Paris under the Commune: The Seventy-Three Days of the Second Siege

In Short

This book offers a vivid, eyewitness chronicle of the seventy-three days of the Paris Commune in 1871. Blending personal observation, sketches, and political analysis, it documents the rise of the Central Committee, the escalating violence between the Federalists and the Versailles government, and the eventual, fiery collapse of the revolutionary movement. By cataloging the physical ruin of Paris—its burned palaces and broken monuments—alongside the ideological fervor of its people, the narrative preserves a pivotal moment of history, capturing the tension between high-minded idealism and the desperate, often savage reality of a city under siege.

The Story

The narrative begins in the immediate aftermath of the Commune’s fall, as the author walks through a landscape of desolation near the Mont-Parnasse station. The city is a wreckage of pockmarked stone and shattered infrastructure, a physical testament to the conflict that had just concluded. From this starting point, the focus shifts backward to the spring of 1871, when the Prussians had recently departed Paris, leaving behind a power vacuum and a volatile, traumatized populace.

The tension builds as the National Guard seizes control of the city’s artillery, setting the stage for an irreconcilable rift between the revolutionary Commune and the established government at Versailles. The author provides a detailed, often critical look at the rise of the Central Committee, detailing the proclamations and the shifting loyalties of the Parisian people. As the days progress, the atmosphere shifts from political agitation to total war. The author describes the "seventy-three days" as a period where the thin veneer of order is stripped away, revealing a city where neighbors turn on neighbors and where the simple act of moving furniture becomes a microcosm of the larger, violent struggle for property and power.

As the conflict intensifies, the narrative captures the surreal juxtaposition of daily life. While shells fall on the Arc de Triomphe and fires consume the Tuileries, the boulevards retain a haunting, superficial gaiety. The author laments the "blasé dandies" who continue to frequent theaters while mothers weep for their children, characterizing this indifference as perhaps more reprehensible than the violence of the combatants themselves.

The story reaches its climax in the "bloody week" of the final collapse. The author describes the horrific, systematic destruction of Paris, where incendiaries and pétroleuses move through the streets to fulfill the decrees of the failing Commune. The narrative concludes with a bleak inventory of the city’s ruins, mapping the charred remains of cathedrals, ministries, and palaces. By detailing the final, frantic efforts of the insurgents and the arrival of the Versailles troops, the book paints a picture of a civilization that has turned upon itself. The final image is one of profound exhaustion and sorrow—a city transformed into a sepulchre, where the phantom of the old Paris lingers amidst the ash and the broken stone, leaving the reader with the somber realization of the cost of civil discord.

How It Unfolds

The aftermath of ruin The narrative opens in the desolation of a train station, where the author observes bullet holes and shattered walls that serve as the prologue to a wider story of collapse. This setting frames the entire experience as a retrospective journey into the recent, violent past.

The descent into chaos The account moves to the withdrawal of the Prussian forces and the subsequent rise of the Central Committee. Through the study of public proclamations and the mood of the streets, the author illustrates how the loss of authority in Paris ignited a chain reaction of defiance.

The dual face of Paris The middle beats explore the unsettling contrast between the front lines and the boulevards. While combatants fight to the death at the barricades, the city’s elite continue their leisure, creating a sharp moral critique of a society in the throes of self-destruction.

The final conflagration The concluding sections document the systematic burning of the city’s landmark structures. The narrative ends with a meticulous, grim inventory of the damage, listing the charred remains of institutions and monuments as a final, quiet testament to the conflict's end.

The People

The book is populated by a cast representing the extremes of the Parisian social spectrum. The members of the Central Committee—men like Assy, Varlin, and Jourde—are presented as figures of "proved incapacity" who nonetheless wield immense power, driven by an ideological fervor that the author views with skepticism. They are the architects of the Commune, attempting to build a new order while struggling to maintain control over a fracturing city.

In contrast, the "furies" of the movement, the pétroleuses, emerge as terrifying, symbolic figures. These women, who exchange domestic life for the rifle and the incendiary, are portrayed with a mix of horror and a strange, grudging respect for their "savage grandeur." They are the most visible symbols of the war’s radicalization, their desperation turning them into the primary actors of the city's literal destruction.

The author also highlights smaller, more human figures: the "ingenious friend" who tries to barricade his house with a comical, desperate ingenuity; the "poor student" who provides a bitter philosophical commentary on the city’s decay; and the landlords and tenants who engage in violent, petty squabbles over property. These individuals serve to humanize the massive, impersonal forces at work. They are all caught in a trap of their own making, where their personal survival instincts and political loyalties clash, leaving them fundamentally changed—and often broken—by the shared experience of the siege.

In Its Own Voice

The façade of the station, a very large one, was pockmarked all over by Federal bullets, whilst cannon balls had cut holes through the stone wall as if it had been cheese.

The author describes the physical scars left on the city’s infrastructure as he arrives at the Mont-Parnasse station.

The men are furious, the women are ferocious—nothing can appal, nothing discourage them.

The author characterizes the intense, uncompromising nature of the participants on the front lines as the conflict reaches its height.

When all Paris is destroyed, when its houses, its palaces, and its monuments thrown down and crushed, strew its accursed soil and form but one vast ruin... then, from out of this shapeless mass will rise... the phantom of a woman.

The author quotes a student’s grim, poetic vision of Paris as a ruined, leprous soul.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is a study of the fragility of civilization when governed by extremist ideologies. It argues that the Commune, regardless of its original democratic aspirations, devolved into a "Red Republic" that favored destruction over construction. The text explores the question of whether a society can survive when it abandons its core values—property, family, and order—in favor of a feverish, ideological purity. It serves as a warning against the "low and small" horrors that arise when the rule of law is replaced by the decree of the crowd. Ultimately, the book posits that the true tragedy of the Commune was not just the physical ruin of Paris, but the moral collapse of its citizens, who allowed hatred and political fanaticism to silence their reason and compassion.

Why Read It Today

This book is essential for readers who value history told through the eyes of someone who was truly there. It is not an academic distance-piece but a raw, immediate reaction to the sights, sounds, and smells of a burning capital. You will feel the author’s fatigue, his indignation at the "low and small" behavior of the combatants, and his profound sadness for the loss of the city's beauty.

However, be prepared for the book's limitations. The author’s perspective is staunchly conservative and clearly biased against the Communards, whom he often dismisses with biting, aristocratic disdain. The prose, while precise and evocative, carries the formal, sometimes ornate weight of nineteenth-century writing, and the frequent references to local political figures and specific streets may require a reader to stay close to the maps provided. There is also a stark, uncompromising view of the conflict that does not shy away from the visceral details of death and carnage. Despite these difficulties, the book remains a powerful piece of reportage. It stays with you not because it is a neutral summary of events, but because it captures the visceral, irrational energy of a city at war with itself. It is a haunting, necessary reminder of how quickly the foundations of a society can crumble, and the immense cost of failing to bridge the divide between opposing versions of justice.