Why did the germs of the Revolution suffocate themselves under those dismal arches? Why, in 1300, did they discourse the holy gospel? Why, during the captivity of King John, did the Provost of Paris, Etienne Marcel, making himself a dictator, establish a popular club there, equal to that of the eighteenth century? Why were the Cordeliers, especially, of all the minor orders of St. Francis, republican in their tendencies—so much so, that, three centuries before Barbeuf and Prudhomme, they had dreamt the abolition of the rights of property? The 13th of July was Vesuvius, with its fire-ejecting crater, threatening to destroy Naples, and overturn the world. To-day, all has ended in smoke—with, perhaps, a few cinders as a memorial. CHAPTER XVII. I ATTEND A MEETING AT THE CORDELIERS. We were engulfed, so to speak, M. Drouet and I, in the cave of the Cordeliers. The hall was deep and broad, and lighted with smoky lamps; a cloud formed by their smoke, and the breath of the audience, floated over our heads, and seemed to weigh heavily upon our chests. There were no cards of admission—any one might come who liked; the consequence was that the hall was crowded to excess, and every one ran a chance of suffocation. At the end of a minute, by means of vigorous pressure, we managed to force a passage into the body of the hall. At first, we were obliged to keep our eyes shut, on account of the smoky atmosphere; but when we got accustomed to it, we could see objects, as it were, through a dense fog. I raised myself up on tip-toe, to see the popular man, _par excellence_. All cried out, “Vive Lafayette!” We passed the Tuileries, and the door of the clock-tower, and gained a bridge. A sort of sympathy drew us to the Champ de Mars. There was the same amount of bustle as on the day before. A hundred thousand workmen were throwing up the earth, and forming a valley between two hills. The work progressed as if under the wave of an enchanter’s rod. There was no doubt but that all would be ready for the morrow, so that in seven days the gigantic undertaking would have been completed. The middle of the place was entirely clear. Here they erected the altar of the country, and in front of the Ecole Militaire, built up seats for the King and the Assembly. At the end of a wooden bridge thrown over the river, near Chaillot, they erected a triumphal arch. It was impossible not to become maddened amid this confusion. We could resist no longer, but seizing the nearest implements that lay nearest at hand, we, with a shout of “Vive la nation!” set ourselves to work with the rest. At six o’clock we ceased, heated with our exertions. We were hungry. It was useless to look for a restaurant. At eight o’clock we left the Champ de Mars, and passing through the Boulevards des Invalides, and the Rue Plumet, we shaped our course to the Cordeliers. An immense crowd of people—some fifty or sixty thousand, perhaps—filled the place and the adjacent streets.