The scorching summer of 1848 was especially hard on the people and animals of Paris. In ordinary years, when dockworkers still had black bread to eat, they would sometimes toss crumbs to the seagulls and pigeons.
(Paris, the capital of France, lies at the confluence of the Seine and Marne Rivers and is also a must-pass route for migrating seagulls.)
But now, never mind the seagulls and pigeons—even the rats on the docks had vanished without a trace.
It wasn't just people and animals. The leaves on the plants had clearly suffered, too.
In the dockside warehouses, several managers nearly steamed themselves alive in the heat radiating from mountains of grain.
"Food's so expensive now. Why hasn't the boss sold it off?"
"Can't be helped. There are always a few troublemaking members of parliament who want to copy the Austrians and impose some kind of Price Ceiling Edict."
"Damn it, so much for freedom. Now we have to sell it on the black market at night."
"Don't worry. Those bigwigs are more anxious than we are. We're just trying to scrape together a living."
Demonstrators filled the streets all over the city. Every day brought strikes, street speeches of every kind, leaflets of every kind, curses against the rich, and cries of hunger that rang through the streets.
Gendarmes and police were busy from morning to night. The government gates were lined with guards armed to the teeth, while guards and bodyguards stood outside the homes of officials and wealthy merchants.
Children gathered outside newspaper offices and in narrow alleys, waiting for business to come their way. Pickpockets, prostitutes, and beggars swarmed through this world capital.
In the grand villas of the western districts, spring lasted all year. Expensive mechanical fans whirred around the clock, but the laughter and chatter