A City of Contradictions

In the spring of 1871, Paris presented a study in contrasts. To the casual observer, the city appeared to be recovering from the brutal Prussian siege that had ended just weeks earlier. Gas lamps once again illuminated the boulevards, commerce was reviving, and the death rate had dropped significantly since the darkest days of winter. English Methodist minister William Gibson, returning to the city after the siege, noted how Paris was “regaining its former beautiful night scenery.” The superficial normalcy deceived many, including seasoned diplomats and journalists who believed the crisis had passed.

Beneath this calm exterior, however, seethed a city on the verge of explosion. As Captain Derrécagaix, aide-de-camp to General Trochu, perceptively noted: “When you know Paris, she is no longer a city, she is a living being, a natural person, who has moments of fury, madness, stupidity, and passion.” This duality—the apparent calm masking gathering storm—would define one of the most dramatic chapters in Parisian history.

The Siege and Its Aftermath

The Franco-Prussian War of 1870-1871 had brought humiliation to France. After Napoleon III’s surrender at Sedan in September 1870, the newly declared Government of National Defense continued resistance, with Paris enduring a four-month siege by Prussian forces. The city suffered terribly during the winter of 1870-1871, with food shortages, extreme cold, and artillery bombardment taking thousands of lives.

When the government finally surrendered in January 1871, the terms were harsh: France would lose Alsace and Lorraine, pay massive indemnities, and suffer the humiliation of a Prussian victory parade through Paris. For many Parisians, particularly the working classes and radical republicans who had borne the brunt of the siege, this surrender represented betrayal by a conservative government more afraid of its own people than of the Prussian enemy.

The political landscape was further complicated by elections in February 1871 that produced a conservative National Assembly dominated by monarchists and rural representatives. This assembly, meeting in Bordeaux, appointed Adolphe Thiers as head of the executive power. Thiers, a veteran politician, saw the radicalized Parisian population as the greatest threat to France’s stability and recovery.

The Powder Keg Ignites

The tension between Paris and the national government came to a head in late February 1871. The immediate trigger was the government’s attempt to disarm the city. During the siege, the National Guard—a citizen militia—had expanded dramatically, arming and organizing the working-class districts of Paris. To Thiers and the conservative government, these armed radicals represented an unacceptable challenge to state authority.

On February 24, demonstrations began at the Place de la Bastille, symbolically significant as the birthplace of the French Revolution. National Guardsmen, suspecting the government intended to disband and disarm them, combined their protest with objections to the planned German victory parade. By February 25, the demonstration had transformed into what observers described as a “left-wing pilgrimage,” with wreaths and flags piled high around the July Column.

February 26—the day Thiers signed the peace treaty with Prussia—saw the situation escalate dramatically. From 10:00 AM until 6:00 PM, approximately 300,000 Parisians participated in a massive National Guard parade. Though unarmed, each battalion brought its band, and all flags were draped in black crepe as a sign of mourning. For participants like Louis Pérouse, it was an “especially exhilarating and even magnificent” spectacle.

The atmosphere grew increasingly menacing as National Guard leaders, wearing red sashes, delivered inflammatory speeches invoking the revolutionary traditions of 1793, 1830, and 1848. One officer of the 238th Battalion declared: “Those monopolistic exploiters with power seem to think the people will always follow the rules. They seem to forget that the people sometimes suddenly awaken…”

The Bastille Square Lynching

The volatile situation needed only a spark to explode into violence. Suddenly, cries of “Spy! Spy! Grab him!” interrupted the speeches. A man was dragged out and beaten. Identified as Vincenzoni , he was accused of being either a former imperial police officer or a government agent counting demonstration participants.

Whatever the truth, the mob demanded blood. The unfortunate man was dragged toward the Seine River as the crowd shouted “Beat him! Hit his head! Drown him!” According to subsequent investigations, Vincenzoni begged to be allowed to shoot himself, but the mob refused this merciful option. Instead, they tied his limbs “like a package” and threw him into the river.

For two horrifying hours, the spectacle continued as the current repeatedly washed the struggling man back to shore. “Some scoundrels brought the atrocity to its extreme,” witnesses reported, “by throwing stones at this man…” Thousands of Parisians watched without intervention until the victim finally drowned. This brutal lynching revealed the savage mood beneath the city’s civilized surface.

The Liberation of Radical Prisoners

On that same fateful day, insurgents stormed Saint-Pélagie prison to free political prisoners. Among those liberated was Second Lieutenant Paul-Antoine Brunel, arrested for his role in the January uprisings. Brunel, a staunch advocate of resistance to the bitter end during the siege, had been arrested on orders General Vinoy shortly before Paris surrendered, charged with commanding the 107th Battalion to resist disarmament.

Brunel’s release would prove significant. Like many radical officers, he combined military experience with revolutionary fervor. His leadership would later prove crucial during the Paris Commune that would erupt just weeks later. The prison break demonstrated both the government’s weakening authority and the radicals’ growing organization and audacity.

The Observers’ Blindness

What makes this period particularly fascinating is how many experienced observers failed to recognize the gathering storm. Even the acutely observant Goncourt brothers, who noted on February 27 that “beneath the surface of Paris lurks something gloomy, anxious,” admitted they couldn’t precisely identify the symptoms. On February 24, Edmond de Goncourt had celebrated the return of his literary tastes, only to descend into anxiety three days later over “indescribable depression surrounding you.”

American diplomat Elihu Washburne, normally astute and experienced, was similarly deceived by surface appearances. William Brown, preparing to leave Paris forever, wrote euphorically to his wife: “Now I feel everything really is over, thank God, peace and commerce will bring hope, all kinds of food are abundant, spring weather is quite beautiful, equally important are future prospects…”

Even Jules Ferry, from Paris, confidently telegraphed his colleague Jules Simon in Bordeaux on March 5: “The entire city is completely calm. The crisis has passed…” These misjudgments highlight the peculiar nature of revolutionary situations—the disconnect between appearance and reality, between the official narrative and the popular mood.

The Historical Context

To understand why Paris stood on the brink of revolution, we must consider the broader historical context. The city had a long tradition of revolutionary activism dating back to 1789. The working-class districts of eastern Paris, particularly Montmartre, Belleville, and Ménilmontant, had been radicalized through decades of industrialization, political exclusion, and repeated revolutionary experiences in 1830 and 1848.

The National Guard itself embodied this tradition. Originally created during the French Revolution as a bourgeois militia, it had evolved into a more democratic institution. During the siege, it had expanded to include most able-bodied men, becoming a vehicle for political organization and military training for the working class.

The Prussian victory and the conservative peace terms created a perfect storm of national humiliation, economic anxiety, and political polarization. The rural-urban divide in France became starkly evident, with the peasant-dominated National Assembly seen as betraying Parisian interests. The attempted disarmament of the National Guard was interpreted as an attempt to strip Paris of its ability to defend itself both against external threats and against a government increasingly perceived as hostile.

The Cultural Atmosphere

The cultural and intellectual life of Paris during this period reflected the political tensions. The literary and artistic communities were deeply divided between conservative traditionalists and radical innovators. The Goncourt brothers, though monarchists in sympathy, documented the social unrest with novelistic detail. Other writers and artists would later play significant roles in the Commune, seeing it as a embodiment of artistic as well as political liberation.

The café culture of Paris provided fertile ground for political discussion and organization. Newspapers of various political orientations fueled the debates, with radical publications like Le Cri du Peuple gaining influence. This vibrant public sphere helped create what historian Roger Gould has called “insurgent identities”—shared understandings and solidarities that would enable collective action.

The memory of previous revolutions haunted the city. The references to 1793, 1830, and 1848 in political speeches weren’t merely rhetorical flourishes—they represented a living revolutionary tradition, complete with its own rituals, symbols, and lessons. The Bastille, the July Column, and other sites served as physical reminders of this tradition, becoming natural gathering points for demonstrations.

The Legacy of Montmartre’s Guns

The events of late February 1871 set the stage for the Paris Commune, which would formally be proclaimed on March 28. The attempted seizure of the cannons of Montmartre on March 18—the immediate trigger for the Commune—was a direct consequence of the government’s fear of the armed population revealed in the February demonstrations.

The Commune itself, though ultimately crushed with terrible violence in May 1871, left a profound legacy. It became a reference point for socialist and revolutionary movements worldwide, inspiring everything from the Russian Revolution to the New Left of the 1960s. Karl Marx described it as the first example of the “dictatorship of the proletariat,” while anarchists saw it as a model of decentralized, direct democracy.

For Paris itself, the Commune and its bloody suppression—the Semaine Sanglante or “Bloody Week” in which tens of thousands were killed—created wounds that took generations to heal. The conservative government that emerged from the crisis would establish the Third Republic, which despite its origins would eventually incorporate many democratic reforms.

Modern Relevance

The story of Paris in early 1871 remains relevant today as we consider how societies recover from trauma, how governments balance security and liberty, and how economic inequality fuels political polarization. The disconnect between the official narrative and popular sentiment, so evident in 1871, finds echoes in contemporary politics.

The events also raise enduring questions about collective violence and revolutionary situations. Why do apparently stable societies suddenly tip into insurrection? How do normally peaceful citizens become participants in mob violence? What role do economic distress, national humiliation, and political exclusion play in these transformations?

Finally, the Paris of 1871 reminds us that cities are not just collections of buildings and people but living entities with their own moods, memories, and potential for sudden transformation. As Captain Derrécagaix understood, cities have their moments of “fury, madness, stupidity, and passion”—and sometimes these moments change history.

The guns of Montmartre, both literal and metaphorical, continue to echo through history, reminding us of the power of popular mobilization, the fragility of social order, and the enduring human capacity for both collective cruelty and collective liberation.