ember, Bonaparte had made an attempt to go out. He had
ventured to go and look at Paris. Paris does not like being looked at
by certain eyes; it considers it an insult, and it resents an insult
more than a wound. It submits to assassination, but not to the leering
gaze of the assassin. It took offence at Louis Bonaparte.

At nine o'clock in the morning, at the moment when the Courbevoie
garrison was descending upon Paris, the placards of the _coup d'etat_
being still fresh upon the walls, Louis Bonaparte had left the Elysee,
had crossed the Place de la Concorde, the Garden of the Tuileries, and
the railed courtyard of the Carrousel, and had been seen to go out, by
the gate of the Rue de l'Echelle. A crowd assembled at once. Louis
Bonaparte was in a general's uniform; his uncle, the ex-King Jerome,
accompanied him, together with Flahaut, who kept in the near. Jerome
wore the full uniform of a Marshal of France, with a hat with a white
feather; Louis Bonaparte's horse was a head before Jerome's horse.
Louis Bonaparte was gloomy, Jerome attentive, Flahaut beaming. Flahaut
had his hat on one side. There was a strong escort of Lancers. Edgar
Ney followed. Bonaparte intended to go as far as the Hotel de Ville.
Georges Biscarrat was there. The street was unpaved, the road was being
macadamized; he mounted on a heap of stones, and shouted, "Down with
the Dictator! Down with the Praetorians!" The soldiers looked at him
with bewilderment, and the crowd with astonishment. Georges Biscarrat
(he told me so himself) felt that this cry was too erudite, and that it
would not be understood, so he shouted, "Down with Bonaparte! Down with
the Lancers!"

The effect of this shout was electrical. "Down with Bonaparte! Down
with the Lancers!" cried the people, and the whole street became stormy
and turbulent. "Down with Bonaparte!" The outcry resembled the
beginning of an execution; Bonaparte made a sudden movement to the
right, turned back, and re-entered the courtyard of the Louvre.

Georges Biscarrat felt it necessary to complete his shout by a
barricade.

He said to the bookseller, Benoist Mouilhe, who had just opened his
shop, "Shouting is good, action is better." He returned to his house in
the Rue du Vert Bois, put on a blouse and a workman's cap, and went
down into the dark streets. Before the end of the day he had made
arrangements with four associations--the gas-fitters, the last-makers,
the shawl-makers, and the hatters.

In