tukaram bhakt
Banned
Great updates, great intimate portrait of the scourge of war on families, very rare thing to see here.
Crimson Flags over Paris: A Communard Timeline
- Thread starter Prime Minister
- Start date
Thank you! Thats one of the nicest things people have said about my writing. Glad you are enjoying it so far,
(Sorry this took so long. I went back to work after being off for a year, and have been in pain)
25th, December
Rural France, 3rd French Republic
Louis Gabriel shivered as he crouched low near a dying fire, one of many spread around the grounds outside the village of Montbard . Each like a dim twinkling star in the night sky, blocked only by the slowly lumbering silhouette of a soldier fighting for warmth. Somewhere beyond the French encampment were the Prussians, they had taken Versailles in mid September, and held it ever since, they had surrounded Paris and the army had been decimated. The French Army, if one could call it that any longer we no more than barely tolerated guests on their own soil. They were not yet prisoners of the Prussians, but nor were they fighting any longer. They existed it seemed in some strange non war. A purgatory of led, of fire, and of blood.
Hands shaking Louis raised his water to his lips, the cold of it burning his throat as he drank. The grey woolen blanket wrapped around his shoulders was thin, and full of holes, but was a welcome shield from the biting winter air. Squatting, he inched closer to the fire holding out his free hand to absorb what heat he could. He closed his eye, focusing the the warmth of the flames and embers, willing it to reach his soul and stave off the cold. "This is shit." One the the men with him spat suddenly. "This is bullshit." He spat again. "The war is lost. The Prussians have won. Why in the Lord's name would they keep us here? Keep us in uniform, to freeze? To die? For an Emperor who failed worse on the field of battle than an Indian savage against a rifle? NON! I will no longer serve under these conditions." He stood, wrapping himself in what little he had and walked into the night. "I am done." He whispered as the darkness enveloped him. Louis did not move, he did not stir, he did not even speak, and nor did he care. The feeling of loss had grown strong among the men trapped here.
Louis turned northwest, looking for a moment towards Paris, then shrugging he turned once more towards the fire. If the Prussians were at Paris, that meant they were not after him. He was ashamed that the thought relaxed his nerves, but it was true. He had come too close, faced to much lead, felt the chill of death to many times in the past few months. "And for what?" He thought to himself. "A few lost forts? Villages over run? Farm lands burned? All for noth-" He cut off his own thoughts. Everyone in the army knew too well the fate of mutineers and deserters. And now, if your brothers-in-arms were not commanded to deal the deadly blow, nature herself would do it, and spare them the much needed shot. Unthinkingly he tightened the blanket around himself once again, wrapping his arms around his chest to hold in what he could. It would not be long, it could not be long until they were given new orders. Perhaps to relive Paris, or Versailles. More likely to go to the front and try fruitlessly to hold back further Prussian advances.
The oath he had sworn was to the Emperor, but now he was captured, somewhere behind the Prussian lines, and poisoner of war. He thought for a second longer, a deposed man, powerless, a king in a republic. It was funny in a way, there was talk that the reason the republic was declarer was because with the head of state captured, no one could talk to the Prussians. A victory for the people, being born from a catastrophe for the nation. Louis laughed a little, before when everything was quiet, all seemed so dispersed and disconnected now, he thought he could see how even small seemingly insignificant things could lead to so much more. The emperor was deposed, Paris was under siege, and he was freezing his ass off because someone in Berlin sent a strongly worded letter to someone in Paris. He did not stop his thoughts this time, letting them go where they may. This, all this, all the dead, were because two kings could not see eye to eye. Two men, only two, had an exchange, and now thousands are dead, an order is over turned, and the world will never be the same again. He was warm now, verging on hot. Anger rising in his soul, overtaking everything else. He made up his mind there and then, he dedicated his life not to a man, or a crown, but to an ideal. To the Republic of France, and the freedom it may bring the people.
A trumpet sounded in the night, orders. He was right, they were to march towards Versailles. The Prussians had by this point taken it and much of the rest of Northern France. Weather or not they would surrender there, or face some futile struggle to dislodge the occupiers was now the question. But Louis did know one thing now, one thing above all, he would not in any way let his life be dominated by despots any longer. Kings and Emperors fought to start a war, the French Republic was fighting to end it. He no longer cared of what would happen to the deposed monarch, if he and Bismarck were to kill each other in a duel that would be ideal, but he did not believe the Lord would be so kind as to allow that to happen. He stood, smothering the fire and it's embers in snow and soil as he readied his gear. The war was lost, the peace would need to be won, and following the nation would need to be healed. All hope now, everything he had laid with the Republic, with the Army, and with the faith that through them France may one day recover from her defeat. The Lord willing, this nightmare would soon end, so the real work could begin. "Joy Noel" he muttered into the air.
25th, December
Rural France, 3rd French Republic
Louis Gabriel shivered as he crouched low near a dying fire, one of many spread around the grounds outside the village of Montbard . Each like a dim twinkling star in the night sky, blocked only by the slowly lumbering silhouette of a soldier fighting for warmth. Somewhere beyond the French encampment were the Prussians, they had taken Versailles in mid September, and held it ever since, they had surrounded Paris and the army had been decimated. The French Army, if one could call it that any longer we no more than barely tolerated guests on their own soil. They were not yet prisoners of the Prussians, but nor were they fighting any longer. They existed it seemed in some strange non war. A purgatory of led, of fire, and of blood.
Hands shaking Louis raised his water to his lips, the cold of it burning his throat as he drank. The grey woolen blanket wrapped around his shoulders was thin, and full of holes, but was a welcome shield from the biting winter air. Squatting, he inched closer to the fire holding out his free hand to absorb what heat he could. He closed his eye, focusing the the warmth of the flames and embers, willing it to reach his soul and stave off the cold. "This is shit." One the the men with him spat suddenly. "This is bullshit." He spat again. "The war is lost. The Prussians have won. Why in the Lord's name would they keep us here? Keep us in uniform, to freeze? To die? For an Emperor who failed worse on the field of battle than an Indian savage against a rifle? NON! I will no longer serve under these conditions." He stood, wrapping himself in what little he had and walked into the night. "I am done." He whispered as the darkness enveloped him. Louis did not move, he did not stir, he did not even speak, and nor did he care. The feeling of loss had grown strong among the men trapped here.
Louis turned northwest, looking for a moment towards Paris, then shrugging he turned once more towards the fire. If the Prussians were at Paris, that meant they were not after him. He was ashamed that the thought relaxed his nerves, but it was true. He had come too close, faced to much lead, felt the chill of death to many times in the past few months. "And for what?" He thought to himself. "A few lost forts? Villages over run? Farm lands burned? All for noth-" He cut off his own thoughts. Everyone in the army knew too well the fate of mutineers and deserters. And now, if your brothers-in-arms were not commanded to deal the deadly blow, nature herself would do it, and spare them the much needed shot. Unthinkingly he tightened the blanket around himself once again, wrapping his arms around his chest to hold in what he could. It would not be long, it could not be long until they were given new orders. Perhaps to relive Paris, or Versailles. More likely to go to the front and try fruitlessly to hold back further Prussian advances.
The oath he had sworn was to the Emperor, but now he was captured, somewhere behind the Prussian lines, and poisoner of war. He thought for a second longer, a deposed man, powerless, a king in a republic. It was funny in a way, there was talk that the reason the republic was declarer was because with the head of state captured, no one could talk to the Prussians. A victory for the people, being born from a catastrophe for the nation. Louis laughed a little, before when everything was quiet, all seemed so dispersed and disconnected now, he thought he could see how even small seemingly insignificant things could lead to so much more. The emperor was deposed, Paris was under siege, and he was freezing his ass off because someone in Berlin sent a strongly worded letter to someone in Paris. He did not stop his thoughts this time, letting them go where they may. This, all this, all the dead, were because two kings could not see eye to eye. Two men, only two, had an exchange, and now thousands are dead, an order is over turned, and the world will never be the same again. He was warm now, verging on hot. Anger rising in his soul, overtaking everything else. He made up his mind there and then, he dedicated his life not to a man, or a crown, but to an ideal. To the Republic of France, and the freedom it may bring the people.
A trumpet sounded in the night, orders. He was right, they were to march towards Versailles. The Prussians had by this point taken it and much of the rest of Northern France. Weather or not they would surrender there, or face some futile struggle to dislodge the occupiers was now the question. But Louis did know one thing now, one thing above all, he would not in any way let his life be dominated by despots any longer. Kings and Emperors fought to start a war, the French Republic was fighting to end it. He no longer cared of what would happen to the deposed monarch, if he and Bismarck were to kill each other in a duel that would be ideal, but he did not believe the Lord would be so kind as to allow that to happen. He stood, smothering the fire and it's embers in snow and soil as he readied his gear. The war was lost, the peace would need to be won, and following the nation would need to be healed. All hope now, everything he had laid with the Republic, with the Army, and with the faith that through them France may one day recover from her defeat. The Lord willing, this nightmare would soon end, so the real work could begin. "Joy Noel" he muttered into the air.
20th, January, 1871
Paris, 3rd French Republic
The late January air in Paris would traditionally have cold and repressive, a time when most citizens and subjects would do what they needed to remain in closed doors, and near to a fire as one could reasonably be. This year would mark at stark contrast however. Only the day before news had reached the besieged, and famished city of the defeat of French forces aimed at liberating Buzenval, that alone would have been enough to bring the people to action. What fallowed within hours of this news was like a spur to a horse, kicking it into a gallop. General Trochu stepped down as the head of the new republic, and his replacement, Joseph Vinoy gave his first proclamation to the public. In it, he stated clearly, and repeatedly that the people of Paris should be "...under no illusions what so ever, of the possibility of defeating the Prussians..." To the masses, the workers of Paris, those words cut deeper than any German blade could have done. The streets, the meeting halls, and what few taverns and cafes remained open boomed with activity as new and traditional Political Clubs or Vigilance committees fought to be heard.
The fighting, Alexandre thought, was unnecessary. Most men present, and many in the small groups of women who attended, demanded the same response. "It is TIME!" One older man shouted as he stood atop a slightly rickety wooden table. "The National Guard must now arm themselves! We must STRIKE! We must march on le Hôtel de Ville and take it by force!" The crowd cheered in a defining, intoxicating roar. "And we must take the prisons!" Shouted another man, his face lost somewhere in the crowd. "Free Flourens! And call back Blanqui!" The room filled again with cheers. Alexandre watched as a small group of frightened looking, but well dressed men spoke frantically. Five of them pushing a sixth forward towards where the older man stood. The man dressed in an ugly orange tweed motioned for room on the table, with some effort and some help from the older man he stood above the crowd.
"Friends! I am Jules Pierre Bechard, of the alliance républicaine and I have been issued with the authority to declare our support for monsieur Farrow's demands." If the cheers before this had been defining, what followed now could not be described. But surely both the Lord God and the Beast below had heard it. Monsieur Bechard called for calm by waving his arms. "We would go further! We demanded the creation, not of an appointed government as we have so far seen. But a Popular Government! One that is capable of leading us, leading France, to victory over the Prussian invaders!" This was not followed by a cheer, but by all the assembled joining in singing la marseillaise.
The rest was a blur. Alexandre found himself lost in the moment, swept along with the rushing turning tide of history. He marched through the streets, more and more joining swelling their numbers to what looked like a small army. Indeed, it truly was. National Guardsmen join on mass, following the will of the Parisian workers. Looking down the open roads, Alexandre saw yet more National Guards indeed making their way towards the prisons. Flourens their noble commander would most surly soon breathe free once more. And that would mean, this much larger group, lead by an old steel worker and a man in tweed, flanked by dozens of National Guards would take le Hôtel de Ville. Alexandre scanned the sky with his eyes, hours had past since the meeting first began. Dusk was beginning to set over France, and the spirit of revolution once more had come.
As they turned the final bend, with le Hôtel de Ville at last coming into sight, Alexandre felt a stone hit his stomach. Makeshift wooden barricades had been erected. Men stood atop and had their weapons readied, from the look of their uniform Alexandre recognized them as being Breton, called in sometime recently to defend the Republic from it's own people. He felt something break in himself then, the Breton's could not speak French, they could not speak with the workers. They knew only what their commanders would tell them, and what they told them would be lies. Standing forward from the Breton soldiers was General Chaudry, red in the face. His rage and indignation clear in every inch of his body.
"HOW DARE YOU!" He bellowed. "How dare you betray the Republic! What are you doing? Betraying the movement?! Betraying the revolution?! To side against us in any way is to harm France her self! To harm your wives! Your daughters! And to GIVE victory to the Prussians!!" He lowered his head looking into the eyes of Bechard. "You, your sons, and your son's sons should feel ever lasting shame. Return home now. Leave these matters to those who understand them." Chaudry watched as the members of the alliance républicaine sulcked away. Shamed out of what they had stood for loudly only hours ago. But the workers, and the National Guard stayed firm. Chaudry's face grew yet more red. "Go." He spoke softly.
"Non" monsieur Farrow said stepping forward. "We will not be moved. This government does not represent us. It -."
"GO!" Chaudry bellowed.
"- does not care about the people and workers of Paris. You speak of my daughters sir, but I would return to them in more shame leaving here now than if I stand my - "
"Lazhañ!" Chaudry spoke in Breton raising one arm, as smoke and lead enveloped the streets. Alexandre ducked behind a wooden cart, as the National Guard returned fire. Men and women alike fell as Breton led met soft flesh. A Guardsman fell clutching a wound over his heart, dead before his face met the cobblestone. Alexandre sprung forward taking his weapon up. He took aim at a faceless shadow in the smoke and fired. The shadow fell backward, disappearing from view.
"Fall back! Fall back!" He called out, standing his ground with a dozen others to cover the retreat of workers, Guardsmen, and women. Again he took aim at a shadow, and once more it vanished. Slowly he joined the retreat stopping only to dispose of any Imperial markings he could find on himself. He would not return to his station following this, no, he would find a National Guards uniform to wear in it's place. He knew a great fractur had formed, and he could see clearly upon which side he now stood.
Paris, 3rd French Republic
The late January air in Paris would traditionally have cold and repressive, a time when most citizens and subjects would do what they needed to remain in closed doors, and near to a fire as one could reasonably be. This year would mark at stark contrast however. Only the day before news had reached the besieged, and famished city of the defeat of French forces aimed at liberating Buzenval, that alone would have been enough to bring the people to action. What fallowed within hours of this news was like a spur to a horse, kicking it into a gallop. General Trochu stepped down as the head of the new republic, and his replacement, Joseph Vinoy gave his first proclamation to the public. In it, he stated clearly, and repeatedly that the people of Paris should be "...under no illusions what so ever, of the possibility of defeating the Prussians..." To the masses, the workers of Paris, those words cut deeper than any German blade could have done. The streets, the meeting halls, and what few taverns and cafes remained open boomed with activity as new and traditional Political Clubs or Vigilance committees fought to be heard.
The fighting, Alexandre thought, was unnecessary. Most men present, and many in the small groups of women who attended, demanded the same response. "It is TIME!" One older man shouted as he stood atop a slightly rickety wooden table. "The National Guard must now arm themselves! We must STRIKE! We must march on le Hôtel de Ville and take it by force!" The crowd cheered in a defining, intoxicating roar. "And we must take the prisons!" Shouted another man, his face lost somewhere in the crowd. "Free Flourens! And call back Blanqui!" The room filled again with cheers. Alexandre watched as a small group of frightened looking, but well dressed men spoke frantically. Five of them pushing a sixth forward towards where the older man stood. The man dressed in an ugly orange tweed motioned for room on the table, with some effort and some help from the older man he stood above the crowd.
"Friends! I am Jules Pierre Bechard, of the alliance républicaine and I have been issued with the authority to declare our support for monsieur Farrow's demands." If the cheers before this had been defining, what followed now could not be described. But surely both the Lord God and the Beast below had heard it. Monsieur Bechard called for calm by waving his arms. "We would go further! We demanded the creation, not of an appointed government as we have so far seen. But a Popular Government! One that is capable of leading us, leading France, to victory over the Prussian invaders!" This was not followed by a cheer, but by all the assembled joining in singing la marseillaise.
The rest was a blur. Alexandre found himself lost in the moment, swept along with the rushing turning tide of history. He marched through the streets, more and more joining swelling their numbers to what looked like a small army. Indeed, it truly was. National Guardsmen join on mass, following the will of the Parisian workers. Looking down the open roads, Alexandre saw yet more National Guards indeed making their way towards the prisons. Flourens their noble commander would most surly soon breathe free once more. And that would mean, this much larger group, lead by an old steel worker and a man in tweed, flanked by dozens of National Guards would take le Hôtel de Ville. Alexandre scanned the sky with his eyes, hours had past since the meeting first began. Dusk was beginning to set over France, and the spirit of revolution once more had come.
As they turned the final bend, with le Hôtel de Ville at last coming into sight, Alexandre felt a stone hit his stomach. Makeshift wooden barricades had been erected. Men stood atop and had their weapons readied, from the look of their uniform Alexandre recognized them as being Breton, called in sometime recently to defend the Republic from it's own people. He felt something break in himself then, the Breton's could not speak French, they could not speak with the workers. They knew only what their commanders would tell them, and what they told them would be lies. Standing forward from the Breton soldiers was General Chaudry, red in the face. His rage and indignation clear in every inch of his body.
"HOW DARE YOU!" He bellowed. "How dare you betray the Republic! What are you doing? Betraying the movement?! Betraying the revolution?! To side against us in any way is to harm France her self! To harm your wives! Your daughters! And to GIVE victory to the Prussians!!" He lowered his head looking into the eyes of Bechard. "You, your sons, and your son's sons should feel ever lasting shame. Return home now. Leave these matters to those who understand them." Chaudry watched as the members of the alliance républicaine sulcked away. Shamed out of what they had stood for loudly only hours ago. But the workers, and the National Guard stayed firm. Chaudry's face grew yet more red. "Go." He spoke softly.
"Non" monsieur Farrow said stepping forward. "We will not be moved. This government does not represent us. It -."
"GO!" Chaudry bellowed.
"- does not care about the people and workers of Paris. You speak of my daughters sir, but I would return to them in more shame leaving here now than if I stand my - "
"Lazhañ!" Chaudry spoke in Breton raising one arm, as smoke and lead enveloped the streets. Alexandre ducked behind a wooden cart, as the National Guard returned fire. Men and women alike fell as Breton led met soft flesh. A Guardsman fell clutching a wound over his heart, dead before his face met the cobblestone. Alexandre sprung forward taking his weapon up. He took aim at a faceless shadow in the smoke and fired. The shadow fell backward, disappearing from view.
"Fall back! Fall back!" He called out, standing his ground with a dozen others to cover the retreat of workers, Guardsmen, and women. Again he took aim at a shadow, and once more it vanished. Slowly he joined the retreat stopping only to dispose of any Imperial markings he could find on himself. He would not return to his station following this, no, he would find a National Guards uniform to wear in it's place. He knew a great fractur had formed, and he could see clearly upon which side he now stood.
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18th, March
Paris, 3rd French Republic
Black was the order of the day. Black curtains hung over the shut windows, a black cloth rested over the table, now set only for three, with the fourth chair tucked neatly in. Mari Farrow's face remained hidden behind a black vail. She had hardly spoken, hardly moved since the news in January. Had it not been for Alice, she would not have eaten, longing to join her husband in the hereafter. Amélie watched on, as her younger sister lifted spoonful's of oats towards their reluctant mother. "S'il te plaît maman." She spoke softly, almost in a hushed tone. "You must eat, please." The older woman, seeming to have aged ten years in a month slowly opened her mouth. With a weak smile and eyes filled with tears Alice dutifully sat by her side. Amélie could remember still when the position was reversed, watching baby Alice refuse to eat, causing their mother much grief. She would always eat for their father though and -
Amélie stopped thinking. Even that small memory still burned. Her heart hurt, her throat felt like fire, and her eyes felt as though they were caught in a strong winter's wind. She turned away, feeling ashamed, feeling too weak to look on. To make maters worse, the papers had said the most dreadful things about their father, and the men and women who had stood against the government for the last month. Naming their father, the most kind and loving man in France a "cut throat brigand" in the papers. Accusing him and other workers, and the National Guard of the most dreadful things. Lies, all of them. They could never be trusted. Honest people would not say such things, honest people would have seen her father's death for what it was. Murder. Murder at the hands of a tyrannical government no better than the Emperor. Worse, in fact, because they hid behind words of Freedom, of Equality, and of Brotherhood.
"Lies." She spat out, hot tears running down her cheeks. They had surrendered to the Prussians, as the workers had feared, even allowed the Prussians to occupy parts of Paris for a time. And the newly "elected" leader, Thiers, he had rounded on Paris like a cruel master would on a dog they found issue with. The National Guards lost their pay, the workers debts called in, the majority of Paris starved in bankruptcy. The Prussians it seemed had not done enough to kill the city, now the leadership of France herself wished to deal the killing blow. Her eyes burned, her face was wet, her heart pounded in her chest like thunder. Amélie punched the weak wall near her favourite window, again and again and again. "Bastards." She looked out, her vision clearing as the early morning sun rose over the horizon. There were troops moving. She cleared her eyes, pulling the curtain aside. They National Guard had taken to armed patrols and protests, but this was not the National Guard. Nor was it the Prussians. The French Army was marching, but away from the city centre. Following them with her eyes, she strained. "Where could they possibly be..." Her pain left her, a chill rushed over her like brisk water as he stomach sank. "Montmartre." She rushed from the window dawning her coat. "No." She said to herself as she ran from the apartment.
"Amélie?" Alice called after here. "Amélie, where are you going!? I need your help!" Despite her calls Amélie knew Alice could handle things. And she would understand in the end. If she was right at least. If not, well she would make her peace with her sister on that when she returned. As it was, she had to make haste. She ran through the cold puddles left over from the last nights rain. Nearly falling more than once over the uneven cobble stone roads. She saw others, nearly all women running the same way, towards the same destination. She was not the only one then, she knew she must be right. They reached the base of Montmartre and together they scaled it as though walking a hill for morning bread. Amélie breathed a heavy sigh of relief, the cannons were still there. It looked as though the troops had taken the hill with no means of moving the large weapons. Poor planning it would seem. The women had formed a large crowd encircling the men, some women had thrown themselves over the cannons, others talked with the troops, pleading them to leave the weapons where they rested. They were after all the legacy of many men who had died in the siege, the legacy of the working men of Paris. The many men seemed glad enough to take the chance to speak to the women, they seemed kind, friendly even. Their commanding office stood above them yelling at the few not yet fraternizing to "Find some damned way to move these cannons!"
Amélie smiled, enjoying his clear panic. Her father would have liked this moment, he would have reveled in watching the CO prove unable to command his men. Another woman, taller than Amélie and perhaps in her early forties stood near her watching the farce unfold. Both women laughed, easing things as it went. The older woman turned to Amélie with a motherly smile. "Bonjour." She spoke in a stern but amicable tone. "I am glad to see the young women of Paris taking to such things." She turned again watching the soldiers.
"Yes." Amélie replied. "My father, he helped to make those cannons. I will die before allowing them to be stolen from us."
"Your father must be proud to have such a strong daughter."
"He is. He was. He was killed you see, by the army outside le Hôtel de Ville. If, if I -"
"If you had been their you may have been killed as well. And that I am sure your father would not abide." The older woman placed a hand on Amélie's shoulder. "You honour his memory, I am sure he would be proud of you in the moment." She glanced at the few men with their weapons drawn. "Fearful perhaps, but proud."
"Merci m'dame. je m'appele Amélie Farrow. Et toi?"
"I am called Louise Michel. I am please to meet you Amélie Farrow." The two women shook hands and smiled at each other. At that moment a hush came over the assembled masses. The troops reformed lines as armed men of the National Guard poured through the crowd. They formed a line before the troops, their representative stepping forward.
"By order of the General Assembly of the National Guard, I order you to leave these cannons and return to where you came." The Guardsman spoke in clear confident words.
"These cannons are the property of the Third French Republic. Abandon this place at once, and do not interfere." The army commander said in equal tone. The National Guard did not move. The women surrounding them all stood firm. "Now!" The commander ordered. Again, no one moved. He looked to his troops. "FIRE!"
They did not move. No man raised a weapon, then looked from the women, to the National Guard, to their commander. "I SAID FIRE!"
Nothing.
The women, National Guard, and troops together cheered, as the blood drained from their commander's face. The troops pulled him from where he stood, and placed him under arrest. Many of the Guards and troops embraced and laughed as the women rushed in to do the same. Amélie returned home, filled with joy over what she had seen. She wished only that her father had been here, though he would be looking down and smiling, both at her, and at what was unfolding before them. She entered her home, and embraced her sister, who had started to scold her, but stopped and returned the affection.
"Are, you alright?" She asked hesitantly.
"I am yes." She looked to their mother, who had at last moved now sitting upright by the fire. "I think we will be alright." She smiled, her eyes again filling with tears, but different than before. "I think things are changing once more. And I think father helped to set it in motion. He would be - we should be proud." The sisters embraced once more before returning to their daily duties.
That night Amélie sat at the window she and her father often shared, having removed the black curtains, looking out into the night. From somewhere she heard cheers, as though a great joy had over taken Paris herself. She listened more, enjoying the cool night air but heard nothing. Hours past, and a small group of National Guard passed her window, she recognized some from that morning.
"Excuse me!" She called down. "Excuse me good sirs! What was the commotion?"
The Guardsmen looked at each other than towards her window. "AH I have seen you!" One called up. "You were one of the brave women to save our cannons this morning. Thank you! But to what are you referring to?" He asked. Amélie explained and the men laughed. "Yes, I suppose it was stupid of me to ask." She could see even from this distance the man's face become bright as a smile over took him. "The Third Republic is dead! The workers of Paris, and the National Guard together have thrown out the traitors. Today we are born anew. Long live the Commune!"
Paris, 3rd French Republic
Black was the order of the day. Black curtains hung over the shut windows, a black cloth rested over the table, now set only for three, with the fourth chair tucked neatly in. Mari Farrow's face remained hidden behind a black vail. She had hardly spoken, hardly moved since the news in January. Had it not been for Alice, she would not have eaten, longing to join her husband in the hereafter. Amélie watched on, as her younger sister lifted spoonful's of oats towards their reluctant mother. "S'il te plaît maman." She spoke softly, almost in a hushed tone. "You must eat, please." The older woman, seeming to have aged ten years in a month slowly opened her mouth. With a weak smile and eyes filled with tears Alice dutifully sat by her side. Amélie could remember still when the position was reversed, watching baby Alice refuse to eat, causing their mother much grief. She would always eat for their father though and -
Amélie stopped thinking. Even that small memory still burned. Her heart hurt, her throat felt like fire, and her eyes felt as though they were caught in a strong winter's wind. She turned away, feeling ashamed, feeling too weak to look on. To make maters worse, the papers had said the most dreadful things about their father, and the men and women who had stood against the government for the last month. Naming their father, the most kind and loving man in France a "cut throat brigand" in the papers. Accusing him and other workers, and the National Guard of the most dreadful things. Lies, all of them. They could never be trusted. Honest people would not say such things, honest people would have seen her father's death for what it was. Murder. Murder at the hands of a tyrannical government no better than the Emperor. Worse, in fact, because they hid behind words of Freedom, of Equality, and of Brotherhood.
"Lies." She spat out, hot tears running down her cheeks. They had surrendered to the Prussians, as the workers had feared, even allowed the Prussians to occupy parts of Paris for a time. And the newly "elected" leader, Thiers, he had rounded on Paris like a cruel master would on a dog they found issue with. The National Guards lost their pay, the workers debts called in, the majority of Paris starved in bankruptcy. The Prussians it seemed had not done enough to kill the city, now the leadership of France herself wished to deal the killing blow. Her eyes burned, her face was wet, her heart pounded in her chest like thunder. Amélie punched the weak wall near her favourite window, again and again and again. "Bastards." She looked out, her vision clearing as the early morning sun rose over the horizon. There were troops moving. She cleared her eyes, pulling the curtain aside. They National Guard had taken to armed patrols and protests, but this was not the National Guard. Nor was it the Prussians. The French Army was marching, but away from the city centre. Following them with her eyes, she strained. "Where could they possibly be..." Her pain left her, a chill rushed over her like brisk water as he stomach sank. "Montmartre." She rushed from the window dawning her coat. "No." She said to herself as she ran from the apartment.
"Amélie?" Alice called after here. "Amélie, where are you going!? I need your help!" Despite her calls Amélie knew Alice could handle things. And she would understand in the end. If she was right at least. If not, well she would make her peace with her sister on that when she returned. As it was, she had to make haste. She ran through the cold puddles left over from the last nights rain. Nearly falling more than once over the uneven cobble stone roads. She saw others, nearly all women running the same way, towards the same destination. She was not the only one then, she knew she must be right. They reached the base of Montmartre and together they scaled it as though walking a hill for morning bread. Amélie breathed a heavy sigh of relief, the cannons were still there. It looked as though the troops had taken the hill with no means of moving the large weapons. Poor planning it would seem. The women had formed a large crowd encircling the men, some women had thrown themselves over the cannons, others talked with the troops, pleading them to leave the weapons where they rested. They were after all the legacy of many men who had died in the siege, the legacy of the working men of Paris. The many men seemed glad enough to take the chance to speak to the women, they seemed kind, friendly even. Their commanding office stood above them yelling at the few not yet fraternizing to "Find some damned way to move these cannons!"
Amélie smiled, enjoying his clear panic. Her father would have liked this moment, he would have reveled in watching the CO prove unable to command his men. Another woman, taller than Amélie and perhaps in her early forties stood near her watching the farce unfold. Both women laughed, easing things as it went. The older woman turned to Amélie with a motherly smile. "Bonjour." She spoke in a stern but amicable tone. "I am glad to see the young women of Paris taking to such things." She turned again watching the soldiers.
"Yes." Amélie replied. "My father, he helped to make those cannons. I will die before allowing them to be stolen from us."
"Your father must be proud to have such a strong daughter."
"He is. He was. He was killed you see, by the army outside le Hôtel de Ville. If, if I -"
"If you had been their you may have been killed as well. And that I am sure your father would not abide." The older woman placed a hand on Amélie's shoulder. "You honour his memory, I am sure he would be proud of you in the moment." She glanced at the few men with their weapons drawn. "Fearful perhaps, but proud."
"Merci m'dame. je m'appele Amélie Farrow. Et toi?"
"I am called Louise Michel. I am please to meet you Amélie Farrow." The two women shook hands and smiled at each other. At that moment a hush came over the assembled masses. The troops reformed lines as armed men of the National Guard poured through the crowd. They formed a line before the troops, their representative stepping forward.
"By order of the General Assembly of the National Guard, I order you to leave these cannons and return to where you came." The Guardsman spoke in clear confident words.
"These cannons are the property of the Third French Republic. Abandon this place at once, and do not interfere." The army commander said in equal tone. The National Guard did not move. The women surrounding them all stood firm. "Now!" The commander ordered. Again, no one moved. He looked to his troops. "FIRE!"
They did not move. No man raised a weapon, then looked from the women, to the National Guard, to their commander. "I SAID FIRE!"
Nothing.
The women, National Guard, and troops together cheered, as the blood drained from their commander's face. The troops pulled him from where he stood, and placed him under arrest. Many of the Guards and troops embraced and laughed as the women rushed in to do the same. Amélie returned home, filled with joy over what she had seen. She wished only that her father had been here, though he would be looking down and smiling, both at her, and at what was unfolding before them. She entered her home, and embraced her sister, who had started to scold her, but stopped and returned the affection.
"Are, you alright?" She asked hesitantly.
"I am yes." She looked to their mother, who had at last moved now sitting upright by the fire. "I think we will be alright." She smiled, her eyes again filling with tears, but different than before. "I think things are changing once more. And I think father helped to set it in motion. He would be - we should be proud." The sisters embraced once more before returning to their daily duties.
That night Amélie sat at the window she and her father often shared, having removed the black curtains, looking out into the night. From somewhere she heard cheers, as though a great joy had over taken Paris herself. She listened more, enjoying the cool night air but heard nothing. Hours past, and a small group of National Guard passed her window, she recognized some from that morning.
"Excuse me!" She called down. "Excuse me good sirs! What was the commotion?"
The Guardsmen looked at each other than towards her window. "AH I have seen you!" One called up. "You were one of the brave women to save our cannons this morning. Thank you! But to what are you referring to?" He asked. Amélie explained and the men laughed. "Yes, I suppose it was stupid of me to ask." She could see even from this distance the man's face become bright as a smile over took him. "The Third Republic is dead! The workers of Paris, and the National Guard together have thrown out the traitors. Today we are born anew. Long live the Commune!"
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Thank you so much! I am glad you are enjoying the story thus far,
tukaram bhakt
Banned
How have i not seen the last updates? Silly me!
I devoured all of them, and i hope there's more coming
I devoured all of them, and i hope there's more coming
19th, March
Paris Commune
Every year, spring brought with it change and rebirth. This year, the depths of the change reached greater levels than ever before. Paris, was alive, more so now than at any other time Alexandre could remember. It's factories, now freed from the pocket books of the bosses now turned out steal and shot for the workers, and National Guard, the food, what little there, was distributed to all neighbourhoods of the city, and everywhere red flags, some with bold white lettering proclaiming "Viva la Commune!" flew everywhere. The local political clubs in each street now made the for the bases of a new political order, reaching up to neighbourhood communes, then the Paris Commune itself. All working men, and men of the National Guard debated, voted, and passed laws. A radical new democracy, so free, so open that it made even the most grand of Republics feel like the expressive boot of a tyrant. Already, momentous changes were underway. Workers demanded an end to rent, and end to debts, the opening of schools and places of culture to all. They would stop at nothing until society had been rebuilt from the bottom up, to favour the greater whole of France rather than the privileged few.
But first, there were other more material matters at hand that must be dealt with. Originally, the Federation of National Guards wished to raise the issue in the Commune, but their business was taken up with the desperate needs of the people. And if they did not act soon, the momentum could be lost, and in these times, that could spell death for the Commune. Flourens had gathered what National Gaurdsmen could be spared, thirty thousand Alexandre estimated during their march. Flourens explained to them in the early morning hours that the actions they undertook were of the utmost importance for Paris. Whispers spread like fire touched to dry grass, some were sure they were marching to face the Prussians, others to raid the army barracks for weapons and supplies, some that they were to march on the most wealthy sections of the city and take by force what was created by the workers. But, in the end they simply stopped before the Western most edge of the city, their backs to the distant Prussian lines.
Though the city burned and hummed with activity, everything in this moment seemed so still. It was wrong somehow, like standing in a graveyard admits a great festival. The air carrying with it the sent of smoke from homes, industry, and the Prussian camps was crisp for the early spring. In the distance Alexandre thought perhaps he could make out orders being shouted by the Prussian officers to their subordinates. But something else caught his ear. At first he thought it to be the sound of workers forging weapons or tools, but it grew louder with each passing beat.
A drum. Military drum. Accompanied by other instruments playing a marching tune. The ever growing thunder of feet, hooves, and steel. In the distance, far along the cobble stone Regular Army Troops lead by a stout plump figure on a horse rounded a bend, and continued their march westward never losing pace, or breaking formation. The song they sung was a play on a Republican marching song, singing praise of the growing Paris revolt over the past months. And that death to the enemies of France. The stout, white haired man at the head of the procession was Adolphe Thiers, he eyed the men behind him with the same apprehension he would a dog who had already bitten it's master. Looking at the events in the last day, that made sense. The troops sent to take the cannons from the workers had defected, and now none in the Regular Army could be trusted. Theirs would want them removed from what he surly saw as the "corruption" which had taken over Paris.
Thiers slowed to a gradual stop, perhaps a hundred paces from Flourens and the National Guard, the Regular Army stopping at his side. His face was now nearly the colour of his hair as he made himself sit upright on his saddle. He tried to make himself as tall as he could, which only made him look all the more small compared to the effortlessly dashing Flourens. The aging President of the French Republic cleared his throat and called out. "By order of the Government of France I demand you remove yourself and this rebel army from our path."
"No." Flourens replied flatly.
"You will move at once!" Thiers shifted slightly. "We make way for Versailles, the true capital of this Rep-"
"Do you wish to follow this man?" Flourens asked addressing the soldiers. "This man who has starved your families and friends. Not only here in Paris, but across of of France?"
"You will address my com-" Theirs tried to overcome Flourens but the younger man simply continued as if he had never spoken.
"Camarades, s'il te plaît. If you wish to march with this man towards Versailles and continue to struggle for the Republic, we will not stop you. But if you wish to be free, to fight not for a President, or a Emperor, but for your fellow man, join with us here, and now. I cannot promise you more than my word, but I do give it. The Commune is for all men for all of France. We would not have our countrymen starve, or women die in the streets, our children fall asleep to never again wake. Where the Republic has already delivered these things to us all, as had the Empire before that. I do not order you to make do this. I offer you a choice."
The quiet returned. The feeling of the festival surrounding a graveyard had died away, now only the weathered tombstones remained, as the cold spring air ran across the field. Thiers, expending tremendous will raised his head high looking through his thick glasses and down his pudgy nose towards the National Guard. "Kill these rebels!"
The Army did not fire, a few shuffled awkwardly from side to side on their feet, but none even readied their weapons. "I said fire upon the traitors! In the name of the Republic do this!" Thiers turned his face now growing red with anger. A solder standing next to the President looked from the National Guard to his Commander-in-Chief.
"Non."
"What?" Theirs hissed.
"I said no Mr. President." The two men stared at each other for what seemed to be an hour. The soldier reached up to take the reigns of the horse from the older man. "I am here by placing you under arres-"
Thunder cracked and the soldier fell like a doll dropped by some carless toddler, his face a mess of red, as smoke rose from Theirs' pistol. In the same instant no less than six bayonets found themselves buried into the President's chest from all sides. His face twisted into a strange display of fear, hatred, sorrow, loss, confusion, and shock. His pistol slipped from his grasp, it's barrel landing with a metal sound on the cobble stone below as his expression relaxed and his body slumped over his horse before it too landed on the cobblestone streets.
Other officers and a small handful of troops began to move west, weapons at their sides. Flourens waved a hand, and the National Guard formed a path. Some two hundred regulars left Paris for Versailles. The rest, nearly fifty thousand men stayed behind, taking up the call of the Commune and the Red Flag. The first great struggle between the Republic, and it's challenger had be decisively won.
Paris Commune
Every year, spring brought with it change and rebirth. This year, the depths of the change reached greater levels than ever before. Paris, was alive, more so now than at any other time Alexandre could remember. It's factories, now freed from the pocket books of the bosses now turned out steal and shot for the workers, and National Guard, the food, what little there, was distributed to all neighbourhoods of the city, and everywhere red flags, some with bold white lettering proclaiming "Viva la Commune!" flew everywhere. The local political clubs in each street now made the for the bases of a new political order, reaching up to neighbourhood communes, then the Paris Commune itself. All working men, and men of the National Guard debated, voted, and passed laws. A radical new democracy, so free, so open that it made even the most grand of Republics feel like the expressive boot of a tyrant. Already, momentous changes were underway. Workers demanded an end to rent, and end to debts, the opening of schools and places of culture to all. They would stop at nothing until society had been rebuilt from the bottom up, to favour the greater whole of France rather than the privileged few.
But first, there were other more material matters at hand that must be dealt with. Originally, the Federation of National Guards wished to raise the issue in the Commune, but their business was taken up with the desperate needs of the people. And if they did not act soon, the momentum could be lost, and in these times, that could spell death for the Commune. Flourens had gathered what National Gaurdsmen could be spared, thirty thousand Alexandre estimated during their march. Flourens explained to them in the early morning hours that the actions they undertook were of the utmost importance for Paris. Whispers spread like fire touched to dry grass, some were sure they were marching to face the Prussians, others to raid the army barracks for weapons and supplies, some that they were to march on the most wealthy sections of the city and take by force what was created by the workers. But, in the end they simply stopped before the Western most edge of the city, their backs to the distant Prussian lines.
Though the city burned and hummed with activity, everything in this moment seemed so still. It was wrong somehow, like standing in a graveyard admits a great festival. The air carrying with it the sent of smoke from homes, industry, and the Prussian camps was crisp for the early spring. In the distance Alexandre thought perhaps he could make out orders being shouted by the Prussian officers to their subordinates. But something else caught his ear. At first he thought it to be the sound of workers forging weapons or tools, but it grew louder with each passing beat.
A drum. Military drum. Accompanied by other instruments playing a marching tune. The ever growing thunder of feet, hooves, and steel. In the distance, far along the cobble stone Regular Army Troops lead by a stout plump figure on a horse rounded a bend, and continued their march westward never losing pace, or breaking formation. The song they sung was a play on a Republican marching song, singing praise of the growing Paris revolt over the past months. And that death to the enemies of France. The stout, white haired man at the head of the procession was Adolphe Thiers, he eyed the men behind him with the same apprehension he would a dog who had already bitten it's master. Looking at the events in the last day, that made sense. The troops sent to take the cannons from the workers had defected, and now none in the Regular Army could be trusted. Theirs would want them removed from what he surly saw as the "corruption" which had taken over Paris.
Thiers slowed to a gradual stop, perhaps a hundred paces from Flourens and the National Guard, the Regular Army stopping at his side. His face was now nearly the colour of his hair as he made himself sit upright on his saddle. He tried to make himself as tall as he could, which only made him look all the more small compared to the effortlessly dashing Flourens. The aging President of the French Republic cleared his throat and called out. "By order of the Government of France I demand you remove yourself and this rebel army from our path."
"No." Flourens replied flatly.
"You will move at once!" Thiers shifted slightly. "We make way for Versailles, the true capital of this Rep-"
"Do you wish to follow this man?" Flourens asked addressing the soldiers. "This man who has starved your families and friends. Not only here in Paris, but across of of France?"
"You will address my com-" Theirs tried to overcome Flourens but the younger man simply continued as if he had never spoken.
"Camarades, s'il te plaît. If you wish to march with this man towards Versailles and continue to struggle for the Republic, we will not stop you. But if you wish to be free, to fight not for a President, or a Emperor, but for your fellow man, join with us here, and now. I cannot promise you more than my word, but I do give it. The Commune is for all men for all of France. We would not have our countrymen starve, or women die in the streets, our children fall asleep to never again wake. Where the Republic has already delivered these things to us all, as had the Empire before that. I do not order you to make do this. I offer you a choice."
The quiet returned. The feeling of the festival surrounding a graveyard had died away, now only the weathered tombstones remained, as the cold spring air ran across the field. Thiers, expending tremendous will raised his head high looking through his thick glasses and down his pudgy nose towards the National Guard. "Kill these rebels!"
The Army did not fire, a few shuffled awkwardly from side to side on their feet, but none even readied their weapons. "I said fire upon the traitors! In the name of the Republic do this!" Thiers turned his face now growing red with anger. A solder standing next to the President looked from the National Guard to his Commander-in-Chief.
"Non."
"What?" Theirs hissed.
"I said no Mr. President." The two men stared at each other for what seemed to be an hour. The soldier reached up to take the reigns of the horse from the older man. "I am here by placing you under arres-"
Thunder cracked and the soldier fell like a doll dropped by some carless toddler, his face a mess of red, as smoke rose from Theirs' pistol. In the same instant no less than six bayonets found themselves buried into the President's chest from all sides. His face twisted into a strange display of fear, hatred, sorrow, loss, confusion, and shock. His pistol slipped from his grasp, it's barrel landing with a metal sound on the cobble stone below as his expression relaxed and his body slumped over his horse before it too landed on the cobblestone streets.
Other officers and a small handful of troops began to move west, weapons at their sides. Flourens waved a hand, and the National Guard formed a path. Some two hundred regulars left Paris for Versailles. The rest, nearly fifty thousand men stayed behind, taking up the call of the Commune and the Red Flag. The first great struggle between the Republic, and it's challenger had be decisively won.
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I actually said to a friend "I finally, FINALLY, reached the POD in my story. And get to start writing alternate history rather than historical fiction".
So far he has experienced things the same as OTL. He was arrested, but elected as president of the Commune in absentia.
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15th April
Orléans, Third French Republic/Orléans Commune
The news of the assassination of President Theirs at the hands of revolting Parisians had sent shockwaves through French society. Rumors soon spread that they had placed the poor man's head on a pike high above the walls of the city, looking out over the Prussian army he was unable to stop. What remained of the Republican Government had announced the assentation of the recently freed prisoner of war Ernest Courtot de Cissey. He had promised in his first declaration to France, that he would round the army on the "traitors , brigands, and murders of Paris with biblical fury". This posturing from the undemocratically appointed man who had been blamed for the defeat at Metz inspired munities in what remained of the French Army, but worse was still to come.
Louis had not yet found a safe chance to flee the forces. And that turned his stomach as he looked on in horror at the sight before him. The French Army now rained shells down on Orléans for daring to have defied the new government. He watched as the artillery cannons roared, bringing death down on the helpless defenders of the city. The detachments from the force which had fought on the front lines of the losing war against the Germans. This hastily formed National Guard struggling to defend the small city was nothing to the experienced well trained troops. Louis watched as divisions of men in purple and red marched into the city, the defenders fleeing and falling like game from a hunter. This was not a battle.
Louis shrunk as he stood ready with his division awaiting orders to join the slaughter. The slaughter of French men and women, who only wished to defend their homes. Men and women he himself had been fighting to defend only weeks before. He knew if he had not been in the army at the time, their positions would very easily have been reversed. Some of the men around him laughed, boasting about how they would finally feel victory. If they could not have it over the Germans, then they would have it over the rebels. But, if the war was not fought FOR these people, for the people of France. Then who had they fought for? What had so many died for? If the only victory he was to have in this conflict was to be over the people of Orléans, he had may as well have been wearing Prussian blue.
He look to the men around him, many seeming as uncomfortable as he felt himself. One man, taller than him with sandy brown hair simple looked from side to side, then towards the city, before turning and walking away, their officer's focus on the siege ahead. Another man, with very dark skin and black hair, looked from the officer to the forests to their rear, he to quietly broke ranks falling back. Still unware the officer raised his weapon and called for forward march, Louis found himself pulled towards the slaughter house against his will.
The streets of Orléans were a wash of ruined buildings and broken bodies, National Guardsmen fought from behind broken barricades or upper level windows. The bodies of women and children visible on the cobble stone, or under the rubble of collapsed homes and shelters. They had died seeking protection from those they had thought were meant to save them. This, this was hell on Earth. A level of destruction, and a toll of human life far greater than that which the Prussians had extracted from France during their conquest. Thunder clapped as his division fired. Louis had not heard the order, had not seen the target as he had been too lost in the chaos around them.
National Guards lay dead near their fortifications, some shot in the back, one holding their red flag. Among them the bodies of two women, young, nineteen at the oldest, who had taken up arms to defend their homes. Perhaps they were true believers in what they were fighting for. Perhaps moved to action from the death of a loved one. Louis looked around once more as the city burned. Every soul here would have lost someone before the day was through. The city would never again be the same, it's place in France forever altered. The shooting slowed slowly, before halting as National Guardsmen emerged from their defenses, one waving a long stick with a stained sheet as a makeshift flag of surrender.
"We surrender!" He called out. "Please. We have injured who need medical attention. Not just men, women, and children as well."
An office looked towards the defeated rebels raising his sword. "By order of of President Ernest Courtot de Cissey, no quarter is to be given to those who have levied war against France. FIRE!" Short spatterings of fire erupted from every division. But hardly half the men raised their weapons. It didn't matter, the National Guard of Orléans were fallen like wheat in the harvest season. The most enthusiastic of soldiers marched forward bayoneting each of the bodies to ensure their deaths. The officers gave orders to secure the rest of the city, and leave no man standing who wore the rebel uniform, and to imprison any other man of fighting age. Louis heard them speak of similar uprisings taking the cities of Nice, and Marseilles, Lyon, and even Lille behind the German lines.
He walked alone into the rubble to find more of his brothers-in-arms following the orders given to them with the utmost enthusiasm. He looked into the darkened ruins of a small home, seeing a woman embracing her husband, a man not in uniform, but with a bayonet's wound to his stomach none the less. This, this would happen in ever city and town in France, De Cissey would not allow those who challenged the Republic to do so again. The Republic, lead by men of France herself. Louis would have no part of it. He dropped his weapon, and fled, walking in a calm but steady manner until the nightmare was behind him, and he escaped to restart his. No soldier or officer within or without of the city questioned him, all assuming him to be doing his duty. To be a good soldier. To be only following orders.
Orléans, Third French Republic/Orléans Commune
The news of the assassination of President Theirs at the hands of revolting Parisians had sent shockwaves through French society. Rumors soon spread that they had placed the poor man's head on a pike high above the walls of the city, looking out over the Prussian army he was unable to stop. What remained of the Republican Government had announced the assentation of the recently freed prisoner of war Ernest Courtot de Cissey. He had promised in his first declaration to France, that he would round the army on the "traitors , brigands, and murders of Paris with biblical fury". This posturing from the undemocratically appointed man who had been blamed for the defeat at Metz inspired munities in what remained of the French Army, but worse was still to come.
Louis had not yet found a safe chance to flee the forces. And that turned his stomach as he looked on in horror at the sight before him. The French Army now rained shells down on Orléans for daring to have defied the new government. He watched as the artillery cannons roared, bringing death down on the helpless defenders of the city. The detachments from the force which had fought on the front lines of the losing war against the Germans. This hastily formed National Guard struggling to defend the small city was nothing to the experienced well trained troops. Louis watched as divisions of men in purple and red marched into the city, the defenders fleeing and falling like game from a hunter. This was not a battle.
Louis shrunk as he stood ready with his division awaiting orders to join the slaughter. The slaughter of French men and women, who only wished to defend their homes. Men and women he himself had been fighting to defend only weeks before. He knew if he had not been in the army at the time, their positions would very easily have been reversed. Some of the men around him laughed, boasting about how they would finally feel victory. If they could not have it over the Germans, then they would have it over the rebels. But, if the war was not fought FOR these people, for the people of France. Then who had they fought for? What had so many died for? If the only victory he was to have in this conflict was to be over the people of Orléans, he had may as well have been wearing Prussian blue.
He look to the men around him, many seeming as uncomfortable as he felt himself. One man, taller than him with sandy brown hair simple looked from side to side, then towards the city, before turning and walking away, their officer's focus on the siege ahead. Another man, with very dark skin and black hair, looked from the officer to the forests to their rear, he to quietly broke ranks falling back. Still unware the officer raised his weapon and called for forward march, Louis found himself pulled towards the slaughter house against his will.
The streets of Orléans were a wash of ruined buildings and broken bodies, National Guardsmen fought from behind broken barricades or upper level windows. The bodies of women and children visible on the cobble stone, or under the rubble of collapsed homes and shelters. They had died seeking protection from those they had thought were meant to save them. This, this was hell on Earth. A level of destruction, and a toll of human life far greater than that which the Prussians had extracted from France during their conquest. Thunder clapped as his division fired. Louis had not heard the order, had not seen the target as he had been too lost in the chaos around them.
National Guards lay dead near their fortifications, some shot in the back, one holding their red flag. Among them the bodies of two women, young, nineteen at the oldest, who had taken up arms to defend their homes. Perhaps they were true believers in what they were fighting for. Perhaps moved to action from the death of a loved one. Louis looked around once more as the city burned. Every soul here would have lost someone before the day was through. The city would never again be the same, it's place in France forever altered. The shooting slowed slowly, before halting as National Guardsmen emerged from their defenses, one waving a long stick with a stained sheet as a makeshift flag of surrender.
"We surrender!" He called out. "Please. We have injured who need medical attention. Not just men, women, and children as well."
An office looked towards the defeated rebels raising his sword. "By order of of President Ernest Courtot de Cissey, no quarter is to be given to those who have levied war against France. FIRE!" Short spatterings of fire erupted from every division. But hardly half the men raised their weapons. It didn't matter, the National Guard of Orléans were fallen like wheat in the harvest season. The most enthusiastic of soldiers marched forward bayoneting each of the bodies to ensure their deaths. The officers gave orders to secure the rest of the city, and leave no man standing who wore the rebel uniform, and to imprison any other man of fighting age. Louis heard them speak of similar uprisings taking the cities of Nice, and Marseilles, Lyon, and even Lille behind the German lines.
He walked alone into the rubble to find more of his brothers-in-arms following the orders given to them with the utmost enthusiasm. He looked into the darkened ruins of a small home, seeing a woman embracing her husband, a man not in uniform, but with a bayonet's wound to his stomach none the less. This, this would happen in ever city and town in France, De Cissey would not allow those who challenged the Republic to do so again. The Republic, lead by men of France herself. Louis would have no part of it. He dropped his weapon, and fled, walking in a calm but steady manner until the nightmare was behind him, and he escaped to restart his. No soldier or officer within or without of the city questioned him, all assuming him to be doing his duty. To be a good soldier. To be only following orders.
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30th, April
Paris Commune
News from the other French provinces had been mixed thus far. Orléans had been leveled and reduced to rubble at the hands of the Reactionary armies, other small cities and rural towns had suffered the same fate. But yet many still resisted, and the Red Flag flew bravely and unchallenged over Marseilles, Lyon, Nates, and Toulouse, where the republican armies had been forced from their positions, or had taken up the flag of the commune themselves. The Third French Republic was disintegrating before their very eyes. The Germans looked on in astonishment, at what they must have seen as the amazing weakness of their enemy, First incapable of stopping the the advance of the allied Germanic forces, and now at war with herself, the Empire, the Republic, the nation tearing at its seams.
Though with every passing moment, as the Republic grew weaker, the Commune grew only more confident in their abilities, in their own destiny, and in the strength of their class and their movement. The soldiers who had defected to the Commune during the confrontation with President Thiers, had taken it upon themselves to train and assist the Nation Guard. With each day the Nation Guard became a more affective fighting force, more sure they would be able to take on both the Germans and the Republicans when the time was right. And the hour seemed to come ever closer. German troops had been moved from the encircled Paris, and from the grounds of Versailles had marched East in the last few days. National Guards, and their elected commanders believed that they were being redeployed, to monitor Communard uprisings in other parts of German Occupied France.
The balloons that had been being used to deliver messages and mail to and from Paris since the start of the siege now carried former Imperial Army Officers, disguised as mail carriers. What they saw as they floated over the Prussian lines, they committed to memory, and relayed upon their return behind the city walls. The weakest section of the German force now was to the west on the roads to Versailles. Their numbers around the capital had been reduced to two thirds their original number, to as little as half. The elected commanders decided to err on the side of caution, and assume the former. But it was in the air that the Paris National Guard, bolstered by revolutionary soldiers now out numbered the German forces, and that they would not expect an attack from behind the walls.
Flourens and the other commanders had drawn up maps, diagrams, with figures representing all the intelligence they had gathered. A plan was discussed, amended, and discussed again between the commanders, and those who had elected them. The attack, after weeks was burned into the minds of every man in uniform. Alexandre could visualize the maps in his mind every time he closed his eyes to sleep. He would even find himself dreaming of the plan, reviewing it again and again, until he was sure he would be able to count out each step he would take when the time finally came. Then, at long last, as April was closing the order was given to ready at dawn. That night Alexandre did not dream of their plans, he did not dream at all.
That morning, as the first light of dawn broke over France, the rays of the sun reflected off the metal cannons forged by the workers of Paris. More cannons had been built in the short life of the Commune, and now over two dozen now bore down on the occupying army. Sixteen facing the weakest of the Prussian lines, the rest set up to cause chaos and confusion among the rest of the German ranks. Alexander stood on the cobblestone, not far from where they had faced down Theirs, with him were one hundred and fifty thousand other members of the National Guard, and the fifty thousand or so professional soldiers. At the head of the column were the elected heads of the armed workers' struggle. Most interestingly, they were joined also by ten thousand or so women, armed with miss matching fire arms probably taken the without knowledge of their male relatives. Though they were each also armed with very large knives, were the hilt to be different they would make for perfect examples of short swords. Camarade Louise Michel was at their head, she approached commander Flourens with a hand resting lightly on the knife on her hip. The commander spoke, Michel retorted, the commander was still for a moment before nodding slowly and sitting up right on his horse. Alexandre wished he could have heard what had happened. But it looked as though Michel and the company of women had won the small struggle, they took a place near the head of the column behind the professional soldiers.
Flourens brushed something from his jacket before taking a pistol from it's holster and raised it into the air. Everything stopped. The spring breeze refused to blow. The birds stopped their early morning songs. It seemed even the sounds of the Germans starting their morning procedures had come to a halt. The blast from Flourens' pistol woke the world, indeed it woke hell itself. A heart beat after it tore through the air, the cannons along the upper walls roared to life, along with the National Guards strategically placed along the ramparts, raining shell after shell down on the unsuspecting, unprepared Germans beyond the wall. The gates of the city, the gates of the Commune opened, and the workers' revolution burst forward with all the force and rage of a people betrayed and abandoned at every turn, and into the world dominated by reaction, capital, and imperialism.
Paris Commune
News from the other French provinces had been mixed thus far. Orléans had been leveled and reduced to rubble at the hands of the Reactionary armies, other small cities and rural towns had suffered the same fate. But yet many still resisted, and the Red Flag flew bravely and unchallenged over Marseilles, Lyon, Nates, and Toulouse, where the republican armies had been forced from their positions, or had taken up the flag of the commune themselves. The Third French Republic was disintegrating before their very eyes. The Germans looked on in astonishment, at what they must have seen as the amazing weakness of their enemy, First incapable of stopping the the advance of the allied Germanic forces, and now at war with herself, the Empire, the Republic, the nation tearing at its seams.
Though with every passing moment, as the Republic grew weaker, the Commune grew only more confident in their abilities, in their own destiny, and in the strength of their class and their movement. The soldiers who had defected to the Commune during the confrontation with President Thiers, had taken it upon themselves to train and assist the Nation Guard. With each day the Nation Guard became a more affective fighting force, more sure they would be able to take on both the Germans and the Republicans when the time was right. And the hour seemed to come ever closer. German troops had been moved from the encircled Paris, and from the grounds of Versailles had marched East in the last few days. National Guards, and their elected commanders believed that they were being redeployed, to monitor Communard uprisings in other parts of German Occupied France.
The balloons that had been being used to deliver messages and mail to and from Paris since the start of the siege now carried former Imperial Army Officers, disguised as mail carriers. What they saw as they floated over the Prussian lines, they committed to memory, and relayed upon their return behind the city walls. The weakest section of the German force now was to the west on the roads to Versailles. Their numbers around the capital had been reduced to two thirds their original number, to as little as half. The elected commanders decided to err on the side of caution, and assume the former. But it was in the air that the Paris National Guard, bolstered by revolutionary soldiers now out numbered the German forces, and that they would not expect an attack from behind the walls.
Flourens and the other commanders had drawn up maps, diagrams, with figures representing all the intelligence they had gathered. A plan was discussed, amended, and discussed again between the commanders, and those who had elected them. The attack, after weeks was burned into the minds of every man in uniform. Alexandre could visualize the maps in his mind every time he closed his eyes to sleep. He would even find himself dreaming of the plan, reviewing it again and again, until he was sure he would be able to count out each step he would take when the time finally came. Then, at long last, as April was closing the order was given to ready at dawn. That night Alexandre did not dream of their plans, he did not dream at all.
That morning, as the first light of dawn broke over France, the rays of the sun reflected off the metal cannons forged by the workers of Paris. More cannons had been built in the short life of the Commune, and now over two dozen now bore down on the occupying army. Sixteen facing the weakest of the Prussian lines, the rest set up to cause chaos and confusion among the rest of the German ranks. Alexander stood on the cobblestone, not far from where they had faced down Theirs, with him were one hundred and fifty thousand other members of the National Guard, and the fifty thousand or so professional soldiers. At the head of the column were the elected heads of the armed workers' struggle. Most interestingly, they were joined also by ten thousand or so women, armed with miss matching fire arms probably taken the without knowledge of their male relatives. Though they were each also armed with very large knives, were the hilt to be different they would make for perfect examples of short swords. Camarade Louise Michel was at their head, she approached commander Flourens with a hand resting lightly on the knife on her hip. The commander spoke, Michel retorted, the commander was still for a moment before nodding slowly and sitting up right on his horse. Alexandre wished he could have heard what had happened. But it looked as though Michel and the company of women had won the small struggle, they took a place near the head of the column behind the professional soldiers.
Flourens brushed something from his jacket before taking a pistol from it's holster and raised it into the air. Everything stopped. The spring breeze refused to blow. The birds stopped their early morning songs. It seemed even the sounds of the Germans starting their morning procedures had come to a halt. The blast from Flourens' pistol woke the world, indeed it woke hell itself. A heart beat after it tore through the air, the cannons along the upper walls roared to life, along with the National Guards strategically placed along the ramparts, raining shell after shell down on the unsuspecting, unprepared Germans beyond the wall. The gates of the city, the gates of the Commune opened, and the workers' revolution burst forward with all the force and rage of a people betrayed and abandoned at every turn, and into the world dominated by reaction, capital, and imperialism.
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(In 'honour' of Queen Victoria's birthday I will post two updates this weekend)
30th, April
Paris Commune
Amélie marched though the streets of Paris, the buildings illuminated only by the first few weak rays of sunlight still struggling to fight back the blacks, and blues of night. She watched each building as they passed, hardly a room was lit, though from time to time the evidence of an early riser could be seen. Or perhaps evidence of a parent, a friend, or loved one worried of what the day would bring. Amélie knew that feeling well, it had been with here since the first days of the war, it grew in strength with each turn of the wheel of history. But so too had she. She controlled that fear now, controlled what before would have driven her mad only months before. The loss of her city had started the process, the loss of her father had furthered it, the victory at Montmartre had cemented it. Now she held her late father's ancient looking hunting rifle in on hand, as the other worked to keep the very large, very sharp knife at her side from cutting her thigh. The women of the docks, fishmonger's, and butcher's wives, and daughters had supplied the women of Paris with the blades. It was tradition after all, for the women of Paris to take up weapons like these in times of revolution. She smiled to herself, reflecting on the stories of the women who had stormed Versailles during the revolution of the last century. She looked at her sisters-in-arms around her, wondering if any shared her thoughts. Some smiled, some looked tired, some afraid, most though looked stern and determined. She used that, the strength these women radiated, to steel herself yet further. She breathed deep, filling her lungs with cool morning air, as she watched the woman at the head of their small contingent.
Louise Michel had worked to gather the women who had shown the strength of their will and conviction at times over this struggle. She had rallied them, convinced them of the need for action. The need to support the National Guard in the liberation of Paris, and all of France. In the weeks since they had first met, Camarade Michel had become a hero to Amélie and indeed many of the working women of Paris. Amélie would not doubt she was a hero in the eyes of many, if not most of the working men though they may not wish to admit it so readily. Amélie wondered how the anarchist woman felt about her position within the movement. If the women of Paris tried to elevate her to a position of actual leadership, she would likely scold them. So rather, she seemed to be given the roll of a teacher, or guide, helping her fellow women to understand their true dignity, and potential. Both of which had been denied to them since the earliest days of society.
They passed though the final collection of homes, the street opening on to the larger main westward facing roadway. Men in uniform packed the streets as far as the Amélie could see. They crouched hidden along the ramparts of the city wall, ready at a moments notice to support the attacking troops who would burst through the gates. On horseback, near the head of the attacking force sat the commanders of the National Guard. One, a young dashing figure closest to where the women emerged turned locking eyes with Louise Michel. He nodded to her, and with the slightest almost imperceptible motion she returned the gesture. "Camarade Michel," He started looking over the crowed of women rapidly emerging from the streets. "it is soon to be very dangerous here. I request that-"
Camarade Michel placed a hand on her blade and leaned in towards the commander. "It was dangerous on Montmartre as well. You would not have your cannons, or be sitting your ass on that horse if it were not for these women. Women marched to Versailles to throw out the King, we will do so again to throw out this republic." The commander didn't move for a moment, only looking Louise in the eye before nodding and sitting up right. The women fell in behind the professional soldiers. Some looked quite amused at what had just happened, others more than a little annoyed, that made Amélie feel bright and happy. The rest happened more quickly than Amélie could process. It felt that just as she fell into line, a shot was fired from ahead, then in the same instant the cannons roared to life, and the rifle men along the ramparts fired downward into the Germans creating a wall of death. After what could not have been more than a minute by her senses, the city gates opened and a the rush of humanity pushed forward.
The world past the walls could not have been a better depiction of hell. Smoking craters pockmarked the earth, bodies and parts of bodies littered the ground. The Germans still confused were unable to rally as the Communard Forces fanned out on the planes. The roar of the cannons ceased with only the constant rattle of rifle fire erupting from the ramparts and the men streaming across the field. Some Germans, those who likely had already been armed fired back, but most were taken by surprise, they scrambled trying to steady themselves. Those who tried fell. Amélie froze as a German raised a rifle in her direction, before red mist erupted from his back, and he fell to the ground. Without thinking Amélie dropped her father's old weapon and took up the much more modern and dove into a crater. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breathing was nearly out of her control as she struggled for air. Across from her, laying dead in the same crater was one of the women who had marched with her, a bullet hole in her throat, her clothing drenched in crimson red. She was young, younger than Amélie, and the Germans had snuffed out her life. She raised the rifle out from the crater's edge keeping low as she could, pressing herself into the earth. This was insane, she had never fought before, outside of squabbles with Alice. She saw a German soldier standing strong and proud unmoving. Sheltered behind several horses and an overturned cart, she was the only as far as she could tell who could see his whole body, others were to distracted as they rolled back the German tide. She aimed, squeezed the trigger and missed. Terror filled her as she tried to push herself further into the earth as the man rounded to face her position.
He raised his weapon, thunder cracked, and she heard the whistle of the bullet pass her ear. He reloaded, fired again, the air whistled once more. He went to reload, but never was able to, as French shot riddled his side, dropping him on the pile of horses. Amélie pulled herself from the crater, watching as the National Guard pushed the Germans back, further, and further still. She watched, taking everything in, memorizing every aspect of the field. She saw as Louise Michel, with most of the women, sections of the National Guard, and the professional Soldiers moved west towards Versailles, lead by the young commander who had spoken with Camarade Michel. Amélie followed, wanting now only to witness the revolution in action.
30th, April
Paris Commune
Amélie marched though the streets of Paris, the buildings illuminated only by the first few weak rays of sunlight still struggling to fight back the blacks, and blues of night. She watched each building as they passed, hardly a room was lit, though from time to time the evidence of an early riser could be seen. Or perhaps evidence of a parent, a friend, or loved one worried of what the day would bring. Amélie knew that feeling well, it had been with here since the first days of the war, it grew in strength with each turn of the wheel of history. But so too had she. She controlled that fear now, controlled what before would have driven her mad only months before. The loss of her city had started the process, the loss of her father had furthered it, the victory at Montmartre had cemented it. Now she held her late father's ancient looking hunting rifle in on hand, as the other worked to keep the very large, very sharp knife at her side from cutting her thigh. The women of the docks, fishmonger's, and butcher's wives, and daughters had supplied the women of Paris with the blades. It was tradition after all, for the women of Paris to take up weapons like these in times of revolution. She smiled to herself, reflecting on the stories of the women who had stormed Versailles during the revolution of the last century. She looked at her sisters-in-arms around her, wondering if any shared her thoughts. Some smiled, some looked tired, some afraid, most though looked stern and determined. She used that, the strength these women radiated, to steel herself yet further. She breathed deep, filling her lungs with cool morning air, as she watched the woman at the head of their small contingent.
Louise Michel had worked to gather the women who had shown the strength of their will and conviction at times over this struggle. She had rallied them, convinced them of the need for action. The need to support the National Guard in the liberation of Paris, and all of France. In the weeks since they had first met, Camarade Michel had become a hero to Amélie and indeed many of the working women of Paris. Amélie would not doubt she was a hero in the eyes of many, if not most of the working men though they may not wish to admit it so readily. Amélie wondered how the anarchist woman felt about her position within the movement. If the women of Paris tried to elevate her to a position of actual leadership, she would likely scold them. So rather, she seemed to be given the roll of a teacher, or guide, helping her fellow women to understand their true dignity, and potential. Both of which had been denied to them since the earliest days of society.
They passed though the final collection of homes, the street opening on to the larger main westward facing roadway. Men in uniform packed the streets as far as the Amélie could see. They crouched hidden along the ramparts of the city wall, ready at a moments notice to support the attacking troops who would burst through the gates. On horseback, near the head of the attacking force sat the commanders of the National Guard. One, a young dashing figure closest to where the women emerged turned locking eyes with Louise Michel. He nodded to her, and with the slightest almost imperceptible motion she returned the gesture. "Camarade Michel," He started looking over the crowed of women rapidly emerging from the streets. "it is soon to be very dangerous here. I request that-"
Camarade Michel placed a hand on her blade and leaned in towards the commander. "It was dangerous on Montmartre as well. You would not have your cannons, or be sitting your ass on that horse if it were not for these women. Women marched to Versailles to throw out the King, we will do so again to throw out this republic." The commander didn't move for a moment, only looking Louise in the eye before nodding and sitting up right. The women fell in behind the professional soldiers. Some looked quite amused at what had just happened, others more than a little annoyed, that made Amélie feel bright and happy. The rest happened more quickly than Amélie could process. It felt that just as she fell into line, a shot was fired from ahead, then in the same instant the cannons roared to life, and the rifle men along the ramparts fired downward into the Germans creating a wall of death. After what could not have been more than a minute by her senses, the city gates opened and a the rush of humanity pushed forward.
The world past the walls could not have been a better depiction of hell. Smoking craters pockmarked the earth, bodies and parts of bodies littered the ground. The Germans still confused were unable to rally as the Communard Forces fanned out on the planes. The roar of the cannons ceased with only the constant rattle of rifle fire erupting from the ramparts and the men streaming across the field. Some Germans, those who likely had already been armed fired back, but most were taken by surprise, they scrambled trying to steady themselves. Those who tried fell. Amélie froze as a German raised a rifle in her direction, before red mist erupted from his back, and he fell to the ground. Without thinking Amélie dropped her father's old weapon and took up the much more modern and dove into a crater. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breathing was nearly out of her control as she struggled for air. Across from her, laying dead in the same crater was one of the women who had marched with her, a bullet hole in her throat, her clothing drenched in crimson red. She was young, younger than Amélie, and the Germans had snuffed out her life. She raised the rifle out from the crater's edge keeping low as she could, pressing herself into the earth. This was insane, she had never fought before, outside of squabbles with Alice. She saw a German soldier standing strong and proud unmoving. Sheltered behind several horses and an overturned cart, she was the only as far as she could tell who could see his whole body, others were to distracted as they rolled back the German tide. She aimed, squeezed the trigger and missed. Terror filled her as she tried to push herself further into the earth as the man rounded to face her position.
He raised his weapon, thunder cracked, and she heard the whistle of the bullet pass her ear. He reloaded, fired again, the air whistled once more. He went to reload, but never was able to, as French shot riddled his side, dropping him on the pile of horses. Amélie pulled herself from the crater, watching as the National Guard pushed the Germans back, further, and further still. She watched, taking everything in, memorizing every aspect of the field. She saw as Louise Michel, with most of the women, sections of the National Guard, and the professional Soldiers moved west towards Versailles, lead by the young commander who had spoken with Camarade Michel. Amélie followed, wanting now only to witness the revolution in action.