attacked on the road and robbed of it by the more vigorous of the
famished people." At Nangis "the magistrates prohibit the same
person from buying more than two bushels in the same market." In
short, provisions are so scarce that there is a difficulty in
feeding the soldiers; the minister dispatches two letters one after
another to order the cutting down of 250,000 bushels of rye before
the harvest[6]. Paris thus, in a perfect state of tranquility,
appears like a famished city put on rations at the end of a long
siege, and the dearth will not be greater nor the food worse in
December 1870, than in July 1789.

"The nearer the 14th of July approached," says an eyewitness,[7]
"the more did the dearth increase." Every baker's shop was
surrounded by a crowd, to which bread was distributed with the most
grudging economy. This bread was generally blackish, earthy, and
bitter, producing inflammation of the throat and pain in the bowels.
I have seen flour of detestable quality at the military school and
at other depots. I have seen portions of it yellow in color, with
an offensive smell; some forming blocks so hard that they had to be
broken into fragments by repeated blows of a hatchet. For my own
part, wearied with the difficulty of procuring this poor bread, and
disgusted with that offered to me at the tables d'hôte, I avoided
this kind of food altogether. In the evening I went to the Café du
Caveau, where, fortunately, they were kind enough to reserve for me
two of those rolls which are called flutes, and this is the only
bread I have eaten for a week at a time."

But this resource is only for the rich. As for the people, to get
bread fit for dogs, they must stand in a line for hours. And here
they fight for it; "they snatch food from one another." There is no