ng and less
business done." A few minutes after the little procession passed up the
Rue d'Hauteville, and I heard the reports of two rifles. Oh! what
horrible days! I feel a prey to the deepest dejection--if it were but
over! The town looks wretched; even where the fighting is not going on,
the houses are closed and the streets deserted, except here and there: a
lonely passenger hurrying along, or a wretched prisoner marching between
four soldiers. It is all very dreadful! In the streets where the battle
is still raging the shutters are not closed; as soon as the soldiers get
into a new quarter of the town they cry out, "Shut the windows, open the
shutters." The reason for this is, that the open barred outer shutters,
or _persiennes_, form a capital screen through which aim maybe taken
with a gun. As for me, in the midst of this horror and sadness, I feel
like a madman in the night. The rumour that the hostages have been shot
at Mazas gains ground.[111] I am told that the Archbishop, the Abbe
Degueiry, and Chaudey have all been assassinated. It was Bigault who
ordered these executions. He has since been taken, and fell, crying
"Down with murderers!" This reminds one of Dumollard, the assassin,
calling the jurymen "Canaille!" Milliere is said to have been shot in
the Place du Pantheon. When they told him to kneel down he drew
himself up to his full height, his eyes flashing defiance. Strange
caprice of nature, to make these scoundrels brave.

[Illustration: THEATRE PORTE ST MARTIN.

SENSATION DRAMA OUT SENSATIONED.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: CELL OF THE ARCHBISHOP IN THE PRISON OF LA ROQUETTE.]

[Illustration: COURT-YARD OF PRISON OF LA ROQUETTE, WHERE THE HOSTAGES
WERE SHOT.]

In the meantime, the Commune is in its death throes. Like the dragon of
fairy lore, it dies, vomiting flames. La Villette is on fire, houses are
burning at Belleville and on the Buttes-Chaumont. The resistance is
concentrated on one side at Pere la Chaise, and on the other at the
Mont-Parnasse cemetery. The insurrection was mistress of the whole of
Paris, and then the army came stretching its long arms from the Arc de
Triomphe to Belleville, from the Champ-de-Mars to the Pantheon. Trying
hard to burst these bonds, tightly surrounded, now resisting, now
flying, the _emeute_ has at last retreated. It is over there now, in two
cemeteries; it watches from behind tombstones; it rests the barrels of
its rifles on marble crosses, and erects