with the king,
and fancied itself the power in France. But beneath it, unseen by it,
almost undreamed of by it, was rousing from sleep the wild beast of
popular fury and revenge. Centuries of oppression were about to be
repaid by years of a wild carnival of slaughter.

The Bastille was the visible emblem of that oppression. It was an armed
fortress threatening Paris. The cannon on its walls frowned defiance to
the people. Momentarily the wrath of the multitude grew stronger. The
electors of the Third Estate sent a message to Delaunay, governor of the
Bastille, asking him to withdraw the cannons, the sight of which
infuriated the people, and promising, if he would do this, to restrain
the mob.

The advice was wise; the governor was not. The messengers were long
absent; the electors grew uneasy; the tumult in the street increased. At
length the deputation returned, bringing word that the governor pledged
himself not to fire on the people, unless forced to do so in
self-defence. This message the electors communicated to the crowd
around the Hotel de Ville, hoping that it would satisfy them. Their
words were interrupted by a startling sound, the roar of a cannon,--even
while they were reporting the governor's evasive message the cannon of
the Bastille were roaring defiance to the people of Paris! An attack had
been made by the people on the fortress and this was the governor's
response.

That shot was fatal to Delaunay. The citizens heard it with rage.
"Treason!" was the cry. "To the Bastille! to the Bastille!" again rose
the shout. Surging onward in an irresistible mass, the furious crowd
poured through the streets, and soon surrounded the towering walls of
the detested prison-fortress. A few bold men had already cut the chains
of the first drawbridge, and let it fall. Across it rushed the multitude
to attack the second bridge.

The fortress was feebly garrisoned, having but thirty Swiss soldiers and
eighty invalids for its defence. But its walls were massive; it was well
provided; it had resisted many attacks in the past; this disorderly and
badly-armed mass seemed likely to beat in vain against those century-old
bulwarks and towers. Yet there come times in which indignation grows
strong, even with bare hands, oppression waxes weak behind its walls of
might, and this was one of those times.

A chance shot was fired from the crowd; the soldiers answered with a
volley; several men were wounded; other shots came from