The Prefecture of Police, which stands upon an island in the Seine, in the heart of Paris, had in those days a small prison in its main building, and an annex for women.  These prisons were full of prisoners,—­reactionnaires, as they were called in the last days of the struggle.

On May 26, as has been said, nothing remained for the Commune to do but mischief.  Raoul Rigault was busy, with his corps of Vengeurs de Flourens, getting through as many executions as possible; Felix Pyat was organizing underground explosions, Ferre, the destruction of public buildings.  A gentleman[1] confined in the women’s part of the Prefecture, chancing to look down from a high window on the offices of the main building, saw beneath him eight men in the uniform of the Commune, one of them wearing much gold lace, who were saturating the window-frames with something from a bottle, and bedaubing other woodwork with mops dipped in a bucket that he presumed contained petroleum.  Their caps were pulled low over their eyes, as if they did not wish to be recognized.  At last he saw the officer strike a match and apply it to the woodwork, which caught fire immediately.  Then rose frightful shrieks from the prisons both of the men and the women, for many others had seen what was going on.  An earnest appeal to a turnkey to go to the director of the prison and represent to him that all his prisoners would be burned, was met by the answer that he did not take orders from prisoners.  But all turnkeys were not Communists, though Communist officials were set over them.  Some of them took advantage of the confusion to look into the cells, and speak hope and comfort to the prisoners.  But as the flames caught the great wooden porch of the Prefecture, the screams of the women were heart-rending; They even disturbed Ferre, who sent orders “to stop their squalling.”  One warder, Braquond, ventured to remonstrate.  “Bah!” said Ferre, “they are only women belonging to gendarmes and sergents de ville; we shall be well rid of them.”  Then Braquond resolved to organize a revolt, and save the prisoners.  He ran to the corridor, and with a voice of authority ordered all the cell-doors to be opened, thus releasing four hundred prisoners.  Braquond put himself at their head and led them on.  But when they reached the outer gate, they were just in time to witness the departure of the last Vengeur de Flourens.  Ferre had just received news that the troops of Versailles were close at hand, and he and his subordinates fled, leaving the prisoners to shift for themselves.

[Footnote 1:  Le Figaro.]

But though delivered from the Commune, not only was the Prefecture and all in it in peril, but every building and every life upon the island.  Quantities of ammunition had been stored in the Prefecture; if that caught fire, the “Cite” (as that part of Paris is called) and all its inhabitants would be blown into the air.  The citizens of the quarter, the turnkeys, and the prisoners had nothing but their hands with which to fight the flames.  In the midst of the fire they began to carry out the gunpowder.  They had to make all speed, yet to be very careful.  One train of powder escaping from a barrel, one sack of cartridges, with a rent in it, falling on the pavement, where sparks were dropping about, might have destroyed the whole “Cite.”