oming suspicious, fremes-cent,
then descends, departs with protest, with warning addressed also to
the Invalides, on whom however it produces but a mixed, indistinct
impression. The old heads are none of the clearest; besides, it is
said, De Launay has been profuse of beverages (_prodigue des
buissons_). They think they will not fire--if not fired on--if they
can help it; but must, on the whole, be ruled considerably by
circumstances.

Wo to thee, De Launay, in such an hour, if thou canst not, taking some
one firm decision, _rule_ circumstances! Soft speeches will not serve,
hard grape-shot is questionable, but hovering between the two is
_un_questionable. Ever wilder swells the tide of men; their infinite
hum waxing ever louder, into imprecations, perhaps into crackle of
stray musketry,--which latter, on walls nine feet thick, cannot do
execution. The Outer Drawbridge has been lowered for Thuriot; now
_deputation of citizens_ (it is the third and noisiest of all)
penetrates that way into the Outer Court; soft speeches producing no
clearance of these, De Launay gives fire; pulls up his drawbridge. A
slight sputter, which has _kindled_ the too combustible chaos, made it
a roaring fire-chaos! Bursts forth Insurrection, at sight of its own
blood (for there were deaths by that sputter of fire), into endless,
rolling explosion of musketry, distraction, execration;--and over
head, from the fortress, let one great gun, with its grape-shot, go
booming, to show what we _could_ do. The Bastille is besieged!

On, then, all Frenchmen that have hearts in your bodies! Roar with all
your throats of cartilage and metal, ye Sons of Liberty; stir
spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty is in you, soul, body, or
spirit; for it is the hour! Smite thou, Louis Tournay, cartwright of
the Marais, old-soldier of the Regiment Dauphine; smite at that Outer
Drawbridge chain, though the fiery hail whistles round thee! Never,
over nave or felloe, did thy axe strike such a stroke. Down with it,
man; down with it to Orcus: let the whole accursed edifice sink
thither, and tyranny be swallowed up forever! Mounted, some say, on
the roof of the guard-room, some "on bayonets stuck into joints of the
wall," Louis Tournay smites, brave Aubin Bonnemere (also an old
soldier) seconding him; the chain yields, breaks; the huge Drawbridge
slams down, thundering (_avec fracas_). Glorious! and yet, alas! it is
still but the outworks. The Eight Grim Towers, with