"A Dreadful Havock"

Tucked off in an inconspicuous corner of many newspapers is a little section called "Ten Years Ago Today," summarizing 24 hours of news of a decade ago and making them sound more remote than the wars of the Medes and the Persians. Because London newspapers are older than most, their memories are longer; the Daily Telegraph & Morning Post carries a department called "150 Years Ago" whose items are generally scarcely more interesting because of their greater antiquity. But in the past few weeks this section has begun to relate some strange doings in France. Thus, in a dispatch dated July 6, 1789: "By intelligence from Paris . . . we learn that peace is far from being established in that Metropolis." Two days later: "Two German regiments were then brought out, which roused the indignation of the national troops, who . . . joined the mob. A dreadful havock was the consequence."

An attentive reader of the Post 150 years ago could readily have guessed that all was not well in France. Convulsions, havock, intrigue, were leading up to one of the biggest events that a newspaper ever covered: the fall of the Bastille and the beginning of the French Revolution. Last week, while the 150th Bastille Day was being exuberantly celebrated in Paris, the Daily Telegraph & Morning Post reprinted its admirably terse, vigorous, 150-year-old eyewitness report of the original event:

"The Bastile has been wholly demolished.

"The Governor of the Bastile was seized, his right hand was first cut off, then his head. . . .

"All of the gaols are open, and the prisoners have joined with the populace.

"Many of the Nobility of the Court party have been killed, and their houses are demolished."

In a follow-up story the next day, the Post's correspondent added vivid but violently partisan details:

"The first acts of revolt naturally took place among the lowest of the populace. ... The FRENCH GUARDS UNANIMOUSLY joined the Citizens, and a set of more noble, orderly, and determined men I never saw. . . . Placards were publicly stuck up by well known persons, setting a price on the HEADS of the QUEEN, the COMTE D'ARTOIS, the POLIGNACS, and others. The guard, horse and foot, of Paris (the horse are a fine body), all joined us in the evening.... All the houses put out lights to prevent surprize, and the Citizens not on duty slept as tranquilly as in the most profound peace. Wonder at what I have seen stops me every instant in giving you the account."

There was a tense moment, he reported, before noon at the Hotel des Invalides, before the Governor surrendered to 20,000 citizens headed by the French Guard. The Governor de Launay, displayed the white flag and opened the gates, but drew up the drawbridge after soldiers and citizens entered, and his troops opened fire, killing 30. After three hours of cannonading the walls were breached and "The great and important scene now followed. The GOVERNOR, the PRINCE, the FORT MAJOR and Officers were conveyed to the HOTEL DE VILLE, and after a SHORT TRIAL . . . M. DE LAUNAY and the MAJOR were executed by first SHOOTING, and then CUTTING OFF THEIR HEADS."

Last week's intelligence from Paris was no match for the news of 1789. Officially, Bastille Day was a big military display calculated to impress the Axis powers with French military might and with the strength of the Anglo-French alliance. Thirty thousand troops, including helmeted French Mobile Guards, Zouaves, Tunisians, Algerians, Moroccans, Senegalese, Foreign Legionnaires, fortress troops from the Maginot Line and motorized artillery units, paraded before President Lebrun, Premier Daladier, British War Secretary Hore-Belisha, the high command of French and British air, land and sea forces. But the most popular figures were General Gamelin, Commander in Chief of the French Armed Forces, and Viscount Gort, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, whose pictures were everywhere, overshadowing civilian celebrities. Four hundred and fifty picked British soldiers of the smart Coldstream, Irish, Scots and Welsh Guards marched in a place of honor behind French military students; 52 British warplanes flew overhead.

At night, when the rain stopped, the military mingled joyfully with the populace. Along the parade route citizens had broken through police lines to cheer British troops, and otherwise give manifestation of their delight, but after dark, during dancing in the streets, nothing was too good for the Britons. In the Place de 1'Opera a swing band played and Marlene Dietrich sang; in the Place de la Bourse intoxicated but good natured and peaceable Welsh Guardsmen demonstrated the Lambeth Walk, etc.; a near-accident transpired in the Place de la Madeleine, where a girl dressed in a reveler's costume representing Marianne was nearly crushed while being carried about on men's shoulders. Not since recent war scares began has France seen such a gay, self-confident and joyous Bastille Day, prompting observers to note that in the war of nerves the Republic had won a great victory.

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