A Surgeon’s Arrival in a City of Contradictions

In the early spring of 1871, an English surgeon named Powell arrived in Paris, expecting to find a city in the throes of revolutionary chaos. Instead, he was met with an eerie semblance of normalcy. Powell had come to offer his services, only to discover that nearly all the ambulance units established during the recent siege had closed—save for one run by a fellow Englishman, Dr. Cormack. “It is truly strange that no one anticipated further fighting,” Powell remarked, a sentiment that captured the peculiar calm that had settled over the French capital. The initial excitement, panic, and revolutionary fervor that followed the uprising of March 18 had subsided, leaving many bourgeois and non-revolutionary residents pleasantly surprised to find daily life largely undisturbed.

This tranquility was deceptive. Paris stood at a crossroads, caught between the revolutionary government of the Paris Commune, proclaimed on March 28, and the regular French government under Adolphe Thiers, which had withdrawn to Versailles. The city was under dual authority, yet for a brief period, it functioned with remarkable order. Powell and other contemporary observers noted that streets were unusually clean, crime was rare, and people addressed each other as “citizen” in a spirit of egalitarian camaraderie. Despite the political upheaval, marriages were still performed, operas reopened, and the rhythms of life continued, all under the warm spring sun. For the working class, the oppressed, and the disillusioned, these early days of the Commune represented a golden age of hope and possibility.

The Historical Backdrop: France in Crisis

To understand the Paris Commune, one must look to the catastrophic events that preceded it. The Franco-Prussian War, which began in July 1870, had ended in a humiliating defeat for France. Emperor Napoleon III was captured at the Battle of Sedan in September, leading to the collapse of the Second Empire and the proclamation of the Third Republic. Paris endured a brutal four-month siege by Prussian forces, during which residents suffered starvation, bombardment, and extreme privation. The armistice signed in January 1871 was deeply unpopular, especially in Paris, where patriotic and republican sentiments ran high.

The newly elected National Assembly, dominated by monarchists and conservatives, appointed Adolphe Thiers as head of the executive branch. His government sought peace at any cost, accepting harsh terms from Otto von Bismarck, including the loss of Alsace and Lorraine and a massive indemnity. Parisians, who had borne the brunt of the war, felt betrayed. The city was heavily armed, with hundreds of cannons purchased by public subscription during the siege. When Thiers attempted to seize these cannons from the working-class districts of Montmartre and Belleville on March 18, the population resisted. Two generals were lynched by the crowd, and Thiers ordered the evacuation of government forces to Versailles. The Commune was born from this act of defiance.

The First Weeks: Order Amidst Revolution

In the days following March 18, Paris experienced a wave of revolutionary energy tempered by practical governance. The Commune’s leadership, composed of a mix of socialists, anarchists, and republicans, moved quickly to establish control. Raoul Rigault, the new Prefect of Police, oversaw the arrest of over 400 individuals deemed threats to the revolution, including prominent opponents like Georges Clemenceau. Yet, as Powell observed, most were soon released. Private property remained largely untouched, and press freedom was respected, with the exception of two vehemently anti-Commune newspapers, Le Figaro and Le Gaulois, which were taken over.

The American minister to France, Elihu Washburne, provided a diplomatic perspective on these events. While searching for his missing secretary, McKean, Washburne witnessed a military tribunal that evoked memories of the Reign of Terror in 1793. He noted with concern the summary executions carried out under the authority of figures like Garnier, a former pots-and-pans dealer turned “general” in charge of Montmartre. In one report, Garnier described a “quiet night” punctuated by the execution of two municipal policemen, a national guardsman, and a gendarme. Despite these brutal acts, there was no widespread climate of fear. Anti-Communards slept without dread of a midnight knock at the door.

The Commune’s administration functioned with surprising efficiency. Public services were maintained, streets were cleaned, and crime rates dropped to historic lows. However, disruptions occurred. The postmaster, Rampont, had fled with all his officials, halting mail and telegraph services—a situation even the Prussian siege had not caused. Yet life went on. Couples still married, though often with anxiety about whether mayors would be available to officiate or if town halls had been converted into detention centers. The city’s cultural life revived, with eight opera houses reopening under Commune decree. For the poor and marginalized, this period was nothing short of magical—a glimpse of a more just and equitable society.

Thiers Prepares for War

While Paris enjoyed its revolutionary spring, Adolphe Thiers was busy assembling forces in Versailles. By early April, he had gathered over 60,000 men, scraping together every available resource. These troops included mobile guards from the provinces, gendarmes who had fled Paris, and National Guardsmen from the “Friends of Order” faction. This force exceeded the limits imposed by the recent peace treaty with Germany by about 50 percent, yet it was a motley collection of soldiers, poorly trained and unevenly motivated.

Thiers had not yet formulated a concrete plan to retake Paris, but reconnaissance missions began as a preliminary step. On March 30, two cavalry squadrons were sent to survey Courbevoie, a suburb across the Seine from Neuilly. This initiative was largely the brainchild of General Gaston de Galliffet, a flamboyant and ruthless cavalry officer who had recently returned from a German prisoner-of-war camp. Galliffet was a product of the Second Empire—a witty, acerbic courtier who would later become a close friend of King Edward VII of England. His wife, one of the empire’s great beauties, was famous for her extravagant costumes at Louis-Napoleon’s masked balls.

Galliffet’s military experience made him uniquely suited for the type of warfare Thiers envisioned. Through the influence of his wife, he had secured a command in the French expedition to Mexico , where he fought against the irregular forces of Benito Juárez. There, he developed a reputation for bravery and brutality, showing equal disregard for his own suffering and that of others. He once shocked a dinner party by recounting how, after being shot in the intestines, he crawled across a battlefield holding his own guts in his military cap. He assured his horrified listeners that he wore a silver plate engraved with his name to “ensure the proper placement of said intestines.”

Galliffet’s reconnaissance on March 30 was a small but significant action. With minimal forces, he successfully dislodged a small advance post held by Communard National Guardsmen. This minor victory foreshadowed the violent repression to come and introduced a commander who would play a central and terrifying role in the Commune’s final days.

Cultural and Social Impacts: A New Society in Embryo

The Paris Commune, though short-lived, was a laboratory for social and political innovation. Its leaders implemented policies that reflected a blend of pragmatic governance and radical idealism. Decrees were issued to suspend rent payments, abolish night work for bakers, and grant pensions to the widows and children of National Guardsmen killed in action. The Commune also separated church and state, seized religious properties, and promoted secular education.

Culturally, the Commune fostered a sense of liberation and creativity. Artists and intellectuals participated actively, seeing the revolution as a chance to break with the stifling conventions of the past. The reopening of the opera houses symbolized this cultural revival, offering entertainment to the masses rather than just the elite. Public spaces became forums for political debate and popular festivals, reinforcing the Commune’s democratic ethos.

For women, the Commune offered unprecedented opportunities for involvement. They served as nurses, cooks, and fighters, with figures like Louise Michel becoming icons of revolutionary courage. Women’s clubs and newspapers advocated for gender equality, though the Commune stopped short of granting women the vote. Still, their participation challenged traditional gender roles and left a lasting impression on the feminist movement.

The social atmosphere was one of optimism and solidarity. As Powell noted, crime rates plummeted, not because of harsh policing, but because the Commune enjoyed broad popular support. The sense of collective purpose reduced the incentives for theft and violence. People looked out for one another, sharing resources and celebrating their hard-won freedoms.

Legacy and Modern Relevance

The Paris Commune was crushed in bloody fashion during the “Bloody Week” of May 21–28, 1871. Thiers’s forces, led by generals like Galliffet, executed tens of thousands of Communards in the streets, while thousands more were imprisoned or deported. The repression was brutal and thorough, designed to extinguish not just a rebellion but an idea.

Yet the Commune’s legacy endured. It became a symbol of revolutionary hope and a cautionary tale about the costs of social upheaval. Karl Marx hailed it as the first “workers’ government,” a prototype for future socialist revolutions. Its failures and achievements informed the strategies of later movements, from the Russian Revolution of 1917 to the New Left of the 1960s.

In modern times, the Commune is remembered as a bold experiment in direct democracy and social justice. Its emphasis on popular sovereignty, workers’ control, and secularism resonates with contemporary struggles against inequality and authoritarianism. The Commune’s brief existence raises timeless questions about power, violence, and the possibility of creating a more equitable society.

For Paris, the Commune left physical and psychological scars. The city’s architecture bears witness to the destruction, while its collective memory holds both the pride of resistance and the trauma of defeat. The event remains a touchstone for French political identity, invoked by left and right alike in debates over democracy, revolution, and the role of the state.

In the end, the early days of the Commune—so vividly captured by observers like Powell and Washburne—offer a glimpse of what might have been. They remind us that even in the midst of conflict, humanity strives for order, meaning, and hope. The story of the Paris Commune is not just a historical curiosity; it is a testament to the enduring quest for a better world.