April 26, 1937
The streets of Paris stood still.
In the cafés of Toulouse, the salons of Nantes, the crumbled alleys of Marseille, and the farmhouses of Burgundy.
From bunkers near the Rhine to hamlets by the Pyrenees, they listened.
Men in boots, women with children on their laps, soldiers with rifles still hot from yesterday's fire all waited.
Then, at precisely 11:00 AM, the voice began.
Clear.
Low.
Uncompromising.
"This is Étienne Moreau.
For the first time in a century, France speaks not through its parliaments, nor through its pamphlets, but through one voice not a tyrant, not a prophet, not a king… but a soldier.
I will not ask for applause. I will not beg for loyalty. I do not come as a savior or a substitute for the Republic.
I come because the ground beneath our feet collapsed and no one moved to hold it.
For too long, France has been ruled not by men of character, but by shadows in polished shoes.
