CONQUERED CITY
11
himself, he searched the audience for some hostile face, to which
he could surrender, vanquished; his voice, for no apparent reason,
leaping an octave: " •.. the evacuation of the Vanves fortress ..."
The hall was an old ransacked salon, decorated at each corner
by chubby-cheeked angels, in gilt plaster, supporting candelabras,
furnished with leather armchairs, pretty, fluted and embroidered
boudoir chairs and big grimy wooden benches brought from the
neighboring barracks. Here, as everywhere else, there were por–
traits of the leaders, draped with red ribbon, on the walls. One
squinted, with a sly, vaguely cruel expression under his enormous
bald forehead, because the photographer, unable to comprehend
his real greatness, had sought to give this simple man the head of
a statesman as he imagined it ought to be("... and it was not easy,
I assure you," this old court photographer would repeat, long
afterwards.) Another leader shot a brilliant stare into space
through his eyeglasses, and the head, in spite of his pleasing smile
and the ironical combination of full lips, a thick moustache and a
beard like a great comma, made one think of strict orders, tele–
grams announcing victories, proscriptions, riots subdued, of a
conquering, exalted and implacable discipline. He had, moreover,
rebellious hair, and the soft smile of a well-shaven dictator, a little
too fat for these times of famine. There were only about a dozen
people in the room, but a good wood fire made the place comfort·
able this evening. When the lecturer had finished, the s<.. Uor from
the
Vautour
asked if anyone in the audience had any "questions
to put to the reporter." As the time for the dancing neared, the
room filled little by little. Heads turned towards the harmonica
player sitting near the door, his instrument on his knees. But a
soldier, who looked like a big, simple man of the soil, rose heavily
from his leather armchair at the back of the room. He muttered,
so that everyone was able to hear, in a tone of command:
"Tell us about Dr. Milliere's execution."
As he stood listening to the story, massive, his head inclined,
so that one could see of his face only the hairy cheeks, the sullen
mouth, the forehead ridged and lined, he resembled certain masks
of Beethoven.
"Dr. Milliere, in a dark blue frock coat and top hat, led in
the rain through the streets of Paris, forced to kneel on the steps
of the Pantheon, crying 'Long Live Humanity!'-The words of
