Not so however does neighbouring Saint-Antoine look on it:  Saint-Antoine to whom these peaked turrets and grim donjons, all-too near her own dark dwelling, are of themselves an offence.  Was not Vincennes a kind of minor Bastille?  Great Diderot and Philosophes have lain in durance here; great Mirabeau, in disastrous eclipse, for forty-two months.  And now when the old Bastille has become a dancing-ground (had any one the mirth to dance), and its stones are getting built into the Pont Louis-Seize, does this minor, comparative insignificance of a Bastille flank itself with fresh-hewn mullions, spread out tyrannous wings; menacing Patriotism?  New space for prisoners:  and what prisoners?  A d’Orleans, with the chief Patriots on the tip of the Left?  It is said, there runs ‘a subterranean passage’ all the way from the Tuileries hither.  Who knows?  Paris, mined with quarries and catacombs, does hang wondrous over the abyss; Paris was once to be blown up,—­though the powder, when we went to look, had got withdrawn.  A Tuileries, sold to Austria and Coblentz, should have no subterranean passage.  Out of which might not Coblentz or Austria issue, some morning; and, with cannon of long range, ‘foudroyer,’ bethunder a patriotic Saint-Antoine into smoulder and ruin!

So meditates the benighted soul of Saint-Antoine, as it sees the aproned workmen, in early spring, busy on these towers.  An official-speaking Municipality, a Sieur Motier with his legions of mouchards, deserve no trust at all.  Were Patriot Santerre, indeed, Commander!  But the sonorous Brewer commands only our own Battalion:  of such secrets he can explain nothing, knows nothing, perhaps suspects much.  And so the work goes on; and afflicted benighted Saint-Antoine hears rattle of hammers, sees stones suspended in air. (Montgaillard, ii. 285.)

Saint-Antoine prostrated the first great Bastille:  will it falter over this comparative insignificance of a Bastille?  Friends, what if we took pikes, firelocks, sledgehammers; and helped ourselves!—­Speedier is no remedy; nor so certain.  On the 28th day of February, Saint-Antoine turns out, as it has now often done; and, apparently with little superfluous tumult, moves eastward to that eye-sorrow of Vincennes.  With grave voice of authority, no need of bullying and shouting, Saint-Antoine signifies to parties concerned there that its purpose is, To have this suspicious Stronghold razed level with the general soil of the country.  Remonstrance may be proffered, with zeal:  but it avails not.  The outer gate goes up, drawbridges tumble; iron window-stanchions, smitten out with sledgehammers, become iron-crowbars:  it rains furniture, stone-masses, slates:  with chaotic clatter and rattle, Demolition clatters down.  And now hasty expresses rush through the agitated streets, to warn Lafayette, and the Municipal and Departmental Authorities; Rumour warns a National Assembly, a Royal Tuileries, and all men who care to hear it:  That Saint-Antoine is up; that Vincennes, and probably the last remaining Institution of the Country, is coming down. (Deux Amis, vi. 11-15; Newspapers (in Hist.  Parl. ix. 111-17).)