I am beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable. This new decree of the
Commune seriously endangers the liberty of all those who are so
unfortunate as to have incurred the ill-will of their concierge, or
whose dealings with his next-door neighbour have not been of a strictly
amicable nature. Let us copy the 1st article of this ferocious decree.
“All persons accused of complicity with the Government of Versailles
shall be immediately taken and incarcerated.”[37]
Pest! they do not mince matters! Why, the first good-for-nothing
rascal—to whom, perhaps, I refused to lend five francs seven years
ago—may go round to Citizen Rigault and tell him that I am in regular
communication with Versailles, whereupon I am immediately incarcerated.
For, I beg it may be observed, it is not necessary that the complicity
with “the traitors” should be proved. The denunciation is quite
sufficient for one to be sent to contemplate the blue sky through the
bars of the Conciergerie.[38] Besides, what do the words “complicity
with the Government of Versailles” mean? All depends upon the way one
looks at those things. I am not sure that I am innocent. I remember
distinctly having several times bowed to a pleasant fellow—I say
pleasant fellow, hoping that these lines will not fall under the
observation of any one at the Prefecture of Police—who at this very
moment is quite capable, the rogue, of eating a comfortable dinner at
the Hôtel des Réservoirs at Versailles in company with one or more of
the members of the National Assembly. You can understand now why I am
beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. To know a man who knows a
deputy, constitutes, I am fully persuaded—otherwise I am unworthy to
live under the paternal government of the Commune—a most decided
complicity with the men of Versailles. I really think it would be only
commonly prudent to steal out of Paris in a coal sack, as a friend of
mine did the other day, or in some other agreeable fashion.[39] See
what may come of a bow!