Translators' Introduction

Even today, Louise Michel, who won fame as the “Red Virgin” during the Paris Commune of 1871, remains a heroine to the French Left. While Karl Marx sat in the British Museum writing tracts, Michel was facing French government troops across the barricades of Paris. While her contemporaries were just beginning to decry colonialism, she, as a convict in New Caledonia, was involved in the Kanaka uprising of 1878. Freed by the amnesty of 1880 from her exile at the other end of the earth, she returned to France and the speaker’s platform, and except for several periods in prison she continued her revolutionary exhortations until her death in 1905.

Born illegitimately on 29 May 1830, Louise Michel was brought up by her mother and paternal grandparents in a half-ruined, fortified manor house in the Haute-Marne. Her paternal grandfather, Etienne-Charles Demahis, was descended from nobility and had changed his name from De Mahis to the less grand Demahis in republican sympathy with the French Revolution of 1789. Although impoverished, he was serving as mayor of the village of Vroncourt when Louise was born to a servant of the household, Marie Anne (or Marianne) Michel, and his son Laurent, of whom no further record exists. Louise was raised as if she had been a legitimate Demahis granddaughter, and after her paternal grandparents died, she became a schoolmistress, teaching first in the Haute- Marne and later in Paris. She turned to revolutionary dreams and became deeply involved in radical affairs during the twilight of France’s Second Empire, the gaslit Paris of Louis Napoleon. During the Franco- Prussian War of 1870 and the Prussian siege of Paris, she was a leading member of the revolutionary groups controlling Montmartre, that squalid and colorful district which has been inhabited by the disaffected poor for centuries. During the Paris Commune of March to May 1871, when the citizens of Paris rebelled against the government because they believed it was trying to steal their republic, Michel became even more deeply involved in events, emerging as one of the leaders of the insurrection.

When the forces of the Versailles Government crushed the Commune in May 1871, Michel was captured, tried, and sentenced to exile. She was transported to New Caledonia on a prison ship in 1873. For six years she lived under harsh conditions in the prison colony near the capital, Noumea, and later she lived in the capital itself, with a limited amount of freedom. Following the general amnesty of 1880, which the government gave to the Communards in response to public pressure, she returned to France and public acclaim.

Though massive public gatherings greeted Michel upon her return, it was difficult for her to find a place in revolutionary circles. She was ignorant of events that had taken place in France during the preceding decade, and the persons who had risen to power and influence in radical circles had no great interest in relinquishing their position to any legend. But her popular support from the working people of France remained immense, and her speeches in Paris, the provinces, and abroad during the next few years were heavily and tumultuously attended.

In 1882 Michel was arrested for disturbing the peace and spent two weeks in jail. Then, in the spring of 1883, after a demonstration at les Invalides, she led a crowd across Paris under the black flag of anarchism. She was arrested and tried for rioting and for inciting her followers to loot bakeries. Offering no real defense at her trial, she was sentenced to six years in prison. Pardoned three years later, she resolutely continued her speeches and writing, the radical public honoring her as “la grande citoyenne.” From 1890 to 1905 she spent the greater part of her time in England in self-imposed exile, although she made a number of speaking tours in France and elsewhere. She was engaged in one of those speaking tours in 1905 when she died, her funeral becoming an occasion for a massive outpouring of sentiment from three generations of revolutionaries.

Louise Michel declares in her memoirs that she was an anarchist, having come to the faith after she passed through her youthful, vague sympathy for the downtrodden and her later ill-defined devotion to a Utopian revolution. She claimed later that her transformation to anarchism came on her voyage to New Caledonia aboard the prison ship Virginie, during which time she was caged for four months with Natalie Lemel, who converted her. In her memoirs Michel states that the anarchist “Manifesto of Lyon” of January 1883 precisely expressed her political beliefs. “I share all of the ideas written there,” she writes in her memoirs, and she quotes the complete text of that document.

But Michel’s anarchism was emotional, not theoretical. In fact, she was surprisingly ill read in contemporary and historical revolutionary writings. That she had read Lamennais is certain; that she had read Proudhon is likely. It is less probable that she had read either Blanqui or Bakunin, although she certainly knew of their ideas, which were in the air at the time. Marxism dismayed her, but played little part in her memoirs because her full exposure to Marxism did not come until the 1890s, several years after her memoirs were published. What is remarkable are her omissions. For example, she never mentions Babeuf and his “Manifesto of the Equals.” She writes about close friends and associates who made theoretical and practical contributions to radical doctrine— Kropotkin, Guesde, and Pouget, who was her codefendant in 1883—but she never mentions their writings.

That her commitment to anarchism was emotional did not produce intellectual inconsistency. Indeed, after her Utopian phase she was entirely consistent in her view of property, her perception of exploitation, her claims for the role of science, and her vision of the basic good in mankind. Similarly, in her encomiums to the Social Revolution she was consistent regarding its form and nature: It would be a spontaneous rising of the people against injustice and exploitation.

That emphasis on the spontaneous uprising of the people kept her, indirectly, from demanding the use of terror, a step many anarchists took. Michel mentions assassination as a tool only occasionally. Once, she discusses murdering Louis Napoleon Bonaparte; another time, she talks about assassinating Adolphe Thiers. Yet she never made any concrete preparations to carry out plans to murder the two. Similarly, her only use of explosives was an abortive attempt to blow up a statue. “Tyrannicide,” she writes, “is practical only when tyranny has a single head, or at most a small number of heads. When it is a hydra, only the Revolution can kill it.”

She was vague about what would happen the day after the Social Revolution, other than offering images of dawns and fireworks. She does comment that it would be better if all the leaders of the Revolution should perish in achieving it, for then the people would not have to contend with a surviving general staff. But somehow the anarchist dream would be fulfilled.

Anarchism, “the logical conclusion of the romantic doctrine,” to use E. H. Carr’s felicitous phrase, is perilously difficult to define. Yet its core—an insistence on the importance of the individual, a hatred of all forms of political organization, a belief in the innate goodness of man—fitted so providentially with Michel’s thinking that it is hard to decide whether Michel found anarchism or anarchism found Michel. At the time when she wrote her memoirs she believed implacably that progress was inevitable, that people were innately good, and that governments, any governments, were evil. Her statement that “power is evil” forms the nucleus of every anarchist system, but neither she nor any other anarchist ever found a ready answer to George Bernard Shaw’s irritating question. If man is so good, he asked, “how did the corruption and oppression under which he groans ever arise?”

Michel avoided the question. She saw history as the story of free people being somehow enslaved; the details were vague. But her interest in the past was as great as her hope for the future. Romantic though her vision of the past may have been, full of myth and monster, yet it was in easy accord with her romantic dream for the future. To her, past and future were indissolubly linked.

Unfortunately for Michel’s hopes—and historical reputation—the romantic dream of anarchism was a waning force not the wave of the future. While it is true that anarchism’s greatest influence in France, numerically at least, followed the outrages of the 1890s and lasted until the outbreak of the Great War, in those decades the simple and direct force of anarchism was absorbed into the Bourses de Travail, the protean Confederation Gendrale du Travail, and factional infighting. The anarchism that Louise Michel dreamed of, the formless uprising leading to the Social Revolution and the end of exploitation, disappeared into irreconcilable bickering over detail and method. The dream diffused, then disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

Michel was no more an organizer than she was a theorist. Not for Michel the shabby, ill-lit rooms where intriguers and plotters put together demonstrations and organizations. “All revolutions have been insufficient because they have been political,” she said in a speech in 1882. She believed organization unnecessary because she was adamantly of the opinion that at some near moment the poor and exploited would rise up spontaneously, and through sheer numbers, force of will, and the decency of their cause, they would force the old order to shrivel up before them. In this vein, Michel’s most typical act was in 1883, when, with no particular objective, she led the crowd of self-proclaimed anarchists across Paris.

Neither theorist nor organizer, Michel filled another role for the French radicals. “Nearly Joan of Arc,” Verlaine called her. And Victor Hugo, no anarchist, although surely a romantic, had named the first draft of a poem “Louise Michel”; in this lengthy poem, retitled “More Than a Man,” Hugo wrote,

Those who know . . .

Your days, your nights, your cares, your tears, given to everyone,

Your forgetfulness of yourself in helping others,

Your words like the flames of apostles,

Your long look of hatred to all those who are inhuman,

And the feet of children which you warm between your hands, . . .

He would realize Michel was incapable of anything not heroic or virtuous. Michel had, Hugo concluded:

. . . two spirits intermingled

. . . the divine chaos of starlike things

Seen at the bottom of a great and stormy heart

... a radiance seen in a flame .

Every movement needs prophets and lawgivers, sinners and apostates, martyrs and saints. For French anarchists, Michel was martyr and saint—the Red Virgin.

Michel’s intellectual curiosity was immense, her thirst for knowledge unquenchable. Throughout her memoirs runs an amazing assortment of subjects: music, musical instruments, teaching techniques, cruelty to animals, the status of women, the money used in the Canary Islands, insects, Kanakan anthropology, the weather, botany—the list is endless. As a child she collected animal skeletons in her tower; as a schoolmistress in Paris, in spite of her busy teaching schedule, she attended classes on physics, chemistry, history, and even law; in prison she wrote books and poetry; in New Caledonia she cataloged flora and fauna and experimented with vaccinating papaya trees against jaundice.

The inner life she reveals in her memoirs was surely a remarkable one. Legends, beasts, and folk heroes mingled in her fantasies, and she never distinguished between her fantasies and reality. Her early life, she says, was “made up of dreams and study,” a preparation for the second part of her life, “the period of struggle.” But according to her account, she acted during the waking world of the Siege and Commune as she had seen herself act in her dreams. Dream and action were the same, and, in her mind, apparently indistinguishable. The gallows speeches she invented in her childhood she delivered to her judges in 1871.

People make their own dramas and then star in them, and Michel gave the impression of playing herself. She saw herself as druidess, valkyrie, vestal virgin, moving through a life that contained far more—strange demons and mystic visions—than the eye could see. On one occasion in the 1860s she walked with her friend Victorine through the deep woods near her childhood home. Near the pair, padding along almost silently through the forest, a wolf paced their steps, she claims. Was the wolf really there? Probably not. In the 1860s the number of wolves, even in the Haute-Marne, was small, but the beast existed in Michel’s mind certainly and truly.

When Michel is narrating events of public record she is surprisingly accurate, considering that the main preparation of the text took place in prison cells. After her return from New Caledonia she was followed daily by police agents when she was not in jail. Their reports have survived, so her life from 1881 to 1883 and from 1886 to 1889 has a corroborative record, if not an objective one. 5 But for her childhood and her years as a schoolmistress almost the only record is her memory, and some of the attitudes she describes do not ring true. Perhaps Michel constructed her fantasy and then lived it out; it seems more likely that she lived her life and then superimposed her fantasy onto it retrospectively. Few people other than memoirists have the chance to live their lives over again.

Michel is astonishingly free of the self-aggrandizement memoirs are prone to, even to the point of neglecting her own importance. She was, after all, the chairman of the Women’s Vigilance Committee during the Commune. During the Siege she had been responsible for the day-to- day welfare of some two hundred children, a task which she did very well, thanks to the assistance of Georges Clemenceau; no mention of her effort appears in her memoirs, although it is obliquely referred to at one of her trials. After her return from exile in New Caledonia, she repre¬ sented France at Kropotkin’s international gathering in London; she mentions the trip, but says nothing of her role there.

From time to time misdirection, whether conscious or unconscious, appears in her memoirs. She points with a grand gesture to an inviting vision that is simply not true. Still, the misdirections of 1886 indicate either the way that Louise Michel truly saw her own life or the way she wanted others to see it. The effect is almost the same, and perhaps she was unaware of the difference. The revolutionary, a fifty-six-year-old woman, had sacrificed everything to the Revolution. Perhaps to justify what she had become she had no choice other than to make her youthful self into the revolutionary she was later.

Some of her misdirection is harmless. She subtracts five or six years from her true age, and when she writes of her childhood adventures, she paints herself as a mischievous hoyden. She was fifteen when her grandfather died, and twenty when her paternal grandmother died and the half-ruined manor house where she had grown up was sold. The majority of the childhood stories concern the period while her grand¬ father was still living, and she says comparatively little that can be dated with certainty to the period from his death until her grandmother’s, although her stories of the ecregnes, the gatherings of village women, probably belong to those years.

She was apparently a properly religious child, despite her attempt to show herself as determinedly anticlerical from the first Voltairian teach¬ ings of her grandfather. Contradicting her attempts to don this mantle are hints of her attraction to mystical Catholicism through the fervent teachings of her devout aunt. Even Michel’s story of instructing her pupils in Audeloncourt to boycott the mandated prayer for the Emperor rings false in view of a strong recommendation by a local cure which appears in her application to certify her school. 6 Even without that document as proof, much of the verse she wrote in the 1850s—verse which she does not quote in her memoirs—was ardently Christian.

Similarly, her memoirs would have the reader believe that she taught in Audeloncourt for several years and then left for Paris. That is not true. After a limited formal education she received her diploma in September 1852, taught in Audeloncourt for a year, went to Paris for a first and unmentioned period beginning in January 1854, and then returned to the Haute-Marne the following fall because her mother was ill. She tried to reopen her school at Audeloncourt, but failed because her former pupils had gone elsewhere. Then she tried to open a school at Clefmont; whether she succeeded is unclear, but in 1855 she and Julie Longchamps opened a school at Milli^res, where Michel taught for two years before going to Paris a second time. Possibly the reason for Michel’s lack of clarity on this subject stems from embarrassment over admitting a succession of failures or only partial successes.

Perhaps still fearing governmental reprisals, Michel lies about the demonstration of 22 January 1871, suggesting that it was intended to be a gentle and unarmed protest. In fact, it was planned as a direct confrontation with the Government of National Defense. She also omits the information that she was dressed in a National Guard uniform and was carrying a rifle. Similarly, she minimizes her role in the councils of the Commune and is a bit elliptical when she discusses what part she played in military events. For example, she was a member of the 61st Battalion of the National Guard, which was commanded by Eudes, the husband of her friend, Victorine Louvet.

Her narrative of her arrest, confinement, and trial are straightfor¬ ward, as is her account of the voyage to New Caledonia in 1873. The captain of the prison ship, the Virginie, was deeply concerned, his reports show, with the well-being of the deportees aboard; and the trip, while certainly unpleasant, was not unnecessarily arduous.

Michel makes light of the physical discomfort of the prison camps on the Ducos Peninsula at Numbo and later at the Bay of the West. Conditions there were far less easy than she suggests, but she reserves her criticism for the jailers and their policy of repression, not the poor food and inadequate medical facilities.

She was certainly involved peripherally in the Kanakan uprising of 1878 in New Caledonia, yet her comments on it are scanty. Indeed, her account of these events, in which she hints broadly that she knows more than she chooses to tell, is the only place in her memoirs where she is coy with the reader. Certainly the authorities might have taken notice of an open confession, but when she writes about the Siege and the Commune, she simply avoids indictable revelations.

Upon her return to France, Michel plunged into radical politics almost without pausing. Her account of these events is anecdotal and episodic, not systematic. Among the subjects on which she focuses is the incredible effort of the Prefect of Police to establish a radical journal, his idea being that such a publication would help him to keep track of revolutionaries because they would congregate around it. Michel also describes speaking tours she made to Belgium and England.

During those years her friend Marie Ferre died, but the climax of events, for Michel, was the Trial of the Sixty-eight at Lyon, where the government tried to break the anarchist movement by destroying many of its leaders, among them Kropotkin and Gauthier. Michel had been in England during the earlier part of the trial, but she was present at the last phase, and she identified herself with the prisoners, although she was not among those indicted. After the conviction of the Sixty-eight, she felt she had to do something: “I would have been an accessory to cowardice if I did not use the liberty I was allowed—I don’t know why—to call up a new and immense International which would stretch from one end of the earth to the other.” She was searching for martyrdom when she found it at les Invalides in April 1883; the government reacted savagely and after a sham of a trial she was sentenced to six years of solitary confinement, a sentence so incommensurate with the crime that even conservative papers protested.

Her mother’s declining health worsened. Michel was given parole to visit her while awaiting trial and at least twice after conviction. When she was in the Centrale Prison at Clermont she was also allowed to go see her mother, a most exceptional proceeding, although as Michel’s biographer Edith Thomas notes when she discusses this episode, the nineteenth century was “a much more humane epoch than ours.” Michel gave credit to the authorities for transferring her to a Paris prison at the beginning of December 1884 so that she might be near her mother. Four days later the Minister of the Interior gave permission for Michel, guarded by two police inspectors, to stay at her mother’s bedside. From Michel’s memoirs it is hard to tell that she stayed with her mother almost a month, from 11 December 1884 until her mother’s death on 3 January 1885.

Michel’s emotions were always intense. The pages of her memoirs are sprinkled throughout with affection for her mother, and when she describes her childhood, she exhibits devotion to her older relatives. Later, as a young woman, she formed a close friendship with Julie Longchamps, who followed her to Paris. The two remained close into the 1860s, drifting apart only when Longchamps failed to follow Michel into radical politics.

Through the years Michel’s affection for her pupils remained un¬ dimmed. She is bitter when she rebuts the government’s claim, made at her first trial, that she had no pupils, yet she let far greater falsehoods stand unrefuted. She seems to have been a conscientious and imaginative teacher, and outside evidence corroborates that judgment. For example, her devotion to teaching the Kanakas in Noumea earned a letter of commendation, a letter she quotes with obvious pride.

Michel’s sympathies focused upon all who were helpless in society: the poor, the elderly, prisoners, and women. She developed a protofeminism, but it quickly merged into a more general radicalism. Michel saw the problems of society clearly, and she saw that many groups, not just women, were being exploited. Thus, a chapter in her memoirs concerning women changes its tone until it becomes a plea for both women and men “to move through life together as good companions” as they march toward the Social Revolution. After it occurs, “men and women together will gain the rights of all humanity.” They will not argue any longer “about which sex is superior” any more than “races will argue about which race is foremost.” Michel’s aversion to cruelty to animals is connected with her sympathies for the helpless and exploited: “Every¬ thing fits together, from the bird whose brood is crushed to the humans whose nests are destroyed by war.”

The most intense feelings in her memoirs, after those for her mother, are reserved for Theophile Ferre. She frequently refers to him and his execution, but it is hard to determine whether her feelings are for Ferre as a person or as a symbol of what repression could lead to. Whether Michel’s warm friendship for Ferre’s sister Marie was the product of her feelings for Theophile or independent of them is unclear, but Michel’s and Marie Ferry’s lives were permanently intertwined. Marie helped to care for Michel’s mother while Michel was at meetings, exiled, traveling, or in prison, and the two maintained a lively correspondence through the years. It is to Marie that she owed her collection of poems and clippings, many of which are included in the memoirs. Shortly after Michel’s arrest for the demonstration following the anniversary of Blanqui’s death Marie died, and in the memoirs Michel includes an account of Marie’s funeral and a eulogistic letter from Henri Rochefort.

But Michel’s emotional life centered on her mother. Michel recognized that she had caused the greater part of her mother’s sufferings, caused them because of opinions which her mother “didn’t share.” Throughout her life, her mother struggled to pay her daughter’s debts and showered her with affection and little presents. In return, Louise tried to hide her misfortunes from her mother and to ease her last moments. “We revolutionaries bring so little happiness to our families,” Michel laments. To pay tribute to her mother, Michel prints the account of her mother’s funeral in full. What she failed to realize was that the many thousands who followed her mother’s body through Paris to the graveyard at Levallois-Perret were honoring not only her mother but Louise herself.

For all practical purposes, Michel’s memoirs end at the time of her mother’s death, and with her spirit bleak from the loss she had suffered, she completed them for publication the following year. Reality is malleable, and to recall the processes of one’s mind, which a memoirist must do, is to see past events through whatever sun or shadow exists at the moment when the recollection is called forth. Though Michel’s devotion to the revolutionary cause and her optimism for the future remained steadfast, even under the shadow of the mother’s death, it is possible that she would have shown less nostalgia and less sorrow for a lost past if she had not written her memoirs under the immediate impact of her grief.

It was sometime during Michel’s third prison term, which began in 1883, that she started to write these memoirs, although documents for them had been collected earlier. She also had some earlier pieces, like a history of the Haute-Marne that she had begun during her childhood, and she makes one tantalizing reference to a “journal” she kept of the voyage to New Caledonia, which has disappeared.

In 1885, after her mother died, Michel suffered some sort of nervous collapse, which certainly was among the reasons for her memoirs’ being fragmented and disjointed. Although a very rough chronological outline runs through the two parts, stories and anecdotes appear more through word association than from step-by-step narrative. Nor are the memoirs limited to factual accounts. They are filled with emotional descriptions of her dreams, stirring calls to action, and a number of poems. She flits from one idea to another “as they come to mind.” Occasionally she seems aware of the problems she might be causing the reader. “Before speak¬ ing about my third arrest,” she writes in the original text, “I ought to relate the first two.” The memoirs oscillate wildly among nostalgia, exaltation, narrative, and prophecy.

As a consequence, the original memoirs are most difficult to follow, and we, as translators, decided that a direct rendering into English would be incomprehensible to modern readers. Therefore, we translated the original text completely, and then transposed Michel’s words into a chronological narrative of her life, being careful to stay as true as possible to the thought and tone of the original.

Very little material has been eliminated. Frequently, there were several versions of one event, agreeing with each other in broad outline always, which is unusual, but each adding new details. Those versions were combined to make one account. Several poems were omitted because they added nothing to the narrative; furthermore, Michel’s poetry is mediocre—Edith Thomas noted that Michel’s “best poem is surely her life”—and those poems that were retained were kept to add information or color to the text. Parts of her long catalog of the flora and fauna of New Caledonia have also been excised; it is frequently impossible to tell from her nonscientific descriptions which of several species she was writing about. A digression about a literary lawsuit brought by Grippa de Winter, in which Michel was not involved, was also omitted.

In the original text almost every chapter ends with a pean to the coming Revolution. Reducing the number of chapters from thirty-three (plus three appendices) to twenty-four left several extra peans, and in any event, it seemed a bit monotonous to follow Michel’s example, so they have been included only where they seemed most appropriate. Moreover, she frequently inserts parenthetical exclamations of grief at her mother’s death; their number has been reduced, although enough of them have been retained to remind the reader of the emotional strain under which Michel was writing.

In summary, the words of these translated memoirs are Louise Michel’s; the organization of those words is ours. The loss of the original texture and the feeling for how ideas were associated with each other in Michel’s mind is compensated for, we believe, by having an orderly memoir of her life to 1886.

We have added almost nothing to the narrative. In some places where it was possible to establish definitely the identity of some person mentioned, we have added a phrase identifying him, because persons who were familiar to Michel’s readers in 1886 are now often obscure. We have occasionally added dates established from documents like the records of the prison ship that carried Michel to New Caledonia. On matters which she could not check in prison, we felt accuracy served the reader. Where she is inaccurate and we were uncertain whether that inaccuracy was deliberate, we left the material as it was written, noting major problems in italicized interpolations.

Michel clearly intended to write a continuation of these memoirs. A decade after she published this volume she talked about doing so, but nothing came of it. So, other than her poetry and letters, the volume here, the Memoires de Louise Michel ecrits par elle-meme, is the main autobiographical offering of a fascinating woman, revolutionary, poet, and dreamer.

When she published these memoirs in 1886 she was fifty-six years old and still had nineteen years to live, one-third of her adult life. It is a pity she never wrote the second volume she spoke of, but the memoirs that she did write stand as a monument to human dreams. Motivated by compassion, not doctrine, Michel testified in her memoirs and by her life that an unattractive, illegitimate child from the fringe of nowhere could so love freedom that she was ready to sacrifice her own. There have been worse lives.