Paris under the Commune: The Seventy-Three Days of the Second Siege; with Numerous Illustrations, Sketches Taken on the Spot, and Portraits (from the Original Photographs)Leighton, John
History
Paris under the Commune: The Seventy-Three Days of the Second Siege; with Numerous Illustrations, Sketches Taken on the Spot, and Portraits (from the Original Photographs)
Leighton, John
Paris (France) -- History -- Commune, 1871
[76] “THE MINISTER OF WAR TO THE NATIONAL GUARD.
“CITOYENS,—I notice with pain that, forgetful of our modest origin,
the ridiculous mania for trimmings, embroidery, and shoulder-knots
has begun to take hold upon you.
“To work! You have for the first time accomplished a revolution by,
and for, labour.
“Let us not forget our origin, and, above all, do not let us be
ashamed of it, Workmen we were! workmen let us remain!
“In the name of virtue against vice, of duty against abuse, of
austerity against corruption, we have triumphed; let us not forget
the fact.
“Let us be, above all, men of honour and duty; we shall then found
an austere Republic, the only one that has or can have reason for
its existence.
“I appeal to the good sense of my fellow-citizens: let us have no
more tags and lace, no more glitter, no more frippery which costs
so little at the shops yet is so dear to our responsibility.
“In future, anyone who cannot deduce proof of his right to wear the
insignia of his nominal rank, or, who shall add to the regular
uniform of the National Guard, tags, lace, or other vain
distinctions, will be liable to be punished.
“I profit by this occasion to remind each of you of the necessity
of absolute obedience to the authorities, for in obeying those whom
you have elected you are only obeying yourselves.
“The Delegate of War,
“Paris, April 7th, 1871,
(Signed) “E. CLUSERET.”
LXXII.
Suppose that a man in disguise goes into the opera ball intoxicated,
rushes hither and thither, gesticulating, insulting the women, mocking
the men, turns off the gas, then sets light to some curtains, until
such a hue and cry is raised that he is turned out of the place.
Whereupon our mask runs off to the nearest costumier’s, changes his
clown’s dress for that of a pantaloon, and returns to the opera to
recommence his old tricks, saying, “I have changed my dress, no one
will recognise me.” But he is wrong, there is no mistaking his way of
doing business.
The crowd surrounds him and cries, “We recognise you, _beau masque!_”
and if he has had the imprudence to secure the doors, they throw him
out of window.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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