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Poor Jaures!" Through association of ideas, the Russian evoked the image of his compatriot, Michael Bakounine, another revolutionist, the father of anarchy, weeping with emotion at a concert after hearing the symphony with Beethoven chorals directed by a young friend of his, named Richard Wagner.

"When our revolution comes," he cried, clasping the hand of the master, "whatever else may perish, this must be saved at any cost!" Tchernoff roused himself from his reveries to look around him and say with sadness: "THEY have passed through here!" Every time that he walked through the Arch, the same vision would spring up in his mind.

THEY were thousands of helmets glistening in the sun, thousands of heavy boots lifted with mechanical rigidity at the same time; horns, fifes, drums large and small, clashing against the majestic silence of these stones--the warlike march from Lohengrin sounding in the deserted avenues before the closed houses.
He, who was a foreigner, always felt attracted by the spell exerted by venerable buildings guarding the glory of a bygone day.