Crimson Flags over Paris: A Communard Timeline
- Thread starter Prime Minister
- Start date
(Im not dead. Life just got in the way of writing)
2nd, May
Somewhere in rural France
Louis trudged ever foreword, pushing through the dense thicket towards the sound of running water. The pale mix of moon and star light, cast a light almost blue, unearthly glow over the trees, and mass of spring vegetation hampering his quest for water. There had not been much food or drink since he had abandoned the fight army. The few towns he had passed had been unwelcoming. Some seeing him as a traitor to the Nation, others seeing him as a threat to their new local "commune", and yet more now simply afraid to welcome outsiders in this time of war, and civil strife. He found himself unable to blame them. Any of them. He felt the pain of turning his back on France, as well as the well placed fear the "Communards" must feel a the site of him, and those who chose to black the world out behind their town walls. They were the ones he felt most akin to.
At last, with his trousers dirty and torn from the thorns and twigs of shrubs, he found the babbling stream he had so desperately been searching for. It was small, hardly anything that would have warranted attention any other day. But here and now it was a source of most amazing comfort. He feel to his knees beside it, cupping his hands bringing the water to his now unkempt face. It was cold, and rejuvenating. He felt his spirts rise with each successive gulp. At times he would spit out mud, or small twigs. But that was nothing to denture him. A warm spring wind gently blew through the small wood, carrying with it the unmistakable smell of freshly cooked food as he quenched his thirst. His nose strained to fill with as much of the smell as he could, as his stomach roared to life. With one need dealt with, another now demanded the same.
He pushed once more through the bushes and trees, keeping low he found himself looking out towards a small medieval looking town upon a hilltop. It's was surrounded by farm land, and had no walls that Louis could yet see. His stomach called out once more. Loud enough to cause him to duck lower into the bushes to avoid being seen by anyone who may be close. He scanned the town again. The evening was calm, still with the occasional slow calm breeze rolling down the hill towards him. He watched yet still, seeing surprisingly little movement in the village. A single light made it's way up and down the central street slowly and unevenly. The town watch, likely an elderly official or injured former solder unfit for war. One home close to him stood out. It was not a farm house, but sat a little to the side of the larger properties. Farmers were likely to have weapons, meant to defend their flock and grain from animals who would venture for an easy meal. The shot from them would kill a man as quickly as they would a fox. If you were lucky. This other home, looked to have no need for such things.
Slowly he made his way, following the far ends of the farmlands. Careful not to rattle anything stones, or upset the wooden fences in a way that would get the attention of some trigger happy farmhand. His stomach roared again, bringing him to a stop, as the threw himself to the earth. He glanced towards the nearest homes. Most had candles or lanterns burning, casting a dim golden light from their windows. He could now here conversation over supper, if only just making out the words. Talk of course of the war, both of the wars. Praise to the Lord God that their small village had so far been spared the horrors besieging the remainder of the country. Louis whispered a quick prayer that it would remain so, for the town. He rose once more to his feet following a small back road towards his target.
He could hear voices inside. Two women, and two men, from the sounds of things a family, gathered talking about the news and of rumors that had reached them. The village had taken to sharing their goods and services as well as could be done. And the family seems happy, believing they had dodged yet another catastrophe which had befallen France. It was well known of course even here how the food shortages had ravaged Paris. It was a worth while thing to give thanks for having escaped. He slowly neared the house keeping to the darkness as he formulated his plan. He would wait until the family slept soundly, likely on the second floor of their home, and make his way into the pantry, causing as little sound as he could. He would only take things that would not be missed, or would be easy to replace. He had no desire to leave them without. But perhaps a change of clothing as well... He may find a more welcoming world out of uniform. He would have to return one day, confess his actions and offer to pay for what he... he....
Louis felt faint. His stomach turned, not so much roaring as it had before but... bubbling? Suddenly his forehead grew hot as sweat streaked down his face. His whole gut cramped, shooting pain though his body. He bit hard onto his arm to prevent himself from screaming. But again, and again the waves of pain hit, as his skin grew clammy and damp. He feel to his knees as his guts cramped again, his fingers digging into the earth. His entire chest wrenched as he spewed the contents of his stomach onto the grass. "Oh God." He thought to himself as again his stomach purged itself. He felt weak, falling to his side as he felt the wrenching yet again, this time a little lower. "Please no." He thought, but there was no helping it. Light fell over his eyes as the door to the home flung open. He could hear frantic voices, someone shouting something, but was unable to make out the words. Maybe just maybe he could...
When Louis awoke the sun was shining bright through a nearby window. He was washed and in clean clothes, with a dried rag over his forehead. He glanced around, it took far more effort to move his eyes than he would have expected. He tried as he may to sit up, but even lifting his head was out of the question. He turned though, slowly, with an amazing force of will. An older woman, perhaps in her fifties sat next to him, rosery in hand as she read the bible. He wanted to ask who she was, what had happened, where was he? But all he could make out was a soft whisper of "Water."
The woman jumped, nearly dropping her bible. "Husband! Husband! Our guest is awake!" She called out as she fetched a small cup, and filled it with warm water. She slowly lifted Louis' head helping him to drink. "There, there now. Slowly, slowly, it's ok." The water was like mana from heaven to his weakened body, the only way he managed to not drink like a fish was the pure effort of it all. The woman let his head rest as he sighed deeply. A man entered the room, he looked to be a few years older than the woman next to him. "Good morning. I am glad to see you made it. Gave us a scare their friend. I see you have met my wonderful wife Adélaïde, and I am Docteur Duchamp. I have waited four days to say this. But I am most pleased to meet you. Bienvenue à Vézelay."
2nd, May
Somewhere in rural France
Louis trudged ever foreword, pushing through the dense thicket towards the sound of running water. The pale mix of moon and star light, cast a light almost blue, unearthly glow over the trees, and mass of spring vegetation hampering his quest for water. There had not been much food or drink since he had abandoned the fight army. The few towns he had passed had been unwelcoming. Some seeing him as a traitor to the Nation, others seeing him as a threat to their new local "commune", and yet more now simply afraid to welcome outsiders in this time of war, and civil strife. He found himself unable to blame them. Any of them. He felt the pain of turning his back on France, as well as the well placed fear the "Communards" must feel a the site of him, and those who chose to black the world out behind their town walls. They were the ones he felt most akin to.
At last, with his trousers dirty and torn from the thorns and twigs of shrubs, he found the babbling stream he had so desperately been searching for. It was small, hardly anything that would have warranted attention any other day. But here and now it was a source of most amazing comfort. He feel to his knees beside it, cupping his hands bringing the water to his now unkempt face. It was cold, and rejuvenating. He felt his spirts rise with each successive gulp. At times he would spit out mud, or small twigs. But that was nothing to denture him. A warm spring wind gently blew through the small wood, carrying with it the unmistakable smell of freshly cooked food as he quenched his thirst. His nose strained to fill with as much of the smell as he could, as his stomach roared to life. With one need dealt with, another now demanded the same.
He pushed once more through the bushes and trees, keeping low he found himself looking out towards a small medieval looking town upon a hilltop. It's was surrounded by farm land, and had no walls that Louis could yet see. His stomach called out once more. Loud enough to cause him to duck lower into the bushes to avoid being seen by anyone who may be close. He scanned the town again. The evening was calm, still with the occasional slow calm breeze rolling down the hill towards him. He watched yet still, seeing surprisingly little movement in the village. A single light made it's way up and down the central street slowly and unevenly. The town watch, likely an elderly official or injured former solder unfit for war. One home close to him stood out. It was not a farm house, but sat a little to the side of the larger properties. Farmers were likely to have weapons, meant to defend their flock and grain from animals who would venture for an easy meal. The shot from them would kill a man as quickly as they would a fox. If you were lucky. This other home, looked to have no need for such things.
Slowly he made his way, following the far ends of the farmlands. Careful not to rattle anything stones, or upset the wooden fences in a way that would get the attention of some trigger happy farmhand. His stomach roared again, bringing him to a stop, as the threw himself to the earth. He glanced towards the nearest homes. Most had candles or lanterns burning, casting a dim golden light from their windows. He could now here conversation over supper, if only just making out the words. Talk of course of the war, both of the wars. Praise to the Lord God that their small village had so far been spared the horrors besieging the remainder of the country. Louis whispered a quick prayer that it would remain so, for the town. He rose once more to his feet following a small back road towards his target.
He could hear voices inside. Two women, and two men, from the sounds of things a family, gathered talking about the news and of rumors that had reached them. The village had taken to sharing their goods and services as well as could be done. And the family seems happy, believing they had dodged yet another catastrophe which had befallen France. It was well known of course even here how the food shortages had ravaged Paris. It was a worth while thing to give thanks for having escaped. He slowly neared the house keeping to the darkness as he formulated his plan. He would wait until the family slept soundly, likely on the second floor of their home, and make his way into the pantry, causing as little sound as he could. He would only take things that would not be missed, or would be easy to replace. He had no desire to leave them without. But perhaps a change of clothing as well... He may find a more welcoming world out of uniform. He would have to return one day, confess his actions and offer to pay for what he... he....
Louis felt faint. His stomach turned, not so much roaring as it had before but... bubbling? Suddenly his forehead grew hot as sweat streaked down his face. His whole gut cramped, shooting pain though his body. He bit hard onto his arm to prevent himself from screaming. But again, and again the waves of pain hit, as his skin grew clammy and damp. He feel to his knees as his guts cramped again, his fingers digging into the earth. His entire chest wrenched as he spewed the contents of his stomach onto the grass. "Oh God." He thought to himself as again his stomach purged itself. He felt weak, falling to his side as he felt the wrenching yet again, this time a little lower. "Please no." He thought, but there was no helping it. Light fell over his eyes as the door to the home flung open. He could hear frantic voices, someone shouting something, but was unable to make out the words. Maybe just maybe he could...
When Louis awoke the sun was shining bright through a nearby window. He was washed and in clean clothes, with a dried rag over his forehead. He glanced around, it took far more effort to move his eyes than he would have expected. He tried as he may to sit up, but even lifting his head was out of the question. He turned though, slowly, with an amazing force of will. An older woman, perhaps in her fifties sat next to him, rosery in hand as she read the bible. He wanted to ask who she was, what had happened, where was he? But all he could make out was a soft whisper of "Water."
The woman jumped, nearly dropping her bible. "Husband! Husband! Our guest is awake!" She called out as she fetched a small cup, and filled it with warm water. She slowly lifted Louis' head helping him to drink. "There, there now. Slowly, slowly, it's ok." The water was like mana from heaven to his weakened body, the only way he managed to not drink like a fish was the pure effort of it all. The woman let his head rest as he sighed deeply. A man entered the room, he looked to be a few years older than the woman next to him. "Good morning. I am glad to see you made it. Gave us a scare their friend. I see you have met my wonderful wife Adélaïde, and I am Docteur Duchamp. I have waited four days to say this. But I am most pleased to meet you. Bienvenue à Vézelay."
5th, May
Paris Commune
Amélie rested her back on the old wooden wall of a local coffee house. The light of the full moon casting shadows from the street, only just visible in the warm gold lantern light within. The crowd was larger, more vocal, and agitated then she had seen since before the birth of the Commune. The Jacobin faction, the largest single faction in the Commune, had pushed a controversial ruling against Flourens and the elected leadership of the National Guard. It had lead to debate in every neighbourhood assembly in the city. Some, most, Amélie would assume, were debating weather or not the Commune had the right to act as they did. Others, such as the one unfolding before her had chosen to focus more so on the issues of the ruling itself. A man, slightly disheveled stood on a large wooden table, his National Guard's coat open reveling a dirt stained tunic. His red brown hair, and facial stubble highlighting the features of his face. He held in one hand the days news, printed most likely from one of the many new papers to have come into being in recent weeks. His other hand stuffed into his trouser pocket as he turned his head over his shoulder his blue eyes watching the man on the other table speak.
The raving man was a supporter of the Jacobin faction, with the old cockade of the First Republic proudly pinned to his lapel. His payed very little mind to the National Guardsman across from him. Rather, giving his best impression of Maximilien Robespierre his whole focus was on the assembled mass. He held one arm outstretched, with a single finger scanning the people as he spoke. He had some skill, but despite his attempts he was no Robespierre. "My comrades! Citizens of France!" He called. "If we wish to win this war. To take for ourselves what was promised first nearly a century ago then we must act as a single nation. And the army of that nation must learn to place the national good, the national interest, above their own petty concerns." That won him a small applause, but not much more. "The tyrants that dare call themselves a "Republic", and the so-called Kaiser of the German Empire are one and the same. We do not face two wars as Flourens claims. We face only a single war, a strugle for the soul of this government. For the soul of France herself." The applause was a little greater this time, with even a few of the National Guards taking part. The young ginger officer rubbed his nose turning and pointing towards the Jacobin with the paper he held.
"You Jacobins. You are the ones who made those promises a century ago. And what did that lead to? Napoleon, war, the death of the First Republic, the restoration of the monarchy, which we have only NOW thrown off the shackles of. And why? The people were tricked, spread too thin in a war we never asked for! A war against the whole of Europe. What you ask for, is a return of the ways of the First Republic, and that is what you have. We should be walking a new path for the Commune. Not one where we already know the end." The National Guard applauded, as did Amélie.
The Jacobin rounded on the Guardsman his eyes dark with anger. "My dear Comrade..." The emphasis on the word unkind. "This is but only a matter of faith, Faith in the Revolution and the people of France."
"Faith..." The Guardsman said with a laugh in his voice. "Yes faith. I do have faith Comrade. I believe a man can walk on water. Provided it was winter. I have faith that men can fly. So long as they use a baloon. And I have faith that we can win any war presented to us. So long as we have the supplies that we need." He opened the paper, displaying it to the crowd. "In the words of Comrade Flourens, 'If we chose to fight two wars, we will find only ruin and defeat. If we chose to fight one, we will find glory and victory. If we chose to fight the Germans, we will retain Alsace Lorraine. If we chose to fight the Reactionaries, we will retain France'. Faith is useful Comrade Jacobin, but we must deal with the material conditions of reality as they are. As they are here, today. Not in the world as we wish for it to be." Again the crowd cheered. The Guardsman held up a hand. "I call for a declaration from this assembly to be passed. Informing the Commune of our disagreement with their actions. And that Flourens be brought in again, to lead talks for the end of hostilities with the German Empire. We are not yet strong enough, and if we act impulsively now, we may never have the chance we need." The masses erupted, shouts tore apart the otherwise quite calm discourse. The Jacobin man held up a hand calling for quiet, once all attention was on him, he lowered his head and let out a long sigh. "Democracy must be followed. Unquestioningly." Without raising his head he held out an open hand to the Guardsman. "The Comrade has called for a vote, and I second his motion. Those in favour of filing an official disagreement with the Commune?"
Dozens of people, men, raised their hands.
"And those opposed?"
Several raised their hands.
"The ayes have taken the day. We shall send a letter to the Commune in the coming hours." The two men shook hands and dismounted from their respective tables. Amélie had enjoyed the debate, though she thought it would come to very little. Flourens and many of the National Guards had already departed to return to the front only a few miles east of Paris, where the German counter attack had forced them back. She hoped... perhaps with the faith that the Jacobin man had spoken of, that in the end, the Red Flag of the commune would stay flying over Paris, and perhaps all of France. For if the Jacobin had been right in any of the words he had spoken, it was that the forces of the Republic would now be as merciful as the forces of Berlin. Perhaps less so.
Paris Commune
Amélie rested her back on the old wooden wall of a local coffee house. The light of the full moon casting shadows from the street, only just visible in the warm gold lantern light within. The crowd was larger, more vocal, and agitated then she had seen since before the birth of the Commune. The Jacobin faction, the largest single faction in the Commune, had pushed a controversial ruling against Flourens and the elected leadership of the National Guard. It had lead to debate in every neighbourhood assembly in the city. Some, most, Amélie would assume, were debating weather or not the Commune had the right to act as they did. Others, such as the one unfolding before her had chosen to focus more so on the issues of the ruling itself. A man, slightly disheveled stood on a large wooden table, his National Guard's coat open reveling a dirt stained tunic. His red brown hair, and facial stubble highlighting the features of his face. He held in one hand the days news, printed most likely from one of the many new papers to have come into being in recent weeks. His other hand stuffed into his trouser pocket as he turned his head over his shoulder his blue eyes watching the man on the other table speak.
The raving man was a supporter of the Jacobin faction, with the old cockade of the First Republic proudly pinned to his lapel. His payed very little mind to the National Guardsman across from him. Rather, giving his best impression of Maximilien Robespierre his whole focus was on the assembled mass. He held one arm outstretched, with a single finger scanning the people as he spoke. He had some skill, but despite his attempts he was no Robespierre. "My comrades! Citizens of France!" He called. "If we wish to win this war. To take for ourselves what was promised first nearly a century ago then we must act as a single nation. And the army of that nation must learn to place the national good, the national interest, above their own petty concerns." That won him a small applause, but not much more. "The tyrants that dare call themselves a "Republic", and the so-called Kaiser of the German Empire are one and the same. We do not face two wars as Flourens claims. We face only a single war, a strugle for the soul of this government. For the soul of France herself." The applause was a little greater this time, with even a few of the National Guards taking part. The young ginger officer rubbed his nose turning and pointing towards the Jacobin with the paper he held.
"You Jacobins. You are the ones who made those promises a century ago. And what did that lead to? Napoleon, war, the death of the First Republic, the restoration of the monarchy, which we have only NOW thrown off the shackles of. And why? The people were tricked, spread too thin in a war we never asked for! A war against the whole of Europe. What you ask for, is a return of the ways of the First Republic, and that is what you have. We should be walking a new path for the Commune. Not one where we already know the end." The National Guard applauded, as did Amélie.
The Jacobin rounded on the Guardsman his eyes dark with anger. "My dear Comrade..." The emphasis on the word unkind. "This is but only a matter of faith, Faith in the Revolution and the people of France."
"Faith..." The Guardsman said with a laugh in his voice. "Yes faith. I do have faith Comrade. I believe a man can walk on water. Provided it was winter. I have faith that men can fly. So long as they use a baloon. And I have faith that we can win any war presented to us. So long as we have the supplies that we need." He opened the paper, displaying it to the crowd. "In the words of Comrade Flourens, 'If we chose to fight two wars, we will find only ruin and defeat. If we chose to fight one, we will find glory and victory. If we chose to fight the Germans, we will retain Alsace Lorraine. If we chose to fight the Reactionaries, we will retain France'. Faith is useful Comrade Jacobin, but we must deal with the material conditions of reality as they are. As they are here, today. Not in the world as we wish for it to be." Again the crowd cheered. The Guardsman held up a hand. "I call for a declaration from this assembly to be passed. Informing the Commune of our disagreement with their actions. And that Flourens be brought in again, to lead talks for the end of hostilities with the German Empire. We are not yet strong enough, and if we act impulsively now, we may never have the chance we need." The masses erupted, shouts tore apart the otherwise quite calm discourse. The Jacobin man held up a hand calling for quiet, once all attention was on him, he lowered his head and let out a long sigh. "Democracy must be followed. Unquestioningly." Without raising his head he held out an open hand to the Guardsman. "The Comrade has called for a vote, and I second his motion. Those in favour of filing an official disagreement with the Commune?"
Dozens of people, men, raised their hands.
"And those opposed?"
Several raised their hands.
"The ayes have taken the day. We shall send a letter to the Commune in the coming hours." The two men shook hands and dismounted from their respective tables. Amélie had enjoyed the debate, though she thought it would come to very little. Flourens and many of the National Guards had already departed to return to the front only a few miles east of Paris, where the German counter attack had forced them back. She hoped... perhaps with the faith that the Jacobin man had spoken of, that in the end, the Red Flag of the commune would stay flying over Paris, and perhaps all of France. For if the Jacobin had been right in any of the words he had spoken, it was that the forces of the Republic would now be as merciful as the forces of Berlin. Perhaps less so.
6th, May
Communard-German Frontlines
Alexandre moved hurriedly behind the earthworks forming the basic defenses built up by the National Guard. Behind him lay a shallow trench lined with wood bracing the packed earth walls. Before him, less than a kilometer eastward stood the German occupiers. The sound of shot striking stone, as flakes of rock and soil rained down on his face reminded him of the devastating power of the Imperial counter attack. The tide of the first great Communard victory had rolled over Versailles, which they still held, but had been slowed, stopped, and turned back from the eastward advance. The National Guardsmen trusted Commander Flourens, it was why he had been elected to lead them. Now, he had become convinced of the folly of the government's two front war. Alexandre quietly held his own belief of the fruitily of war with the Germans. Other's agreed, but they remined in the minority, even if Flourens had begun to express the same feeling at times.
More small bursts of fire came from the German lines, with shells landing short of the Communard trenches. Both shot and shell raining a storm of earth on the tired, frightened men defending their revolution. It was becoming harder though, to tell the difference at a glance between the men who first saw combat in the uniform of the National Guard, and those who saw it years before in service of his majesty. He found himself wondering what had happened to the Emperor, likely the man would flee to which ever nation threw open in arms, hiding like a rat. The Republic, the Commune, and the Germans each wanting nothing to do with him. He had spent decades sitting on the thrown of France, and in a matter of days, was no one. The forces of history cared not for great men and their will, as much as they may scream otherwise, no one was immortal.
Alexandre raised himself higher, looking out over the muddy pockmarked no-mans-land winding like a river between the two armies. He quickly found a target, a 2nd Lieutenant surveying the battle from the safety of a dead horse. His vision was turned away from Alexandre at the moment, pointing towards something further down the trench. His mouth moved frantically, giving instructions to a runner no doubt. Alexandre adjusted as to not draw too much attention, lining his iron sights with the German's upper chest. Just as dirt began to fly around him once more, with impact after impact of Imperial shot, he pulled the trigger. He remained resting on the earth just long enough to see the other man grasp his throat stumble back and fall. With that Alexandre slid down the dirty wall into the relative safety of the earthworks. His hear pounding as he heard dozens of shots meant for him bury themselves in soil. He pressed back catching his breath before moving forward.
In his pocket was a report for Commander Flourens. The Imperial German forces occupying north eastern France had begun to arrive to relive their troops near Paris. They were out greatly out numbered. And their arrival could mean only poor news from the efforts of their fellow revolutionaries in the occupied parts of the nation. Alexandre hoped, perhaps naively that the Red Flag was fairing better to the south. And that the Paris National Guard too would soon see reinforcements ready to breathe new life into their efforts. As if to punctuate the thought at that moment, a shell landed in the trench, not far from Alexandre, sending mud, wood, and flesh all around. His ears ringing, his vision blurred, but he pushed on. Laying on his belly climbing above the rear of the trench towards his destination.
Finally, he reached the elected Officers' tent to find Flourens and the other commanders reviewing a map of the battlefield, not far behind the line. They all, Flourens included saluted him as he entered, returning the salute. "Comrade Flourens." He said handing him the report. "Details of Imperial movements along the north trench." Flourens nodded taking the paper and reading it over, his face growing more pale. "Damn them." He spat. "Damn the Jacobins!" He punched a fist into the wooden table holding the map. "I am fighting a war with less then half of what we need. And they expect medicals." He looked towards the man to his left. "We must sue for peace with the Germans. It is the only way to secure Paris and the Revolution. If we do not, the will over take the city and slaug-" Hell broke lose.
Earth, stone, canvas, wood, paper, cloth, metal, and flesh were thrown about as if a whirlwind hand landed in the centre of the tent. The ringing was back, sound distorted, his vision blurred once more as smoke burned his eyes. Alexandre pushed himself up, his uniform was torn and he was bleeding, but nothing major seemed to have occurred. At least not to him. Many of the elected officers lay dead, a near by crater giving the only sign of the culprit. He frantically scanned the men Flourens lay in the arms of the man he had been speaking to moments before. His tunic already blackened and thick with blood from the wounds in his chest. He spat as blood pooled in his mouth, trying to speak. His eyes moving from the officer to Alexandre. "We.... must.... make pace... You must.... win.... win.... for.... the revolution." His last words, not an order, a plea for sane action. Alexandre watched, as the light of life left the eyes of the Comrade Commander. The younger man repeating to himself his thoughts from only minutes before. "The forces of history cared not for great men and their will, as much as they may scream otherwise, no one was immortal."
Communard-German Frontlines
Alexandre moved hurriedly behind the earthworks forming the basic defenses built up by the National Guard. Behind him lay a shallow trench lined with wood bracing the packed earth walls. Before him, less than a kilometer eastward stood the German occupiers. The sound of shot striking stone, as flakes of rock and soil rained down on his face reminded him of the devastating power of the Imperial counter attack. The tide of the first great Communard victory had rolled over Versailles, which they still held, but had been slowed, stopped, and turned back from the eastward advance. The National Guardsmen trusted Commander Flourens, it was why he had been elected to lead them. Now, he had become convinced of the folly of the government's two front war. Alexandre quietly held his own belief of the fruitily of war with the Germans. Other's agreed, but they remined in the minority, even if Flourens had begun to express the same feeling at times.
More small bursts of fire came from the German lines, with shells landing short of the Communard trenches. Both shot and shell raining a storm of earth on the tired, frightened men defending their revolution. It was becoming harder though, to tell the difference at a glance between the men who first saw combat in the uniform of the National Guard, and those who saw it years before in service of his majesty. He found himself wondering what had happened to the Emperor, likely the man would flee to which ever nation threw open in arms, hiding like a rat. The Republic, the Commune, and the Germans each wanting nothing to do with him. He had spent decades sitting on the thrown of France, and in a matter of days, was no one. The forces of history cared not for great men and their will, as much as they may scream otherwise, no one was immortal.
Alexandre raised himself higher, looking out over the muddy pockmarked no-mans-land winding like a river between the two armies. He quickly found a target, a 2nd Lieutenant surveying the battle from the safety of a dead horse. His vision was turned away from Alexandre at the moment, pointing towards something further down the trench. His mouth moved frantically, giving instructions to a runner no doubt. Alexandre adjusted as to not draw too much attention, lining his iron sights with the German's upper chest. Just as dirt began to fly around him once more, with impact after impact of Imperial shot, he pulled the trigger. He remained resting on the earth just long enough to see the other man grasp his throat stumble back and fall. With that Alexandre slid down the dirty wall into the relative safety of the earthworks. His hear pounding as he heard dozens of shots meant for him bury themselves in soil. He pressed back catching his breath before moving forward.
In his pocket was a report for Commander Flourens. The Imperial German forces occupying north eastern France had begun to arrive to relive their troops near Paris. They were out greatly out numbered. And their arrival could mean only poor news from the efforts of their fellow revolutionaries in the occupied parts of the nation. Alexandre hoped, perhaps naively that the Red Flag was fairing better to the south. And that the Paris National Guard too would soon see reinforcements ready to breathe new life into their efforts. As if to punctuate the thought at that moment, a shell landed in the trench, not far from Alexandre, sending mud, wood, and flesh all around. His ears ringing, his vision blurred, but he pushed on. Laying on his belly climbing above the rear of the trench towards his destination.
Finally, he reached the elected Officers' tent to find Flourens and the other commanders reviewing a map of the battlefield, not far behind the line. They all, Flourens included saluted him as he entered, returning the salute. "Comrade Flourens." He said handing him the report. "Details of Imperial movements along the north trench." Flourens nodded taking the paper and reading it over, his face growing more pale. "Damn them." He spat. "Damn the Jacobins!" He punched a fist into the wooden table holding the map. "I am fighting a war with less then half of what we need. And they expect medicals." He looked towards the man to his left. "We must sue for peace with the Germans. It is the only way to secure Paris and the Revolution. If we do not, the will over take the city and slaug-" Hell broke lose.
Earth, stone, canvas, wood, paper, cloth, metal, and flesh were thrown about as if a whirlwind hand landed in the centre of the tent. The ringing was back, sound distorted, his vision blurred once more as smoke burned his eyes. Alexandre pushed himself up, his uniform was torn and he was bleeding, but nothing major seemed to have occurred. At least not to him. Many of the elected officers lay dead, a near by crater giving the only sign of the culprit. He frantically scanned the men Flourens lay in the arms of the man he had been speaking to moments before. His tunic already blackened and thick with blood from the wounds in his chest. He spat as blood pooled in his mouth, trying to speak. His eyes moving from the officer to Alexandre. "We.... must.... make pace... You must.... win.... win.... for.... the revolution." His last words, not an order, a plea for sane action. Alexandre watched, as the light of life left the eyes of the Comrade Commander. The younger man repeating to himself his thoughts from only minutes before. "The forces of history cared not for great men and their will, as much as they may scream otherwise, no one was immortal."
Hey all. I just wanted to say that this has not been abandoned. Just that I work at a turkey processing plant, and between Canadian Thanksgiving, American Thanksgiving, and Christmas, my life is a hell of work right now. But once things slow down a little I'll be posting regularly again.
mariano kant
Banned
i´ve read the whole thing and love it
thank you for the offerings, and solidarity, poultry processing is very hard work.
9th, May
Paris Commune
Amélie sat in the observation balcony watching the proceedings of the commune, excitedly taking notes as she hung on every word. She had found a steam of luck, she had sold her story on the Break Out from Paris, as well as notes on some of the low-level political meetings she had sat in on. It had not been much, nothing near what her father had brought home. But was proving to be enough to keep their heads above water. This, would hopefully sell well enough to bring in some extra money, prices had gone down somewhat since the opening of the city, with several framing communities taking up the Red Flag in the following days. It was still hard, but at least no one, or at least not everyone, were stuck eating rats any longer.
The factions below jostled and yelled for their positions. The Far Lefts called the Internationalists and their allies in the newly reformed Trade Unions made up nearly a third of the Commune leadership, they grew closer with the National Guard representatives with every move made by the majority. The Radical Republicans led by the Jacobines were the dominant power they pushed the daily agendas and had been doing what they could to wrestle further control over all policies. "Citizens! Citizens please!" Their leader called out. The man was not the official President of the Commune, that title fell on the shoulders of Louis Auguste Blanqui in absentia. The Jacobin continued. "The armies of the German Empire, and the Empire of France remain on our doorstep. They threaten to turn back our revolution just as the common people of France take up the Red Flag of the Commune. The National Guard, trough get effort turned back the Germans for some time. But, they fell back, and now Paris is once more in range of German guns!" The room fell silent, all Amélie could hear was the sound of her scratches as she wrote.
"How is this possible I ask you? If the National Guard, who so easily turned the Germans away from Paris, away from Versailles were themselves routed?" Tension filled the chambers, no one seemed to move, no one seemed to breathe. "There is one! But only one explanation!" The Jacobin pointed towards the representatives of the National Guard. "The failure lays with the National Guard and their election of Gustave Flourens. Who's lack of faith in the people of Paris, and OUR Revolution lead to his loss at the hands of the invaders!" Like some great natural force jeers and cries of slander erupted from the men below. Not just from the Far Left and the National Guard, but factions of the Radical Republicans and even some Jacobins. It was hard now for Amélie to follow the speech. Something about Flourens choosing the royalists in the National Guard, something else about giving the revolution over. There was a break in the jeers just long enough for some words to reach the balcony. "...the Government of the Commune suspends the right of the National Guard to elect military officials, and hereby reforms them into a National Army under the command of Paris..." If the cries before had been defining this was soul-shattering. The sheer volume of resistance caused Amélie to clamp her hands over her ears as the assembly seemed on the brink of revolt. She watched as several of the National Guards stood and walked out of the hall. There was no way they were accepting this, they never would.
As the Jacobin leader called for a vote, the remaining National Guards and their allies continued to shout him down. Some Jacobins tried to have him return to his seat, clearly fearing pushing the matter at this time. Amélie wrote horridly, worried now that she may not have enough paper for the day's events. The Trade Unions threatened to order a strike if the Jacobins continued with the effort, the Internationalists roared over how the support of the international working class would be destroyed, the National Guard refused to be turned simply into an army like any other. Amélie nodded slightly in agreement, she had been reading some works by anarchist writers, and two German men living in London since the revolution. The Jacobins it seems would simply have one French Republic fight another, there was not anything revolutionary about that in her mind. The debate raged on, seemingly for hours, when the chamber doors were thrown open dozens of armed National Guard stormed the chambers, moving between the seats in perfect military precision. They took hold of the Jacobin leader, and then dozens more of their faction. "You are hereby arrested under the Ordinance of the Paris, for crimes against the Commune, the Workers, and the Revolution." One of the National Guards said as they marched the Jacobins out. Amélie quickly stood, following them to the streets. Most of the sitting Jacobins were simply tossed to the cobblestone and told to leave, with their leaders marched to the prison. She looked back towards the hall before marking her notes once more.
"The National Guard has thrown out the last fetter on the Revolution, the last ties to the old system of Monarchs and of Republics. The Revolution has truly come to Paris."
Paris Commune
Amélie sat in the observation balcony watching the proceedings of the commune, excitedly taking notes as she hung on every word. She had found a steam of luck, she had sold her story on the Break Out from Paris, as well as notes on some of the low-level political meetings she had sat in on. It had not been much, nothing near what her father had brought home. But was proving to be enough to keep their heads above water. This, would hopefully sell well enough to bring in some extra money, prices had gone down somewhat since the opening of the city, with several framing communities taking up the Red Flag in the following days. It was still hard, but at least no one, or at least not everyone, were stuck eating rats any longer.
The factions below jostled and yelled for their positions. The Far Lefts called the Internationalists and their allies in the newly reformed Trade Unions made up nearly a third of the Commune leadership, they grew closer with the National Guard representatives with every move made by the majority. The Radical Republicans led by the Jacobines were the dominant power they pushed the daily agendas and had been doing what they could to wrestle further control over all policies. "Citizens! Citizens please!" Their leader called out. The man was not the official President of the Commune, that title fell on the shoulders of Louis Auguste Blanqui in absentia. The Jacobin continued. "The armies of the German Empire, and the Empire of France remain on our doorstep. They threaten to turn back our revolution just as the common people of France take up the Red Flag of the Commune. The National Guard, trough get effort turned back the Germans for some time. But, they fell back, and now Paris is once more in range of German guns!" The room fell silent, all Amélie could hear was the sound of her scratches as she wrote.
"How is this possible I ask you? If the National Guard, who so easily turned the Germans away from Paris, away from Versailles were themselves routed?" Tension filled the chambers, no one seemed to move, no one seemed to breathe. "There is one! But only one explanation!" The Jacobin pointed towards the representatives of the National Guard. "The failure lays with the National Guard and their election of Gustave Flourens. Who's lack of faith in the people of Paris, and OUR Revolution lead to his loss at the hands of the invaders!" Like some great natural force jeers and cries of slander erupted from the men below. Not just from the Far Left and the National Guard, but factions of the Radical Republicans and even some Jacobins. It was hard now for Amélie to follow the speech. Something about Flourens choosing the royalists in the National Guard, something else about giving the revolution over. There was a break in the jeers just long enough for some words to reach the balcony. "...the Government of the Commune suspends the right of the National Guard to elect military officials, and hereby reforms them into a National Army under the command of Paris..." If the cries before had been defining this was soul-shattering. The sheer volume of resistance caused Amélie to clamp her hands over her ears as the assembly seemed on the brink of revolt. She watched as several of the National Guards stood and walked out of the hall. There was no way they were accepting this, they never would.
As the Jacobin leader called for a vote, the remaining National Guards and their allies continued to shout him down. Some Jacobins tried to have him return to his seat, clearly fearing pushing the matter at this time. Amélie wrote horridly, worried now that she may not have enough paper for the day's events. The Trade Unions threatened to order a strike if the Jacobins continued with the effort, the Internationalists roared over how the support of the international working class would be destroyed, the National Guard refused to be turned simply into an army like any other. Amélie nodded slightly in agreement, she had been reading some works by anarchist writers, and two German men living in London since the revolution. The Jacobins it seems would simply have one French Republic fight another, there was not anything revolutionary about that in her mind. The debate raged on, seemingly for hours, when the chamber doors were thrown open dozens of armed National Guard stormed the chambers, moving between the seats in perfect military precision. They took hold of the Jacobin leader, and then dozens more of their faction. "You are hereby arrested under the Ordinance of the Paris, for crimes against the Commune, the Workers, and the Revolution." One of the National Guards said as they marched the Jacobins out. Amélie quickly stood, following them to the streets. Most of the sitting Jacobins were simply tossed to the cobblestone and told to leave, with their leaders marched to the prison. She looked back towards the hall before marking her notes once more.
"The National Guard has thrown out the last fetter on the Revolution, the last ties to the old system of Monarchs and of Republics. The Revolution has truly come to Paris."
12th, May
Town of Vézelay
La famille Duchamp had proven to be the most extraordinary and kind people Louis had met in his years under the sun. Docteur et Mme Duchamp were seen as something of local leaders to the townsfolk. Their children, three girls, cared for their small farm, which helped subsidize their food when their father did not see enough work or had chosen to serve charitably to those without the coin to pay. Vézelay was a small but caring village, the kind Louis remembered from childhood stories, or as close to as the living world could provide. He was not back to his full strength yet and had so far only been able to make his way around with some help. Now he walked slowly down the uneven cobblestone paths hanging on the arm of the Duchamp patriarch and a walking stick.
The older man, well dressed as someone in his position could be held Louis by the arm. He had been kind enough to dress the young man in some spare clothes. The first clean, and comfortable clothes Louis had worn in months, his filthy uniform... Louis smiled to himself weakly, it had been buried at his request. His thoughts took him away a moment too long, he stumbled over a brick, feeling Doctor Duchamp hoist gently on his arm. "Careful my young friend, careful." Louis steadied and kept down the path towards the town centre as he and the family made their way to the small church. He sat with his caretakers in the front pew as the priest took the pulpit. The assembled townspeople stood as the older man cleared his throat.
"Pax tibi." His voice echoed clear through the building.
"Et cum vobis." The people responded. The priest gestured for them all to sit, as he instructed them to open their bibles. The mass was long, and somewhat confusing, as Louis knew little Latin. After the singing of psalms the masses rose and filed slowly from the church. The priest stopped Docteur Duchamp calling him to the side, as the women of the family helped Louis to his feet. He noticed the father gesturing toward him, with the other man nodding slowly. Duchamp removed his hat, slowly walking toward his family. "My love." He said with a smile. "Take our daughters to the market. We will need some fresh vegetables for tonight's supper. I feel like a walk along the country path." He turned slightly with a nod to Louis. "Monsieur Gabriel if you would be so kind as to accompany me." Louis nodded as the older man once again braced his arm and the two walked through town once more.
"Monsieur Gabriel, Father Jean, and I have been speaking somewhat more often as of late. I do assure you though, this has not been at confession." The two men chuckled as they walked. "No rather we've talked about the world at hand and the will of our Lord as it stands. He has said, that in the past, for your... desertion for the Imperial Army would have seen you turned back to the forces of the crown." The silence in the air hung cold and heavy for moments. "However, as we have no monarch there is no one appointed by God, who would be fit for such actions. As such, he feels that your soul is most welcome in our town." Louis nodded with a relaxed smile.
"I must remember to give my thanks to Father Jean when next I see him." He said weakly.
"On my part. I do believe that it would be best to find you a place of service to the town." Duchamp said patting Louis' hand.
"I could do guard work as it stands. I have experience." Louis said through a small laugh.
'No, no. I rather think something else would be more appropriate. As I am sure you have seen, I have no sons, and I wish to pass on my trade as it were. So I offer you the role of my apprentice. What say you?" Louis looked on stunned for a moment. His jaw working to form words.
"Oui. Oui Monsieur. Tes bon. Merci."
Town of Vézelay
La famille Duchamp had proven to be the most extraordinary and kind people Louis had met in his years under the sun. Docteur et Mme Duchamp were seen as something of local leaders to the townsfolk. Their children, three girls, cared for their small farm, which helped subsidize their food when their father did not see enough work or had chosen to serve charitably to those without the coin to pay. Vézelay was a small but caring village, the kind Louis remembered from childhood stories, or as close to as the living world could provide. He was not back to his full strength yet and had so far only been able to make his way around with some help. Now he walked slowly down the uneven cobblestone paths hanging on the arm of the Duchamp patriarch and a walking stick.
The older man, well dressed as someone in his position could be held Louis by the arm. He had been kind enough to dress the young man in some spare clothes. The first clean, and comfortable clothes Louis had worn in months, his filthy uniform... Louis smiled to himself weakly, it had been buried at his request. His thoughts took him away a moment too long, he stumbled over a brick, feeling Doctor Duchamp hoist gently on his arm. "Careful my young friend, careful." Louis steadied and kept down the path towards the town centre as he and the family made their way to the small church. He sat with his caretakers in the front pew as the priest took the pulpit. The assembled townspeople stood as the older man cleared his throat.
"Pax tibi." His voice echoed clear through the building.
"Et cum vobis." The people responded. The priest gestured for them all to sit, as he instructed them to open their bibles. The mass was long, and somewhat confusing, as Louis knew little Latin. After the singing of psalms the masses rose and filed slowly from the church. The priest stopped Docteur Duchamp calling him to the side, as the women of the family helped Louis to his feet. He noticed the father gesturing toward him, with the other man nodding slowly. Duchamp removed his hat, slowly walking toward his family. "My love." He said with a smile. "Take our daughters to the market. We will need some fresh vegetables for tonight's supper. I feel like a walk along the country path." He turned slightly with a nod to Louis. "Monsieur Gabriel if you would be so kind as to accompany me." Louis nodded as the older man once again braced his arm and the two walked through town once more.
"Monsieur Gabriel, Father Jean, and I have been speaking somewhat more often as of late. I do assure you though, this has not been at confession." The two men chuckled as they walked. "No rather we've talked about the world at hand and the will of our Lord as it stands. He has said, that in the past, for your... desertion for the Imperial Army would have seen you turned back to the forces of the crown." The silence in the air hung cold and heavy for moments. "However, as we have no monarch there is no one appointed by God, who would be fit for such actions. As such, he feels that your soul is most welcome in our town." Louis nodded with a relaxed smile.
"I must remember to give my thanks to Father Jean when next I see him." He said weakly.
"On my part. I do believe that it would be best to find you a place of service to the town." Duchamp said patting Louis' hand.
"I could do guard work as it stands. I have experience." Louis said through a small laugh.
'No, no. I rather think something else would be more appropriate. As I am sure you have seen, I have no sons, and I wish to pass on my trade as it were. So I offer you the role of my apprentice. What say you?" Louis looked on stunned for a moment. His jaw working to form words.
"Oui. Oui Monsieur. Tes bon. Merci."