Biography of Thomas Fay (Continued)

          The next day, Hugo got a flag and a gun.  I walked outside with my father to the resuming protests.  Hugo had been waiting outside our house, holding a flag.  I had seen this flag before, but couldn’t recall where.  It was a simple design, three vertical lines, each comprising a third of the rectangle.  Starting from the left of the flag where the colors: blue, white, then red.  I marched across town, parroting what everyone was shouting, next to Hugo who was waving this odd flag above our heads.  He marched us to a barricade that had been set up between an abandoned factory and dying tailor shop.  The bulk of the barricade was made from an overturned omnibus and plenty of furniture.  Here, Hugo and my father grabbed rifles.  I wish I could paint, because the image I saw needed to be preserved.  Hugo was standing on the barricade, the French Flag in one hand, a rifle in the other, held in the middle.  My father kneeled next to him, his rifle poised, both ready to defend those behind them; they looked like the physical embodiment of the revolution.  I didn’t even think of grabbing a gun until the latter part of the day.  I was far too busy shaking in fear to even consider it.  Hugo had given me the task of reloading the weapons.  Throughout the day, we heard gun fire from around the city, but for some reason, we had not seen much violence.  That is, except close to evening when a patrol of troops began firing at us.  No one got hurt on our side, and the troops disbanded after five minutes of fighting.  To be honest, I don’t think their hearts where in it.  

          The third day was a bit more intense.  I had gathered the courage to fight alongside my father.  Some of the men behind the barricade did get hurt this time.  It was a much larger patrol of troops that came today.  But I am proud to say we did far more damage to their side than they did to us.  I’m not sure if I hit anyone, everyone was firing at the same time, but I would be surprised if I couldn’t claim responsibility for at least one of those troops.  Later in the afternoon, a young man came running down the street towards the barricade shouting something about Hotel de Ville.  Apparently, it had been captured and some men were setting up a provisional government.  I asked my father what that meant.  He told me it meant King Charles X had left the throne.  To tell you the truth, I felt nervous at this idea, even though this is what I had been fighting for.  We no longer had a king to guide us, we were to rule by the people until we could form a stable replacement government.  We ended up placing Louis-Phillipe Napoleon, who promised to be a king to the bourgeoise, as our king.  He was from the House of Orleans; the House of Bourbon had been dismissed.  My father was ecstatic.  

          In 1847, I officially decided the very government I helped establish had to be overthrown.  Louis-Phillip was not the king to the bourgeois that we expected.  He was the king for land owners, bankers and stock brokers; not for those who owned a single factory but had no more land to their name.  To make matter worse, there was not much I could do in the political realm as only land owners could vote.  By this time, I had taken over my father’s factory once he took ill five years prior.  Hugo and I had become good friends, and took care of my now immobile father.  Political meetings where outlawed so in July, so we began attending liberal banquets to vent our grievances.  Here we toasted to ‘Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité’.  By February of 1848, these banquets were outlawed.  That was the tipping point for me.  Hugo and I began protesting that very day.  Joining rioters as we protested the unethical treatment from the ‘Bourgeois King’.  Unfortunately, on the 23^rd day of February, Hugo had learned that Prime Minister Guizot had resigned from office.  Hugo joined a group of protestors who gathered outside the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.  They were greeted with a line of troops.  Of what I hear, it was an accident.  Nonetheless, a young soldier accidently discharged his musket, causing all others to fire, resulting in a massacre.  Fifty-two people were killed, including Hugo.  I remembered the barricades from eighteen years ago, and began using my memory as a blueprint.  That day I helped construct a barricade, twice as big as the one in 1830.  The next day, Louis-Phillipe had left the throne vacant.  A provisional government was set up again. They adopted our banquet motto ‘Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité’ as our official country motto.  While Alphonse de Lamartine temporarily led the country with absolute power, everyone knew he was only temporary, and a struggle amongst political parties ensued for power.   

          On June 23rd the government attempted to close the newly established National Workshops.  These workshops were developed to create jobs for the unemployed, despite being low paying and dead-end.  To fund this, the government attempted to tax land owners.  Of course, this class was not thrilled at the prospect, and would not pay.  Because the workshops couldn’t be financed, the government had no choice but to shut it down.  I was furious and took to the streets against the National Guard led by Louis Eugene Cavaignac.  I was beginning to feel at home among the barricades, although without my father or Hugo it wasn’t the same.  The revolution was a failure, but we persisted enough for the creation of the French Constitution.  According to this, we would serve under presidential rule, each president serving for a four-year period.  Louis Napoleon was elected on the 20^th of December.  It is now three years late. Louis Napoleon has dissolved the national assembly without any constitutional right.  He is abdicating for sole rule, and total power.  Perhaps it is true absolute power corrupts absolutely.  He has proposed a six-year extension to his presidency, which I cannot allow.  I am tired of revolution, but at this point, I feel I know it better than the cloth industry.  Nonetheless, I hear barricades being built and people shouting.  I must help.   

Created By: Max Corman, Sophomore, Film Production Major