"Personally," he went on, "I am not fighting for Communism, but for Communalism, which, I need not tell you, is quite a different thing. I fail to see why Paris and Lyons should be judged incapable of managing their own municipal affairs without the interference of the State, while other great provincial centres are considered capable of doing so. The English Government does not interfere with the municipal affairs of London on the plea that it is the capital, with those of Manchester on the plea that it has inaugurated a policy of its own, any more than it interferes with those of Liverpool, Leeds, or Bristol. Your lord-lieutenants of counties are virtually decorative officials, something different from our prefects and our sub-prefects, and your Home Secretary has not a hundredth part of the power of our Minister of the Interior. We wish to go a step further than you, without, however, shirking the financial obligations imposed by a federation. What you would call imperial taxes, we are willing to pay in kind as well as money. This is one of the things we do want; what we do not want is the resuscitation of the Empire. I am not speaking at random when I tell you that there are rumours about traitors in our camp, and that, according to these rumours, the struggle against the Versaillese troops would be a mere pretext to sweep the deck for the unopposed entry of an imperial army into Paris. Whence would that army be recruited? From among the prisoners going to leave Germany, who have been worked all the while in the interest of the Napoleonic dynasty. After all, we have as much right to overthrow the Government of Versailles as the Government of Versailles had the right to upset the Empire. Their powers are by no means more valid by virtue of the recent elections, than was the power of Louis-Napoléon by virtue of the plébiscite of 1870. Does M. Thiers really think that he is a better or greater man than Abraham Lincoln, who treated the Southerns as belligerents, not as insurgents?"
So far Cluseret. I am not prepared to say that he was a strictly honourable man, but he was a very intelligent one, probably the most intelligent among the leaders of the Commune. At any rate, his conversation made me anxious to get a nearer sight of some of the latter, and, as they had evidently made the Brasserie Saint-Séverin their principal resort of an evening, I returned thither several times.
A few nights afterwards, I was just in time to witness the arrival of Raoul Rigault, on horseback, accompanied by a staff running by the side of his animal. The whole reminded me irresistibly of Decamp's picture, "La Patrouille Turque." The Prefect of Police was scarcely less magnificently attired than the rest of his fellow-dignitaries. His uniform, if I remember rightly, was blue with red facings, but it is impossible to say, because it was covered everywhere with gold lace. His myrmidons hustled the crowd in order to make room for their chief, and some one laughed: "Mais il n'y a rien de changé; c'est absolument comme sous l'Empire." For a moment Rigault sat quite still, surveying the crowd and ogling the women through his double eye-glasses. Then he alighted, and caught sight of my friend and myself standing on the threshold. "Quels sont ces citoyens?" he inquired, taking us in from top to toe, and stroking his long beard all the while. Some one told him our names, at which he made a wry face, the more that mine must have been familiar to him, seeing that a very near relative of mine, bearing the same, had been a special favourite with General Vinoy. He did not think fit to molest us; had he done so, it might have fared badly with us, for by the time Lord Lyons could have interfered, we might have been shot.
Ever since, my friend and I have been under the impression that we owed our lives to a dark, ugly little man who, at that moment, whispered something to him, and who, my friend told me, immediately afterwards, was the right hand of Raoul Rigault, Théophile Ferré. That name was also familiar to me, as it was to most Parisians, previous to the outbreak of the war, because Ferré was implicated in the plot against Louis-Napoléon's life, and was tried in the early part of '70 at Blois. Every one knew how he insulted the President, how he refused to answer, and finally exclaimed, "Yes, I am an anarchist, a socialist, an atheist, and woe to you when our turn comes." He kept his word; he was a fiend, and looked one. Whenever there was anything cruel and bloodthirsty going on, he made it a point to be present. He was, though ugly, not half so ugly as Tridon, but one involuntarily recoiled from him.
Curiously enough, this very Théophile Ferré, whom I then saw for the first time, had been the subject of a conversation I had with Gil-Pérès, the actor of the Palais-Royal, on the 25th or 26th of March. I had known Gil-Pérès from the moment he made his mark in "La Dame aux Camélias" as Gaudens. To my great surprise, a day or two after the proclamation of the Commune, I heard that he had been cruelly maltreated in the Rue Drouot, that he had narrowly escaped being killed. Two days later, I paid him a visit in his lodgings at Montmartre; for he had been severely, though not dangerously hurt, and was unable to leave his bed.
"I am very sorry for your mishap," I said; "but what, in Heaven's name, induced you to meddle with politics?"
He burst out laughing, in that peculiar laugh of his which I have never heard before or since, on or off the stage. The nearest approach to it was that of Grassot, but the latter's was like a discharge of artillery, while Gil-Pérès was like that of a musketry volley.
"I did not meddle with politics," he replied; "but you know how fond I am of going among crowds to study character. This day last week, I was passing along the Rue Drouot, when I saw a large group in front of the Mairie. I had left home early in the morning, I knew nothing of what was going on in my neighbourhood, so you may imagine my surprise when I heard them calmly discussing the death of Clément Thomas and Lecomte. My hair stood positively on end, and I must have pushed a bit in order to get nearer the speakers. I had a long black coat on, and they mistook me for a curé. I did all I could to tell them my name, but, before I could utter a word, I was down, and they began trampling on me. Some one, God alone knows who, saved me, by telling them my name. I knew nothing more, for I was brought home unconscious. And to think," he added, "that I might have been a member of the Commune myself, if I had liked."
"What do you mean?" I said, for I began to think that he was out of his mind.
"Well, you know that during the siege I tried to do my duty as a National Guard, and in my battalion was this Théophile Ferré of whom you have already heard. A most intelligent creature, but poor as Job and ferocious to a degree. He was a study to me, and, of late, he frequently came to see me in the morning. I generally asked him to stay to breakfast, for I liked to hear him talk of the future Commune, though I had not the slightest faith in his visions. I considered him a downright lunatic. About two or three days before this outbreak, he came, one morning, looking as pale as a ghost, but evidently very much excited. Before I had time to ask him the cause of his emotion, he exclaimed, 'This time there is no mistake about it; we are the masters.' I suppose my face must have looked a perfect blank, for he proceeded to explain. 'In two days we'll hold our sittings at the Hôtel-de-Ville, and the Commune will be proclaimed. And now,' he added, 'what can I do for you, citoyen Gil-Pérès? You have always been very kind to me, and I am not likely to forget it when I am at the top of the tree.'