17. Women of the Commune and the opposing armies¶
Core Argument¶
Here, Lissagaray shifts focus from the political machinations of the Commune to its human substance and military reality. The chapter’s core narrative thrust is a stark juxtaposition: the heroic, self-sacrificing spirit of the Parisian people—embodied by its women and children—against the inexorable, cynical military machinery being assembled by Versailles. Lissagaray’s prose is itself a polemical weapon, aimed at rehabilitating the Communard woman from the pornographic caricatures of Dumas fils and Feydeau, whom he dismisses as products of the Empire’s mire. The true Parisienne, he insists, is the proletarian helpmeet who becomes an associate in the death-struggle, creating a formidable equality that doubles the strength of the working class: “one heart and four hands.”
The evidence for this claim is a litany of specific, unadorned acts of devotion. He cites the cantinière Lachaise, who tended the wounded alone at Meudon; the women’s committees that issued fiery proclamations demanding posts of danger; and the figure of Louise Michel, the teacher who became a lioness for the cause. The children, too, are drawn into this portrait of collective heroism, with Lissagaray noting that the Versaillese took 660 of them prisoner and that boys of thirteen or fourteen served as gunners at the Porte-Maillot. This is not romanticism for its own sake; it is a rebuttal to the Versaillese narrative that the Commune was a rabble of criminals and degenerates.
The chapter then pivots sharply to the material balance of forces, drawing on meticulous military detail to expose the fraudulence of Thiers’s official dispatches. Lissagaray quotes Thiers’s repeated claims of “decisive” victories, then counters with the reality: the Versaillese relied on sheer firepower, throwing 1,500 shells a day at Neuilly alone. The key historical context is the collusion between Thiers and Bismarck. Lissagaray reveals that Jules Favre was sent “whining” to the Prussians, who released 60,000 prisoners of war and authorised Thiers to expand his army from 40,000 to 130,000 men, encircling Paris with a half-foreign, half-French cordon. This is a damning charge: the Republic’s government armed itself against its own capital with the aid of the national enemy.
Against this, the Commune’s military effort is shown as tragically disorganised. Lissagaray provides precise figures—96,000 men on paper, but never more than 15,000 or 16,000 holding the line from St. Ouen to Ivry. Of 1,200 cannon, only 200 were used. The root cause is identified as the Council’s political paralysis: it recoiled from rigour, quashed death sentences passed by courts-martial, and squandered time debating the price of the Officiel or the value of pawn tickets. The generals received but one order: “Defend yourselves.” No councils of war were held. The chapter’s final, devastating image is of heroism wasted: the devotion and dazzling bravery of the Federals spent in vain, “like the steam of an engine escaping through hundreds of outlets.” The polemic is thus double-edged: it celebrates the people’s revolutionary instinct while indicting the political leadership that failed to organise it for victory.