ted him, wanted to blow up the place and bury himself under the
ruins, and was advancing for this purpose with a lighted match in his
hand toward the powder-magazine, but was prevented by the soldiers, who
planted the white flag on the platform, and reversed their arms in token
of submission. This was not enough for those without. They demanded with
loud and reiterated cries to have the drawbridges let down; and on an
assurance being given that no harm was intended, the bridges were
lowered and the assailants tumultuously rushed in. The endeavors of
their leaders could not save the governor or a number of the soldiers,
who were seized on by the infuriated multitude, and put to death for
having fired on their fellow-citizens.

Thus fell the Bastille; and the shout that accompanied its downfall was
echoed through Europe, and men rejoiced that "the grass grew where the
Bastille stood!" Earth was lightened of a load that oppressed it, nor
did this ghastly object any longer startle the sight, like an ugly
spider lying in wait for its accustomed prey, and brooding in sullen
silence over the wrongs which it had the will, though not the power, to
inflict.

[The Bastille was taken about a quarter before six o'clock
in the evening (Tuesday, July 14th), after a four-hours'
attack. Only one cannon was fired from the fortress, and
only one person was killed among the besieged. The garrison
consisted of 82 Invalids, 2 cannoneers, and 32 Swiss. Of the
assailants, 83 were killed on the spot, 60 were wounded, of
whom 15 died of their wounds, and 13 were disabled. A great
many barrels of gunpowder had been conveyed here from the
arsenal, in the night between the 12th and 13th. Delaunay,
the governor, was killed on the steps of the Hotel de Ville,
as also Delosme, the mayor. Only seven prisoners were found
in the Bastille; four of these, Pujade, Bechade, La Roche,
and La Caurege, were for forgery. M. de Solages was put in
in 1782, at the desire of his father, since which time every
communication from without was carefully withheld from him.
He did not know the smallest event that had taken place in
all that time, and was told by the turnkey, when he heard
the firing of the cannon, that it was owing to a riot about
the price of bread. M. Tavernier, a bastard son of Paris
Duverney, had been confined ever since August 4, 1759. The
last