Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 508 The Traditional Arts of Parisians!

Wednesday, May 3, 1882.

It was just past dawn in Paris, the clouds were low and gray with a yellowish tinge.

Pedestrians hurried along the road, horse-drawn carriages crisscrossed the streets, and every now and then, coachmen would shout and curse at each other in a gruff voice...

Everything seemed the same as usual.

But starting at 7:30, men from different directions began to appear around the Bank of France and the Paris Stock Exchange.

They stood in groups of three or five by the roadside, leaning against the wall, or standing in front of the coffee shop.

They were dressed fairly well, but their eyes were suspicious. They weren't just strolling around; they were waiting for someone and were very wary!

At exactly eight o'clock, the first drumbeat came from the corner of Rue Frilière, where the Bank of France is located.

Boom!
Then came the second note, the third note... the rhythm picked up, it was the tune of a marching drum.

The men around the exchange and bank moved; they took white strips of cloth from their pockets, tied them around their left arms, and walked toward the sound of the drums.

More and more people gathered, coming from the alleyways, from the buildings, from the cafes...

No one spoke, only the sound of hurried footsteps and the increasingly loud drumbeats.

The drummers were three young men in their early twenties, dressed in school uniforms.

They stood on a platform made of a handcart, their backs ramrod straight, their arms swinging up and down.

The crowd, united by the drumbeats, began to move toward the Exchange Avenue.

The leader was a man in his fifties named Philip, who used to be a client manager at "United Corporation".

Now he is holding a long pole with an empty money bag hanging down from the end, like the mouth of a dead fish.

Behind him, dozens of identical long poles were raised, all empty.

In the gray sky, those swaying empty bags looked like withered fruit.

When the line reached the main entrance of the exchange building, the number of people had exceeded one thousand, and then they stopped.

Philip turned to face the crowd and shouted, "We are all meat in the shark's mouth!"

A roar erupted from the crowd: "Meat!"

Philip shook the empty bag: "Where's our money?"

"It's been swallowed!"

Who swallowed it?

"bank!"

"Who else?"

The crowd hesitated for a moment, then a voice shouted: "The government!"

More people joined in, shouting: "The government!"

Philip nodded and turned to face the row of tall stone pillars at the stock exchange.

He pulled a roll of banner from his pocket, and two young men helped him unfold it. It read in black letters on a white background:

"Hand over the thief! Compensate for the losses!"

The crowd began chanting slogans, growing more unified and louder:

"Hand over the thief!"

"Compensate for the losses!"

"Hand over the thief!"

"Compensate for the losses!"

The drumbeats followed the slogans, thump, thump, thump, each beat hitting the rhythm perfectly.

The Paris Stock Exchange building is at the other end of the avenue, less than 500 meters away.

At nine o'clock, as soon as the exchange doors opened, several employees saw a crowd surging toward them.

They tried to close the door, but it was too late. More than twenty men rushed up the steps and blocked the bank's main entrance.

Instead of rushing in, they sat on the steps, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg, sealing the door shut.

Several of them pulled out hammers and nails from their pockets and began nailing empty money bags onto the door frame.

Snap, snap, snap, the nails were hammered into the wood, making a cold, hard sound.

A well-dressed middle-aged man poked his head out of the door: "This is an illegal assembly! Disperse immediately!"

No one cares about him.

An old man sitting in the front row looked up and said slowly, "My annuity certificate is held as collateral at your bank."

Now the certificate is worthless, and you're saying the collateral is worthless and you want me to pay more. But where is my money?

"You all used the money to buy railroad bonds, and now those bonds are worthless. Where's the money?"

The middle-aged man's face turned pale: "Market fluctuations...this is a business risk..."

The old man laughed, revealing a set of bad teeth: "Risk? The risk is that you make a profit and pocket it, but make us cover the losses?"
This business is really easy!

The crowd downstairs laughed, but their laughter was full of icy frost.

At that moment, there was movement on the side wall of the bank.

Several agile young people, carrying a rolled-up giant poster, climbed up the wall like geckos, clinging to the cracks and reliefs.

They climbed between the second and third floors, then unfurled the poster and secured it to the window grilles and drainpipes with rope.

The poster hung down, a full six meters high and four meters wide.

The image is in black and white, but everyone can recognize it as a scene from "The Old Man and the Sea".

A small boat, an old man, a skeleton, and a shark.

But the artist made changes:
The shark was wearing a top hat and had a bond in its mouth that read "United Corporation";
On the fish skeleton beside the boat, the words "Our Annuity" are written in large red letters.

The crowd was silent for a few seconds, then erupted in a deafening roar.

"Shark! Shark! Shark!"

The cries were like a tidal wave, crashing against the stone walls of the bank and the stock exchange.

----------

Charles de Lacoste, the Paris police chief, received the third urgent report in his office.

He tried to suppress the first two times, but he couldn't suppress this time.

His face was grim: "How many people?"

The subordinate, head bowed, said, "At least three thousand, and the number is still increasing. They've blocked both ends of the main road to the stock exchange."

The doors of the Bank of France were sealed off, and a painting was hung outside...

"What painting?"

"That one... from the novel. The old man and the fish bones, and the shark."

Lacoste's face darkened. He got up and walked to the window, where the quiet courtyard of the Palace of Justice lay outside.

Finally, he made up his mind: "Let the city police force set off. Follow the procedures of the Prohibition of Assembly Law."

First, read out a notice giving them time to disperse. If they don't listen... then proceed with clearing the area. "Should we bring rifles?"

"Take it. But don't use it right away. Take a look first."

"Yes."

Lacoste stood by the window for a while longer.

He recalled a similar incident at the end of last year regarding Panama Canal bonds, but on a much smaller scale.

This time it's different. There are slogans, drumbeats, symbols, and that damn poster!

--------

At 10:30, the Paris police arrived.

They appeared simultaneously from both ends of the avenue, wearing blue uniforms, white belts, and white batons.

The queue was neat, with two rows of people, and they advanced step by step into the crowd.

The boots clicked on the stone slabs, their sound mingling with the drumbeats.

The crowd stirred, but did not disperse.

The people in the front row pushed forward, sticking the poles of their empty money bags into the ground, looking like a row of emaciated people.

The police stopped twenty meters away from the crowd. An officer stepped forward, held up a notice, and began to read:

"In the name of French law! According to the decrees of June 7, 1848 and June 6, 1867, an undeclared assembly..."

The drummers beat even faster, "thump-thump-thump-thump," drastically drowning out his voice.

The officer raised his voice, almost shouting, "...You are hereby ordered to disperse within one hour! Otherwise, you will face the consequences!"

After reading the time aloud, he glanced at his pocket watch and announced loudly, "10:35! Dismissal time is 11:35!"

A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd:
"One hour? We've waited eighty-four days and still haven't received our money!"

"Let the bankers speak!"

"Get the minister out here!"

Most of the city patrol officers were young, with tense faces, and some of their hands were trembling.

Time passed by minute by minute.

In the buildings on both sides of the avenue, windows were opened one by one, and residents leaned out to look.

Some shop owners brought out chairs and sat at their doorways to watch; newspaper vendors weaved through the crowd on the periphery.

At 11 o'clock, there were even more people, and onlookers began to walk into the queue.

A baker wearing an apron came out, holding an empty flour sack tied to a broom handle.

He joined the line, and no one stopped him; then came the washerwoman, the grocer, the shoemaker's apprentice...

When there weren't enough white strips of cloth, some people tore off shirt sleeves, while others drew circles on their coats with chalk.

The drumbeats never stopped; the three drummers took turns, with two playing and one resting, ensuring the rhythm never stopped.

11:20 AM.

The city patrol team then made a move. The first row squatted down, took out the Xia Sibo rifle from behind their backs, and fixed the bayonet with a click.

Then the rifle butt was pressed to the ground, the bayonet pointing diagonally forward and upward, forming a slanted wall that gleamed coldly.

The second row of patrol officers stood with their guns at level, pointed at the crowd.

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

Philip stepped to the front, turned around, and shouted to the crowd, "They're trying to scare us!"

"Don't be afraid!" The roar exploded.

"We've lost our money, our jobs, and our retirement savings! What are we afraid of these few knives for?"

"Not afraid!"

"Then we'll stand here! We'll stand until they agree to hand over the thieves! We'll stand until they agree to compensate us for our losses!"

"Stand! Stand! Stand!"

The drumbeats turned into heavy single beats, thump, thump, thump, each one colliding with the heartbeat.

11:35 AM.

The officer came out again and shouted, "Time's up! Final warning: Disperse immediately!"

But no one moved.

The officer had no choice but to retreat and blow his whistle.

The police column began to advance. The first rank held bayonets at an angle, the second rank held rifles at level, their steps perfectly synchronized…

Step by step, they pressed forward into the crowd.

The crowd began to retreat, but very slowly, their feet touching, unwilling to disperse.

When I was about ten meters away from the bank steps, I couldn't go any further because there were so many people behind me, it was completely packed.

The policeman's bayonet tip was only three meters away from the people in the front row.

Just then, a change occurred in the back of the crowd.

The men bent down and began to pry up the paving stones on the ground with crowbars, quickly prying up pieces of grayish-white tuff slabs.

The stone slabs were passed to the front row, one, two, three...

They quickly built a low wall, only knee-high, but it stretched for more than ten meters.

Then, the women in the group went behind the low wall, sat down, and looked up at the police.

Next were the elderly, and those with disabilities, especially veterans who were missing arms or had limpes.

They sat down as well, close to the women.

Strong men stood behind the women and elderly, shoulder to shoulder, arms linked, forming a human wall.

They began to move forward.

step.

He roared, "Hand over the thief!"

Another step.

He roared, "Compensate for the losses!"

The human wall arched forward, chests thrusting forward, forcing the city patrol officers to a halt.

The bayonet was only a meter away from the seated woman; any closer and he would have to step over her.

The officer turned pale; he hadn't expected this move.

After the Paris Commune, the government's biggest fear was barricades. After the "Haumann Transformation," the streets were greatly widened, one of the purposes of which was to prevent the recurrence of barricades.

But this time the enemy didn't build fortifications; instead, they built "human fortifications"—human fortifications of women, the elderly, and wounded soldiers.

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats rang out, and amidst the rising dust, the military police cavalry arrived!

Immediately afterwards, bugle calls came from the direction of the Tuileries Palace in the distance. Citizens familiar with the defense of Paris would know that it was the 14th Infantry Regiment!
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(End of this chapter)