The Commune has naturally brought an infinite number of journals into
existence. Try, if you will, to count the leaves of the forest, the
grains of sand on the seashore, the stars in the heavens, but do not,
in your wildest dreams, attempt to enumerate the newspapers that have
seen the light since the famous day of the 18th of March. Félix Pyat
has a journal, _Le Vengeur_; Vermorel has a journal, _Le Cri du
People_; Delescluze has a journal, _Le Reveil_; there is not a member
of the Commune but indulges in the luxury of a sheet in which he tells
his colleagues daily all the evil he thinks of them. It must be
acknowledged that these gentlemen have an extremely bad opinion one of
the other. I defy even the _Gaulois_ of Versailles—yes, the _Gaulois_
itself—to treat Félix Pyat as Vermorel treats him, and if it be
remembered on the other hand what Félix Pyat says of Vermorel, the
_Gaulois_ will be found singularly good-natured. Napoleon cautioned us
long ago “to wash our dirty linen at home,” but good patriots cannot be
expected to profit by the counsels of a tyrant. So the columns of the
Commune papers are devoted to the daily and mutual pulling to pieces of
the Commune’s members. But where will these ephemeral sheets be in six
months, in one month, or in a week’s time perhaps? The wind which wafts
away the leaves of the rose and the laurel, will be no less cruel for
the political leaves. Let us then, for the sake of posterity, offer a
specimen of what is—or as we shall soon say, what was—the Communalist
press of to-day. Be they edited by Marotteau, or Duchesne, or Paschal
Grousset, or by any other emulator of Paul-Louis Courier, these worthy
journals are all much alike, and one example will suffice for the
whole.
[Illustration: Vermesch (père Duchesne).[72]]
First of all, and generally in enormous type, stand the LATEST NEWS,
the news from the Porte Maillot where the friends of the Commune are
fighting, and the news from Versailles where the enemies of the country
are sitting. They usually run somewhat in this style:—
“It is more and more confirmed that the Assembly of Versailles is
surrounded and made prisoner by the troops returned from Germany.
The generals of the Empire have newly proclaimed Napoleon: the
Third, Emperor. After a violent quarrel about two National Guards
whom Marshal MacMahon had had shot, but had omitted to have cooked
for his soldiers, Monsieur Thiers sent a challenge to the Marshal,
by his two seconds. These seconds were no other than the Comte de
Chambord and the Comte de Paris. Marshal MacMahon chose the
ex-Emperor and Paul de Cassagnac. The duel took place in the Rue
des Reservoirs, in the midst of an immense crowd. The Marshal was
killed, and was therefore obliged to renounce the command of the
troops. But the Assembly would not accept his resignation.
“We are in the position to assert that a company of the 132nd
Battalion has this morning surrounded fifteen thousand gendarmes
and sergents-de-ville, in the park of Neuilly. Seeing that all
resistance was useless, the supporters of Monsieur Thiers
surrendered without reserve. Among them were seventeen members of
the National Assembly, who, not content with ordering the
assassination of our brothers, had wished also to be present at the
massacre.
“A person worthy of credit has related to us the following fact:—A
_cantinière_ of the 44th Battalion (from the Batignolles quarter),
was in the act of pouring out a glass of brandy for an artilleryman
of the Fort of Vanves, when suddenly the artilleryman was out in
two by a Versailles shell; the brave _cantinière_ drank off the
contents of the glass just poured out for the dead man who lay in
bits at her feet, and took his place at the guns. She performed her
new part of artilleryman so bravely, that ten minutes later there
was not a single gun uninjured in the Meudon battery. As to those
who were serving the pieces there, they were all hurled to a
distance of several miles, and amongst them were said to have been
recognised—we give this news however with great reserve—Monsieur
Ollivier, the ex-minister of the ex-Emperor, and Count von
Bismarck, who wished to verify for himself the actual range of the
guns that he had lent to his good friends of Versailles.”
[Illustration: PASCHAL GROUSSET, DELEGATE FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS.[73]]
After the LATEST NEWS come the reports of the day, the _bulletin du
jour_ as it is called now, and it is in this that the editor, a member
of the Commune, reveals his talent. We trust that the following example
is not quite unworthy of the pen of Monsieur Félix Pyat, or the
signature of Monsieur Vermorel:—
“Paris, 29th April, 1871.
“They are lying in wait for us, these tigers athirst for blood.
“They are there, these Vandals, who have sworn that in all Paris
not a single man shall be spared, nor a single stone, left
standing.
“But we are not in their power yet. No, nor shall we ever be.
“The National Guard is on the watch; victorious and sublime, their
soldierly breasts are not of flesh and blood, but of bronze, from
which the balls rebound as they stand, dauntless, before the enemy.
“Ah! so these lachrymose Jules Favres, these fat Picards, these
hungry Jules Ferrys, said amongst themselves, ‘We will take Paris,
we will tear it up, and its soil shall be divided after the victory
between the wives of the _sergents de ville!_’ “They are beginning
to understand all the insanity of their plan. Why, it is Paris that
will take Versailles, that will take all those blear-eyed old men
who, because they cannot look steadily at Monsieur Thiers’ face,
fancy that it is the sun.
“It is in vain that they gorge with blood and wine their deceived
soldiers; the moment is approaching when these men will no longer
consent to march against the city which is fighting for them.
Already, yesterday, the mêlée of a battle could be distinguished
from the fort of Vanves; the line had come to blows with the
_gendarmes_ of Valentin and Charette’s Zouaves. Courage, Parisians!
A few more days and you will have triumphed over all the infamy
that dares to stop the march of the victorious Commune!
“But it is not enough to vanquish the enemies without, we must get
rid also of the enemies that are within.
“No more pity! no more vacillation! The justice of the people is
wearied of formalities, and cries out for vengeance. Death to
spies! Death to the _réactionaires_! Death to the priests! Why does
the Commune feed this collection of malefactors in your prisons,
while the money they cost us daily would be so useful to the women
and children of those who are fighting for the cause of Paris? We
are assured that one of the prisoners ate half a chicken for his
dinner yesterday; how many good patriots might have been saved from
suffering with the sum which was taken from the chests of the
Republic for this orgie! There is no longer time to hesitate; the
Versaillais are shooting and mutilating the prisoners; we must
revenge ourselves! We must show them such an example, that in
perceiving from afar the heads of their infamous accomplices, the
traitors of Versailles, stuck upon our ramparts, confounded by the
magnanimity of the Commune, they will lay down their arms at last,
and deliver themselves up as prisoners.
“As to the refractory of Paris, we cannot find words to express the
astonishment we experience at the weakness that has been shown with
regard to them.
“What! we permit that there should still be cowards in Paris? I
thought they were all at Versailles. We allow still to remain
amongst us men who are not of our opinion? This state of things has
lasted too long. Let them take their muskets or die. Shoot them
down, those who refuse to go forward. They have wives and children,
they are fathers of families, they say; a fine reason indeed! The
Commune before everything! And, besides, there must be no pity for
the wives of _réactionaires_ and the children of spies!”
The _bulletins du jour_ are sometimes set forth in gentler terms; but
we have chosen a fair average specimen between the lukewarm and the
most violent.
Then comes the solid, serious article, generally written by a pen
invested with all due authority, by the man who has the most head in
the place. The subject varies according to circumstances; but the main
point of the article is generally to show that Paris has never been so
rich, so free, nor so happy, as under the government of the Commune;
and this is a truth that is certainly not difficult to prove. Is not
the fact of being able to live without working the best possible proof
that people are well off? Well! look at the National Guards; they have
not touched a tool for a whole month, and they have such a supply of
money that they are obliged to make over some of it to the
wineshop-keepers in exchange for an unlimited number of litres and
sealed bottles. Then, who could say that we are not free? The journals
that allowed themselves to assert the contrary have been prudently
suppressed. Besides, is it not being free to have shaken off the
shameful yoke of the men who sold France; to be no longer subjected to
the oppression of snobs, _réactionaires_, and traitors? And as to the
most perfect happiness, it stands to reason, since we are both free and
rich, that we must be in the incontestable enjoyment of it. Finally,
after the official dispatches edited in the style you are acquainted
with, and after the accounts of the last battles, come the
miscellaneous news, the _faits divers_; and here it is that the
ingenuity of the writers displays itself to the greatest advantage.
“Yesterday evening, towards ten o’clock, the attention of the
passers-by in the Rue St. Denis was attracted by cries which seemed
to proceed from a four-storied house situated at the corner of the
Rue Sainte-Apolline. The cries were evidently cries of despair.
Some people went to the nearest guardhouse to make the fact known,
and four National Guards, preceded by their corporal, entered the
house. Guided by the sound of the cries they arrived at the fourth
storey, and broke open the door. A horrible spectacle was then
exposed to the view of the Guards and of the persons who had
followed them in their quest. Three young children lay stretched on
the floor of the room, the disorder of which denoted a recent
struggle. The poor little things were without any covering
whatever, and there were traces of blows upon their bodies; one of
them had a cut across the forehead. The National Guards questioned
the children with an almost maternal kindness. They had not eaten
for four days, and, in consequence of this prolonged fast, they
were in such a state of moral and physical abasement that no
precise information could be obtained from them. The corporal then
addressed himself to the neighbours, and soon became acquainted
with a part of the terrible truth.
“In this room lived a poor work-girl, young and pretty. One day, as
she was carrying back her work to the shop, she observed that she
was followed by a well-dressed man, whose physiognomy indicated the
lowest passions. He spoke to her, and was at first repulsed; but,
like the tempter Faust offering jewels to Marguerite, he tempted
her with bright promises, and the poor girl, to whom work did not
always come, listened to the base seducer. Blame her not too
harshly, pity her rather, and reserve all your indignation for the
wretch who betrayed her.
“After three years, which were but anguish and remorse to the
miserable woman, and during which she had no other consolation but
the smiles of the children whose very existence was a crime, she
was becoming reconciled at last to her life, when the father of her
children deserted her.
“This desertion coincided with the glorious revolution of the 18th
of March; and the poor work-girl, who had still room in her heart
for patriotism, found some consolation in reflecting that the day,
so miserable for her, had at least brought happiness to France.
“A fortnight passed, the poor abandoned mother had given up all
hope of ever seeing the father of her three children again, when
one evening—it was last Friday—a man, wrapped in a black cloak,
introduced himself into the house, and made inquiries of the
_concierge_—a great patriot, and commander of the 114th
Battalion—whether Mademoiselle O... were at home? Upon an answer in
the affirmative from the heroic defender of Right and Liberties of
Paris, the man mounted the stairs to the poor workwoman’s rooms. It
was he—the seducer; the _concierge_ had recognised him. What passed
between the murderer and his victims? That will be known,
perhaps—never! But certain it is, that an hour afterwards he went
out, still enveloped in his black mantle.
“The next day, and the days following, the _concierge_ was much
astonished not to see his lodger of the fourth floor, who was
accustomed to stop and talk with him on her way to fetch her _café
au lait_. But his deep sense of duty as commander of the 114th
Battalion occupied his mind so thoroughly, that he paid but little
attention to the incident. Neither did he regard the sighs and sobs
which were heard from the upper stories. He can scarcely be blamed
for this negligence; he was studying his _vade-mecum_.
“On the fourth day, however, the cries were so violent that they
began to inspire the passers-by with alarm, and we have related how
four men, headed by their _caporal_, were sought for to inquire
into the cause.
“We have already told what was seen and heard, but the explanations
of the neighbours were not sufficient to clear up the darkest side
of the mystery, and perhaps the truth would never have been known
if the _caporal_—exhibiting, by a rare proof of intelligence, how
far he was worthy of the grade with which his comrades had honoured
him—had not been inspired with the idea of lifting up the curtain
of the bed.
“Horror! Upon the bed lay stretched the corpse of the unhappy
mother, a dagger plunged into her heart, and in her clutched hand
was found a paper upon which the victim, before rendering her last
breath, had traced the following lines:—
“‘I die, murdered by him who has betrayed me; he would have
murdered also my three children, if a noise in the next room had
not caused him to take flight. He had come from Versailles for the
express purpose of accomplishing this quadruple crime, and, by this
means, obliterate every trace of his past villany. His name is
Jules Ferry. You who read this, revenge me!’”