There are, however, still some considerable quantity of arms in it, but I observed nothing particularly deserving of notice. The Bastille, so famous in the early history of the Revolution, from having been the first fortress over which the triumphant banner of the people waved, is now no more. But the gardens, the “fosse,” and part of the wall remain. The site of the Bastille, which the French vainly flattered themselves would become their Runnymede, is instead a lasting monument of their unfitness to be free--for it is impossible to walk over these ruins without despising a race of men who, in a paroxysm of jealousy, pulled down an ancient fortress for the sake of liberty, and twelve years later suffered their whole country to be converted into a vast prison where free speech and a free press are not tolerated. From the site of the Bastille we proceeded along the Faubourg St. Antoine, now the cleanest and most unfrequented part of Paris. What a melancholy silence now reigns in that place! Who would suppose that this district of Paris was formerly the focus of intrigue and its inhabitants the successive instruments of every ambitious adventurer--of an Orleans, a Robespierre,[1] a Marat and a Babœuf?[1] In the days of the Convention this was the arsenal of blood and murder, here pikes were forged and poignards sharpened, and from hence an armed banditti issued to execute the bloody mandate of demagogues. But now no spirit-stirring drum is heard, no uplifted bleeding heads are carried as standards by butchering battalions. Santerre himself scarce dare show his face, and the whole Jacobin colony has been disarmed, and by a little thing from Corsica, who, acting as lieutenant to Barras in 1794, commenced his military operations against the liberties of France by a triumph over the fanatics of this Faubourg. The pikemen stand in awe of the heroes of Lodi and Marengo, who surround the palace of the usurper. Santerre, it is true, often murmurs vengeance, but the Government either laugh at this consequential man of no consequence or treat him with the most perfect contempt. He had an interview with Bonaparte soon after the latter became First Consul and was received with civility and attention, but the Consular Guard was not then formed, and Santerre might still be useful. Bonaparte, who must have heard that at the first fire of the Vendéans upon the Parisian Guard, Santerre actually ran away, said: “I think, general, you made war in La Vendée.” “Oui, général,” replied the brewer, “avec beaucoup d’éclat.” The Corsican grinned a smile, and Santerre withdrew, and boasted after the interview “that Bonaparte had treated him with proper consideration and acknowledged his great services in La Vendée.” [Sidenote: VINCENNES]