Sometime in early 1848 French poet Alphonse de Lamartine had a change of appetite. For whatever reason, he no longer took to gobbling up frog legs but to gobbling up the new, forward thinking, ideas of the day.
It all seemed so interesting, exciting, and enlightening at first. Yet the more he indulged, the more he went mad.
It was as if Lamartine had been bitten by a rabies sick dog. In a sense, he had been. Yet the sick dog was not a French poodle…but that of the gospel of Karl Marx.
This was little cause for alarm to most. For all Frenchmen were foaming at the mouth at the time. Again, for the second time in 50-years, they’d gone a little crazy and heaved their leaders into a ditch. Continue reading




