sanction him,--snatches a drum; descends the Porch-stairs, ran-tan,
beating sharp, with loud rolls, his Rogues'-march: To Versailles!
Allons; a Versailles! As men beat on kettle or warmingpan, when angry
she-bees, or say, flying desperate wasps, are to be hived; and the
desperate insects hear it, and cluster round it,--simply as round
a guidance, where there was none: so now these Menads round shifty
Maillard, Riding-Usher of the Chatelet. The axe pauses uplifted; Abbe
Lefevre is left half-hanged; from the belfry downwards all vomits
itself. What rub-a-dub is that? Stanislas Maillard, Bastille-hero, will
lead us to Versailles? Joy to thee, Maillard; blessed art thou above
Riding-Ushers! Away then, away!

The seized cannon are yoked with seized cart-horses: brown-locked
Demoiselle Theroigne, with pike and helmet, sits there as gunneress,
'with haughty eye and serene fair countenance;' comparable, some think,
to the Maid of Orleans, or even recalling 'the idea of Pallas Athene.'
(Deux Amis, iii. 157.) Maillard (for his drum still rolls) is, by
heaven-rending acclamation, admitted General. Maillard hastens the
languid march. Maillard, beating rhythmic, with sharp ran-tan, all
along the Quais, leads forward, with difficulty his Menadic host. Such
a host--marched not in silence! The bargeman pauses on the River; all
wagoners and coachdrivers fly; men peer from windows,--not women,
lest they be pressed. Sight of sights: Bacchantes, in these ultimate
Formalized Ages! Bronze Henri looks on, from his Pont-Neuf; the
Monarchic Louvre, Medicean Tuileries see a day not theretofore seen.

And now Maillard has his Menads in the Champs Elysees (Fields Tartarean
rather); and the Hotel-de-Ville has suffered comparatively nothing.
Broken doors; an Abbe Lefevre, who shall never more distribute powder;
three sacks of money, most part of which (for Sansculottism, though