Chapter II: Part 2

On my way back to the Telegraph Office, where I write this, I encountered, just at the entrance to the Russian Embassy, Unter den Linden, its genial and honest occupant, Count Schouvaloff, who was good enough to return my greeting by motioning me to stop, and telling me that he had just been to see Count Caprivi, and assure him, on the part of his Imperial master, that all these warlike preparations in Western Poland implied no menace whatever to Germany, with whom Russia had not the least cause of quarrel, but that, nevertheless, so long as Austria threatened to derange the balance of power in the Balkan Peninsula for her own selfish ends, Russia would be incriminating herself in the eyes of history if she stood by with folded hands and sought not to safeguard her most vital interests by all the means at her disposal. And as Pitt had created a new world to redress the balance of the old, so Russia was now compelled to re-establish equilibrium in one part of the Eastern Continent of Europe by giving the would-be disturber of this equilibrium work enough to engross all his attention in another. ‘These were not, of course, the very words,’ added the Count, ‘which I used to the Chancellor, but they express the exact sense of my communication.’

MIDNIGHT.

Berlin, which has poured all its teeming million-and-a-half into the streets, is at this hour a scene of the wildest excitement, owing to a rumour (and a friend of mine in the General Staff, whom I chanced to meet, confirmed the truth of the rumour), that the awful and electrifying words ‘_Krieg, mobil!_’ had (as in 1870) been already flashed again to no fewer than seven of the twenty Army Corps constituting the Imperial host—viz., to the 1st, or East Prussian; the 17th, West Prussian; the 3d, Brandenburg; the 4th, Province of Prussian Saxony; the 5th, Posen; the 6th, Silesian; and the 12th, Kingdom of Saxony.

Loud and long was the cheering in front of the Schloss—which is thronged by an ever-increasing and excited multitude—when this intelligence oozed out, and with one accord (for your Germans are a most wonderful people of trained choral-singers) the whole mighty assemblage burst forth with a battle-ballad, in which some deft patriotic poet had been quick to embody the fears and determinations of the last few days under the title of ‘_Die Weichsel-Wacht_,’ or the ‘Watch on the Vistula’—a war-song which promises to fill as large and luminous a page among the lyric gems of the Fatherland as Schneckenburger’s immortal ‘_Wacht am Rhein_.’ When the frantic cheering which followed the chanting of this stirring battle-anthem had subsided, the Emperor (who has now completely recovered from the accident to his knee) came out to bow his acknowledgments from the front balcony of the castle; and on his arm was the Empress holding the hand of the pretty little flaxen-haired Crown Prince, who had been routed out of his warm bed at this late and chilly hour to add one crowning touch of spectacular effect to the _tableau_ which, amid another frenzied outburst of ‘hochs’ and ‘hurrahs,’ thus closed the drama of a most exciting and momentous day.

INTERVIEW BETWEEN GENERAL CAPRIVI AND THE FRENCH AMBASSADOR.

DISPOSITION OF THE GERMAN TROOPS.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

BERLIN, _April 23_.

The excitement of the last few days has now calmed down into the serious and stolid determination, which is the most striking characteristic of the German race, and though it is known that, since the order to mobilise seven Army Corps was issued, M. Herbette, the French Ambassador, has had repeated interviews with General Caprivi, the nation is meanwhile content to suppress its suspicion with regard to the possible—nay, probable—policy of its western neighbour, and devote all its attention to the development of events on its eastern border.

Certain official telegrams which I have been allowed to peruse leave little doubt that, while the Russians are making a show of massing troops in the direction of Cracow, the real line of their strategic advance is towards the Lemberg side, whence a railway leads across the Carpathians to Buda-Pesth. It is argued here that, had the Russians merely to deal with Austria alone, the likeliest line of their advance would be by way of Cracow and its fortress, which they would endeavour to turn, and then strike for Vienna by the route which has been deemed, on the whole, the easier for them, namely, that which leads to the valley of the Danube across Austrian Silesia, and through the gap between the Bohemian and Carpathian mountains. But with a German army massed in Silesia, and menacing their right flank, the advantages of this route would be more than countervailed, and so the Russians seem to have chosen an invading route as remote as possible from the German base of attack, namely, _viâ_ Lemberg and Stryj.

Meanwhile the mobilisation of the seven German Army Corps, enumerated by me in a previous despatch, is in full swing, the reserve men hastening to the colours with great alacrity; and as the railways are working night and day, all public traffic being suspended, the troops will soon be in the various positions assigned them. The 12th, or Royal Saxon Corps, it seems, is to be sent over to strengthen the Austrians, which will appear a wise and tactful disposition, when it is remembered how the Saxons fought shoulder to shoulder with the Austrians at Königgrätz; while Field-Marshal Prince George (brother of the King of Saxony) has been intrusted by the Emperor with the command of what is to be called the Army of Silesia, consisting of the 5th and 6th Corps, now swiftly concentrating between Breslau (which, being at present an open town, is undergoing rapid circumvallation by a ring of earthwork forts armed with Schumann gun-turrets) and Neisse, the Prussian Crown Prince’s point of departure for Bohemia in 1866. On the other hand, a Second Army, consisting of the 3d and 4th Corps, to be called ‘of the Vistula,’ and to be commanded by the King of Saxony, is swiftly massing round Thorn, that Metz of the East; while a Third Army, compounded of the 1st and 17th Corps (East and West Prussia), and denominated ‘of the Baltic,’ has been assigned to Count Waldersee, and is fast taking position on the line flanked by the fortresses of Königsberg and Lötzen, the task assigned to it being evidently an invasion of the Baltic Provinces and the consequent splitting up and diversion of the Russian forces from their southern objective. As to the First and Second German Armies (those of Silesia and the Vistula), a glance at the map will show that, roughly speaking, they form the base ends of a triangle whereof Warsaw is the apex, and that a well-timed advance by road or rail, for both are available, would enable them to effect a junction (on Moltke’s principle of marching separately and fighting combined, as applied with such brilliant success at Sadowa), and give decisive battle to the Russians somewhere near Warsaw.

But I may not indulge at present in a more detailed forecast of the impending campaign and its incidents. Suffice to say that the Germans promise to keep General Gourko, commanding the Russian forces in Poland, quite as busy as General Dragomiroff, commander at Kieff, and chief director of the operations against Galicia, will be kept by the Austrians themselves on their particular side of the seat of war.

DEPARTURE OF TROOPS TO THE EAST.

‘THE WATCH ON THE VISTULA.’

BERLIN, _April 24_.

I hear that the Guard Corps is also about to be mobilised as a precautionary measure. This will, of course, be followed by similar orders to all the rest of the German Army should France assume a threatening attitude, and the signs that she means to do this are increasingly ominous.

Meanwhile, the armies of the East are pouring towards the frontier with machine-like order and rapidity. All night and all day long, heavily-laden trains conveying the troops of the 4th Corps have been passing through Berlin, one at the tail of the other, towards Thorn; and there was tremendous cheering this afternoon at the Central Station, which is littered about with beer barrels and piles of edibles offered by the citizens for the refreshment and encouragement of the ‘_tapfere Krieger_’ who are going at last to measure their strength with the Muscovites, when the Bismarck Cuirassiers from Halberstadt steamed slowly up to the platform for a stoppage just long enough to let the couple of powerful engines water. Rolls and sausages were showered into the carriages containing these splendid heavy troopers (in whose ranks, by the way, Lieutenant Campbell of Craignish, a young Argyllshire laird—now Rittmeister, like Dugald Dalgetty, and _aide-de-camp_ to the Grand Duke of Coburg-Gotha—had captured a French eagle at Mars-la-Tour); and when their heavy train again began to move away there arose another ringing cheer mingled with ‘Hochs’ for Bismarck (and I wonder how the exile of Friedrichsruh feels at the contemplation of all this!)—cheers and ‘hochs’ that were responded to by these big, deep-chested fellows roaring out the ‘Watch on the Vistula,’ which has already spread like wildfire throughout the nation, and kindled its heart into a fine warlike glow.

BANQUET IN THE SCHLOSS.

OMINOUS SPEECH BY THE EMPEROR.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

BERLIN, _April 25_.

To-night the Emperor gave a grand military banquet in the White Saloon of the Schloss previous to his starting for Thorn—that tremendous bulwark on the Vistula over against the Russian frontier, where the work of concentrating the German troops is proceeding rapidly. At this banquet I was favoured with a seat in the gallery, from which I have witnessed so many pomps and pageants at this Court; and when the third course had been reached, His Majesty (who wore the gala uniform of the Gardes du Corps) rose, and, amid a silence in which you might have even heard the fall of a hair, addressed his guests as follows, in a most resolute and rasping voice:—

‘_Meine Herren_, God has willed it that Germany should draw her sword in defence of her ally, and to God’s high, holy will we all must bow. German loyalty (‘_Deutsche Treue_’) has ever been one of the most conspicuous virtues of our race, and, if we now failed to prove true to our treaty engagements, we should justly deserve to become a mockery and a bye-word among the nations. Remembering, as I do, the very last words almost which were addressed to me by my beloved grandfather, now resting in God, who conjured me to be considerate towards and cultivate the friendship of Russia, it is with a heart full of exceeding heaviness that I look forward to the events that are ahead of us. Nevertheless, it shall be in the power of no one to say that the German Government was ever wanting in fidelity, or the German army deficient in courage.

‘Gentlemen, that courage has been displayed on a thousand glorious battle-fields, and never more so than in those stupendous and heroic encounters which made of us a great and united nation—a nation whereof the safety and integrity would be gravely imperilled by disaster, involving, perhaps, disruption to the dual monarchy of our allies. Such a result, gentlemen, we cannot endure; and it is to obviate the bare possibility of such a thing that we are now about to respond to the solemn call of treaty obligations, by placing some of our heroic troops side by side with the brave army of my august friend and ally, His Majesty the Emperor Francis-Joseph; nor is it to be doubted that this companionship-in-arms, among other things, will have the blessed effect of wiping out all memory of our past conflicts and estrangements, and of re-uniting, in the bonds of fraternal love and loyalty, the two greatest sections of the mighty and invincible German race.

‘_Meine Herren_, God is above us, but uncertainty, to some extent, is before us. Within the last few years the science of war has been completely revolutionised, and we are all now about to grapple with military problems which never taxed the powers of our predecessors. As the Supreme War-Lord (‘_oberste Kriegs-Herr_’) of our armies, I mean to make inspection of such of our forces as are now marshalling themselves on our Eastern marches and also to remain at their head unless—which God forfend!—the course of events should call me elsewhere. (Sensation.)

‘But, gentlemen, I do not require to tell you that the duties and functions of a commander are very different now from what they were at the beginning of this century, not to speak of the time of my invincible and immortal ancestor, Frederick the Great, who inspired his troops by his very presence and directed them _in_ battle; whereas now all that is nearly left to the modern commander-in-chief is to lead his forces up _to_ battle and then leave them to the charge of his subordinates—an era in the science of warfare which was inaugurated by that great scientific soldier, lately, alas! taken from us, who has written his deathless name in indelible letters of gold on the tablets of his country’s history.

‘Forbidden by the nature and necessities of warfare, as now practised, to be a tactician—such as Cæsar, or Frederick, or Napoleon, or Wellington—the modern commander-in-chief must restrict himself to the task of strategy, and intrust his colonels and his captains with the duty of beating the enemy in detail. And as a modern battle must necessarily stretch over a vast extent of front, it really resolves itself into a hundred separate combats, in which even company leaders become independent commanders; and thus, gentlemen, to all of you there is opened up a glorious prospect of doing your duty to your country and achieving a distinction which was reserved to the generalissimos of yore. But though thus every colonel and every captain among you is now a commander-in-chief, it behoves you to remember that, what with smokeless powder, magazine rifles of vast range, and other innovations, the conditions of fighting have altered immensely even since Germany last took the field; but I doubt not that you will all prove true to our highest traditions, and that our brave army, with God’s blessing, will once more show the stuff of which it is made.

‘Gentlemen, this is a solemn moment, and it is not in a spirit of festive mirth, but rather under the influence of the serious feelings which dominate us all, that I ask you to drain your glasses to the health of my august ally, His Majesty Francis-Joseph, Emperor of Austria-Hungary. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!’

To-morrow the Emperor will leave for the frontier, and I have been graciously permitted by His Majesty to attach myself to his Headquarter-Staff.

DEPARTURE OF THE EMPEROR FOR THE EAST.

BERLIN, _April 26_.

It is long since the Linden Avenue witnessed such a scene of crowding and excitement as it presented to-day, when the Emperor (who wore the drill uniform of his Silesian Bodyguard Cuirassiers, named of the Great Elector), drove from the Schloss to the Central Station to take train for Thorn. His Majesty was accompanied by the Empress, who looked very sad, where her august husband only wore a serious mien. The fine sunny weather, balmy already with the fragrance of the budding spring, had lured thousands and thousands into the streets to see the away-going of the Emperor on his first campaign; and it was only with great difficulty that the demi-squadron of cavalry (Gardes du Corps) escorting the Imperial victoria could advance through the packed and cheering masses of people who thronged every inch of standing-space in Unter den Linden, and reached up to the very house-tops.

At one point of its route, just opposite Café Bauer, the Emperor’s carriage was even brought to a stop; and it was then that a very excited gentleman (who turned out to be an American admirer of His Majesty) profited by the opportunity to throw a laurel wreath into the Imperial equipage. Quick as thought, the Emperor placed the wreath on the point of his sword-scabbard and tossed it back to his adulator, saying with a smile, ‘Wait a little, my friend; let us earn this first’—a sally that was the signal for a perfect storm of cheers on the part of the witnesses of this charming incident, which furnished them with additional reason for lauding the Emperor’s modesty and good sense.

There was much cheering, hat-waving and fluttering of handkerchiefs as their Imperial Majesties—who never ceased bowing their acknowledgments—threaded their way to the station, on the platform of which was assembled Headquarter-Staff, with the great Household officers and Ministers of State (who looked very grave indeed), and others whom duty or curiosity had brought to see the Emperor off. After conversing for a few minutes with Count Caprivi (who, unlike his predecessor in office, is not to go to the front in the meantime, pending the development of French schemes), His Majesty turned to his sad-eyed consort, whom he embraced with great warmth, and then entered his travelling saloon carriage. In another moment, amid three parting ‘hochs,’ the train had glided away, carrying with it the first German Emperor who has unsheathed his sword against the Czar of all the Russias.

ILL-TREATMENT OF A WAR-CORRESPONDENT BY THE GERMAN HUSSARS.

THE BIVOUAC AT THORN.

SIGNIFICANT REMARK OF THE EMPEROR.

(_By Post from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

THORN, _April 27_.

Following the route taken by the Emperor, I arrived here this morning, thanks to the courtesy of Baron von Tauchnitz (a son of the great Leipzig publisher of the well-known Continental edition of our English classics), who kindly allowed me a place (it was only a standing one) in the train conveying to the front the Magdeburg Artillery Regiment of his command, as well as the Train, or Army Service, Battalion of the 4th Corps.

While crossing the bridge from the railway station to claim the quarters that had been assigned me at the ‘Black Bear,’ my eye and ear were suddenly struck by a strange hubbub going on below. A troop of red-tunic’d Zieten Hussars (‘Duke of Connaught’s’) were watering their horses in the Vistula, which has here a broad, placid, and majestic course; and while these thirsty animals were revelling in delicious draughts of the first water they had tasted since leaving Rathenow (their garrison townlet, near Bismarck’s native place), their riders were amusing themselves by roaring and laughing at the frantic efforts of what seemed to me to be a big Newfoundland dog to extricate himself from the stream. Presently the poor brute, which to my great astonishment gradually assumed human shape, struggled, spluttering and gasping, on to the shelving bank; and then it was that I recognised in this buffeted and bedraggled creature, Solomon Hirsch, the well-known correspondent of the _Berliner Tageblatt_, whose shock head of hair, all touzled and dishevelled, had given him the semblance of canine form and feature alluded to. It appears that poor Hirsch, fulfilling his functions with more zeal than discretion, had already made himself an object of universal execration at the front by communicating to his paper most minute details as to the massing and position of the German troops towards the Russian frontier, and that being recognised by these rollicking and resentful Zieten Hussar fellows, to whom he had, in an evil moment for himself, appealed for information as to their ultimate destination, this ‘curse of modern armies’ was at once set upon, hilariously tossed in a horse-rug, and then contemptuously heaved into the Vistula. I have made a point of dwelling on this serio-comic incident, which I myself was quick to take to heart, as it will serve to explain the absence from my telegrams of all but the most meagre and general references to the positions and movements of the German troops; and, indeed, I should be worthy the fate of my hapless colleague did I abuse the hospitality which has been so graciously extended to me by revealing unexecuted plans.

Indeed, I have only been promised the use of the field and other telegraph wires on the strict condition that my messages never exceed a limited number of words, which will necessarily restrict my reports to the briefest and barest, yet, I trust, sufficient summaries.

The Emperor (who was accompanied by the King of Saxony and other high general officers) has just returned from a rapid ride round the circle of the outer forts, within which the troops are all lying under canvas; and from the top of the Garrison Church Steeple, the highest point in this mighty fortressed town, nothing can be seen but endless vistas of tented bivouacs. Never before has the German soldier been allowed any other night covering in the field but the canopy of heaven, though, indeed, in a country like France, which is, in truth, a land flowing with milk, wine, and honey, and teeming with villages and other opportunities of cantonment, he had comparatively little need of tents. But it is quite a different thing in Russia, with its raw and rigid climate, its vast, uncultivated, and uninhabited spaces; and it was in view of the probable contingency of a campaign in such a foodless and roofless wilderness that the General Staff, with that remarkable foresight and wisdom which has always distinguished it, resolved to equip all the Army Corps lying nearest the Eastern frontier with the very best tents procurable—namely, such as were at once waterproof, windproof, and even fireproof. For otherwise what ruin might not a spark from a bivouac fire entail upon the tented fields which stretch away in every direction towards the horizon, both here and at Posen, at Neisse, and at Königsberg, reminding one of the hosts, countless as the sands on the sea-shore, of the five kings who encamped over against Gibeon.

But I must not omit to record a curious incident which happened as the Emperor was riding past the statue of Copernicus, whose birthplace was Thorn. Just when abreast the monument of that immortal astronomer, His Majesty remarked to his suite: ‘_Ja, meine Herren_, there you see the man who first opened the eyes of the world to the true nature of the solar system; and I think that with God’s help we shall equally be able to assign Russia her proper place in the system of nations.’

THE AUSTRIAN PLAN OF CAMPAIGN.

DETAILS OF PREPARATION.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

THORN, _April 29_.

To-night the Emperor (who continues to display wonderfully good spirits and energy) gave a banquet in the hastily furbished-up rooms of the gloomy old Schloss, in honour of Feldzeugmeister Baron Beck, the Chief of the Austrian Staff, who, pending the progress of his well-thought-out mobilisation and massing scheme, which he had set a-going by a simple order from Vienna, had hastily run up here by rail to concert united action with his German colleague, Count von Schlieffen, the present occupier of Moltke’s high and responsible office. From a trustworthy source I gather that this was the substance of Baron von Beck’s communication:—

It had been discovered, beyond all doubt, that the main objective of the Russian invasion was Lemberg, in the direction of which Dragomiroff was concentrating immense masses of troops, drawn from the 4th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th Army Corps, in the rear of whom other forces, furnished by the remoter 13th, 16th, 17th and other Corps, were pushing up as fast as the defective railway system of the country would allow them. Austria, on her part, had resolved to combine her defensive forces into three armies—one of about 300,000 strong, in East Galicia, on the Dniester; another, about as half as strong (150,000), on the San, with its back on Przemysl, that tremendous bulwark of Middle Galicia; and a third, of about 120,000, near Cracow, that almost equally formidable _place d’armes_, and key of Western Galicia on the Upper Vistula.

But these numbers do not include a force of eight independent Cavalry Divisions, each of four Brigades, or four regiments, which are to be ranked along the Galician frontier at the likeliest points of danger from the mass-raidings of Russian horsemen.

THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA AT AMBULANCE WORK.
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Such were meanwhile the relative dispositions and prospects on either side of the Austro-Russian border, while, on the other hand, General Gourko, the hero of the Balkans, was concentrating at Warsaw an army consisting of the 5th, 6th, 14th, 15th Corps, and other troops, for the double purpose of holding the Germans in check, and of operating towards Cracow, on the Austrian left flank. Moreover, the 2nd Russian Corps from Wilna, and the 3rd from Riga, seemed to be marshalling on the lower Niemen with the view of looking over into Königsberg; and of these Muscovite troops in the Baltic Provinces, no less than in Western Poland, Baron Beck trusted that the Germans would give a good and satisfactory account.

As a token of his complete satisfaction with the Baron’s lucid and hopeful exposition of the military situation, the Emperor, at parting, which was very cordial on His Majesty’s part, conferred on the distinguished Chief of the Austrian Staff the Red Eagle of the first class (with swords), and, at the same time, intrusted him with an autograph missive for his august master at Vienna.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

THORN, LATER.

From my correspondent with the Army of the Baltic at Königsberg I learn that its mobilisation is now complete, and that Count Waldersee (who has had a bad fall from his horse, but is better again) is burning to make a dash across the frontier and pluck a leaf from the laurel-wreath of General Gourko.

The 2nd, or Pomeranian Corps, has meanwhile been appointed to cope with any descent from the Russian Fleet on the Baltic shore; while the 9th Corps has been similarly left in Schleswig-Holstein for the double purpose of frustrating any attempted landing in that quarter, and also of keeping an eye on Denmark, whose hearts are practically with the Russians, and who have not yet forgotten the Redoubts of Düppel.

On the other hand, the fortification of Breslau is proceeding at a rapid rate, Prince Pless and the Duke of Ratibor having lent a little army of their miners to do the necessary pick and spade work; while the Army of Silesia (under Prince George of Saxony) is now echeloned along the railway line, parallel to the Russian border, between Kreuzburg and Tarnowitz—_in utrumque paratus_—that is to say, ready either for a front march across the frontier on Czenstochau, on the Warsaw railway, or for a flanking movement of support in the direction of Cracow, as occasion may demand.

The Austrians, we know, are well forward with their concentration; but owing to the fact that the telegraph wires of the Russians have now ceased to speak to the outer world, and that travellers are neither allowed into nor out of Russia, we are still very much in the dark with regard to their massings and their movements. To-morrow, however, we mean, if possible, to try and penetrate a little the veil of this mystery.

FIRST COLLISION OF RUSSIAN AND GERMAN TROOPS.

SKIRMISH AT ALEXANDROVO.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

THORN, _April 30_.

I have just returned from a reconnoitring ride with two squadrons of the Zieten Hussars, who pushed across the Russian frontier to within sight of Alexandrovo, the scene of the meeting (of which I had the good fortune to be an eye-witness) between the old German Emperor and the late Czar Alexander II., in September 1879, shortly before the signature of the Austro-German Treaty of Alliance.

It is a curious coincidence that the first blood in the present campaign should have been drawn within view of the spot to which the old Emperor—greatly against the advice of his irate Chancellor, Bismarck—then hastened to conjure the Czar to desist from his warlike operations, and assure him, on the other hand, of his own unalterable determination to keep the peace.

When we had advanced by the road skirting the railway to within about a mile of Alexandrovo, a gun attached to a body of Cossacks (they were of the Don, as I could make out through my glass, from their blue tunics faced with red) opened fire on us; and the shell, bursting right in front of our leading troop, killed two horses and seriously wounded one man (a Wachtmeister). So having thus caused the enemy to give tongue, we turned bridle and trotted back, carrying with us the intelligence—the rich fruit of our reconnaissance—that Alexandrovo was strongly occupied by troops of all arms. Four sotnias of Cossacks came pelting after us, but we were quick to outrun these rampaging gentry, to whom a gun from one of our horse-batteries sent hurtling over a few shells as a parting souvenir of our hasty yet successful visit.

WARLIKE EXCITEMENT IN PARIS.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. D. Christie Murray._)

PARIS, _April 30_.

Paris to-night is in a state of the maddest ferment. For some days past the public have followed with breathless interest the rapid development of events on the Russo-German frontier, and the news of the first skirmish at Alexandrovo, which was printed in _Le Soir_ this evening, has roused the wildest enthusiasm. Long and anxious consultations of Ministers have been held daily, and the Press, with hardly an exception, have been urging on the Government an immediate declaration of war. Many of the better-class Germans have been hurrying from Paris—a precaution which, in the issue, has been shown to be judicious. When to-day’s news became known, every trade and artifice was instantly abandoned, and the streets since three o’clock till now have been thronged by vast crowds, pulsating to a more and more impassioned excitement. By four o’clock there were literally fifty thousand people standing in the street with newspapers in their hands, and every reader was the centre of an excited throng. I was standing opposite the Vaudeville when a man, bearing a prodigious bundle of newspapers wet from the press, came staggering swiftly towards the kiosque. The mob fell upon him, despoiled him of his burden, and tore open his parcel. There was such a wild hurry to learn the news, and everybody was so eager to be first with it, that scores of the journals were torn to ribbons, and hundreds more were trampled into the mud of the pavement. The proprietress of the kiosque wrung her hands and wept over the spectacle, and a gentleman who, by pressure of the crowd, was forced half-way through one of the windows, vociferously demanded to know the value of the lost journals. The woman instantly became business-like, and appraised them roughly at a hundred francs. The gentleman produced a pocket-book and paid her twice over, shouting noisily, ‘I present this glorious news to Paris! _Vive la Russie! A bas la Prusse!_’ That was the first signal I heard, and in one minute the whole boulevard rang with frenzied roar on roar. Omnibuses, public carriages, and vehicles of every description were wedged immovably in the crowd which thronged the horse-road. The drivers rose from their seats, the passengers and occupants of the carriages stood up in their places and roared and gesticulated with the rest. Hundreds of people at once strove to make speeches, and the combined result was such a _charivari_ as can scarcely have been heard since the great day of the Confusion of Tongues.

I, myself, had occasion to be thankful for that inconquerable English accent which has always disfigured my French. A blond beard and spectacles have always helped me to something of a German look, and to-day has given the few Germans who happen to be left in Paris such a scare as the bravest of them is not likely to forget. At one moment I was surrounded by a wild section of the mob, whose yells of ‘Down with Prussia!’ were far too obviously intended to be personal to me. There was nothing for it but to join in the shouting, and I cried ‘_Vive la France!_’ and ‘_A bas la Prusse!_’ as lustily as any of them. There was an instantaneous laugh at the English accent, and I was left alone; but I could not help thinking what would have happened had I chanced to learn my French mainly in Berlin rather than in London. One unfortunate German is reported fatally injured by the violence of a mob at the Gare du Nord. He had booked for London, and is said to have carried with him only a small handbag, and to have left all the rest of his belongings at the hotel, in his hurry to catch the train for Calais. The director of the Opera came near to paying with his life for his artistic allegiance to Wagner. Happily for him he was able to take refuge in the house of a friend, and the mob contented itself by keeping up a ceaseless boo-hooing for an hour or more.

EXTRAORDINARY SCENE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.

The wildest manifestation of the afternoon was in the Place de la Concorde, where an immense mob fell to dancing about the statue of Strasburg. Everybody knows the sullen threat with which that statue has been placarded for so many years. It runs ‘L. D. P. (the initials standing for “Ligue de Patriotes”) Qui Vive? La France. 1870–18—.’ When the prodigious noise created by the mob seemed at its highest, it was cloven, as it were, by a din still greater, and a solid phalanx of men forced a way into the already crowded square. In the centre of this phalanx twenty or thirty men marched, bearing a long ladder, the heads of many of them being thrust between the rungs. In the middle of the ladder was seated a working painter in a blue blouse. The man was literally wild with excitement, and was roaring ‘Quatre vingt douze’ to a sort of mad, improvised tune, in which the packed marchers about him joined with the fell stress of their lungs. In one hand the man flourished aloft a pot of red paint, with the contents of which he occasionally bedewed his unheeding companions, some of whom had playfully bedaubed their own and others’ features, so that they looked as if they had just come fresh from some scene of massacre. In the other hand the man held aloft a sheaf of brushes, and in an instant the vast crowd seized the motive of his presence there, and the meaning of the rhythmic repetition of ‘Quatre vingt douze!’

EXTRAORDINARY SCENE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE:

THE MOB TEARING THE MOURNING EMBLEMS FROM THE STATUE OF STRASBURG.
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A way was cleared for the advancing cohort as if by magic. The ladder, still supporting the painter, was drawn up lengthwise before the statue, and the workman knelt to his task. At first it was impossible for him to work, for the bearers of the ladder were jigging to the tune they sang; but by and by they were persuaded to quiet, and a very striking and impressive silence fell upon the crowd. The man, with great deliberation, and with a much firmer hand than he might have been supposed to own at a time of such excitement, drew the outline of the figures 9 and 2 in white chalk, at as great a size as the space of the placard admitted. His movements were watched with an actually breathless interest, and when, after the completion of his drawing, he rose and clasped the knees of the statue in his arms with a joyful and affectionate cry, two or three people in my neighbourhood sobbed aloud. The man knelt down again and filled in with red paint the outline he had drawn. One grim personage, with a squint and a pock-marked face, who held a short, well-blacked clay between his teeth, shouldered me at this moment, and said, ‘_C’est le sang de la France, ça_.’ He thought so well of this that he moved away among the crowd repeating it, nudging his neighbours to call attention to the saying, and pointing a dirty forefinger at the red paint of the figures to indicate its meaning. I was waiting for an outburst of enthusiasm when the figures were completed, but to my amazement the mob accepted the proclamation they conveyed with a grave silence, as if it had been in some way authentic and official, and as if for the first time they recognised the terrible significance of the hour. Their quiet did not endure long, for one of their number, having contrived to scramble on to the ladder, clambered up the statue, and amid great cheers tore from it the ragged emblems of mourning which have so long disfigured it.

Then came an episode, the like of which would be possible nowhere but in Paris. The whole thing might have been arranged for scenic effect, and the distinguished artist who made the _coup_ had never, brilliant as his triumphs have been, arrived on the stage at so opportune a moment, or encountered so overwhelming a reception. The new-comer was no other than M. Jean de Reszke, who was on his way to dine with a friend before appearing as Faust in Gounod’s masterpiece this evening. His coachman was slowly making way along the crowded road when the great singer was recognised. He was greeted with a roar of applause, and a dozen members of the crowd threw open the closed landau he sat in, while a thousand voices clamoured for the _Marseillaise_. The statue had, at that instant, been denuded of its last rag of mourning, and M. de Reszke, who had risen bareheaded in the carriage, was whipped out of it in a trice, and borne, _nolens volens_, to the figure, and placed aloft on the pedestal. His companion, a lady attired with much distinction, was at first evidently alarmed, but soon gathered the peaceful intention of the crowd, and seizing the meaning of the moment, she stripped from her own shoulders a handsome scarlet cloak, and threw it towards M. de Reszke. It was immediately passed on to him, and he, with considerable difficulty, and at the risk of a tumble on the heads of the people below him, succeeded in casting the cloak over the shoulders of the statue. At this, all the previous noises which cleft the air of Paris this afternoon seemed as nothing. The cheering was simply deafening and maddening, and lasted for full three minutes. At length perfect silence was restored, and M. de Reszke began to sing the _Marseillaise_. He was pale at first, and obviously unstrung at the spectacle of this prodigious audience, and for the first few notes his voice was broken and ineffective. He gathered confidence, however, before he had completed the singing of the first line, and gave the rest of the song with an inspiring vigour and _élan_.

From the beginning of the whole extraordinary scene people had been flocking in from every quarter, and I believe that I am well within bounds when I say that the singer had an audience of a hundred and twenty thousand. The chorus was one of the most stupendous and moving things which can ever have been heard by human ears. It rose from the densely-packed mass of humanity in one amazing roll and roar of sound, and its echoes came straggling faintly from the Rue de Rivoli and the Tuileries Gardens, from the Avénue des Champs Elysées, from the Rue Royale, from the Pont de la Concorde, and the embankment on the further side of the river. When the whole song was finished it was redemanded, and was sung through again with undiminished relish both by the soloist and the chorus. Finally, the singer was permitted to descend from the pedestal, and was escorted to his carriage. The crowd had taken out the horses, and M. de Reszke and his companion were drawn away by some hundreds of volunteers. The great singer’s nationality has made him the idol of Paris during all the late days of strained expectation. Every night the Opera-house has been thronged, and every song from his lips has been received with literal thunders of applause.

THE PRESIDENT SPEAKS—‘A BERLIN!’

LATER.

The crowd had already begun to thin when the news passed round that the Ministers were in conclave at the Elysée. I acted immediately on the first hint I received, and with great difficulty made my way across the Place. I found myself almost at once wedged in anew, this time in a streaming current which set steadily towards the Elysée. The crowd grew vaster every moment, for by this time all Paris seemed to have been drawn to that quarter of the town. For a long time there was silence, or what seemed like it after the torrent of noise which had roared so long in all ears, but at last the babble of excited tongues began again, and was intermixed with occasional cries of impatience. These grew in a steady crescendo, until no single voice was audible. But before things reached that point I had heard a hundred excited conjectures as to the course which would be adopted by England at this crisis. By seven o’clock the patience of the mob was quite outworn. The building, so far as could be seen from the outside, was in complete darkness, and the rumour of the meeting of the Ministers seemed likely to be practically denied. At length, however, a sudden swell in the storm of sound greeted the appearance of light at three windows, and certain ill-defined shadows were seen moving on the blinds. One profile was distinct and stationary for a moment, and there was a roar of ‘Ribot!’ A minute later the blind of the centre window was drawn up, the window itself was thrown open, and the figure of M. Ribot, Minister of Foreign Affairs, was seen. This apparition was the signal for a new outburst in which only the name of the President of the Republic could be distinguished. The air rang with shouts of ‘Carnot! Carnot!’ and M. Ribot having braved this incredible tempest for a few seconds only, bowed and retired. A minute later the President himself appeared. From where I stood his features were invisible, but his attitude was erect, and he stretched out his right hand with an impressive gesture to command silence. It was some time before this injunction was obeyed, but when he was allowed to speak his voice was firm and unusually clear. His words were few and to the point. ‘Citizens! Germany has declared war upon the ally of France. Those gentlemen whom you have appointed as the guardians of the national honour have debated the serious intelligence which has to-day awakened the heart of Paris. It is my duty to tell you that there is no dissentient voice amongst them. France will fulfil her pledges!’ At this point M. Carnot was interrupted by a unanimous outburst of applause, which made speech impossible for a space of at least five minutes. Again and again, when it seemed about to quiet down, it was taken up from distant quarters, and came rolling along like a wave, again to subside and again to be renewed. When order was once more restored the President continued: ‘France speaks to-night, and demands of her neighbour that the menace against her ally shall be withdrawn. She couples with that a demand for the surrender of those provinces which were torn from her twenty years ago!’

There was at this more cheering, and yet more. The President retired, and a great deluge of rain which had been threatening to fall all day speedily cleared the streets. The latest and most important of the day’s events is yet hardly an hour old, but we seem now to be living in a city of the dumb. Everybody is hoarse with four hours’ almost continuous shouting, but the popular excitement is as great as ever.

The house of M. Ferry has been guarded by the military, and only the _entente cordiale_ existing between the troops and the populace has saved it from attack. At the moment of writing the Boulevards are again crowded. The reply of Germany is, of course, a foregone conclusion, but it is awaited with intense eagerness.

DECLARATION OF WAR BY FRANCE.

DRAMATIC RECEPTION OF THE NEWS BY THE GERMAN EMPEROR.

(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)

THORN, _May 1_.

For this morning the Emperor had ordered a review of all the troops, amounting to about 60,000 men concentrated hereabouts—the scene of the parade being a long sweep of meadow-land, not unlike the Champ de Mars at Paris, on the right bank of the Vistula. His Majesty and his Staff took their stand on a convenient knoll commanding all the ground, and scarcely had the serried battalions of the 3d Corps, with their bristling bayonets glittering in the bright sun, begun to stride along in all their martial and magnificent array, when the march past was interrupted by a most dramatic and thrilling incident.

I was standing on the outside fringe of the brilliant circle of His Majesty’s suite, quietly chatting to Dr. von Leuthold, the Emperor’s body physician, when suddenly we saw an orderly officer dash up to his Majesty and deliver a message, which we could discern from the colour of the envelope to be a telegram. The Emperor tore it open, glanced through the contents, then looked up, and let his eye wander all round the circle of his suite, as if to note the impression produced upon their minds by the news which His Majesty felt had already been intuitively divined by those about him. ‘_Ja, meine Herren_,’ he at last said; ‘it is just as we all expected. This is a telegram from General von Caprivi; France has declared war against us’ (_Frankreich hat Uns den Krieg erklärt_.) There was a moment’s pause, each man looking at his neighbour to study the effect of this terrible announcement, and then all eyes were again turned on the Emperor, who looked a shade paler than before, but not a whit less calm and resolute.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said at last, ‘this is a serious moment for us all, but the news dismays just as little as it surprises us. Yet I must now leave you, for the danger to the Fatherland is much greater on its western than on its eastern frontier; and where the danger to the Fatherland is greatest, there also must Germany’s Kaiser be.

‘_Meine Herren_, my place as Commander-in-Chief of our armies here will now be taken by that tried and gallant soldier, my dear friend and brother, the King of Saxony, who will, I am sure, bring honour and victory to our arms. One foe at a time is quite enough, and the sooner we can help our allies to dispose of their invader, the sooner shall we be able to concentrate all our forces and inflict a crushing blow on our hereditary enemy (_Erbfeind_), who has again, in the most wanton manner, broken loose against us.

‘Gentlemen, this is no time for words, when the call to action is tingling through all our veins, so I will only invoke the blessing of God upon the course of our arms in this quarter, and hasten myself to where the peril of our Fatherland is sorest. Adieu, and may each and all of us do his duty throughout the coming period of grievous trial and tribulation!’

So saying, the Emperor put spurs to his steed and, accompanied only by his immediate suite, galloped off back to Thorn, receiving as he went three enthusiastic ‘hochs.’

Just as I am closing this despatch information reaches us from Berlin of a naval engagement in the Baltic between our fleet and some Russian ships; but you, in London, will probably hear all the details before they reach us here.

WITH THE GERMAN FLEET IN THE BALTIC.

We have been favoured with the following letter, under date April 30, from Rear-Admiral Philip Colomb, who has been an eye-witness of the naval operations in the Baltic:—

I was at Kiel with my yacht when the news of the attempt on Prince Ferdinand’s life reached us. The successive telegrams and published news created the greatest excitement among all classes, but especially amongst those connected with the navy. Simultaneously with the news that Russia had crossed the Austrian frontier, several German cruisers went to sea, and in a day or two a regular fleet began to assemble in the port. I don’t understand German, but my wife does, and she told me whenever we met an eager crowd discussing, that it was all about whether the fleet would not be kept to defend the place, and the danger of an attack by the Russian Fleet if the German Fleet did not remain.

I thought I had better get out of it, as if such an attack were made it might be awkward for me. I think my wife was so excited about it that she wanted to stay where we were and see it all; but I thought we might see all there was to be seen in greater safety from the seaside. And then from the conversation of some German naval officers which my wife overheard, I gathered that the navy, at least, believe that it would try to carry war into the enemy’s country. There were, however, great discussions about some German coast defence vessels that had not coal supply enough to go up the Baltic, and great arguments as to what ships would go and what would stay. As every day more heavy ships arrived and stayed, while only small ones came and went, I began to think that after all it was most likely that the Germans would not stay quiet to let the Russians ravage their coasts. Then, by the time that nine or ten large turret-ships and others, besides several smaller ones, had assembled, I understood that the German armies were about attacking Russia by way of Königsberg, as well as to the south. I thereupon made sure that the German fleet would go up in support, even if they were not ready to do more.

So the end of it was that I waited till ten big ships and five or six smaller ones got under way, and then I did ditto, and steamed out with them. I was afraid I might be left behind, as my coal supply did not allow me to go at any speed; but I found the Germans, after putting their big ships into two lines a good distance apart, with some of the smaller ones close at hand on each side, and two or three others a long way in front, steamed quite slowly along, not more than five or six knots. I went inshore of them, and kept them in sight a couple of miles off.

We passed close to Rügen Island the afternoon succeeding our departure, and the south end of Bornholm in the night. I made out that we were steering straight, for Libau, which is about 450 miles from Kiel. We scarcely had seen anything in the shape of a ship except a couple of homeward-bound English trading steamers; but on the second morning at daybreak I noticed all the German ships had been stoking up, and were making an immense amount of smoke. There was a good deal of signalling going on between the German flagships—there were two of these yesterday, one at the head of each line—and one or two of the cruisers, which sped away nearly out of sight, and then came slowly back, signalling as they came. The same sort of thing went on on the third morning, when we had got beyond Dantzig, with the difference that two German cruisers were seen steaming up, one from the southward, and one from the south-westward. The fleet stopped, and a boat from each of these went to the flagship and returned, after which there was more signalling, and a boat from every ship went on board the flagship. I suppose the other Admiral and the captains were in them, but I was too far off to make certain.