true Parisian, for whom life only begins after that hour, when the
stupidity of the day's toil is finished and the mind is awakened to the
intellectual interests of the world, in friendly conversation, in
philosophical discussions, in heated arguments, in wit and satire.
How then could they follow the war and understand its progress if the
cafés were closed at eight o'clock? But the edict was given and Paris
obeyed, loyally and with resignation.

Other edicts followed, or arrived simultaneously like a broadside fired
into the life of the city. Public processions "with whatever patriotic
motive" were sternly prohibited. "Purveyors of false news, or of news
likely to depress the public spirit" would be dealt with by courts-martial
and punished with the utmost severity. No musical instruments were
to be played after ten o'clock at night, and orchestras were prohibited
in all restaurants. Oh, Paris, was even your laughter to be abolished,
if you had any heart for laughter while your sons were dying on the
fields of battle?

The newspaper censors had put a strangle grip upon the press, not
only upon news of war but also upon expressions of opinion. Gustave
Hervé signed his name three days a week to blank columns of
extraordinary eloquence. Georges Clemenceau had a series of
striking head-lines which had been robbed of all their text. The
intellectuals of Paris might not express an opinion save by permission
of the military censors, most of whom, strangely enough, had
German names.

The civil police under direction of the Military Governor were very
busy in Paris during the early days of the war. Throughout the twenty-
four hours, and especially in the darkness of night, the streets were