December 27.--Violent cannonade this morning. The firing of this morning was an attack by the Prussians. A good sign. Waiting annoys them. Us, too. They threw nineteen shells, which killed nobody, into the Fort of Montrouge.
Mme. Ugalde dined with us and sang “Patria.” I escorted Mme. Ugalde to her home in the Rue de Chabanais, then returned to bed.
“Monsieur, they say that bombs will fall in this neighbourhood to-night.”
“That is all right,” I replied. “I am expecting one.”
December 29.--Heavy firing all night. The Prussians continue their attack.
Théophile Gautier has a horse. This horse was requisitioned. It was wanted for food. Gautier wrote me begging me save the animal. I asked the Minister to grant his request.
It is unfortunately true that Dumas is dead. This has been ascertained through the German newspapers. He died on December 5 at the home of his son at Puys, near Dieppe.
I am being urged more strongly than ever, to enter the Government. The Minister of Justice, M. Emmanuel Arago, called and stopped to dinner. We talked. Louis Blanc dropped in after dinner. I persist in my refusal.
Besides Emmanuel Arago and the friends who usually dine with me on Thursdays, Rochefort and Blum came. I invited them to come every Thursday if we have many more Thursdays to live. At desert I drank Rochefort’s health.
The cannonade is increasing. The plateau of Avron had to be evacuated.
December 31.--D’Alton-Shée paid a visit to me this morning. It appears that General Ducros wants to see me.
Within three days the Prussians have sent us 12,000 shells.
Yesterday I ate some rat, and then hiccoughed the following quatrain:
_O mesdames les hétaires Dans vos greniers, je me nourris: Moi qui mourais de vos sourires, Je vais vivre de vos souris_.
After next week there will be no more washing done in Paris, because there is no more coal.
Lieutenant Farcy, commander of the gunboat, dined with me.
It is bitterly cold. For three days I have worn my cloak and hood whenever I have had to go out.
A doll for little Jeanne. A basketful of toys for Georges.
Shells have begun to demolish the Fort of Rosny. The first shell has fallen in the city itself. The Prussians to-day fired 6,000 shells at us.
In the Fort of Rosny a sailor working at the gabions was carrying a sack of earth. A shell knocked it off his shoulder. “Much obliged,” commented the sailor, “but I wasn’t tired.”