pull
down the great trophy, and that the stone and plaster was after all, not
covered with more than an inch or two of bronze, that it was not so many
metres high, and would not make a great many two-sous pieces after all.
These sous seemed to occupy the public mind exceedingly, but the
principal subjects of conversation, were the fears concerning the
probable effects of the fall.

[Illustration: BARRICADE OF THE RUE CASTIGLIONE, FROM THE PLACE
VENDOME.]

The event was slow in accomplishment. The wide Place was thinly
sprinkled with spectators, not more than three hundred in all,
privileged beings with tickets, or wearing masonic badges; or officers
of the staff. Bergeret at one of the windows was coolly smoking a
cigarette; military bands were assembled at the four angles of the
Place; the sound of female laughter reached us from the open windows of
the Ministere de la Justice. The horses of the mounted sentinels
curvetted with impatience; bayonets glittered in the sun; children gaped
wearily, seated on the curbstone. The hour of the ceremony was past; a
rope had broken. Around the piled faggots on which the column was to
fall, great fascines of flags of the favourite colour were flying.

The crowd did not seem to enjoy being kept in suspense, and proclaimed
their impatience by stamping with measured tread, and crying "Music!"

At half-past five there was a sudden movement and bustle around the
barricade of the Rue Castiglione. The members of the Commune appeared
with their inevitable red scarfs.[96] Then there was a great hush. At
the same instant the windlass creaked; the ropes which hung from the
summit of the column tightened; the gaping hole in the masonry below,
gradually closed; the statue bent forward in the rays of the setting
sun, and then suddenly describing in the air a gigantic sweep, fell
among the flags with a dull, heavy thud, scattering a whirlwind of
blinding dust in the air.

Then the bands struck up the "Marseillaise," and cries of "Vive la
Commune" were re-echoed on all sides by the terror or the indifference
of the multitude. In a marvellously short time, however, all was quiet
again, so quiet, indeed, that I distinctly heard a dog bark as it ran
frightened across the Place.

I daresay the members of the Commune, who presided over the
accomplishment of this disgraceful deed, exclaimed in the pride of their
miserable hearts, "Caesar, those whom you salute shall live!"

Everybody of course