Matters political were in abeyance. Whenever I asked, "What is to come next? What Government would you vote for?" I got the answer: "Cela nous est bien égal, monsieur, pourvu qu'il-y-ait du travail."[14] One lived in a sort of interregnum, a period of transition from lawlessness to order. War had ceased, but peace had only just begun to strike roots. There was no bragging, no cheap oratory--nobody seemed to think himself particularly "_trahi_."[15] There was no show of military rule. Even the sentries chatted freely with the bourgeois, and there were no ominous cries of "_Passez au large_," coupled with the significant thrust of the fixed bayonet, as one used to hear in the days of the _Coup d'État_. On the contrary, thousands of soldiers, with their _Chassepots_ slung carelessly across their shoulders, were sauntering along the streets, most of them evidently provincials, amazed at the grandeur of the capital they were visiting for the first time.
Cabs were about, and even the heavy three-horse omnibuses were resuming their well-regulated course; but no private carriages were to be seen. In fact, the upper ten as well as the submerged tenth seemed to have disappeared, and the odd million about was made up of the _bourgeois_, the _piou-piou_,[16] the _badaud de province_, and other sightseers.
I scorned conveyances of any kind, and tramped along on foot from morning to night, for it was only thus I felt I was my own master. I could pull up, stumble, or climb as circumstances required, or I could turn in, stand, drink, talk, listen, and argue--or, better still, hold my tongue.
In the evening darkness reigned, except in the neighbourhood of the cafés. There people were congregating as usual, seeking the light like so many moths, and settling like flies on the sugar that was to sweeten their _demie-tasse_ or to be pocketed for home consumption. At eleven o'clock the cafés were closed, and nothing remained to do but to go home in the dark. The moths, by the way, must have had a dull time of it, for the graceful lamp-posts had suffered so severely that very few of them were fit for service.
The Commune had naturally produced a great quantity of scurrilous literature and vile caricatures, some quite unmentionable; but they are interesting historically, throwing, as they do, a lurid light on the events of those days and the passions they evoked. I bought whatever I could find of such papers and drawings, as also a few of the more respectable publications, and the collection is a pretty complete one, including, as it does, copies of the Père Duchêne, La Lanterne, Le National, La Vérité, &c., and some sixty caricatures of the Emperor, the Empress, Thiers, Jules Favre, and many other leading men, all furnishing abundant material for recording and illustrating the politics, hysterics, and erotics of those troublesome times.