Mary Elizabeth Braddon
Under the red flag
eBook
( Jan. 21, 2020)
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There are some who think it is a wicked thing to dance on a Sunday evening, even after one has worshipped at one's parish church faithfully and reverently on Sunday morning ; some there are who think it is wicked to dance at all ; and there are others who worship in dancing, and are moved to wild leanings and whirlings by the spirit of piety ; others, again, who are devil-dancers, and worship the principle of evil in their demoniac gyrations. But, assuredly, of all who ever danced upon this earth, none ever danced on the edge'' of a more terrible volcano than that which trembled and throbbed under the feet of those light hearted revellers tonight — happy, unforeseeing, rejoicing in the balmy breath of summer, the starlit sky, the warmth and the flowers, with no thought that this fair Paris, whitely beautiful in the sheen of starlight and moonlight, was like a phantasmal or
fairy city— a city of palaces which were soon to sink in dust and ashes, beauty that was to be changed for burning, while joy and love fled shrieking from a carnival of blood and fire.
Even tonight there were bystanders in the lami>lit garden who shooK their heads solemnly as they talked of the probability of war with Prussia. The battle of Sadowa had been the beginning of evil. France had played into the hands of her most dangerous rival, and had been swindled out of the price of her neutrality. To have allowed Austria to be crushed by Bismarck was worse than a crime, it was a blunder. And now all the signs and tokens of the time pointed to the likelihood of war. The day had come when the overweening ambition of the house of Brandenburg inust be checked, and in the opinion of the Bonapartists tlie onus to fight was upon ...