semaine sanglante

Le 14 Juillet (AKA, not “Bastille Day)

On the 14th of July 1789, in the midst of the French Revolution (also refered to by the same name in French, even though we had quite a few of those), rioters attacked the Bastille prison and freed the (7) prisoners that were inside. That prison was a relique of the Ancient Regime, that ended officially three years later with the 1st Republic (September 21th 1792).

Basically, the French Revolution was a very complex period, in which many many things happened, not that historians really agree on what happened exactly (each carrying their own political views and agenda, including me).

In France, this period marks the beginning of the contemporary period (after antiquity, middle-age & modern times) in history, it was a rich period in terms of political, economical, cultural, scientific, social progress.

What we call “La prise de la Bastille” (the Storming of the Bastille) became a symbol, but the event in itself isn’t the most significant, by far.

For example, women walked on Versailles demanding bread, but really, riots broke out everywhere, we had lots of beheading (including that of the then king Louis the 16th), let’s not forget the Reign of Terror, that was fun. The most significant event in my opinion was probably the Abolition of the Privileges (August 4th 1789) & the Abolition of Slavery (February 4th 1794, which was unfortunately restaured by Napoleon in 1802).

A year after the Storming of the Bastille, on July 14th 1790, there was a celebration, called la Fête de la Fédération, meant to emphasize the importance of citizenship, of civil value, now that royalty & religion were no longer there for the people to put their faith and trust in (that’s not exactly accurate, but without getting into details, that’s pretty much it).

In 1880, the 14th of July was officially adopted as the annual national holiday, meant as a military event. To this day, people still argue over which day our National Holiday is supposed to be referring to.

Bottom line, it’s supposed to be a symbol of citizenship & freedom and a reminder of the past. Our 19th century was full of revolutions and we had many uprisings before that (les Révoltes paysannes AKA Jacqueries, where people would rise up against taxes for the most part, with degrees of success between the 14th & the 18th century).

One of those revolutions was used to plant the scene to Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables (June 1832), though it’s probably more fair to call it an uprising, as its success was fairly limited.

To this day, we are known as the country of strikes, social rights (& laziness apparently?) and our history is filled with riots, uprising, demonstrations, protests, strikes which continue to this day.

This history is kept alive, partly with songs, only one of which can be found in Les Misérables… and was cut in the movie. It’s called la Faute à Voltaire, sung by Gavroche.

Here is a list of proeminent revolutionnary songs, with links to good audio versions with lyrics on youtube:

La carmagnole (1792) : Every child knows at least the part about Marie-Antoinette: “Madam’ Veto (Marie-Antoinette) promessed to slaughter all Paris, but she missed her shot, thanks to our gunners. Let’s dance the carmagnole, hail the sound of gun barrel”.

La Marseillaise (1792) : The national hymn, the long version has 8 verses.

Ah ! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira (1790) : A very famous song sung during the revolution, the lyrics literally say “We will hang the aristocrats”.

Le chant des cerises (1867) : A beautiful song strongly associated with the Paris Commune (1871). It’s still sung by new artists or during demos to this day.

La semaine sanglante (1871) : At the end of the Paris Commune, over 30 000 people were slaughtered in a week (the story goes they killed everyone they came across in the street that had gunpower on them, so basically everyone), over a thousand people were sent to trial, many of which ended up in forced labor in Cayenne often to die there. The song has seven verse, one for each day of the week of the massacre, describing life after the Commune. It’s still sung in the face of police violence during protests.

La chanson du Père Duschène (1892) : An anti-clerical anarchist song, sung by Ravachol as he went to his execution. The song advises “if you want to be happy, in the name of god, hang your landlord”.

Les enfants de Cayenne (1900-ish) : The most emblamatic song against the police & prison. It had been completely forgotten until was dug up by punks musicians about 30 years ago, so I don’t have a nice version to share. The lyrics go “Death to prison guards, death to cops”, except with slurs.

La chanson de Craonne (1917) : A beautiful song sung by the mutineers of le Chemin des Dames during WWI, the soldiers were sent to slaughter & at some point they refused to go on. It’s heart-breaking, the lyrics go : “Good-bye life, good-bye love, good-bye to all women, it’s really over and forever, this atrocious war”. Desertion & mutiny been synonymous with a death sentence, choosing a death with meaning is somewhat shown as dignity restaured.

La Butte Rouge (1925) : Another song against war (in general, but it highly refers to WWI). It’s about a place (a hill) where soldiers where killed, but time passed, people forgot what happened there and moved on, while the singer will never forget.

Le Chant des partisans (1941) : The hymn of the French Resistance during WWII, literally the rallying song. Everyone knows it, it’s sung at memorials every year, also sometimes during demonstrations, kids learn it at school : “We are the one who break the bars of our brother’s prisons”.

Le Chant des Marais (1933) : Originally sung in German, wrote & sung by prisoners in concentration camps. It’s also one of the most well-known songs about WWII, sung at every memorials, many learn it at school. It’s sad and beautiful. There is also an English version, though the lyrics aren’t exactly the same (x).

I might do a follow-up with more songs, either old or more recent, if anyone is interested.


la semaine sanglante (par satoriiiii)

It Isn't Dead

They killed it with rifle shots,

with machine gun shots,

and rolled it in its flag

into the clay-like earth.

And the mob of fat executioners

thought themselves the stronger,

but none of this changes anything,


for the Commune isn’t dead!


Just as harvesters clear a field,

just as apples are brought to earth

the Versaillais massacred

at least a hundred thousand men.

And these hundred thousand murders,

See what they bring,

But none of this changes anything,


for the Commune isn’t dead!


Though they killed Varlin,

Flourens, Duval, Milliere,

Ferre, Rigault, Tony Moilin,

filing the cemeteries.

They thought they cut of its arms,

emptied its aorta.

But none of this changes anything,


for the Commune isn’t dead!


They acted like bandits,

counting on silence.

They killed the wounded in their hospital beds,

and the blood,

flooding the sheets

flowed under the door.

But none of this changes anything,


For the Commune isn’t dead!


Bought-off journalists,

merchants of slander

soread over our mass graves

their flood or ignominies.

Maxim Ducamp, Dumas

vomited up their booze.

but none of this changes anything,


for the Commune isn’t dead!


It’s Damocle’s sword

That floats over their heads.

At Vallès’ funeral

they were made mute.

The fact is there were many of us

who served as his escort;

which proves in any case,


that the Commune isn’t dead!


And so, all this proves to the fighters,

that Marianne’s skin is brown;

she’s ready to fight and it’s time to cry out:

Long Live the Commune!

And this proves to all the Judases

that this is how things are,

and in a short while they’ll know,

God damn!

That the Commune isn’t dead!

Eugène Edine Pottier, Paris, May 1886

The defiance of Pottier’s poem is matched only by its futility; the Commune was, and remains, dead. 

‘Though they killed Varlin…’ 

Eugene Varlin made his last stand at the barricades. He was captured on May 28, screamed ‘Vive la Commune!’ and was immediately shot. His body was dragged through the streets and kicked and spat upon until his left eye dangled from its socket. Eugene Varlin died in Monmartre and only meters away from where there would soon be erected that great symbol of re-conquest; Sacré-Coeur.

The official website of Sacré-Coeur makes no mention of the Commune and instead traces its history to the ‘spiritual’ causes of national defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. This historical revisionism is staggering and the National Assembly decree of July 1873 clearly spelt out that the church would be built to ‘expiate the crimes of the Communards’. The crimes it referred to were – we can imagine – numerous, but included not least the separation of church and state and the execution of the Archbishop of Paris. Evidently the Church wanted revenge. 

As the army secured Paris at the end of May, noted royalist writer M. Georges Bernanons triumphantly congratulated them for ‘God’s victory’ and in having ‘conquered Paris for religion’. Four years later the first stones of Sacre-Couer were laid. If we can speak of ‘God’s victory’ this was how it materialised itself, an all-engulfing edifice to reaction that both towered over and symbolically reclaimed Paris. All good communists still spit on the steps of the Basilica. 

‘Flourens, Duval, Milliere,

Ferre, Rigault, Tony Moilin,

filing the cemeteries.’

Flourens and Duval were the first to go. Whilst attempting a ‘grand sortie’ against Versailles on April 3rd they were captured and executed.  Ferre, Rigault and Moilin all perished in the butchery of Bloody Week.

At 15.00 on 21st May Versailles troops entered Paris at the Point du Jour gate and four hours later the Communal Council was informed. The inhabitants of Paris were officially notified the morning of the 22nd and by the afternoon 70,000 soldiers had streamed into the capital and the tricolore flew over the Arch de Triomphe. The next week was one of barricades, bullets and burning. The last Communal proclamation was on the 27th but by then it was all over; the western and northern quarters were long under government control and by the next day only one barricade remained. The Paris Commune was no more.

Le Figaro summed up moral imperative of the re-conquest when it spoke of the need to ‘purge Paris’ of ‘moral gangrene’. General Valentin, the Prefect of Police took this one step further and he explained that to him ‘Paris’ referred to everyone who had been there for the last three months. In his view ‘everyone there is to blame and if I had my way everyone there would be punished’. For 30,000 the punishment was immediate death at the hands of the army. The killing was so widespread that even trivial aspects of personal appearance became death sentences. It is rumoured that anyone with grey hair was shot as they could have been a part of the 1848 revolution and it is well known that any woman with messy hair or men’s clothing was treated as a peteroleuse. The ease at which bullets were let loose is all the more startling when it is compared to the legal process that followed.

During her trial Louise Michel had heroically declared ‘if you are not cowards, kill me’, but the government had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Bloody Week had already produced enough martyrs and they were not interested in breeding any more. Exile was a far easier solution – if at the same time more costly and time consuming, the French navy finding itself occupied for a year with back and forth trips to the New World. 4,000 Communards – alongside 10,000 family members – were banished to New Caledonia and many thousands more were left in self-imposed exile in various European states; the overriding theme being that they could neither be mourned not could they organise future revolt. They were, to all intents and purposes, neither dead nor alive. 

Back in Paris the city was decapitated. Haussmanised boulevards had proved their value and stretched through the capital like so many gleaming tentacles. The city remained under martial law until 1876 and it’s elected roles abolished. The first Parisian Mayor after the Commune? Jacques Chirac.

‘At Vallès’ funeral…’

Jules Vallès survived Bloody Week and fled Paris. Having penned a successful novel detailing his experiences he eventually died in 1885. Around 60,000 people accompanied his coffin to Pere Lachaise Cemetery where he was interned just yards from the Mur des Fédérés. For Pottier, that there were Communards among the 60,000 was sign enough that the Commune was not dead. There is, however, a sad irony to it all.

The funeral procession for Vallès had only been allowed to take place following the amnesty of 1880 and the attempt to further banish the memory of the Commune. Speaking in support of the amnesty Gambetta put forward the strongest argument:

‘You must close the book on these last ten years, you must place the tombstone of oblivion over the crimes and vestiges of the Commune, and you must tell everyone – those whose absence we deplore and those whose contrary views and disagreements we sometimes regret, that there is one France and one Republic’ 

The Amnesty was passed, the exiles began to trickle back and at long last there was indeed ‘one France and one Republic’. In 1871 the reality had been very different.

When Thiers and MacMahon had led the slaughter in Paris it has been at the head of an infant state fraught with internal dispute. Within ten years the monarchist challenge had been defeated and the Republic was secure. Leading figures had in previous years emphasized the role of Bloody Week so as to prove their ability to ruthlessly ensure stability but it was now a sore spot in history. While Courbet had once led legions of painters to pick up rifles, artists now became forces of reaction. Impressionists painted picturesque – yet notably empty – Parisian streets and in doing so symbolically recreated the social hierarchies that had been disrupted by 1871. Eventually commemorations were allowed, set-piece affairs of an ever-ageing memory. The Third Republic was safe but never forget how it was built: upon a foundation of 30,000 corpses.

‘and in a short while they’ll know…’

The socialist movement was ripped apart by 1871. For France it was a literal collapse and tens of thousands were either dead, exiled or in hiding. The heyday of Proudhonists, Blanquists and all kinds of co-operative dreams, had long passed. The International was made illegal and in a telling moment at the 1876 Parisian Trades Congress, only two delegates had been active prior to the Commune. Meanwhile in the wake of Bloody Week anarchists and communists irreparably split in two – black flags began to appear where previously there had only been red and a host of figures queued up to pass judgment on the lessons of the Commune. 

If the Commune did not die it returned zombie like in so many 20th Century experiments; invoked by brutalizing industrialistion in Russia and likewise by agrarian communes in China. By Situationists pulling grand pianos behind barricades and by atomised dogmatists on Hyde Park corners.

For Bakunin it had been the negation of the state, for Engels the dictatorship of the proletariat and for Marx ‘the political form at last discovered’. Like all those who would follow, they were both right yet equally wrong at the same time. For if the Commune was merely political form it would not have led thousands to throw furniture out their windows to build barricades they knew were futile, it would not have seen school teachers fighting alongside prostitutes they had previously shunned, and it would not have produced so many ordinary people willing to fight, die, bleed and stand.

In Le Temps des Cerises, the popular song that became later associated most with the Commune, the singer laments the loss of the time of the cherries, the childish time when you are in love and full of dreams. It’s unsurprising that those Communards that remained, either hidden in European barns or working on New Caledonian fields, saw the two and a half months of 1871 in this way.

The Paris Commune truly was the time of the cherries; childish, wild, romantic and foolish, but for a brief while everyone was in love and anything was possible.


Monet on the Run - 50. Heading for Holland
In Paris, “la semaine sanglante” started on May 21, 1871. By a conservative estimate, 20.000 Parisians would die in the streets of the French capital during that Bloody Week.

Monet left England in late May. He didn’t return to France, but rather took his wife and son on a boat to Holland. They continued their journey by train and boat to Zaandam and finally checked in at hotel ‘De Beurs’ on June 2nd.
That same day, Monet wrote to his friend Pissarro, who was still in London, that they had “travelled almost the whole of Holland” and that the country was “much more beautiful than people say”.

He started painting it right away and with enthusiasm.

Claude Monet,
- The Zaan at Zaandam, 1871. Oil on canvas, 42 x 73 cm. Private collection
- Boats on the Zaan, 1871. Oil on canvas, 35 x 71 cm. Glynn Vivian Art Gallery and Museum, Swansea, UK
- The Banks of the Zaan, 1871. Oil on canvas, 33 x 70 cm. Private collection 
- The Voorzaan, 1871. Oil on canvas, 39 x 71 cm. Private collection
- View of the Voorzaan, 1871. Oil on canvas, 18 x 38 cm. Musée Marmottan Monet, Paris
- Marine, Holland, 1871. Oil on canvas, 34 x74cm. Nationalmuseum, Stockholm, Sweden


Le Temps des cerises is a song written in France between 1866 and1868, with words by Jean-Baptiste Clément and music by Antoine Renard. The song was later strongly associated with the Paris Commune, during which verses were added to the song, thus becoming a revolutionary song. The “Time of Cherries” is a metaphor regarding what life will be like when a revolution will have changed social and economic conditions. It is believed to be dedicated by the writer to a nurse who fought in the Semaine Sanglante (“Bloody Week”) when French government troops overthrew the commune