them. The cabbies,
once so haughty and insolent, are humble and conciliatory, for Brutus
and Scaevola have taught them manners, and usually pay their fares in
patriotic speeches. At the Arc de Triomphe, at the Trocadero, and at
Passy, near the Point du Jour, there are always crowds trying to see the
Prussians on the distant hills, and in the Avenue de l'Imperatrice (now
the Avenue Uhrich), there are always numerous admirers of Mont Valerien
gazing silently upon the object of their worship. In the Faubourg St.
Antoine workmen are lounging about doing nothing, and watching others
drilling. In the outer faubourgs much the same thing goes on, except
where barricades are being built. Round each of these there is always a
crowd of men and women, apparently expecting the enemy to assault them
every moment. At the different gates of the town there are companies of
Mobiles and National Guards, who sternly repel every civilian who seeks
to get through them. On an average of every ten minutes, no matter where
one is, one meets either a battalion of Nationaux or Mobiles, marching
somewhere. The asphalt of the boulevards, that sacred ground of dandies
and smart dresses, is deserted during the daytime. In the evening for
about two hours it is thronged by Nationaux with their wives; Mobiles
who ramble along, grinning vaguely, hand in hand, as though they were in
their native villages; and loafers. There, and in the principal streets,
speculators have taken advantage of the rights of man to stop up the
side walks with tables on which their wares are displayed. On some of
them there are kepis, on others ointment for corns, on others statuettes
of the two inseparables of Berlin, William and his little Bismarck, on
others General Trochu and the members of the Government in gilt
gingerbread. The street-hawkers are enjoying a perfect carnival--the
last editions of the papers--the Tuileries' papers--the caricatures of
Badinguet--portraits of the heroic Uhrich, and infallible cures for the
small-pox or for worms, are offered for sale by stentorian lungs.
Citizens, too, equally bankrupt alike in voice and in purse, place four
lighted candles on the pavement, and from the midst of this circle of
light dismally croak the "Marseillaise" and other patriotic songs. As
for beggars, their name is legion; but as every one who wants food can
get it at the public cantines, their piteous whines are disregarded.
Lodgings are to be hired in the best streets