easants fresh from their homes, have shown
themselves brave in action, and have supported the hardship of lengthy
outpost duty without a murmur. Unfortunately they elected their own
officers, and this weakened their efficiency for offensive purposes.
When the siege commenced, every citizen indiscriminately assumed the
uniform of the National Guard. Each battalion of this motley force
elected its officers, and both men and officers united in despising
discipline as a restraint to natural valour. The National Guard mounted
guard occasionally on the ramparts, and the rest of their time they
passed in parading the streets, drinking in the pothouses, and
discussing the conduct of their military superiors. General Trochu soon
discovered that this force was, for all purposes of war, absolutely
useless. He called for volunteers, and he anticipated that 100,000 men
would answer to the appeal; not 10,000 did so. He then ordered a
marching company to be formed from each battalion. Complaints
innumerable arose. Instead of a generous emulation to fight, each man
sought for an excuse to avoid it. This man had a mother, that man a
daughter; one had weak lungs, and another weak legs. At length, by dint
of pressure and coaxing, the marching battalions were formed. Farewell
suppers were offered them by their comrades. They were given new coats,
new trousers, and new saucepans to strap on their haversacks. They have
done some duty in the trenches, but they were always kept away from
serious fighting, and only gave a "moral support" to those engaged in
the conflict, until the fiasco in the Isthmus of Gennevilliers a
fortnight ago. Then, near the walls of Buzanval, the few companies which
were in action fought fairly if not successfully, whilst in another part
of the field of battle, those who formed the reserves broke and fled as
soon as the Prussian bombs fell into their ranks. The entire National
Guard, sedentary and marching battalions, has not, I imagine, lost 500
men during its four months' campaign. This can hardly be called fighting
to the death _pro aris et focis_, and sublimity is hardly the word to
apply to these warriors. If the 300 at Thermopylae had, after exhausting
their food, surrendered to the Persian armies, after the loss of less
than one per cent. of their number--say of three men, they might have
been very worthy fellows, but history would not have embalmed their act.
Politically, with the exception of the riot on Octobe