ery sound of many men? How
their shriek of indignation palsies the strong soul; their howl of
contumely withers with unfelt pangs? The Ritter Gluck confessed that
the ground-tone of the noblest passage in one of his noblest Operas
was the voice of the populace he had heard at Vienna, crying to their
Kaiser, Bread! Bread! Great is the combined voice of men, the
utterance of their _instincts_, which are truer than their _thoughts_;
it is the greatest a man encounters, among the sounds and shadows
which make up this World of Time. He who can resist that, has his
footing somewhere _beyond_ Time. De Launay could not do it.
Distracted, he hovers between two; hopes in the middle of despair;
surrenders not his Fortress; declares that he will blow it up, seizes
torches to blow it up, and does not blow it. Unhappy old De Launay, it
is the death-agony of thy Bastille and thee! Jail, Jailoring, and
Jailor, all three, such as they may have been, must finish.

For four hours now has the World-Bedlam roared; call it the
World-Chimaera, blowing fire! The poor Invalides have sunk under their
battlements, or rise only with reversed muskets; they have made a
white flag of napkins; go beating the _chamade_, or seeming to beat,
for one can hear nothing. The very Swiss at the Portcullis look weary
of firing; disheartened in the fire-deluge; a port-hole at the
drawbridge is opened, as by one that would speak. See Huissier
Maillard, the shifty man! On his plank swinging over the abyss of that
stone Ditch; plank resting on parapet, balanced by weight of Patriots,
he hovers perilous; such a Dove toward such an Ark! Deftly, thou
shifty Usher; one man already fell; and lies smashed, far down there,
against the masonry! Usher Maillard falls not; deftly, unerring, he
walks, with out-spread palm. The Swiss holds a paper through his
port-hole; the shifty Usher snatches it and returns. Terms of
surrender, Pardon, immunity to all! Are they accepted? _"Foi
d'officier_, On the word of an officer," answers half-pay Hulin, or
half-pay Elie--for men do not agree on it--"they are!" Sinks the
drawbridge,--Usher Maillard bolting it when down; rushes in the living
deluge; the Bastille is fallen! _Victoire! La Bastille est prise_!

* * * * *

Why dwell on what follows? Hulin's _foi d'officier_ should have been
kept, but could not. The Swiss stand drawn up, disguised in white
canvas smocks; the Invalides without disguise, their ar