In the summer of 1870 Amedee, being tired of Paris, thought of a new
trip, and he was upon the point of going again, unfortunate fellow! to
see the Swiss porters who speak all the languages in the world, and to
view the melancholy boots in the hotel corridors, when the war broke out.
The poet's passage through the midst of the revolutionary "beards" in the
Cafe de Seville, and the parliamentary cravats in the Countess's drawing-
room, had disgusted him forever with politics. He also was very
suspicious of the Liberal ministers and all the different phases of the
malady that was destroying the Second Empire. But Amedee was a good
Frenchman. The assaults upon the frontiers, and the first battles lost,
made a burning blush suffuse his face at the insult. When Paris was
threatened he asked for arms, like the others, and although he had not a
military spirit, he swore to do his duty, and his entire duty, too. One
beautiful September morning he saw Trochu's gilded cap passing among the
bayonets; four hundred thousand Parisians were there, like himself, full
of good-will, who had taken up their guns with the resolve to die
steadfast. Ah, the misery of defeat! All these brave men for five
months could only fidget about the place and eat carcases. May the good
God forgive the timid and the prattler! Alas! Poor old France! After
so much glory! Poor France of Jeanne d'Arc and of Napoleon!




CHAPTER XVI

IN TIME OF WAR

The great siege lasted nearly three months. Upon the thirtieth of
November they had fought a battle upon the banks of the Marne, then for