Crimson Flags over Paris: A Communard Timeline

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Prime Minister

Prime Minister

Unité

14th, July, 1870
Paris, the Second French Empire

Alexandre Marchand could feel the sweat trickling down his back as he stood motionless in the Paris summer heat. The oppressive sun beat down on the industrial city as it's citizens went about their lives having no idea what was brewing only a few meters behind him. A terrible crash echoed out from behind the large oak doors separating the office of his Imperial Majesty from the lowly men standing guard. Alexandre shifted slightly in his dark over coat and bright red pants, his discomfort having little to do with the weather. He cast a side glance at the man standing opposite of him, Georges Pierre Legrand, he had a few years on Alexandre's eighteen but appeared too young to wear his uniform. Georges' face looked to be drained of blood as he too stood trying not to hear the wheels of state turn as the voice of Napoleon III filled the air.

"HOW DARE BISMARK BESMERCH ME LIKE THIS!" The Emperor roared. "My uncle made the Prussians bow! They were forced to take a knee before the Imperial standard! And now! NOW! This upstart Chancellor and his so-called King dare to insult Benedetti, and by that action insult myself, and all of France!" There were some murmurs of other voices, far less distinct that of the Emperor, but Alexandre felt safe in the assumption it would have been the Minister of War or the Foreign Minister. "If we do not respond swiftly, and decisively, we may yet see a Hohenzollern on both the Prussian and Spanish thrones! We have no reason to trust them nor their ambitions. Berlin would be happy to see it's sons asses on every throne I am most sure!"

More murmuring followed this, several voices speaking in turn. Alexandre shifted again, now feeling cold rolling up his back and neck despite the lack of any breeze. For quite sometime the voices all held at their light hum, the Emperor had calmed and had leveled his temper it would seem. Letting out a long sigh, Alexandre realised that he had been holding his breath for some minutes. He started returning to the world at hand, the sun dimming behind a cloud, the sounds of birds singing near by, looking hungerly at the side walks for any food they may be fortunate enough to find. He stood erect once more, able only to guess at the sounds of words being spoken. Numbers mostly, the Empire had been facing hard times as of late, trade was always important.

His mind wandering Alexandre found himself planning his night once he was off duty. He looked forward to playing cards, he had always been quite good at gimbaling, he would of course confess when next he saw his priest. At least it was nothing too terrible, he did not take up in the Maisons de la nuit like many of his compatriots. Well, not as often as they did at any rate. His mind began to drift towards drink and food when words from the Emperor's chambers once more filled his years. Once again glancing towards Georges he could see that no blood had yet returned to the other man's face.

"Are you alright mon amie?" He asked turning slightly to better look over the other guard. Georges jumped at his call, before rebuking him with a stern look before turning his attentions back his duties. At first Alexandre thought nothing of this, until he saw Georges' eyes. They seemed to be straining to face the doors, with Georges using all his will to force them forward. Watching this, Alexandre too listened for anything that may be so interesting. The voices remined quite, but he could make out the odd word.

"Mexico", "Luxemburg", "Netherlands", "Some thousand" no "Some hundred thousand", "Bavaria", "Saarbrücken", "Purssia". The cold feeling returned running over his back. They had not gone off the subject of the Prussian letter. No, things seemed only now to be getting more pointed, if less heated. Something about that worried him more, hit closer to his soul than the rage filled bellowing of the Emperor. He could not name the feeling in his chest, there was fear, but also perhaps something else. Something he could only call a... knowing felt wrong, a certainty. Certainty fit better, certainty that something had fallen out of the hands of men and now was marching them all towards an unchangeable destination, like being trapped in the current of a river. His eyes moved slowly away from the door, the words of his leaders fading, their murmurs now like those of the Seine. He looked once more over the city or Paris as more clouds gathered blocking out the sun. The citizenship making their way home to escape the oncoming storm, only the song birds in their bliss or ignorance now held the streets before the capital. Alexandre found that thought unusually funny in that moment as he watched a man and wife make their hurried way arm in arm.

Seemingly with out sound the wooden doors swung wide, the Emperor walking forward with determination, his Ministers following in his wake waving papers, their mouths moving. If they were speaking Alexandre could hear no words, nor could he hear the sounds of their steps as they made way down the polished halls. Their look, attentions, flapping mouths made him think of watching small hungry fish following a larger one hoping desperately for scraps of it's meal. He moved only a step behind Georges as they took their place. Alexandre could not feel his legs or arms as he seemed to glide along these men. Aware only of his heart beating like thunder in his ears. His vision transfixed on the Emperor. His short auburn hair, large mustache and beard stood radiant over his porcelain skin. Contrasting further was his black uniformed shirt, and crimson sash displaying the royal insignia, with elaborate gold clasping his pristine epaulettes. He reached a railing overlooking a large open hall blazon with French Imperial blue, he leaned on the banister seeming contemplating the world and its immensities laid out before him. Finally after what seemed to be hours he stood, brushing his hands down his white pants, adjusting the fabric just above his tall black boots. He turned and embraced Edmond Le Bœuf. "I can see your wisdom. We shall make the declaration as soon as we are readied."

"Our men shall be ready to march as soon as the 19th of this month your Majesty."

"The 19th it is then. What a glorious day for France it shall be."
 
Prime Minister

Prime Minister

4th, August
Wissembourg, Grand Est Region

A raging, turbulent dark grey sea had poured over the eastern frontier. It's tide of led, fire, and iron would consume everything in it's path, and on it's return drag the land clean of all it's wealth, and beauty. Taking with it, innumerable souls caught up in the every growing turmoil of war. Now, in the early morning, the wave broke upon the first stone laid out before it, Wissembourg.

Louis Gabriel stood upon the ramparts looking out over the invading forces, not yet able to overcome the small town's defenses. Though held back for the moment, Louis could see clearly that the situation would soon change. The town's garrison of eight thousand faced, what looked at a glance, to be double their own numbers. But this, was no deterrence to the sons of France. Two hundred French rifles fired at the same moment, the crack like thunder echoed through the town tearing the silence of the cool air. Prussian bodies fell, as the order to reload was given. Another crack from along the defender's lines, and more invaders were sent to the hereafter. The Prussian front lines readied, weapons raised high with confidence. A for the third time in a span less than a minute a defining drack rolled through the air. But with in this instance small red hunks of brick blew away from the wall, the impact of hundreds of led balls through brick dust into the air, blurring Louis's vision as a second, third, fourth, crack came from the Prussian lines.

The ramparts were thick with rubble, dust, and the bodies of the dead, dying, and injured. Louis blinked, trying to clear out his eyes as he craned his head to make sense of his surroundings. "How did I get on the ground?" He thought to himself, his senses returning to him. The man next to him lay on his back, small rubble and dust resting on his chest and face. His eyes, open, unfocused, unblinking staring at heavens as the pool of blood expanded around his fallen frame. Louis jumped to his knees, reloading his weapon in haste, as he stood again facing the enemy force. He fell inline, fitting like joint in a socket, at word raising his weapon again the sound of thunder marked the moment of death for dozens of men. Dark brown hair floated slowly past his eyes as Prussian shot cut just over his scalp. He fell again, reloading as the walls shook form the force of the renewed Prussian volley. He stood, a ball of lead tearing through the shoulder of his uniform, and another ventilating his trousers. "Tirez!" His commanding officer cried as again their riffles spat death at the Prussians. He could feel the hate burning in his eyes as he watched men fall, many to never stand again. There was another crack, louder this time. Less like thunder, it was unlike anything Louis could place. It was followed by the sound of air turning and rippling like a pound after a large stone had be thrown from high on a hill.

Before Louis could process any further, the world seemed to upend. He, and the men among him were thrown through the air, landing hard on the solid earth far behind. Sitting up, Louis struggled with all his soul to fill his lungs with air, his blue and amber eyes filling with tears as his body fought for breath. Finally cold smoked filled air revived him. His eyes scanning the new carnage, the upper ring of the defenses had been removed. Bodies, and parts of bodies scattered the court yard. He looked to his left, he could recognizes Le commandant Paquet by his uniform. He had too, as the man's head was no where to be found. Another roar of the Prussian artillery, and the terrible sound of rippling air filled Louis' ears before more of the wall and Frenchmen were reduced simply to dust. Instinctively Louis raised his arm protecting his face from debris. The thundering rifle crack echoed again, and again, and again, as more and more men in blue and red fell. Artillery, rifles, cannons, led, fire, and smoke choked the air, leveling the defenses as music far in the distance filled the air. A bugle calling for the defenders to fall back.

Louis was unsure how, but he ran, rifle in hand as the Prussian waved filled the openings in the walls. Fighting those still standing to defend the fort. The defending French lines reforming before the town. "FIRE!!" An officer barked as the French defended their soil. The Prussians were concentrated in the small pockets of destroyed brick and mortar. The bottleneck created something of a shooting gallery. More and more Germans died on French land, but their numbers, the advantage was still theirs. The first into the court yard was a tall striking Prussian Officer, his sword drawn running it though a man, no, a boy in uniform who had foolishly refused to run, and had been to scared to fire. Artillery fell in among the soldiers, and in the town behind them as the cannons adjusted their aim. Louis' heart felt as though it would break through his chest in an attempt to flee and save itself. "FIRE!" The order came again. Now a slow staggered line shot out. The Prussian officer falling, first to his knees, then with his head darting back, tumbling to his side. But yet still the Prussians advanced, the French tricolour fell from it's place of honour, as the flag of the Kingdom of Prussia rose high above their old fort. The smaller French cannons fired on the Prussians, what had delayed them did not matter. They could serve only to slow their advance.

Falling back again, Louis and the remaining men occupied the first line of homes in the town. Knocking out windows, taking up defenses behind carts, barrels, dead animals, their organization beginning to splinter. "Fire at will!" Pockets of shot fired out, Prussians falling, reforming lines, and returning led. Some men started to fall back to the adjoining room as Prussian boots furthered their approach. Louis turned as a Prussian soldier entered the dwelling, he and another Frenchman both lunged forward. Their bayonetes finding the man's stomach and lungs through his ribs. Screaming filled the air, but not that of the dying man. The local family living in this home had huddled together in a near room, this was likely not their first time seeing death. But, Louis knew the feeling that would be burning in them. He knew it, he felt it at this moment. Only he had been trained to deny it, to ignore it. He withdrew his blade and fell back, another Prussian had entered. Louis's blade found his chest as it had the last man's. Louis fell back to the next nearest home, fought, fell back, fought, fell back, fought, fell back....

The sun was now setting. The air cold. Every muscle in his body screamed. But he was unable to stop his march. He walked in a dirty ruined column, officers following along side on horseback. They gave reassuring words, friendly, or sympathetic nods, as their animals carried them past. They had fought hard, from house to house until they had been routed from the region. Then chased, harasser, and more killed by advancing Bavarian cavalry. Louis limped, using the butt of his weapon for support. He had been unware of his injuries until long after the battle. He now was painfully aware of the cost of war, and was determined that the people of France not be burdened with such knowledge. But the Prussians were fine teachers.
 
Prime Minister

Prime Minister

18th, August
Paris, Second French Empire

Amélie Farrow and her sister Alice walked through the Paris streets ducking into their family home. They lived with their mother and father in a cramped apartment in the city's growing industrial slums. The building was crocked, the walls chipped, the floor uneven. But it was home, and Amélie let out a relaxed sigh as she crossed the threshold. "We managed to find what it was you needed mother." She said placing vegetables on a wet and rickety wooden stand near the small fire used for cooking. She started cutting away at the few vegetables she and Alice had managed to collect with what little they had. "The prices of everything have gone up yet again I am afraid. These merchants, they will see us starve with their profiteering. They maybe a greater threat to Paris than the Prussians." Amélie scrapped minced onions and some herbs into a copper pot with water, and placed it over the fire. "We all need to make a living I understand. They must feed their families as we feed ours." Drying her hands on her blouse she turned to fetch the wooden plates she would be serving dinner on, and broke a large piece of bread for each, her father naturally receiving the largest. "Has father returned from work?" She asked finally pulling her mother out of her trance. The older woman would sometimes become so focused on her cleaning that no much else would get though. Not even with the war raging across France.

"Oh no, no. Not yet I am afraid." Her mother made a grunting sound as she stood, her right hand pushing on her lower back. "I do expect that he will be with us soon however." She smiled at her daughter with a knowing look. "Young Henri Trottier has already darkened out doorway. Hoping to speak with someone I assume." Amélie felt her face redden and grow hot.

"I, I... I do not know what you mean mother." She snorted a laugh as she stirred at the broth, sipping the far too hot soup to cover her embarrassment and buy a few more seconds. She turned to Alice who was mending their father's good Sunday shirt, her younger sister failed at hiding a smile of her own, making an expression with her eye brows she was sure her mother would see. But the eldest Farrow woman's expression did not change.

"You would be smart to go with him, before another woman sees what it is he has too offer." She said with a stern loving tone. It was true Henri Trottier was the same age as Amélie, a hard worker. Employed by one of the large steel mills along the Seine. The same as her father. They had met years before, shortly after moving to Paris as a child. They and their families had been close then, and now...

"Oh I am sure that Amélie wishes to see just what Henri has to offer." Alice cut in with a laugh. Amélie could felt her face burn as hot as the cooking fire, she made an indignant sound to suppress he laugh as the through small hunks of bread at the young girl opposite her. Their mother laughed at the play fight before raising her hands.

"That is quite enough. Prices being what they are we most not waste any food." She rounded on Alice. "And you would do well to remember your sister's virtue."


"Oui mère." The two girls said in unison. Elbowing one another as their mother finished her work. The three of them remained in high spirits, as they worked. Not long after, loud heavy footsteps alerted them to their father's return. He walked in without a word, cleaning his face and hands before lightly cleaning away the ash and god only knew what else covered his body. He sat, again saying nothing at the small wooden table as Amélie placed his supper before him. The family reached out, taking each other's hands and bowed their heads. Their father leading the family in grace. "Bless us, O Lord! and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen." The women repeated, before all enjoyed their food.

"You know Mari." Their father started to address their mother. "I saw the most strange sight of my life today."

"Yes my love? And what was that?" She asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

"A man you see. That is all. Or at least, at first I thought that was all." He father dipped his bread in broth and chewed adding drama to his story. "But Mari you would not believe it if you had not seen it yourself. I do not know why I share such stories. But this man, Mari, this man was flying!"

"Oh Francis." She waved her husband off. "These things you say will find you in trouble with the lord."

"Mari I promise to you that I tell no lies." He placed a hand over his hart and lifted the other in the air before turning to Amélie. "You may have seen him. It was young Monsieur Trottier." With that her father and younger sister broke into a fit of laughter.

"That is quite enough!" Mari Farrow snapped. "Amélie has had her share of these jokes for one day I am must sure." She placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Now. I do not want to hear another word on this for some time. Am I clear?"

"Oui." Her father and sister said in unison. "Nous sommes désolés." With that her mother gave both a nod, before giving half of a smile to her eldest. Her father took her hand in his for a moment squeezing lightly. He sat for sometime, telling his daughters of the stories he had learned over the day, what was being said on the factory floor, what rumors were about the war. Somehow it would seem that the Prussians were about to surround Paris with in the hour, when at the same time the Emperor was nearly in Berlin. They later sat working to repair clothing, readying meals for the next day, enjoying the company of their own family, as Amélie and her father gazed out into the night.

Somewhere, men were dying, and the future of France was being decided. But that, was worlds away from this small cramped apartment.
 

Thomas_Wellesley

This looks good.

Pardon my ignorance, but what exactly is the Point of Divergence in this story? My knowledge of the Franco-Prussian war is fairly limited.
 
Prime Minister

Prime Minister

Thomas_Wellesley said:
This looks good.

Pardon my ignorance, but what exactly is the Point of Divergence in this story? My knowledge of the Franco-Prussian war is fairly limited.
Click to expand...
The POD hasn't actually occurred yet. It's just at such a pivotal moment that starting with it felt very wrong. So I am building some characters and going over events before it occurs.
 
Prime Minister

Prime Minister

4th, September
Paris, The Second French Empire

Word of the defeat, surrender, and capture of the Emperor, and over one hundred thousand French troops had reached the capitol on the third. Through the proceeding hours Paris had been rocked by demonstrations calling for the end of the empire, and the founding of a new republic. It was clear that the population of the city was on the very of a full fledged riot. They formed mass spontaneous gatherings across Paris, taken the streets and not yet returned to their homes. There had been rumors of violence, but Alexandre had not seen any first hand. But he knew that one way or the other, that was soon going to change.

The people were scared, and the Prussians would soon encircle the city. They would put the capital to siege, try to starve it into surrender. The war was all but over, the only question now was in what way the pieces would fall to start rebuilding after the chaos. But as things were, Alexandre stood before the Hôtel de Ville as the assembled representatives fought for the soul of the nation. Holding the butt of his rifle he looked towards the citizens only feet away loudly voicing their demands. He silently prayed that they would remain calm. Prayed that he would not be ordered to shoot into the crowd, to spill the blood of his fellow citizens. Prayed to never be ordered to fire on those who may be his friends, or his family.

His thumb traced the wood of his assigned weapon, trying but failing to not make eye contact with the amassed demonstrators. He chose instead to look away, refuse to face them. His heart raced as it often had since shortly before the war. He decided in that moment he would rather be a coward then fire on the unarmed. If it cost him his life, from the masses, or his fellow Guardsmen... at least it would be a life unashamed. But slowly, the roar of the crowd dimmed, their attentions focused on the assembly he was commanded to protect.

"People of Paris!" A voice called from behind. Alexandre turned, with the rest of the guard to face the herald as they read out the will of the assembly. "Let it be known. On this, the fourth day of September, the year of our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and Seventy, that the reign of His Majesty Napoleon III, Emperor of the French has been removed for his positions, And that from henceforth we "The Government of National Defense" proclaim the birth of the Third French Republic." The roaring cheers of the people was defining, but the Harold called for calm. "We ask of you, support, and unity in the dark days a head for our republic. Once we are able, elections shall be held across the nation to form a legitimate governing body of the people. To over see our national well being, the war effort, and this transition General Louis-Jules Trochu shall serve as acting head of state. He swears before you all, that 'not one inch of territory, nor one stone of our fortresses will ever be ceded to the Prussians and their Hunnic forces." Again the crowd cheered, now breaking into singing La Marseillaise.

Slowly, and with much joy, the crowd dispersed. Alexandre gave a very long slow sigh of relief. No blood was spilled here, Paris may soon know war, but it would not know civil strife. He leaned on his keens feeling his body for the first time in hours. As he relaxed he heard men speaking of "taking up arms" to help in the coming defense of the city. Their numbers would soon be bolster. That would be very welcome he thought. The remaining army in Paris was perhaps fifty thousand at the most giving of estimates. With some troops from the front having fallen back to the capital or to Versailles. The Prussians my have won the war, but they may not be able to take the capital, which would spare France some of her honour.


As night fell, Alexandre returned to his barracks kicking off his worn heavy boots. He fell back onto the hard cool summer soil looking towards the stars. The future seemed bright to him. Freedom, Equality, and Brotherhood had returned to France. And for the first time in all his years the next day seemed slightly brighter than the one before. He would rest well that night, the next day joyfully follow his duty along the walls of the city proper, as the armies of Prussia encircled them. But he was calm, he was sure not of their victory in the war, but their victory at home. A battle he had not realized was being fought until it had been won. So long as the Prussians were held at the gates, with the people of Paris along side, the Republic would see to the rebuilding, with the Emperor banished to the sands of time.

But the days a head would be a true trial by fire. He prayed again that the people would assemble themselves well, and in large numbers. They would likely prove the best and only hope for the defense of Paris. But if the professional army was unable to hold back the tied of Prussia, what hope could the people have? If the Emperor and his generals were unable to win the war, what deluded him into the belief that Paris could do any different? He sank again, trying to hold his head high. But he felt a dark cloud washing over his sunny mood. "Merde." He spat towards the Prussians.
 
Paris Commune, Communism, Leftism, Politics, AH, France
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    31st, October
    3rd French Republic

    It had been very nearly two months since the birth of the Third Republic. With it a new civilian force had formed for the defense of the city from the Prussians. This new National Guard consisted of some two hundred thousand armed workers and civilians, and had quickly become a great symbol of pride of the city. Along with this new force, and a battery of cannons smelted, forged, and cast here along the river Seine and place upon Montmartre the hearts of the people and workers of Paris beamed at their achievements in such a short time.

    But as sure as night follows the day, darkness and trouble were alive and well in the streets. Days before news had spread of the fall of Metz, with this blow to national pride, and the growing pressure of the Prussian siege, demonstrations were held in nearly every section of the city. People demanding a a drop in the price of food, or simply to be granted what they needed for a day's meal. At the very least they wanted the reopening of some of the factories and shops that had closed so that they could once again work to earn their wages to buy the food they so desperately needed. The feeling that the walls were closing in, becoming tighter, and an ever growing pressure was common to all residing in the capital.

    Amélie let out a sad sigh as she watched from her family's apartment window. People still marched, making their demands known. Along them, often directly with them were members of the National Guard. Henri was there somewhere, in his heavy blue coat and cap, with tall black boots, and rifle over his shoulder. Her father too was there, marching with his fellow steel workers. Their mill had been one of the first, and hardest hit, they were deprived even of the pride of smelting the new cannons. They all marched together, young and old, demanding work, pay, and food. Though some of the more able bodied had taken up the call of the National Guard. Perhaps less so for their love of Paris, and more that it was one of the few paying jobs left.

    Amélie's stomach roared, as hunger pains brought her back into her own body. A small fire burned, the broth in it light, no meat was available anywhere. Other than what you could catch yourself. But so far she and her family had refused to run to dogs, and cats for their meals. Much less mice, rats, and pidgins, at least for now. The people in their building were kind, most working in the same mill as her father, and they all made an effort to care for one another. People went hungry yes, but no one would starve. She saw no same in being proud of that fact, and of the community they shared. There were many others who could not say the same. Famine may take more lives than the Prussians at the rate things transpired.

    With that, Amélie heard something, a sound she had grown accustomed to in the recent weeks, the sound of gun fire. But this was different. It was coming from the wrong direction. This fire was coming not from the Prussians outside of the walls but somewhere within. She listened again, the sound of a response came trough the air. Again, an exchange was heard. There was fighting in the streets of Paris. It sounded as though it was wat the capital building. Shouts could be heard, but no further gun shots. Perhaps some angry protesters had gotten too close, threatened the wrong soldier or politician. She did not wish to dwell on this idea. They could hardly afford to fight among themselves with the Prussians on the fields beyond the walls. But that in no way excused the republican government's seeming lack of desire to spare any miserly the people faced. Amélie left her perch, and turned towards the cooking pot.

    Her mother, weak from hungry rested in a chair, Amélie took to cutting the few vegetables they had managed to find. Alice had left that morning, and returned only a few hours later with them wrapped tightly in cloth. She had no money when leaving the house, it had been silently decided it was best not to ask how she collected them. Amélie scraped the food into the boiling broth, and took down the heavy straw dust baked bread breaking it into pieces and scraping away mold. There was a soft knock at the door, and the old woman from across the hall shuffled in. She was the mother, or grandmother of two of the men from the mill, Mademoiselle Vinet. Her family, and others near by did what they could to help look after her. She smiled weakly towards Amélie and gave a nod to Alice and their mother. "I come bearing a gift, as thanks for your sister delivering such fine vegetables." Amélie looked sideways towards Alice, who simply gave a dismissive nod.

    "Oh Mademoiselle Vinet this is most kind of you. But I assure you it is not needed. We do what we can to look after one another. And I am most sure that your family's needs come before own own." Amélie said politely. But this still earned her a tap on the forehead from Mrs. Vinet's cane.

    "Young lady. You must never turn away an elder when they offer you what they can. Most of all when it is in response to your own family's kindness. It is most rude. I see your sister is cut from a rather different cloth." Mrs. Vinet said going into a bag, Alice didn't cast her normal smile at that, she simply kept her head down working on hemming her father's clothing. Mrs. Vinet produced a small pile of bloody meat. "I have readied this myself. It may not be beef, but it is more than we can ask for in these times. Thank the Lord above for his kindness." And with that she was off as though she had never been their in the first place.

    Amélie looked towards the meat, knowing in her soul what it was. The time had come. She looked it over, the older woman truly had done as good a job preparing it as could be asked for. Using a knife she scraped it into the pot to join the broth. Perhaps, if it was boiled enough, she could convince her self it was mutton. Not long after her father returned home, he was pale, and shaken. "Father?" Alice shot up getting him a seat and drink. "Are you hurt?" She asked already looking over his clothing for blood, finding none she seemed to calm at least a little.

    "I am most well my child. At least my body is most well." He drank the wine in his cup before getting another. This worried Amélie, as her father was not one to drink often. "Monsieur Blanqui and Battalion Commandre Flourens. They attacked the capital buildings, along with their National Guard. They... They tried to force the hands of the government to remedy the situation of the people of Paris. They, seem to have refused to listen." He drank again. Amélie felt cold. Blanqui and Flourens were popular, if not radical figures in the National Guard. Blanqui having made a name for himself even before the war, in the International Working Men's Association.

    "What happened to them Papa?" Alice asked.

    "Blanqui has fled to safety. Guided it would seem by young Henri Trottier who had been at his side. I do hope for the dear man's safe return to us. However Flourens was captured. I dare not think of what they may do to him." The room held on their father's words. The fire seemed to die down, and as a chill ran through them all.

    "We will put them in our prayers tonight." Mari said, standing and placing a hand on her husband's shoulder. "May the Lord will keep the righteous and just, and the devil take the wicked." Again, the room was quiet, only the small cracking fire could be heard. "Now my family. Let us eat, and put the day behind us. I am sure there are many more to come for us all."
     
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    falcon said:
    Is the attack the POD?
    Click to expand...
    No, I'll just say now. The POD will be that when Thiers tries to flee for Versailles, the Commune votes to reach out to the soldiers fleeing with him (In OTL they were singing revolutionary songs as the marched). And in OTL they went on to form the nucleus of the French Army that would go on to sack the Commune later.
     
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