Eh! What? It is impossible! Are your brains scattered? I speak
figuratively, awaiting the time when they will be scattered in earnest.
It must be some miserable jester who has worded, printed, and placarded
this unconscionable decree. But no, it is in the usual form, the usual
type. This is rather too much, Gentlemen of the Commune; it outsteps
the bounds of the ridiculous; you count a little too much this time on
the complicity of some of the population, and on the patience of
others. Here is the decree:
[Illustration: The Column in the Place Vendôme.]
Erected by the first Napoleon to commemorate his German campaign of
1805. An imitation of the Column of Trajan, at Rome, slightly taller.
It cost 1,500,000 francs!
“THE COMMUNE OF PARIS,
“Considering that the Imperial column of the Place Vendôme is a
monument of barbarian, a symbol of brute force, of false glory, an
encouragement of military spirit, a denial of international rights,
a permanent insult offered by the conquerors to the conquered, a
perpetual conspiracy against one of the great principles of the
French Republic, namely: Fraternity,
“Decrees:
“_Sole article_.—The Colonne Vendôme is to be demolished.”
Now I must tell you plainly, you are absurd, contemptible, and odious!
This sorry farce outstrips all one could have imagined, and all that
the Versailles papers said of you must have been true; for what you are
doing now is worse than anything they could ever have dared to imagine.
It was not enough to violate the churches, to suppress the
liberties,—the liberty of writing, the liberty of speaking, the liberty
of free circulation, the liberty of risking one’s life or not. It was
not enough that blood should be recklessly spilled, that women should
be made widows and children orphans, trade stopped and commerce ruined;
it was not enough that the dignity of defeat—the only glory
remaining—should be swallowed up in the shameful disaster of civil war;
in a word, it was not sufficient to have destroyed the present,
compromised the future; you wish now to obliterate the past! Funereal
mischief! Why, the Colonne Vendôme is France, and a trophy of its past
greatness,—alas, at present in the shade—is not the monument, but the
record of a victorious race who strode through the world conquering as
they went, planting the tricolour everywhere. In destroying the Colonne
Vendôme, do not imagine that you are simply overthrowing a bronze
column surmounted by the statue of an emperor; you disinter the remains
of your forefathers to shake their fleshless bones, and say to them,
“You were wrong in being brave and proud and great; you were wrong to
conquer towns, to win battles; you were wrong to astound the universe
by raising the vision of France glorified. It is scattering to the wind
the ashes of heroes! It is telling those aged soldiers, seen formerly
in the streets (where are they now? Why do we meet them no longer? Have
you killed them, or does their glory refuse to come in contact with
your infamy?) It is telling the maimed soldiers of the Invalides, “You
are but blockheads and brigands. So you have lost a leg, and you an
arm! So much the worse for you idle scamps. Look on these rascals
crippled for their country’s honour!” It is like snatching from them
the crosses they have won, and delivering them into the hands of the
shameless street urchins, who will cry, “A hero! a hero!” as they cry
“Thief! thief!” There is certainly purer and less costly grandeur than
that which results from war and conquests. You are free to dream for
your country a glory different to the ancient glory; but the heroic
past, do not overthrow it, do not suppress it, now especially, when you
have nothing with which to replace it, but the disgraces of the
present. Yet, no! Complete your work, continue in the same path. The
destruction of the Colonne Vendôme is but a beginning, be logical and
continue; I propose a few decrees:
“The Commune of Paris, considering that the Church of Notre Dame de
Paris is a monument of superstition, a symbol of divine tyranny, an
affirmation of fanaticism, a denial of human rights, a permanent
insult offered by believers to atheists, a perpetual conspiracy
against one of the great principles of the Commune, namely, the
convenience of its members,
“Decrees:
“The Church of Notre Dame shall be demolished.”
What say you to my proposition? Does it not agree with your dearest
desire? But you can do better and better: believe me you ought to have
the courage of your opinions.
“The Commune of Paris, considering that the Museum of the Louvre
contains a great number of pictures, of statues, and other objects
of art, which, by the subjects they represent, bring eternally to
the mind of the people the actions of gods, and kings, and priests;
that these actions indicated by flattering brush or chisel are
often delineated in such a way as to diminish the hatred that
priests, kings, and gods should inspire to all good citizens;
moreover, the admiration excited by the works of human genius is a
perpetual assault on one of the great principles of the Commune,
namely, its imbecility,
“Decrees:
“_Sole article_.—The Museum of the Louvre shall be burned to the
ground.”
Do not attempt to reply that in spite of the recollections of religion
and despotism attached to these monuments you would leave Notre Dame
and the Museum of the Louvre untouched for the sake of their artistic
importance. Beware of insinuating that you would have respected the
Colonne Vendôme had it possessed some merit as a work of art. You!
respect the masterpieces of human art! Wherefore? Since when, and by
what right? No, little as you may have been known before you were
masters, you were yet known enough for us to assert that one of
you—whom I will name: M. Lefrançais—wished in 1848 to set fire to the
_Salon Carré_; there is another of you—whom I will also name: M. Jules
Vallès—asserts that Homer was an old fool. It is true that M. Jules
Vallès is Minister of Public Instruction. If you have spared Notre Dame
and the Museum of the Louvre up to this moment, it is that you dared
not touch them, which is a proof, not of respect but of cowardice.
Ah! our eyes are open at last! We are no longer dazzled by the
chimerical hopes we nourished for a moment, of obtaining, through you
communal liberties. You did but adopt those opinions for the sake of
misleading us, as a thief assumes the livery of a house to enter his
master’s room and lay hands on his money. We see you now as you are. We
had hoped that you were revolutionists, too ardent, too venturous
perhaps, but on the whole impelled by a noble intention: you are
nothing but insurgents, insurgents whose aim is to sack and pillage,
favoured by disturbances and darkness. If a few well-intentioned men
were among you, they have fled in horror. Count your numbers, you are
but a handful. If there still remain any among you, who have not lost
all power of discriminating between justice and injustice, they look
towards the door, and would fly if they dared. Yet this handful of
furious fools governs Paris still. Some among us have been ordered to
their death, and they have gone! How long will this last? Did we not
surrender our arms? Can we not assemble, as we did a month ago near the
Bank, and deal justice ourselves without awaiting an army from
Versailles? Ah I we must acknowledge that the deputies of the Seine and
the Maires of Paris, misled like ourselves, erred in siding with the
insurrectionists. They wished to avert street fighting. Is the strife
we are witnessing not far more horrible than that we have escaped? One
day’s struggle, and it would have ended. Yes, we were wrong to lay down
our arms; but who could have believed—the excesses of the first few
days seemed more like the sad consequences of popular effervescence
than like premeditated crimes—who could have believed that the chiefs
of the insurrection lied with such impudence as is now only too
evident, and that before long the Commune would be the first to deprive
us of the liberties it was its duty to protect and develope? The
“Rurals” were right then,—they who had been so completely in the wrong
in refusing to lend an attentive ear to the just prayers of a people
eager for liberty, they were right when they warned us against the
ignorance and wickedness of these men. Ah! were the National Assembly
but to will it, there would yet be time to save Paris. If it really
wished to establish a definite Republic, and concede to the capital of
France the right, free and entire, of electing an independent
municipality, with what ardour should we not rally round the legitimate
Government! How soon would the Hôtel de Ville be delivered from the
contemptible men who have planted themselves there. If the National
Assembly could only comprehend us! If it would only consent to give
Paris its liberty, and France its tranquillity, by means of honourable
concessions!