“This is what I will do,” says the Mayor.
“Very good,” I observe, “but believe me, you will do well to announce the Thiers-Barrot Ministry and say nothing about Marshal Bugeaud.”
“You are right.”
The Mayor requisitions a squad of National Guards, takes with him his two deputies and the Municipal Councillors present, and descends into the Place Royale. The roll of drums attracts the crowd. He announces the new Cabinet. The people applaud and raise repeated shouts of “Hurrah for Reform!” The Mayor adds a few words recommending harmony and the preservation of order, and is universally applauded.
“The situation is saved!” he says, grasping my hand.
“Yes,” I answer, “if Bugeaud will give up the idea of being the saviour.”
M. Ernest Moreau, followed by his escort, goes off to repeat his proclamation in the Place de la Bastille and the faubourg, and I return home to reassure my family.
Half an hour later the Mayor and his cortege return greatly agitated and in disorder to the Mairie. This is what had happened:
The Place de la Bastille was occupied at its two extremities by troops, leaning on their rifles. The people moved freely and peaceably between the two lines. The Mayor, arrived at the foot of the July column, made his proclamation, and once again the crowd applauded vigorously. M. Moreau started towards the Faubourg Saint Antoine. At this moment a number of workingmen accosted the soldiers amicably and said: “Your arms, give up your arms.” In obedience to the energetic orders of their captain the soldiers refused. Suddenly a shot was fired; it was followed by other shots; the terrible panic of the previous day was perhaps about to be renewed. M. Moreau and his escort were pushed about, thrown down. The firing on both sides lasted over a minute, and five or six persons were killed or wounded.
Fortunately, this time the affray occurred in broad daylight. At the sight of the blood they had shed there was a revulsion of feeling on the part of the troops, and after a moment of surprise and horror the soldiers, prompted by an irresistible impulse, raised the butts of their rifles in the air and shouted: “Long live the National Guard!” The general in command, being powerless to control his men, went off to Vincennes by way of the quays and the people remained masters of the Bastille and of the faubourg.