The French Government was more afraid of the true Parisians. To
sober them down in case their spirit might lead to trouble, the streets
of Paris were kept in darkness and all places of amusement were
closed as soon as war was declared. In case riots should break forth
from secret lairs of revolutionary propaganda, squadrons of Gardes
Republicains patrolled the city by day and night, and the agents de
police were reinforced by fusiliers marins with loaded rifles, who--
simple fellows as they are--could hardly direct a stranger to the Place
de la Concorde or find their own way to the Place de la Bastille.

At all costs Paris was not to learn the truth about the war if there were
any unpleasant truths to tell. For Paris there must always be victories
and no defeats. They must not even know that in war time there were
wounded men; otherwise they might get so depressed or so enraged
that (thought the French Government) there might be the old cry of
"Nous sommes trahis!" with a lopping off of Ministers' heads and
dreadful orgies in which the streets of Paris would run red with blood.
This reason alone--so utterly unreasonable, as we now know--may
explain the farcical situation of the hospitals in Paris during the first
two months of the war. Great hotels like the Astoria, Claridge's, and
the Majestic had been turned into hospitals magnificently equipped
and over-staffed. Nothing that money could buy was left unbought, so
that these great palaces might be fully provided with all things
necessary for continual streams of wounded men. High society in
France gave away its wealth with generous enthusiasm. Whatever
faults they might have they tried to wash them clean by charity, full-
hearted and overflowing, for the wounded sons of France. Great
ladies who had been the beauties of the salons, whose gowns had
been the envy of their circles, took off their silks and chiffons and put