mouth to mouth. Citizen Felix Pyat, member of the Commune, who is
on the balcony, comes forward to speak. I congratulate myself on being
at last about to hear what all this means. But I am disappointed. The
pushing and squeezing is unbearable. I have vigorously to defend my hat,
stick, purse, and cigar-case, and am half stifled besides. I almost
despair of catching a single word, but at last succeed in hearing a
few detached sentences:--"Universal nationality.... liberty, equality,
and fraternity.... manifestos of the heart...." (what is that?) "the
standard of humanity.... ramparts...." If I could only get a little
nearer--the words "homicidal balls.... fratricidal bullets.... universal
peace...." alone reach me. Is it to hear such stuff as this, that the
Freemasons have come to the Hotel de Ville? I suppose so, for after a
little more of the same kind the whole is drowned in a stupendous roar
of "Vive la Commune!" and "Vive la Republique!" I have given up all hope
of ever understanding.

[Illustration: FELIX PYAT.[67]]

"They have come to draw lots to see who is to go and kill M. Thiers,"
cries a red-haired gamin.--"Idiot," retorts his comrade, "they have no
arms!"--"Listen, and you will hear," says the first, which is capital
advice, if I could but follow it. The pushing becomes intolerable, when
suddenly the bald head of an unfortunate citizen executes a fatal
plunge--I can breathe at last--and the following words reach me pretty
clearly:--"The Commune has decided that we shall choose five members who
are to have the honour of escorting you, and we are to draw
lots...."--"There! was I not right?" cries he of the carrotty hair; "I
knew they were going to draw lots!" A cleverly administered blow,
however, soon silences his elation, and we hear that the lots have been
drawn, and that five members are chosen to aid "this glorious, this
victorious act." There seems more rhyme than reason in this. "An act
that will be read of in the future history of France and of humanity."
Here the irrepressible breaks out again:--"Now I am sure they are going
to kill M. Thiers!" Whereupon his irritated adversary seizes him by the
collar, gives his head some well-applied blows against the curb-stone,
and then, pushing through the crowd, carries him off bodily. As for me,
my curiosity unsatisfied, I grow resigned--may the will of the Commune
be done--and I give it up. More hopeless mystification from the Citizen
Beslay, who regrets not