From dawn to dusk, as we said, it lasts; and truly a sight like few. Flourishes of drums and trumpets are something: but think of an “artificial Rock fifty feet high,” all cut into crag-steps, not without the similitude of “shrubs!” The interior cavity, for in sooth it is made of deal,—stands solemn, a “Temple of Concord:” on the outer summit rises “a Statue of Liberty,” colossal, seen for miles, with her Pike and Phrygian Cap, and civic column; at her feet a Country’s Altar, “_Autel de la Patrie:_”—on all which neither deal-timber nor lath and plaster, with paint of various colours, have been spared. But fancy then the banners all placed on the steps of the Rock; high-mass chaunted; and the civic oath of fifty thousand: with what volcanic outburst of sound from iron and other throats, enough to frighten back the very Saone and Rhone; and how the brightest fireworks, and balls, and even repasts closed in that night of the gods![291] And so the Lyons Federation vanishes too, swallowed of darkness;—and yet not wholly, for our brave fair Roland was there; also she, though in the deepest privacy, writes her Narrative of it in Champagneux’s _Courier de Lyons;_ a piece which “circulates to the extent of sixty thousand;” which one would like now to read. But on the whole, Paris, we may see, will have little to devise; will only have to borrow and apply. And then as to the day, what day of all the calendar is fit, if the Bastille Anniversary be not? The particular spot too, it is easy to see, must be the Champ-de-Mars; where many a Julian the Apostate has been lifted on bucklers, to France’s or the world’s sovereignty; and iron Franks, loud-clanging, have responded to the voice of a Charlemagne; and from of old mere sublimities have been familiar. Chapter 2.1.IX. Symbolic.