sprang upward a young lilac tree in full flower, fragrant, erect, wet with sweet dews, covered with blossoms—alone amidst the wreck.
For the first time since she had left me I fell on my knees and hid my face in my hands, and wept—as women weep.
Soon after that the end came.
Paris was on fire in a thousand places. They slew the hostages: they did strange and fearful things. You have seen them more clearly than I. I was in the midst of the smoke, of the violence, of the flames, of the bloodshed, of the ignorance, of the ferocity: I was too close to it all to judge any of it aright.
Evil had become their good; and yet in the beginning of the time the people had not been to blame.
From the day they put the old priests to death I would fight no more for the Commune.
But I knew that the Commune would fall, and so I would not forsake them. I think many felt as I did—detested the acts into which the people had plunged, but would not forsake them on the edge of ruin.
I would not fight again for them, but neither would I fight against them: I went forth into the streets and stood and looked.
