Wo to thee, De Launay, in such an hour, if thou canst not, taking some one firm decision, _rule_ circumstances! Soft speeches will not serve, hard grape-shot is questionable, but hovering between the two is _un_questionable. Ever wilder swells the tide of men; their infinite hum waxing ever louder, into imprecations, perhaps into crackle of stray musketry,--which latter, on walls nine feet thick, cannot do execution. The Outer Drawbridge has been lowered for Thuriot; now _deputation of citizens_ (it is the third and noisiest of all) penetrates that way into the Outer Court; soft speeches producing no clearance of these, De Launay gives fire; pulls up his drawbridge. A slight sputter, which has _kindled_ the too combustible chaos, made it a roaring fire-chaos! Bursts forth Insurrection, at sight of its own blood (for there were deaths by that sputter of fire), into endless, rolling explosion of musketry, distraction, execration;--and over head, from the fortress, let one great gun, with its grape-shot, go booming, to show what we _could_ do. The Bastille is besieged! On, then, all Frenchmen that have hearts in your bodies! Roar with all your throats of cartilage and metal, ye Sons of Liberty; stir spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty is in you, soul, body, or spirit; for it is the hour! Smite thou, Louis Tournay, cartwright of the Marais, old-soldier of the Regiment Dauphiné; smite at that Outer Drawbridge chain, though the fiery hail whistles round thee! Never, over nave or felloe, did thy axe strike such a stroke. Down with it, man; down with it to Orcus: let the whole accursed edifice sink thither, and tyranny be swallowed up forever! Mounted, some say, on the roof of the guard-room, some "on bayonets stuck into joints of the wall," Louis Tournay smites, brave Aubin Bonnemère (also an old soldier) seconding him; the chain yields, breaks; the huge Drawbridge slams down, thundering (_avec fracas_). Glorious! and yet, alas! it is still but the outworks. The Eight Grim Towers, with their _Invalide_ musketry, their paving-stones and cannon-mouths, still soar aloft intact;--Ditch yawning impassable, stone-faced; the inner Drawbridge with its _back_ toward us; the Bastille is still to take!