Red Carnation – A Poem for Théophile Ferré
Louise wrote the moving poem 'Red Carnation' on the death of her friend Théophile Ferré, who was sentenced to death for his role in the 1871 Paris Commune.

Louise Michel wrote the poem Red Carnation for her beloved friend Théophile Ferré, Deputy of the Paris Commune, who received a sentence of death by firing squad for his involvement in the Paris Commune, and was killed by the Government at Satory in November 1871.
In those days, those nights, we assembled in the shadow,
Indignant, shaking the sinister and black yoke
Of the Emperor, and we shuddered, dark,
Like the beast at the slaughterhouse.
The Empire was ending. It killed at ease,
In its cave where the threshold had the smell of blood.
It reigned, but in the air was blowing the Marseillaise.
Red was the rising sun.
It often happened that a bardic scent,
Enveloping us all, made our hearts vibrate.
To each of us who sang the heroic collection,
Sometimes we threw flowers.
These were red carnations, to recognise each other,
Each of us reborn as red flowers.
Others will be taken during the times to come,
And those will be the victors.
If one day I were to go to the cold cemetery,
Brothers, cast on your sister,
Like a final hope,
Some red carnations in bloom.
In the final days of the Empire,
As the people awoke,
Red Carnation, it was your smile
That told us all was reborn.
And now, go blossom in the shade
Of dark and drear prisons,
Go blossom near the somber captive,
And tell him that we love him.
Tell him that in these changing times
Everything belongs to the future;
That the victor with his pallid brow
Can die as easily as the vanquished.
Dans ces temps-là, les nuits, on s’assemblait dans l’ombre,
Indignés, secouant le joug sinistre et noir
De l’homme de Décembre, et l’on frissonnait, sombre,
Comme la bête à l’abattoir.
L’Empire s’achevait. Il tuait à son aise,
Dans son antre où le seuil avait l’odeur du sang.
Il régnait, mais dans l’air soufflait La Marseillaise.
Rouge était le soleil levant.
Il arrivait souvent qu’un effluve bardique,
Nous enveloppant tous, faisait vibrer nos coeurs.
A celui qui chantait le recueil héroïque,
Parfois on a jeté des fleurs.
De ces rouges oeillets que, pour nous reconnaître,
Avait chacun de nous, renaissez, rouges fleurs.
D’autres vous reprendront aux temps qui vont paraître,
Et ceux-là seront les vainqueurs.
Si j’allais au noir cimetière,
Frères, jetez sur votre soeur,
Comme une espérance dernière,
De rouges oeillets tout en fleur.
Dans les derniers temps de l’Empire,
Lorsque le peuple s’éveillait,
Rouge oeillet, ce fut ton sourire
Qui nous dit que tout renaissait.
Aujourd’hui va fleurir dans l’ombre
Des noires et tristes prisons.
Va fleurir près du captif sombre,
Et dis-lui bien que nous l’aimons.
Dis-lui que par le temps rapide
Tout appartient à l’avenir ;
Que le vainqueur au front livide
Plus que le vaincu peut mourir.
English Source: Procès des Communards by Jacques Rougerie. Paris, Julliard, 1964;
The second part was translated for Marxists.org by Mitchell Abidor;
CopyLeft: Creative Commons (Attribute & ShareAlike) marxists.org 2005.