I was busy writing, when suddenly I heard a fearful detonation,
followed by report on report. The windows rattled: I thought the house
was shaking under me. The noise continued: it seemed as if cannon were
roaring on all sides. I rushed down into the street; frightened people
were running hither and thither, and asking questions. Some thought
that the Versaillais were bombarding Paris on all sides. On the
Boulevards I was told it was the fort of Vanves that had been blown up.
At last I arrived on the Place de la Concorde: there the consternation
was great, but nothing was known for certain. Looking up, I saw high up
in the sky what looked like a dark cloud, but which was not a cloud. I
tried again and again to obtain information. It appeared pretty certain
that an explosion had taken place near the Ecole Militaire-doubtless at
the Grenelle powder-magazine, I then turned into the Champs Elysées. A
distant cracking was audible, like the noise of a formidable battery of
mitrailleuses. Puffs of white smoke arose in the air and mingled with
the dark cloud there. I no longer walked, I ran: I hoped to be able to
see something from the Rond Point de l’Etoile. Once there, a grand and
fearful sight met my eyes. Vast columns of smoke rolled over one
another towards the sky. Every now and then the wind swept them a
little on one side, and for an instant a portion of the city was
visible beneath the rolling vapours. Then in an instant a flame burst
out—only one, but that gigantic, erect, brilliant, as one that might
dart forth from a Tolcano suddenly opened, up through the smoke which
was reddened, illumined by the eruption of the fire. At the same moment
there were explosions as of a hundred waggons of powder blown up one
after another. All this scene, in its hideous splendour, blinded and
deafened me. I wanted to get nearer, to feel the heat of the burning,
to rush on. I had the fire-frenzy!
[Illustration: Razoua, Governor of the Ecole militaire[97]]
Going down to the Quai de Passy, I found a dense crowd there. Some one
screamed out: “Go back! go back! the fire will soon reach the
cartridge-magazine.” The words had scarcely been uttered, when a storm
of balls fell like hail amongst us. Each person thought himself
wounded, and many took to their heels. It did not enter into my head to
run away. From where I was then, the sight was still more terribly
beautiful, and the crowd that had withdrawn from the spot soon
re-assembled again. Dreadful details were passed from mouth to mouth.
Four five-storied houses had fallen; no one dared to think even of the
number of the victims. Bodies had been seen to fall from the windows,
horribly mutilated; arms and legs had been picked up in different
places. Near the powder-magazine is a hospital, which was shaken from
foundation to roof: for an instant it had trembled violently as if it
were going to fall. The nurses, dressers, and even the sick had rushed
from the wards, shrieking in an agony of fear; the frightened horses,
too, with blood streaming down their sides, pranced madly among the
fugitives, or galloped away as fast as they could from the awful scene.
As to the cause of the explosion, opinions varied much. Some said it
was owing to the negligence of the overseers or the imprudence of the
workwomen; others, that the fire was caused by a shell. A woman rushed
up to us, screaming out that she had just seen a man arrested in a shed
in the Champ de Mars, who acknowledged having blown up the
powder-magazine, by order of the Versailles government. Of course this
was inevitable. The Commune would not let such a good opportunity pass
for accusing its enemies. A few innocent people will be arrested, tried
with more or less form, and shot; when they are so many corpses, the
Commune will exclaim, “You see they must have been guilty: they have
been shot!”
As evening came on I turned home, thinking that the cup was now filled
to overflowing, and that the devoted city had had to suffer defeat,
civil war, infamy, and death; but that this last disaster seemed almost
more than divine justice. Ever and anon I turned my head to gaze again.
In the gathering gloom, the flames looked blood-red, as if the Commune
had unfurled its sinister banner over that irreparable disaster.