Just a reminder to grab your pistolets and jump on the nearest piece of furniture in honor of our man of the hour Camille, who, on July 12, 1789, overcame his (adorable) st-st-stutter to get us all hot, bothered, and ready to wreak some serious havoc on royal property.

I give you a favorite scene from Carlyle :

But see Camille Desmoulins, from the Café de Foy, rushing out, sibylline in face ; his hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! He springs to a table : the Police satellites are eyeing him ; alive they shall not take him, not they alive him alive. This time he speaks without stammering :—Friends ! shall we die like hunted hares ? Like sheep hounded into their pinfold ; bleating for mercy, where is no mercy, but only a whetted knife ? The hour is come ; the supreme hour of Frenchman and Man; when Oppressors are to try conclusions with Oppressed ; and the word is, swift Death, or Deliverance forever. Let such hour be well-come! Us, meseems, one cry only befits : To Arms ! Let universal Paris, universal France, as with the throat of the whirlwind, sound only : To arms !— "To arms !"



Bravo Camille!

Wishing everyone a fantastic holiday!