Jacques Hébert 1790

Deputy to the Second Legislature

Source: Le Père Duchesne, No 66;
Translated: for marxists.org by Mitchell Abidor;
CopyLeft: Creative Commons (Attribute & ShareAlike) marxists.org 2007.

His great joy at being able to denounce all the worthless bastards, to make known the real sectarians, and to block the conspiracies intended to return us to slavery

Finally, fuck, its going to be convoked, that legislature that is our only hope. We all sobbed hoping for the decree that would call for elections. And now the campaign’s started up again, praise god. Now I’m at peace and I swear by all that’s holy that everything is going to go just right. There’s no more reason to twist and turn: even if some commit some real stupidities, others will know how to repair them.

And they want to make me a member of that assembly. What, you? said to me the fat ass Mathieu of the rue Vivienne? Yes, me, fuck, why not? Aren’t I as worthy as a bugger like you, as a blood-sucker of the people like you? It’s true that I don’t know how to be a speculator; the money that I get out of my furnaces and my scribbling, as I get it I stuff it in a piggy bank, and when I need some to go out I break it and promptly take what I need. But since Mère Duchesne is a good homemaker, when I make a hole she sticks in a piece, and she does this so well that after having amassed one sol after another by her economies I found myself rich without knowing it. As soon as the decree on the priests was passed, as happy as I on that glad occasion, she went to get me her little sack. Here, my dear, she said, here’s something to build a nest for a workingman’s son. Buy one of the 800 farms from that renegade from the Third Estate. Oh, wife of god, I cried out, there’s no one like you in the world, thy will be done.

So the next day, fuck, I took up the wagon and set out for Peronne. Upon arriving I learn that the remains of our aristocrat were gong to be sold the next day to the highest bidder. I presented myself at the auction and I’m the winner of a big, fat farm. I quickly went to tell mere Duchesne of the success of my voyage. For joy, fuck, that evening my friend Jeambart was invited, and we drank to friendship.

Well, I said to him between the pear and the cheese, take a look at what I’ve become. Yesterday I was nothing but a poor bugger of an active citizen, nothing else, and now, thanks to Mère Duchesne who, unbeknownst to me, saved a few sols, here I am a big shot, I’m one of the elite of the country. Nevertheless, I don’t feel that I’m worth any more, and I’m no more intelligent or honest. Fuck, how funny it would be if for the next legislature Père Duchesne would be chosen.

And so, fuck, this beautiful dream has been realized; our electors, when they were handed the ballot box, were about to elect me; and now there they are assembled and they’re going to work for real, they want to name me. Fuck, I’ll be like a beautiful woman and I’ll let them have their way. Anyway, in that position I see that I’ll do every bit as much good as some, and much less evil than others.

Oh fuck, what joy for Père Duchesne to take up this honorable position! I won’t speak in beautiful rounded sentences at the tribune, but god damn it when I’ll appear there it’ll be to fill the worthless bastards full of holes. I’ll denounce all the abuses, I’ll chase all the rogues and traitors all the way to hell. If someone comes to tempt me with the civil list they’ll see just how heavy my arm is. If I have any credit with the assembly I won’t use it to put the assembly to sleep, to make them croak, or lead them to make some kind of ignorant mistake. If the ministers prevaricate, watch out for a bomb fuck; they’ll be turned over to the tribunals, not to the low lives of judges like those at Chatelet, who’ll whitewash them and send them back white as milk, but god damn it, if there’s still one Guignard, one Champion, one Necher [sic], one la Tour-du-Pin, the guillotine will take care of them. Never, fuck, will we be stupid enough to address compliments to buggers worthy of the wheel; if there’s someone scoundrel enough to carry out a massacre like that in Nancy we won’t waste time, fuck, and I won’t allow crowns to be sent to someone for whom there aren’t enough tortures in the world.

If I meet among us some hypocrite who, under the mask of probity hides a soul of mud, a gangrened heart, one of those wretches who are always for sale to the highest bidder, I’ll do every fucking thing I can to make it known, despite his apparently beautiful patriotic motions. Deep down still perfidious, he’ll be seen for what he really is; he could make the cock sing all he wants (if the cock is still alive), he can call for peace, unity, I’ll make it known that he’s nothing but a fucking humbug, an assassin who cajoles his victim in order to better slaughter him. No, fuck, not as long as there remains a single breath in Père Duchesne will he suffer such a bugger to impose himself upon the second legislature, that he spread discord there, that he disunite the best citizens in order to deliver them to their tyrants.

Before taking up my functions I would like first to make a motion that instead of 18 livres per diem and small change for letters, we be paid only six livres. This is enough to live reasonably well. You don’t become a representative of the people in order to pile up money but, fuck, to grab glory, and the nation isn’t made to pay for our fantasies and debauches, to maintain our mistresses, or repair our losses at dice games. A worthy deputy should only be concerned with the happiness of the people, with defending freedom; he must watch day and night over the wellbeing of the Fatherland, face all perils, make every sacrifice. He must have no other passion but that of the love of his fellow citizens and the hatred of tyrants. In a word, he has to be what Péthion and Robespierre have never ceased being. Such will be Père Duchesne, fuck!