Look also at the Chatelet Prison.  The Debtors’ Prison of La Force is broken from without; and they that sat in bondage to Aristocrats go free:  hearing of which the Felons at the Chatelet do likewise ’dig up their pavements,’ and stand on the offensive; with the best prospects,—­had not Patriotism, passing that way, ‘fired a volley’ into the Felon world; and crushed it down again under hatches.  Patriotism consorts not with thieving and felony:  surely also Punishment, this day, hitches (if she still hitch) after Crime, with frightful shoes-of-swiftness!  ‘Some score or two’ of wretched persons, found prostrate with drink in the cellars of that Saint-Lazare, are indignantly haled to prison; the Jailor has no room; whereupon, other place of security not suggesting itself, it is written, ’on les pendit, they hanged them.’ (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 96.) Brief is the word; not without significance, be it true or untrue!

In such circumstances, the Aristocrat, the unpatriotic rich man is packing-up for departure.  But he shall not get departed.  A wooden-shod force has seized all Barriers, burnt or not:  all that enters, all that seeks to issue, is stopped there, and dragged to the Hotel-de-Ville:  coaches, tumbrils, plate, furniture, ‘many meal-sacks,’ in time even ‘flocks and herds’ encumber the Place de Greve. (Dusaulx, Prise de la Bastille, p. 20.)

And so it roars, and rages, and brays; drums beating, steeples pealing; criers rushing with hand-bells:  “Oyez, oyez.  All men to their Districts to be enrolled!” The Districts have met in gardens, open squares; are getting marshalled into volunteer troops.  No redhot ball has yet fallen from Besenval’s Camp; on the contrary, Deserters with their arms are continually dropping in:  nay now, joy of joys, at two in the afternoon, the Gardes Francaises, being ordered to Saint-Denis, and flatly declining, have come over in a body!  It is a fact worth many.  Three thousand six hundred of the best fighting men, with complete accoutrement; with cannoneers even, and cannon!  Their officers are left standing alone; could not so much as succeed in ‘spiking the guns.’  The very Swiss, it may now be hoped, Chateau-Vieux and the others, will have doubts about fighting.

Our Parisian Militia,—­which some think it were better to name National Guard,—­is prospering as heart could wish.  It promised to be forty-eight thousand; but will in few hours double and quadruple that number:  invincible, if we had only arms!

But see, the promised Charleville Boxes, marked Artillerie!  Here, then, are arms enough?—­Conceive the blank face of Patriotism, when it found them filled with rags, foul linen, candle-ends, and bits of wood!  Provost of the Merchants, how is this?  Neither at the Chartreux Convent, whither we were sent with signed order, is there or ever was there any weapon of war.  Nay here, in this Seine Boat, safe under tarpaulings (had not the nose of Patriotism been of the finest), are ’five thousand-weight of gunpowder;’ not coming in, but surreptitiously going out!  What meanest thou, Flesselles?  ’Tis a ticklish game, that of ‘amusing’ us.  Cat plays with captive mouse:  but mouse with enraged cat, with enraged National Tiger?