with the b.u.t.t ends of muskets were struck on the wardrobe doors. They were smashed in and we perceived eight or ten slovenly looking, dirty, and bearded men.

Among these men was a woman, a little brunette; fairly pretty, I must say, but queerly gotten up. A black dress with a short skirt, little boots with red bows, a round gray felt hat with a large red plume, and a sort of red scarf worn crosswise. It was a peculiar style, but it was style all the same.

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the little woman, "here's luck! What a lot of dresses! Well, clear away all this, sergeant, and take those duds to headquarters."

Then all those men threw themselves upon us with a sort of fury. We felt ourselves gripped and dishonored by coa.r.s.e, dirty hands.

"Don't soil them too much, citizens," the little woman would cry. "Do them up in packages, and take the packages down to the ammunition-wagon."

The headquarters was the apartment of the young lady of the red plume.

Our new mistress was the wife of a general of the Commune. We were destined to remain official dresses. Official during the Empire, and official during the Commune. The first thought of Mme. General was to hold a review of us, and I had the honor of being the object of her special attention and admiration.

"Ah, look, emile!" (emile was the General.) "Look! this is the toniest of the whole concern. I'll keep it for the Tuileries."

I was to be kept for the Tuileries! What tales of woe and what lamentations there were in the sort of alcove where we were thrown like rags! Mme. General went into society every evening, and never put on the same dress twice. My poor companions the day after told me their adventures of the day before. This one had dined at Citizen Raoul Rigault's, the Prefecture of Police; that one attended a performance of "Andromaque" at the Theatre Francais, in the Empress's box, etc. At last it was my turn. The 17th of May was the day of the grand concert at the Tuileries.

Oh, my dear little baroness, what had become of you? Where were your long soft muslin petticoats and your fine white satin corsets? Where were your transparent linen chemisettes? Mme. General had coa.r.s.e petticoats of starched calico. Mme. General wore such a corset! Mme.

General had such a crinoline! My poor skirts of lace and satin were abominably stiffened and tossed about by the hard crinoline hoops. As to the basque, the strange thing happened that the basque of the little baroness was much too tight for Mme. General at the waist, and, on the contrary, above the waist it was--I really do not know how to explain such things. At any rate, it was just the opposite of small, so much so that it had to be padded. Horrible! Most horrible!

At ten that evening I was climbing for the second time the grand staircase of the Tuileries, in the midst of a dense and ign.o.ble mob. One of the General's aides-de-camp tried in vain to open a pa.s.sage.

"Room, room, for the wife of the General!" he cried.

Much they cared for the wife of the General! Great big boots trampled on my train, sharp spurs tore my laces, and the bones of the corsets of Mme. General hurt me terribly.

At midnight I returned to Mme. General's den. I returned in rags, shreds, soiled, dishonored, and stained with wine, tobacco, and mud. A hateful little maid brutally tore me from the shoulders of Mme. General, and said to her mistress:

"Well, madame, was it beautiful?"

"No, Victoria," replied Mme. General, "it was too mixed. But do hurry up! tear it off if it won't come. I know where to find others at the same price."

And I was thrown like a rag on a heap of pieces. The heap of pieces was composed of ball-dresses of the little baroness.

One morning, three or four days later, the aide-de-camp rushed in, crying, "The Versaillists! The Versaillists are in Paris!"

Thereupon Mme. General put on a sort of military costume, took two revolvers, filled them with cartridges, and hung them on a black leather belt which she wore around her waist. "Where is the General?" she said to the aide-de-camp.

"At the Tuileries."

"Very well, I shall go there with you." And on that she departed, with her little gray felt hat jauntily tilted over her ear.

The cannonade and firing redoubled and came nearer. Evidently there was fighting very near us, quite close to us. The next day towards noon we saw them both come back, the General and Mme. General. And in what a condition! Panting, frightened, forbidding, with clothes white with dust, and hands and faces black with powder. The General was wounded in the left hand, he had twisted around his wrist a handkerchief bathed in blood.

"Does your arm hurt you?" Mme. General said to him.

"It stings a little, that's all."

"Are they following us?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Listen! There are noises, shouts."

"Look out of the window without showing yourself."

"The red trousers! They are here!"

"Lock and bolt the door. Get the revolvers and load them. I can't on account of my arm. This wound is a bore."

"You are so pale!"

"Yes; I am losing blood--a good deal of blood."

"They are coming up the stairs!"

"Into the alcove--let us go into the alcove, on the dresses."

"Here they are!"

"Give me the revolver."

The door gave way violently under the hammering of the b.u.t.ts of the guns. A shower of bullets fell on us and around us. The General, with a single movement, fell heavily at full length on the bed of silk, muslin, and laces that we made for him. Three or four men with red trousers threw themselves on Mme. General, who fought, bit, and screamed, "a.s.sa.s.sins! a.s.sa.s.sins!"

A soldier tore away the bell-cord, firmly tied her hands, and carried her away like a bundle. She continued to repeat, in a strangled voice, "a.s.sa.s.sins! a.s.sa.s.sins!" The soldiers approached the alcove and looked at the General. "As to him," they said, "he's done for; he doesn't need anything more. Let's be off."

They left us, and we remained there for two days, crushed beneath that corpse and covered with blood. Finally, at the end of those two days, a man arrived who was called a Commissioner, and who wore a tricolored scarf around his waist. "This corpse has been forgotten," he said. "Take it away."

They tried to lift the body, but with fingers stiffened by death the General held my big cherry satin b.u.t.terfly. They had nearly to break his fingers to get it out.

Meantime the Commissioner examined and searched curiously among that brilliant heap of rags on which the General had died. My waist appeared to catch his eye. "Here is a mark," he said to one of his men--"a mark inside the waist, with the name and number of the maker. We can learn where these dresses came from. Wrap this waist in a newspaper and I'll take it."

They wrapped me in an old number of the _Official Journal of the Commune_. The following day we went to M. Worth, the Commissioner and I.

The conversation was not long.

"Was this dress made by you?" the Commissioner asked.

"Yes; here's the mark."

"And for whom was it made?"

"Number 18,223. Wait a moment; I'll consult my books." The dress-maker came back in five minutes, and said to the Commissioner, "It was for the Baroness Z---- that I made this dress, eighteen months ago, and it isn't paid for."

THE INSURGENT

"Prisoner," said the President of the Council of War, "have you anything to add in your defence?"