Translation:Perpetual concession for a pile of shit

Comedy of comedies! Seven or eight years ago, I threw punches at the Fernando circus to get Joffrin elected president against Clemenceau; I saw Clemenceau deploy two hours of his eloquence’s subtle twists to finally captivate the assembly; I saw Joffrin, brutal, hammering the podium to keep his crew loyal; I heard Clemenceau and Joffrin challenge each other, one hissing contempt at the other: "Joffrin, if you don’t call the motion to vote, it’s treachery!" Yes, I saw these two men hate each other—and yesterday, I saw Clemenceau trailing Joffrin’s hearse!

Alongside Clemenceau stood ten thousand other Boulangists.

Absolutely! Boulangists! Honoring a man in life or death is Boulangism; pinching pennies to buy flowers and flags is Boulangism; shouting "Long live Joffrin!" is Boulangism. ​ The moment you concede that a more intelligent or virtuous man may rightfully possess more than others, you establish the principle of appropriation - and thereby ensure it will be primarily the wicked who end up owning everything. The same logic applies when we accept what I shall term (for I invent the word here) the principle of 'honorification'. Sanction special honors for any individual, and you guarantee that decorations, rank, dignities, positions, salaries - yes, even funeral crowns after life - will be claimed by the most despicable.

Yesterday, setting out—as a reporter—to this funeral, I jokingly told a dozen anarchists:

— Look: workers pooled their money to buy flowers for Joffrin. He was their party's speaker. Well, I'm something of a speaker myself. Why not chip in for a cab for me? You can walk.

They understood my point perfectly—that no one should deprive themselves for an illusion.

I saw the comrades again an hour later, just as the procession was crossing the canal. ​I said:

— How many years would it take—through speech or the written word—to make this crowd understand that it degrades itself by glorifying a man, and that from this degradation future Boulangists will feed, awaiting their future Boulanger? How many years? But if we had the courage to hurl a ​fine bomb amidst all these filthy umbrellas, and if people knew that every time a people kneels like this, a propagandist would rise to repeat the act—don’t you think we’d soon stop honoring carcasses?

Ah, but I insult a dead man! And now I’ll earn a lecture from the duo penning L’Égalité’s lead editorial. Listen to them:

Logic dictates that attacking the dead is futile... It is petty and cowardly to assail those who cannot defend themselves. Men are nothing. Ideas are everything. With Joffrin gone, we remain the implacable foes of Rue Cadet. But Joffrin? The man himself? He is no more - no longer an obstacle. Ah! But should the bourgeoisie attempt to resurrect this corpse to wield as a weapon, we must not hesitate to declare loudly what others deem honorable to conceal.

Now there's the reasoning of a candidate already courting Clignancourt's favor! ​Truly! We're not being brave by confronting such prejudice head-on! With Joffrin dead, are there even enough Goliaths left in possibibilism to try crushing us for spitting on his ashes? Will they dare attack us only when three against one?

And tell me—didn't the bourgeoisie just exploit Joffrin's corpse yesterday? Wasn't the police there as friends? Didn't the General Council and Municipal Council buy two lavish wreaths with our money? Would they have done any of this had Joffrin remained an uncompromising revolutionary? Wasn't this whole parade meant to show how rebels are rewarded for growing tame? Didn't this pomp only succeed because they're grateful he disarmed the revolution, turning insurgents into errand boys at City Hall? ​Very well! Bury your traitors quietly, and we'll stay silent. But if you make a spectacle of it, we'll denounce the farce. And when you demand a monument for Rouillon, we'll say you're erecting glory for a cow. And when you secure a perpetual plot for Joffrin, we'll insist his epitaph read: