Parisians:

Sixteen years of gags! Sixteen years of outrages! France scoffed at, pillaged, trampled upon! Wasn’t that enough? No! Now hunger tears at the guts of the people!

Bonaparte promised glory and prosperity. Prosperity! Yes, he alone devoured 400 million francs, 25 million a year, 70,000 francs a day. He gorged with gold his Mamelukes, speculators, camp followers, priests. All he left to you to satisfy your hunger, was the rubble of demolitions.

Glory! We know it: Mexico, Mentana. And that’s only a beginning. From here on out all soldiers between 20 and 30 are soldiers...soldiers of the Pope.

They’ll have the honor of dying for the Jesuits, and Father Hyacinthe promises to hear their confessions on the battlefield.

To those who escape that glory, they’ll distribute soup at the doors of churches and barracks.

No more workshops! No more marriages! All of that is revolutionary. Nothing but palaces and prisons, convents and whorehouses!....

To arms, Parisians! Enough is enough! You received freedom from your fathers; you will not leave servitude to your sons.

The oppressors have filled the cup to the brim. To arms! Let punishment fall like lightning on their outrages. The hour of the great revolution of the people has sounded! Let us march!