TAKING THE BASTILE
OR
SIX YEARS LATER
NOVELS BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS
MONTH CRISTO
THE THREE MUSKETEERS
TWENTY YEARS AFTER
TEN YEARS LATER (Tn Vicouw Dl
BRAGELONNB, VOL. L)
THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK (Tra
VICOMTE DS BRAGELONNB. VOL. II.)
MARGUERITE DE VALOIS
CHICOT, THE JESTER
THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN
THE CONSPIRATORS
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER
MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN
THE QUEEN'S NECKLACE
TAKING THE BASTILE
THE COUNTESS DE CHARNY
THE CHEVALIER DE MAISON ROUGE
THE BLACK TULIP
LONDON : GEORGE ROUTLKDO1 AKD SONS, LTD.
OR
SIX YEARS LATER
(SEQUEL TO " THE QUEEN'S NECKLACE")
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS
AUTHOR OF
"THE THREE MUSKETEERS," "TWENTY YEARS AFTER," ETC.
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LIMITED
BROADWAY HOUSE, LUDGATR HIM,
F9
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGB
I. IN WHICH THE UEAT)EB TS INTRODUCED TO THE ACQUAIN-
TANCE OF THE HEKO OF THIS HISTORY, AS WELL AS THAT
OF THE COUNTRY IN WHICH HE FIRST SAW THE LIGHT Z
IJ. IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT AN AUNT IS NOT ALWAYS
A MOTHER ....... 9
HI. ANGE PITOU AT HIS AUNT'S .... 19
IV. OF THE INFLUENCE WHICH A BARBARISM AND SEVEN SOLE-
CISMS MAY HAVE UPON THE WHOLE LIFE OF A MAN . 33
V. A PHILOSOPHICAL FARMER .... 39
VI. PASTORAL SCENES ...... 46
VII. IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT ALTHOUGH LONG
LEGS MAY BE SOMEWHAT UNGRACEFUL IN DANCING,
THEY ARE VERY USEFUL IN RUNNING SS
VIII. SHOWING WHY THE GENTLEMAN IN BLACK HAD GONE INTO
THE FARM AT THE SAME TIME WITH THE TWO SER-
GEANTS ....... 68
IX. THE ROAD TO PARIS . . . . . 77
X. WHAT WAS HAPPENING AT THE END OF THE ROAD WHICH
PITOU WAS TRAVELLING UPON THAT IS TO SAY, AT
PARIS . . 8c
1C261S7
vi CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PACK
XI. THE NIGHT BETWEEN THE I2TH AND I3TH OF JULY . 93
XII. WHAT OCCURRED DURING THE NIGHT OF THE I2TH JUr.Y,
1789 ........ TOO
XIII. THE KING IS SO GOOD ! THE QUEEN IS SO GOOD! . IIO
XIV. THE THREE POWERS OF FRANCE .... 121
XV. MONSIEUR DE LAUNAY, GOVERNOR OF THE BASTILE . 129
XVI. THE BASTILE AND ITS GOVERNOR . . 136
XVII. THE BASTILE .... .145
XVIII. DOCTOR GILBERT . . . . . -159
XIX. THE TRIANGLE . , . ... 165
XX. SEBASTIAN GILBERT . , . . . -175
XXI. MADAME DE STAEL . ... 184
XXII. THE KING LOUIS XVI. . . . . .199
XXIII. THE COUNTESS DE CHARNY .... 208
XXIV. ROYAL PHILOSOPHY ...... 2l6
XXV. IN THE QUEEN'S APARTMENTS .... 221
XXVI. HOW THE KING SUPPED ON THE I4TH OF JULY, 1789 . 229
XXVII. OLIVIER DE CHARNY ..... 234
XXVIII. OLIVIER DE CHARNY ...... 240
XXIX. A TRIO ....... 247
XXX. WHAT THE QUEEN'S THOUGHTS WERE, DURING THE NIGHT
FROM JULY 14 TO JULY 15, 1789 . . . -253
xxxi. THE KING'S PHYSICIAN . . . . .258
XXXII. THE COUNCIL . . . . . . .273
XXXIII. DECISION . . . . . . .278
XXXIV. THE BREAST-PLATE . .... 285
XXXV. THE DEPARTURE . . . . . 292
XXXVI. THE JOURNEY . . . . . . .298
XXXVII. SHOWING WHAT WAS TAKING PLACE AT VERSAILLES WHILE
THE KING WAS LISTENING TO THE SPEECHES OF THE
MUNICIPALITY ...... 306
KXXVIII. THE RETURN ....... 313
XXXIX. FOULON . .... 316
XL. THE FATHER-IN-LAW ... . . 323
CONTENTS. vii
rHAPTER rAG
XLI. THE SON-IN-LAW . ... y>9
XLII. BILLOT BEGINS TO PERCEIVE THAT ALL IS NOT ROSES IN
REVOLUTIONS ... 33 6
XLTII. THE PITTS ....... 343
XLIV. MEDEA ...... .351
XLV. WHAT THE QUEEN WISHED .... 355
XLVI. THE FLANDERS REGIMENT ..... 359
XLVII. THE BANQUET GIVEN BY THE GUARDS . . 36$
ILVIII. 'THE WOMEN BEGIN TO STIR ..... 370
XLIX. MAILLARD A GENERAL ..... 376
L. VERSAILLES ....... 381
LI. THE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER . . 385
LII. THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER . . . 390
LI II. THE MORNING . . . . . . 400
LIV. GEORGE DE CHARNY . ..... 406
I.V. DEPARTURE, JOURNEY, AND ARRIVAL OF PITOU AND SE-
BASTIAN GILBERT ..... 411
LVI. HOW PITOU, AFTER HAVING BEEN CURSED AND TURNED
OUT OF DOORS BY HIS AUNT ON ACCOUNT OF A BAR-
BARISM AND THREE SOLECISMS, WAS AGAIN CURSED AND
TURNED OUT BY HER ON ACCOUNT OF A FOWL COOKED
WITH RICE ....... 417
LVII. PITOU A REVOLUTIONIST ..... 425
LVIII. MADAME BILLOT ABDICATES ..... 432
LIX. WHAT DECIDED PITOU TO LEAVE THE FARM AND RETURN
TO HARAMONT, HIS REAL AND ONLY COUNTRY . 440
LX. PITOU AN ORATOR ...... 446
LXI. PITOU A CONSPIRATOR ..... 455
LXII. IN WHICH WILL BE SEEN OPPOSED TO EACH OTHER THE
MONARCHICAL PRINCIPLES REPRESENTED BY THE ABBE
FORTIER, AND THE REVOLUTIONARY PRINCIPLE REPRE-
SENTED BY PITOU ...... 463
LXIII. PITOU A DIPLOMATIST ..... 477
LXIV. PITOU TRIUMPHS ...... 481
riii CONTENTS.
CHAPTEk PAiii
LXV. HOW PITOU LEARNED TACTICS, AND ACQUIRED A NOBLE
BEARING ....... 486
LXVI. CATHERINE BECOMES A DIPLOMATIST . . -491
LXVH. HONEY AND ABSINTHE .... 495
{.XVIII. AN UNEXPECTED DENOUEMENT . . 49Q
TAKING THE BASTILE.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO THE ACQUAINTANCE
OF THE HERO OF THIS HISTORY, AS WELL AS THAT OF THE
COUNTRY IN WHICH HE FIRST SAW THE LIGHT.
ON the borders of Picardy and the province of Soissons, and on
that part of the national territory which, under the name of the Isle
of France, formed a portion of the ancient patrimony of our kings,
and in the centre of an immense crescent formed by a forest of fifty
thousand acres which stretches its horns to the north and south,
rises, almost buried amid the shades of a vast park planted by
Francis I. and Henry II., the small city of Villers-Cottere'ts. This
place is celebrated from having given birth to Charles Albert
Demoustier, who, at the period when our present history com
mences, was there writing his Letters to Emilie on Mythology, to
the unbounded satisfaction of the pretty women of those days,
who eagerly snatched his publications from each other as soon as
f printed.
Let us add, to complete the poetical reputation of this little city,
whose detractors, notwithstanding its royal chateau and its two
thousand four hundred inhabitants, obstinately persist in calling it
a mere village let us add, we say, to complete its poetical reputa-
tion, that it is situated at two leagues' distance from Laferte"- Milan,
where Racine was born, and eight leagues from Chateau-Thierry,
the birthplace of La Fontaine.
Let us also state that the mother of the author of " Britannicus "
and " Athalie " was from Villers-Cotterets.
But now we must return to its royal chateau and its two thousand
four hundred inhabitants.
This royal chateau, begun by Francis I., whose salamanders still
decorate it, and finished by Henry II., whose cypher it bears
a TAKING THE B AS TILE.
entwined with that of Catherine de Me"dicis and encircled by the
three crescents of Diana of Poictiers, after having sheltered the
loves of the knight-king with Madame d'Etampes, and those of
Louis-Philippe of Orleans with the beautiful Madame de Montesson,
had become almost uninhabited since the death of this last prince ;
his son, Philippe d'Orleans, afterwards called Egalite", having made
it descend from the rank of a royal residence to that of a mere hunt-
ing rendezvous.
It is well known that the chateau and forest of Villers-Cottere'ts
formed part of the appanage settled by Louis XIV. on his brother
Monsieur, when the second son of Anne of Austria married the
sister of Charles II., the Princess Henrietta of England.
As to the two thousand four hundred inhabitants of whom we
have promised our readers to say a word, they were, as in all locali-
ties where two thousand four hundred people are united, a hetero-
geneous assemblage.
Firstly : of a few nobles, who spent their summers in the neigh-
bouring chateaux and their winters in Paris, and who, mimicking
the prince, had only a lodging place in the city.
Secondly : of a goodly number of citizens, who could be seen, let
the weather be what it might, leaving their nouses after dinner, um-
brella in hand, to take their daily walk, a walk which was regularly
bounded by a deep invisible ditch which separated the park from
the forest, situated about a quarter of a league from the town, and
which was called, doubtless on account of the exclamation which the
sight of it drew from the asthmatic lungs of the promenaders, satis-
fied at finding themselves not too much out of breath, the " Ha I ha !"
Thirdly : of a considerably greater number of artizans, who worked
the whole of the week and only allowed themselves to take a walk
on the Sunday ; whereas their fellow-townsmen, more favoured by
fortune, could enjoy it every day.
Fourthly and finally : of some miserable proletarians, for whom
the week had not even a Sabbath, and who, after having toiled six
days in the pay of the nobles, the citizens, or even of the artizans,
wandered on the seventh day through the forest to gather up dry
wood or branches of the lofty trees, torn from them by the storm,
that mower of the forest, to whom oak trees are but as ears of wheat,
and which it scattered over the humid soil beneath the lofty trees,
the magnificent appanage of a prince.
If Villers-Cotterets (Villerii ad Cotiam Reticz) had been, unfor-
tunately, a town of sufficient importance in history to induce archaeo-
logists to ascertain and follow up its successive changes from a
village to a town and from a town to a city the last, as we have
said, being strongly contested, they would certainly have proved
this fact, that the village had begun by being a row of houses on
cither side of the road from Paris to Soissons ; then they would have
added that its situation on the borders of a beautiful forest having,
THE HERO OF THE HISTORY. 3
though by slow degrees, brought to it a great increase of inhabitants,
other streets were added to the first, diverging like the rays of a star
and leading towards other small villages with which it was important
to keep up communication, and converging towards a point which
naturally became the centre, that is to say, what in the provinces is
called THE SQUARE, whatever might be its shape, and around which
the handsomest buildings of the village, now become a burgh, were
erected, and in the middle of which rises a fountain, now decorated
with a quadruple dial ; in short, they would have fixed the precise
date when, near the modest village church, the first want of a people,
arose the first turrets of the vast chateau, the last caprice of a king ;
a chateau which, after having been, as we have already said, by turns
a royal and a princely residence, has in our days become a melan-
choly and hideous receptacle for mendicants under the direction of
the Prefecture of the Seine, and to which M. Marrast issues his
mandates through delegates of whom he has not, nor probably will
ever have, either the time or care to ascertain the names.
But at the period at which this history commences, royal affairs,
though already somewhat tottering, had not yet fallen to the low
degree to which they have fallen in our days ; the chateau was no
longer inhabited by a prince, 'tis true, but it had not yet become the
abode of beggars ; it was simply uninhabited, excepting the indis-
pensable attendants required for its preservation ; among whom
were to be remarked the doorkeeper, the master of the tennis court,
and the house steward ; and therefore the windows of this immense
edifice fronting the park, and others on a large court which was
aristocratically called the square of the chateau, were all closed,
which added not a little to the gloominess and solitary appearance
of this square, at one of the extremities of which rose a small house,
regarding which the reader, we hope, will permit us to say a few
words.
It was a small house, of which, if we may be allowed to use the
term, the back only was to be seen. But, as is the case with many
individuals, this back had the privilege of being the most presentable
part. In fact, the front, which was towards the Rue de Soissons,
one of the principal streets of the town, opened upon it by an awk-
wardly constructed gate, and which was ill-naturedly kept closed
eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, while that of the other side
was gay and smiling : that is to say, that on the opposite side was a
garden, above the wall of which could be seen the tops of cherry,
pear, and plum trees, richly laden with their beauteous fruits, while
on each side of a small gate by which the garden was entered from
the square, was a centenary acacia tree, which in the spring appeared
to stretch out their branches above the wall to scatter their perfumed
flowers over the surrounding grounds.
The abode was the residence of the chaplain of the chateau, who,
notwithstanding the absence of the master, performed mass every
4 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Sunday in the seignorial church. He had a small pension, ana,
besides this, had the charge of two purses, the one to send a scholar
yearly to the college of Plessis, the other for one to the seminary at
Soisspns. It is needless to say that it was the Orleans family who
supplied these purses ; founded, that of the seminary, by the son of
the Regent, that for the college by the father of the prince ; and that
these two purses were the objects of ambition to all parents, at the
same time that they were a cause of absolute despair to the pupils,
being the source of extraordinary compositions, which compositions
were to be presented for approval of the chaplain every Thursday.
Well, one Thursday in the month of July, 1789, a somewhat dis-
agreeable day, being darkened by a storm, beneath which the two
magnificent acacias we have spoken of, having already lost the
virginal whiteness of their spring attire, shed a few leaves yellowed
by the first heats of summer. After a silence of some duration,
broken only by the rustling of those leaves as they whirled against
each other upon the beaten ground of the square, or by the shrill cry
of the martin pursuing flies as it skimmed along the ground, eleven
o'clock resounded from the pointed and slated belfry of the town hall.
Instantly a hurrah, loud as could have been uttered by a whole
regiment of fusileers, accompanied by a rushing sound like that of
the avalanche when bounding from crag to crag, was heard : the
door between the two acacia trees was opened, or rather burst open,
and gave egress to a torrent of boys, who spread themselves over the
square, when instantly some five or six joyous and noisy groups were
formed, the one around a circle formed to keep peg-tops prisoners,
another about a game of hop-scotch traced with chalk upon the
ground, another before several holes scientifically hollowed out,
where those who were fortunate enough to have sous might lose
them at pitch and toss.
At the same time that these gambling and playful scholars who
were apostrophized by the few neighbours whose windows opened
on this square as wicked do-no-goods, and who, in general, wore
trowsers the knees of which were torn, and so were the elbows of
their jackets assembled to play upon the square, those who were
called good and reasonable boys, and who, in the opinion of the
gossips, must be the pride and joy of their respective parents, were
seen to detach themselves from the general mass, and by various
paths, though with slow steps, indicative of their regret, walking,
basket in hand, towards their paternal roofs, where awaited them
the slice of bread and butter, or of bread and preserved fruit, destined
to be their compensation for the games they had thus abjured. The
latter were in general dressed in jackets in tolerably good condition,
and in breeches which were almost irreproachable ; and this, together
with their boasted propriety of demeanour, rendered them objects
of derision and even of hatred to their less well-dressed, and, above
all, less well disciplined companions.
THE HERO OF THE HISTORY. 5
Besides the two classes we have pointed out under the deno-
mination of gambling and well-conducted scholars, there was still
a third, which we shall designate by the name of idle scholars, who
scarcely ever left school with the others, whether to play in the
square or to return to their paternal homes. Seeing that this un-
fortunate class were almost constantly, what in school language is
termed, kept which means to say, that while their companions,
after having said their lessons and written their themes, were play-
ing at top or eating their bread and jam, they remained nailed to
their school benches or before their desks, that they might learn
their lessons or write their themes during the hours of recreation,
which they had not been able to accomplish satisfactorily during the
class ; when, indeed, the gravity of their faults did not demand a
punishment more severe than that of mere detention, such as the
rod, the cane, or the cat-o'-nine-tails.
And had any one followed the path which led into the school-
room, and which the pupils had just used, in the inverse sense, to
get out of it, they would after going through a narrow alley, which
prudently ran outside of the fruit garden and opened into a large
yard which served as a private play-ground they would, as we
have said, have heard, on entering this court-yard, a loud harsh voice
resounding from the upper part of a staircase, while a scholar,
whom our impartiality as historians compels us to acknowledge as
belonging to the third class we have mentioned, that is to say, to
that of the idle boys, was precipitately descending the said staircase,
making just such a movement with his shoulders as asses are wont
to do when endeavouring to rid themselves of a cruel rider, or as
scholars when they have received a sharp blow from the cat-o'-nine-
tails, to alleviate the pain they are enduring.
' Ah ! miscreant ; ah ! you little excommunicated villain,' cried
the voice, ' ah ! you young serpent, away with you, off with you ;
vade, vade / Remember that for three whole years have I been
patient with you, but there are rascals who would tire the patience
of even God Himself. But now it is all over. I have done with you.
Take your squirrels, take your frogs, take your lizards, take your silk-
worms, take your cock-chafers, and go to your aunt, go to your uncle
if you have one, or to the devil if you will, so that 1 never more set
eyes upon you ; vade, vade P
' Oh ! my good Monsieur Fortier, do pray forgive me,' replied
the other voice, still upon the staircase and in a supplicating
tone ; ' is it worth your while to put yourself into such a towering
passion for a poor little barbarism and a few solecisms, as you call
them ?'
' Three barbarisms and seven solecisms in a theme of only
twenty-five lines !' replied the voice, in a rougher and still more
angry tone.
4 It has been so to-day, sir, I acknowledge ; Thursday is always
6 TAKING THE BASTILE.
my unlucky day ; but if by chance to-morrow my theme should be
well written, would you not forgive me my misfortunes of to-day ?
Tell me now, would you not, my good abbe* ?'
' On every composition day for the last three years you have re-
peated that same thing to me, you idle fellow, and the examination
is fixed for the first of November, and I, on the entreaty of your aunt
Angelique, have had the weakness to put your name down on the
list of candidates for the Soissons purse : I shall have the shame of
seeing my pupil rejected, and of hearing it everywhere declared that
Pitou is an ass Angelus Peiovius asinus est'
Let us hasten to say that the kind-hearted reader may from the
first moment feel for him all the interest he deserves, that Ange
Pitou, whose name the Abb Fortier had so picturesquely Latinised,
is the hero of this story.
' Oh ! my good M. Fortier ! oh ! my dear master !' replied he, in
despair.
'I, your master !' exclaimed the abbe", deeply humiliated by the
appellation. ' God be thanked, I am no more your master than you
are my pupil. I disown you I do not know you. I would that I
had never seen you. I forbid you to mention my name, or even to
bow to me. A'efro, miserable boy, retro !'
1 Oh ! M. 1'AbbeY insisted the unhappy Pitou, who appeared tp
have some weighty motive for not falling out with his master ; ' do
not, I entreat you, withdraw your interest for me on account of a
poor halting theme.'
' Ah !' exclaimed the abbe", quite beside himself on hearing this
last supplication, and running down the four first steps of the stair-
case, while Ange Pitou jumped down the four bottom ones, and could
thus be seen from the court-yard. ' Ah ! you are chopping logic
when you cannot even write a theme ; you are calculating the extent
of my patience, when you know not how to distinguish the nomina-
tive from the vocative.'
' You have always been so kind to me, Monsieur TAbbe*,' replied
the committer of barbarisms, ' and you will only have to say a word
in my favour to my lord the bishop.'
' Would you have me belie my conscience, wretched boy !' cried
the infuriated abbe*.
' If it be to do a good action, Monsieur 1'Abbe", the God of mercy
will forgive you for it'
' Never ! never !'
' And besides, who knows, the examiners perhaps will not be
more severe towards me than they were towards my foster-brother,
Sebastian Gilbert, when last year he was a candidate for the
Paris purse ; and he was a famous fellow for barbarisms, if ever
there was one, although he was only thirteen years old, and I am
seventeen.'
' Ah ! indeed ; and this is another precious stupidity which you
THE HERO OF THE HISTORY. 7
have uttered,' cried the abbe", coming down the remaining steps, and
in his turn appearing at the door with his cat-o'-nine-tails in his
hand, while Pitou took care to keep at the prudent distance from his
professor which he had all along maintained. ' Yes, I say stupidity,'
continued the abbe", crossing his arms and looking indignantly at
his scholar ; ' and this is the reward of my lessons. Triple animal
that you are ! it is thus you remember the old axiom Noli minora,
loqui majora volens. Why, it was precisely because Gilbert was so
much younger, that they were more indulgent towards a child a
child of fourteen years old than they would have been to a great
simpleton of nearly eighteen.'
' Yes, and because he is the son of M. Honord Gilbert, who
has an income of eighteen thousand hvres from good landed pro-
perty, and this on the plain of Pillalen,' replied the logician in a
piteous tone.
The Abbe" Fortier looked at Pitou, pouting his lips and knitting
his brows.
' This is somewhat less stupid,' grumbled he, after a moment's
silence and scrutiny. ' And yet it is but specious, and without any
basis : Species non autem corpus}
' Oh ! if I were the son of a man possessing an income of
eighteen thousand livres !' repeated Ange Pitou, who thought he
perceived that his answer had made some impression on the
professor.
' Yes, but you are not so, and to make up for it, you are as
ignorant as the clown of whom Juvenal speaks a profane cita-
tion,' the abbe" crossed himself, ' but no less just Arcadius juvenis.
I would wager that you do not even know what Arcadius means ?
' Why, Arcadian, to be sure,' replied Ange Pitou. drawing himself
up with the majesty of pride.
'And what besides?'
' Besides what ?'
' Arcadia was the country of donkeys, and with the ancients as
with us, asinus was synonymous with stultus?
' I did not wish to understand your question in that sense,'
rejoined Pitou, 'seeing that it was far from my imagination that
the austere mind of my worthy preceptor could have descended
to satire.'
The Abb Fortier looked at him a 5-cond time, and with as pro-
found attention as the first.
' Upon my word !' cried he, somewhat mollified by the incense
which his disciple had offered him ; ' there are really moments
when one would swear that the fellow is less stupid than he appears
to be.'
' Come, Monsieur 1'Abbe",' said Pitou, who, if he had not heard
the words the abb had uttered, had caught the expression which
had passed over his countenance, of a return to a more merciful
8 TAKING THE BASTILE.
consideration ; ' forgive me this time, and you will see what a beau-
tiful theme I will write by to-morrow.'
' Well, then, I will consent,' said the abbe", placing, in sign of
truce, his cat-o'-nine-tails in his belt and approaching Pitou, who
observing this pacific demonstration, made no further attempt to
move.
' Oh ! thanks, thanks,' cried the pupil.
' Wait a moment, and be not so hasty with your thanks. Yes, I
forgive you, but on one condition.'
Pitou hung down his head, and as he was now at the discretion
of the abbe', he waited with resignation.
' It is that you shall correctly reply to a question I shall put to
you.'
' In Latin ? inquired Pitou with much anxiety.
1 In Latin,' replied the professor.
Pitou drew a deep sigh.
There was a momentary silence, during which the joyous cries of
the schoolboys who were playing on the square reached the ears of
Ange Pitou. He sighed a second time, more deeply than the first.
1 Quid virtus, quid religio f asked the abbe'.
These words, pronounced with all the pomposity of a pedagogue,
rang in the ears of poor Ange Pitou like the trumpet of the angel
on the day of judgment : a cloud passed before his eyes, and such
an effect was produced upon his intellect by it, that he thought for
a moment he was on the point of becoming mad.
However, as this violent cerebral labour did not appear to produce
any result, the required answer was indefinitely postponed. A pro-
longed noise was then heard, as the professor slowly inhaled a pinch
of snuff.
Pitou clearly saw that it was necessary to say something.
' Nescioj he replied, hoping that his ignorance would be pardoned
by his avowing that ignorance in Latin.
'You do not know what is virtue !' exclaimed the abbe', choking
with rage ; ' you do not know what is religion !'
' I know very well what it is in French,' replied Ange, ' but I do
not know it in Latin.'
'Well, then, get thee to Arcadia,jwt<*M&y all is now ended between
us, pitiful wretch !'
Pitou was so overwhelmed that he did not move a step, although
the Abbe* Fortier had drawn his cat-o'-nine-tails from his belt with
as much dignity as the commander of an army would, at the com-
mencement of a battle, have drawn his sword from the scabbard.
' But what is to become of me ?' cried the poor youth, letting his
arms fall listlessly by his side. ' What will become of me if I lose
the hope of being admitted into the seminary?'
' Become whatever you can. It is, by heaven ! the same to me.'
The good abbe' was so angry that he almost swore.
THE HERO OF THE HISTORY. g
' But you do not know, then, that my aunt believes I am aiready
an abbe" ?'
' Well, then, she will know that you are not fit to be made even a
sacristan !'
' But, Monsieur Fortier '
' I tell you to depart limine lingua.'
' Well, then/ cried Pitou, as a man who makes up his mind to a
painful resolution, but who in fact does make it ; ' will you allow
me to take my desk ?' said he to the abbe", hoping that during the
time he would be performing this operation a respite would be given
him, and the abbess heart would become impressed with more mer-
ciful feelings.
' Most assuredly,' said the latter ; ' your desk, with all that it
contains.'
Pitou sorrowfully reascended the staircase, for the schoolroom
was on the first floor. On returning to the room in which, as-
sembled around a large table, and pretending to be hard at work,
were seated some fourteen boys- and carefully raising the flap of
his desk to ascertain whether all the animals and insects which
belonged to him were safely stowed in it, and lifting it so gently
that it proved the great care he took of his favourites, he walked
with slow and measured steps along the corridor.
At the top of the stairs was the Abbd Fortier, with cutstretched
arm pointing to the staircase with the end of his cat-o'-nine-tails.
It was necessary to pass beneath this terrible instrument of justice.
Ange Pitou made himself as humble and as small as he possibly
could, but this did not prevent him from receiving, as he passed by,
a last thwack from the instrument to which Abbe" Fortier owed his
best pupils, and the employment of which, although more frequent
and more prolonged on the back of Ange Pitou, had produced the
sorrowful results just witnessed.
While Ange Pitou, wiping away a last tear, was bending his steps,
his desk upon his head, towards the pious quarter of the town in
which his aunt resided, let us say a few words as to his physical
appearance and his antecedents.
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT AN AUNT IS NOT ALWAYS A
MOTHER.
Louis ANGE PITOU, as he himself said in his dialogue with the.
Abbe* Fortier, was, at the period when this history commences,
seventeen and a half years old. He was a tall, slender youth, with
yellow hair, red cheeks, and blue eyes. The bloom of youth, fresh
2
10 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
and innocent, was expanded over his wide mouth, the thick lips of
which discovered, when extended by a hearty laugh, two perfectly
complete rows of formidable teeth particularly formidable to those
of whose dinner he was about to partake. At the end of his long
bony arms were solidly attached hands as large as beetles, legs
rather inclined to be bowed, knees as big as a child's head, which
regularly made their way through his tight black breeches, and
immense feet, which, notwithstanding, were at their ease in calf-
skin shoes reddened by constant use ; such, with a sort of cassock,
a garment something between a frock-coat and a blouse, is an exact
and impartial description of the ex-disciple of the Abb Fortier.
We must now sketch his moral character.
Ange Pitou had been left an orphan when only twelve years old,
the time at which he had the misfortune to lose his mother, of whom
he was the only child. That is to say, that since the death of his
father, which event had occurred before he had attained the years
of recollection, Ange Pitou, adored by his poor mother, had been
allowed to do whatever he thought fit, which had greatly developed
his physical education, but had altogether retarded the advance-
ment of his moral faculties. Born in a charming village called
Haramont, situated at the distance of a league from the town, and
in the centre of a wood, his first walks had been to explore the depths
of his native forest, and the first application of his intelligence was
that of making war upon the animals by which it was inhabited.
The result of this application, thus directed towards one sole object,
was, that at ten years old Pitou was a very distinguished poacher,
and a bird-catcher of the first order ; and that almost without any
labour, and above all, without receiving lessons from any one, but
by the sole power of that instinct given by nature to man when born
in the midst of woods, and which would seem to be a portion of that
same instinct with which he has endowed the animal kingdom. And
therefore every run of hare or rabbit within the circle of three leagues
was known to him, and not a marshy pool, where birds were wont
to drink, had escaped his investigation. In every direction were to
be seen the marks made by his pruning-knife on trees that were
adapted to catching birds by imitating their calls. From these dif-
ferent exercises it resulted that in some of them Pitou had attained
the most extraordinary skill.
Thanks to his long arms,and his prominent knees, which enabled
him to climb the largest standard trees, he would ascend to their
very summits, to take the highest nests, with an agility and a cer-
tainty which attracted the admiration of his companions, and which,
in a latitude nearer to the Equator, would have excited the esteem
even of monkeys. In that sport, so attractive even to grown people,
in which the bird-catcher inveigles the birds to light upon a tree set
with limed twigs, by imitating the cry of the jay or the owlet birds
which, among the plumed tribe, enjoy the bitter hatred of the whole
Aft A UNT IS NO T AL WA YS A MO THER. 1 1
species, and to such an extent that every sparrow, every finch or
tomtit, hastens at the call in the hope of plucking out a single feather
from the common enemy, and, for the most, leave all their own
Pitou's companions either made use of a natural owlet or a natural
jay, or with some particular plant formed a pipe, by aid of which
they managed to imitate the cry of either the one or the other of
these birds. But Pitou disdained all such preparations, despised
such petty subterfuges. It was upon his own resources that he
relied, it was with his own natural means that he drew them into the
snare, it was, in short, his own lips that modulated the shrieking
and discordant cries, which brought around him not only other birds,
but birds of the same species, who allowed themselves to be enticed,
we will not say by this note, but by this cry, so admirably did he
imitate it. As to the sport in the marshy pools, it was to Pitou the
easiest thing in the world, and he would certainly have despised it
as a pursuit of art had it been less productive as an object of profit.
But, notwithstanding the contempt with which he regarded this
sport, there was not one of the most expert in the art who could have
vied with Pitou in covering with fern a pool that was too extensive
to be completely laid that is the technical term ; none of them
knew so well as he how to give the proper inclination to his limed
twigs, so that the most cunning birds could not drink either over or
under them ; and, finally, none of them had that steadiness of hand
and that clear-sightedness which must ensure the due mixture,
though in scientifically unequal quantities, of the rosin, oil, and glue,
in order that the glue should not become either too fluid or too
brittle.
Now, as the estimation of the qualities of a man changes accord-
ing to the theatre on which these qualities are produced, and
according to the spectators before whom they are exhibited, Pitou,
in his own native village, Haramont, amidst his country neighbours
that is to say, men accustomed to demand of nature at least half
their resources, and, like all peasants, possessing an instinctive
hatred of civilisation, Pitou enjoyed such distinguished considera-
tion that his poor mother could not for a moment entertain the idea
that he was pursuing a wrong path, and although the most perfect
education that can be given, and at great expense, to a man, was not
precisely that which her son, a privileged person in this respect, had
given, gratis, to himself.
But when the good woman fell sick, when she felt that death was
approaching, when she understood that she was about to leave her
child alone and isolated in the world, she began to entertain doubts,
and looked around her for some one who would be the stay and the
support of the future orphan. She then remembered that ten years
before, a young man had knocked at her door in the middle of the
night, bringing with him a newly-born child, to take charge of which,
12 TAKING THE BASTILE.
he had not only given her a tolerably good round sum, but had
deposited a still larger sum for the benefit of the child with a notary
at Villers-Cotterets. All that she had then known of this mysterious
young man was that his name was Gilbert ; but about three years
previous to her falling ill he had reappeared. He was then a man
about twenty-seven years of age, somewhat stiff in his demeanour,
dogmatical in his conversation, and cold in his manner ; but this first
layer of ice melted at once when his child was brought to him, on
finding that he was hale, hearty, and smiling, and brought up in the
way in which he had directed that is to say, as a child of nature.
He then pressed the hand of the good woman and merely said to her :
" In the hour of need calculate upon me."
Then he had taken the child, had inquired the way to Ermenon-
ville, and with his son performed the pilgrimage to the tomb of
Rousseau, after which he returned to Villers-Cotterets. Then,
seduced, no doubt, by the wholesome air he breathed there, by the
favourable manner in which the notary had spoken of the school under
the charge of the Abbd Fortier, he had left little Gilbert with the
worthy man, whose philosophic appearance had struck him at first
sight ; for at that period philosophy held such great sway that it had
insinuated itself even among churchmen.
After this he had set out again for Paris, leaving his address with
the Abbe" Fortier.
Pitou's mother was aware of all these circumstances. When at
the point of death, those words, ' In the hour of need calculate
upon me,' returned to her recollection. This was at once a ray of
light to her ; doubtless Providence had regulated all this in such a
manner that poor Pitou might find even more than he was about to
lose. She sent for the curate of the parish ; as she had never learned
to write, the curate wrote, and the same day the letter was taken to
the Abbe" Fortier, who immediately added Gilbert's address, and
took it to the post-office.
It was high time, for the poor woman died two days afterwards.
Pitou was too young to feel the full extent of the loss he had suffered.
He wept for his mother, not from comprehending the eternal separa-
tion of the grave, but because he saw his mother cold, pale, disfigured.
Then the poor lad felt instinctively that the guardian angel of their
hearth had flown from it ; that the house, deprived of his mother,
had become deserted and uninhabitable. Not only could he not
comprehend what was to be his future fate, but even how he was to
exist the following day. Therefore, after following his mother's
toffin to the churchyard, when the earth, thrown into the grave,
resounded upon its lid, when the modest mound that covered it had
been rounded off, he sat down upon it, and replied to every observa-
tion that was made to him as to his leaving it, by shaking his head
and saying that he had never left his mother, and that he would
remain where she remained.
AN A UNT JS NOT ALWAVS A MO THER. 1 3
He stayed during the whole of that day and night, seated upon
his mother's grave.
It was there that the worthy Doctor Gilbert but have we already
informed the reader that the future protector of Pitou was a physi-
cian ? it was there that the worthy doctor found him, when, feeling
the full extent of the duty imposed upon him by the promise he had
made, he had hastened to fulfil it, and this within forty- eight hours
after the letter had been despatched.
Ange was very young when he had first seen the doctor, but it is
well known that the impressions received in youth are so strong that
they leave eternal reminiscences. Then thepassage of the mysterious
young man had left its trace in the house. He had there left the
young child of whom we have spoken, and with him comparative
ease and comfort ; every time that Ange had heard his mother
pronounce the name of Gilbert, it had been with a feeling that
approached to adoration ; then again, when he had re-appeared at
the house a grown man, and with the title of doctor, when he had
added to the benefits he had showered upon it the promise of future
protection, Pitou had comprehended, from the fervent gratitude of
his mother, that he himself ought also to be grateful, and the poor
youth, without precisely understanding what he was saying, had
stammered out the words of eternal remembrance and profound
gratitude which had before been uttered by his mother.
Therefore, as soon as he saw the doctor appear at the grated
gate of the cemetery, and saw him advancing towards him amid
the mossy graves and broken crosses, he recognised him, rose
up and went to meet him, for he understood that to the person
who had thus come on being called for by his mother, he could
not say no, as he had done to others ; he therefore made no
farther resistance than that of turning back to give a last look at
the grave, when Gilbert took him by the hand and gently drew him
away from the gloomy inclosure. An elegant cabriolet was standing
at the gate ; he made the poor child get into it, and for the moment
leaving the house of Pitou's mother under the guardianship of pub-
lic faith and the interest which misfortune always inspires, he drove
his young protege to the town and alighted with him at the best inn,
which at that time was called ' The Dauphin.' He was scarcely in-
stalled there when he sent for a tailor, who, having been forewarned,
brought with him a quantity of ready-made clothes. He, with due
precaution, selected for Pitou garments which were too long for him
by two or three inches, a superfluity which, from the rate at which
our hero was growing, promised not to be of long duration. After
this, he walked with him towards that quarter of the town which we
have designated as the pious quarter.
The nearer Pitou approached this quarter, the slower did his
steps become, for it was evident that he was about to be conducted
to the house of his aunt Angelique ; and, notwithstanding that he
14 TAKING THE BASTILE.
had but seldom seen his god-mother -for it was Aunt Angelique
who had bestowed on Pitou his poetical Christian name he had
retained a very formidable remembrance of his respectable relative.
And in fact there was nothing about Aunt Angelique that could be
in any way attractive to a child accustomed to all the tender care of
maternal solicitude. Aunt Angelique was at that time an old maid
between fifty-five and fifty-eight years of age, stultified by the most
minute practices of religious bigotry, and in whom an ill-understood
piety had inverted every charitable, merciful, and humane feeling,
to cultivate in their stead a natural dose of avaricious intelligence,
which was increased day by day from her constant intercourse with
the bigoted old gossips of the town. She did not precisely live on
charity ; but besides the sale of the thread she spun upon her wheel,
and the letting out of chairs in the church, which office had been
granted to her by the chapter, she from time to time received from
pious souls, who allowed themselves to be deceived by her preten-
sions to religion, small sums, which from their original copper she
converted into silver, and then from silver into golden louis, which
disappeared not only without any person seeing them disappear,
but without any one ever suspecting their existence, and which were
buried, one by one, in the cushion of the arm-chair upon which she
sat to work ; and when once in this hiding-place, they rejoined by
degrees a certain number of their fellow-coins, which had been
gathered one by one, and like them destined thenceforth to be se-
questered from circulation, until the unknown day of the death of
the old maid should place them in the hands of her heir.
It was, then, towards the abode of this venerable relation that
Doctor Gilbert was advancing, leading the great Pitou by the hand.
We say the great Pitou, because from three months after his birth
Pitou had been too tall for his age.
Mademoiselle Rose Angelique Pitou, at the moment when her
door opened to give ingress to her nephew and the doctor, was in a
perfect transport of joyous humour. While they were singing mass
for the dead over the dead body of her sister-in-law in the church at
Haramont, there was a wedding and several baptisms in the church
of Villers-Cottere'ts, so that her chair-letting had in a single day
amounted to six livres. Mademoiselle Angelique had therefore
converted her pence into a silver crown, which, in its turn, added to
three others which had been put by at different periods, had gives
her a golden louis. This louis had at this precise moment been
sent to rejoin the others in the chair cushion, and these days
of reunion were naturally days of high festivity to Mademoiselle
Angelique.
It was at the moment, and after having opened her door, which
had been closed during the important operation, and Aunt Angelique
had taken a last walk round her arm-chair to assure herself that no
external demonstration could reveal the existence of the treasure
concealed within, that the doctor and Pitou entered.
AN AUNT IS NOT ALWA YS A MOTHER. 15
The scene might have been particularly affecting ; but in the eyes
of a man who was so perspicacious an observer as Dr. Gilbert, it
was merely grotesque. On perceiving her nephew, the old bigot
uttered a few words about her poor dear sister, whom she had loved
so much ; and then she appeared to wipe away a tear. On his side
the doctor, who wished to examine the deepest recesses of the old
maid's heart before coming to any determination with respect to
her, took upon himself to utter a sort of sermon on the duties of
aunts towards their nephews. But by degrees, as the sermon was
progressing and the unctuous words fell from the doctor's lips, the
arid eyes of the old maid drank up the imperceptible tear which
had moistened them ; all her features resumed the dryness of parch-
ment, with which they appeared to be covered ; she raised her left
hand to the height of her pointed chin, and with the right hand she
began to calculate on her skinny fingers the quantity of pence which
her letting of chairs produced to her per annum. So that chance
having so directed it that her calculation had terminated at the
same time with the doctor's sermon, she could reply at the very
moment, that whatever might have been the love she entertained
for her poor sister, and the degree of interest she might feel for her
dear nephew, the mediocrity of her receipts did not permit her, not-
withstanding her double title of aunt and godmother, to incur any
increased expense.
The doctor, however, was prepared for this refusal. It did not,
therefore, in any way surprise him. He was a great advocate for
new ideas ; and as the first volume of Lavater had just then ap-
peared, he had already applied the physiognomic doctrines of the
Zurich philosopher to the yellow and skinny features of Mademoiselle
Angelique.
The result of this examination was, that the doctor felt assured,
from the small sharp eyes of the old maid, her long and pmched-up
nose and thin lips, that she united in her single person the three
sins of avarice, selfishness, and hypocrisy.
Her answer, as we have said, did not cause any species of aston-
ishment. However, he wished to convince himself, in his quality of
observer of human nature, how far the devotee would carry the de-
velopment of these three defects.
' But, mademoiselle,' said he, ' Ange Pitou is a poor orphan
child, the son of your own brother, and in the name of humanity
you cannot abandon your brother's son to be dependent on public
charity. 1
' Well, now, listen to me, Monsieur Gilbert,' said the old maid ;
' it would be an increase of expense of at least six sous a day, and
that at the lowest calculation ; for that great fellow would eat at
least a pound of bread a day.'
Pitou made a wry face : he was in the habit of eating a pound and
a half at his breakfast alone.
16 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' And without calculating the soap for his washing,' added Made-
moiselle Angelique ; ' and I recollect that he is a sad one for dirtying
clothes.'
In fact, Pitou did sadly dirty his clothes, and that is very conceiv-
able, when we remember the life he had led, climbing trees and lying
down in marshes ; but we must render him this justice, that he tore
his clothes even more than he soiled them.
' Oh ! fie, mademoiselle,' cried the doctor, ' fie ! Mademoiselle
Angelique. Can you, who so well practise Christian charity, enter
into such minute calculations with regard to your own nephew ?'
'And without calculating the cost of his clothes, 3 cried the old
devotee most energetically, who suddenly remembered having seen
her sister Madeline busily employed in sewing patches on her
nephew's jacket and knee-caps on his small-clothes.
' Then,' said the doctor, ' am I to understand that you refuse to
take charge of your nephew ? The orphan who has been repulsed
from his aunt's threshold will be compelled to beg for alms at the
threshold of strangers.'
Mademoiselle Angelique, notwithstanding her avarice, was alive
to the odium which would naturally attach to her, if from her refusal
to receive her nephew he should be compelled to have recourse to
such an extremity.
' No,' said she, ' I will take charge of him.'
'Ah !' exclaimed the doctor, happy to find a single good feeling in
a heart which he had thought completely withered.
' Yes,' continued the devotee, ' I will recommend him to tbe
Augustin Friars at Bourg Fontaine, and he shall enter their monas-
tery as a lay-servant.'
We have already said that the doctor was a philosopher. We
know what was the meaning of the word philosopher in those days.
He therefore instantly resolved to snatch a neophyte from the
Augustin brotherhood, and that with as much zealous fervour as the
Augustins, on their side, could have displayed in carrying off an
adept from the philosopher.
' Well, then,' he rejoined, plunging his hand into his deep pocket,
' since you are in such a position of pecuniary difficulty, my dear
Mademoiselle Angelique, as to be compelled, from your deficiency
in personal resources, to recommend your nephew to the charity of
others, I will seek elsewhere for some one who can more efficaciously
than yourself apply to the maintenance of your nephew the sum
which I had designed for him. I am obliged to return to America.
I will, before I set out, apprentice your nephew Pitou to some
joiner, or a smith. He shall, however, himself choose the trade
for which he feels a vocation. During my absence he will grow
bigger, and on my return he will already have become acquainted
with his business, and then why, I shall see what can be made of
him. Come my child, kiss your aunt,' continued the doctor, ' and
let us be off at once.'
AN A UNT IS NOT AL WA YS A MOTHER. ij
The doctor had not concluded the sentence when Pitou rushed
towards the antiquated spinster ; his long arms were extended, and
he was in fact most eager to embrace his aunt, on the condition
that this kiss was to be the signal, between him and her, of an
eternal separation.
But at the words, THE SUM, the gesture with which the doctor had
accompanied it, the thrusting his hand into his pocket, the silvery
sound which that hand had incontinently given to a heap of crown
pieces, the amount of which might have been estimated by the
tension of the pocket, the old maid had felt the fire of cupidity mount
even to her heart.
' Oh !' cried she. ' my dear Monsieur Gilbert, you must be well
aware of one thing.'
' And what is that ?' asked the doctor.
' Why, good heaven ! that no one in the world can love this
poor child half so much as I do.'
And entwining her scraggy arms round Pitou's neck, she im-
printed a sour kiss on each of his cheeks, which made him shudder
from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair.
' Oh ! certainly,' replied the doctor, ' I know that well, and I so
little doubted your affection for him that I brought him at once to
you as his natural support. But that which you have just said to
me, dear mademoiselle, has convinced me at the same time of your
good-will and of your inability, and I see clearly that you are too
poor to aid those who are poorer than yourself.'
' Why, my good Monsieur Giloert,' rejoined the old devotee,
' there is a merciful God in heaven, and from heaven does he not
feed all his creatures ?'
' That is true,' replied Gilbert ; ' but although he gives food to the
ravens, he does not put out orphans as apprentices. Now, this is
what must be done for Ange Pitou, and this, with your small means,
would doubtless cost you too much.'
' But yet, if you were to give that sum, good Monsieur
Gilbert.'
' What sum ?'
' The sum of which you spoke, the sum which is there in your
pocket,' added the devotee, stretching her crooked finger toward
the doctor's coat.
' I will assuredly give it, dear Mademoiselle Angelique,' said the
doctor ; 'but I forewarn you it will be on one condition.'
' And what is that ?*
' That the boy shall have a profession.'
' He shall have one, and that I promise you on the faith of
Angelique Pitou, most worthy doctor,' cried the devotee, her eyes
riveted on the pocket which was swaying to and fro.
' You promise it ?
1 1 promise you it shall be so.'
18 TAKING THE BASTILE.
1 Seriously, is it not ?'
' On the truth of the living God, my dear Monsieur Gilbert, I
swear to do it.'
And Mademoiselle Angelique horizontally extended her emaci-
ated hand.
' Well, then, be it so,' said the doctor, drawing from his pocket a
well-rounded bag ; ' 1 am ready to give the money, as you see. On
your side, are you ready to make yourself responsible to me for the
child ?'
' Upon the true cross, Monsieur Gilbert.'
' Do not let us swear so much, dear mademoiselle, but let us sign
a little more.'
' I will sign, Monsieur Gilbert, I will sign.'
' Before a notary ?
1 Before a notary.
' Well, then, let us go at once to Papa Niguet.'
Papa Niguet, to whom, thanks to his long acquaintance with
him, the doctor applied this friendly title, was, as those know who
are familiar with our work entitled 'Joseph Balsamo,' the notary of
greatest reputation in the town.
Mademoiselle Angelique, of whom Master Niguet was also the
notary, had no objection to offer to the choice made by the doctor.
She followed him therefore to the notary's office. There the
scrivener registered the promise made by Mademoiselle Rose
Angelique Pitou, to take charge of and to place in the exercise of
an honourable profession Louis Ange Pitou, her nephew, and so
doing should annually receive the sum of two hundred livres. The
contract was made for five years ; the doctor deposited eight
hundred livres in the hands of the notary, the other two hundred
were to be paid to Mademoiselle Angelique in advance.
The following day the doctor left Villers-Cotterets, after having
settled some accounts with one of his farmers, with regard to
whom we shall speak hereafter. And Mademoiselle Pitou, pounc-
ing like a vulture upon the aforesaid two hundred livres payable
in advance, deposited eight golden louis in the cushion of her
arm-chair.
As to the eight livres which remained, they waited, in a small
delf saucer which had, during the last thirty or forty years, been the
receptacle of clouds of coins of every description, until the harvest
of the following two or three Sundays had made up the sum of
twenty-four livres, on attaining which, as we have already stated,
the above-named sum underwent the golden metamorphosis, and
passed from the saucer into the arm-chair.
ANGE P1TOU AT HIS A UN7 'S. 19
CHAPTER III.
ANGE PITOU AT HIS AUNT'S.
WE have observed the very slight degree of inclination which Ange
Pitou felt towards a long-continued sojourn with his aunt Angelique ;
the poor child, endowed with instinct equal to, and perhaps superior
to, that of the animals against whom he continually made war, had
divined at once, we will not say all the disappointments we have
seen that he did not for a single moment delude himself upon the
subject but all the vexations, tribulations, and annoyances to
which he would be exposed.
In the first place but we must admit that this was by no means
the reason which most influenced Pitou to dislike his aunt Doctor
Gilbert having left Villers-Cottere'ts, there never was a word said
about placing the child as an apprentice. The good notary had
indeed given her a hint or two with regard to her formal obligation ;
but Mademoiselle Angelique had replied that her nephew was very
young, and, above all, that his health was too delicate to be sub-
jected to labour which would probably be beyond his strength.
The notary, on hearing this observation, had in good faith admired
the kindness of heart of Mademoiselle Pitou, and had deferred
taking any steps as to the apprenticeship until the following year.
There was no time lost, the child being then only in his twelfth
year.
Once installed at his aunt's, and while the latter was ruminating
as to the mode she should adopt whereby to make the most of her
dear nephew, Pitou, who onee more found himself in his forest, or
very near to it, had already made his topographical observations in
order to lead the same life at Villers-Cotterets as at Haramont.
In fact, he had made a circuit of the neighbourhood, in which
he had convinced himself that the best pools were those on the
road to Damploux, that to Compiegne and that to Vivieres, and
that the best district for game was that of the Bruyere-aux-Loups.
Pitou, having made this survey, took all the necessary measures
for pursuing his juvenile sport.
The thing most easy to be procured, as it did not require any
outlay of capital, was bird-lime ; the bark of the holly, brayed in a
mortar and steeped in water, gave the lime ; and as to the twigs to
be limed, they were to be found by thousands on every birch-tree
in the neighbourhood. Pitou therefore manufactured, without saying
a word to any one on the subject, a thousand of limed twigs and a
pot of glue of the first quality ; and one fine morning, after having
the previous evening taken, on his aunt's account at the baker's, a
four-pound loaf, he set off at day-break, remained out the whole
day, and returned home when the evening had closed in.
20 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Pitou had not formed such a resolution without duly calculating
the effect it would produce. He had foreseen a tempest. Without
possessing the wisdom of Socrates, he knew the temper of his aunt
Angelique as well as the illustrious tutor of Alcibiades knew that
of his wife Xantippe.
Pitou had not deceived himself in his foresight, but he thought
he would be able to brave the storm by presenting to the old de-
votee the produce of his day's sport ; only he had not been able to
foretell from what spot the thunder would be hurled at him.
The thunderbolt struck him immediately on entering the house.
Mademoiselle Angelique had ensconced herself behind the door,
that she might not miss her nephew as he entered, so that at the
very moment he ventured to put his foot into the room, he re-
ceived a cuff upon the occiput, and in which, without farther
information, he at once recognised the withered hand of the old
devotee.
Fortunately, Pitou's head was a tolerably hard one, and, although
the blow had scarcely staggered him, he made believe, in order to
mollify his aunt, whose anger had increased from having hurt her
fingers in striking with such violence, to fall, stumbling as he went,
at the opposite end of the room ; there, seated on the floor, and seeing
that his aunt was returning to the assault, her distaff in her hand,
he hastened to draw from his pocket the talisman on which he had
relied to allay the storm, and obtain pardon for his flight. And this
was two dozen of birds, among which were a dozen red-breasts and
half-a-dozen thrushes.
Mademoiselle Angelique, perfectly astounded, opened her eyes
widely, continuing to scold for form's sake ; but although still
scolding, she took possession of her nephew's sport, retreating three
paces towards the lamp.
4 What is all this ?' she asked.
' You must see clearly enough, my dear little aunt Angelique,'
replied Pitou, ' that they are birds.'
' Good to eat ? eagerly inquired the old maid, who, in her quality
of devotee, was naturally a great eater.
' Good to eat !' reiterated Pitou ; ' well, that is singular. Red-
breasts and thrushes good to eat ! I believe they are, indeed !'
' And where did you steal these birds, you little wretch ?
' I did not steal them ; I caught them.'
' Caught them ! how ?'
' By lime-twigging them.'
' Lime-twigging what do you mean by that ?'
Pitou looked at his aunt with an air of astonishment ; he could
not comprehend that the education of any person in existence
could have been so neglected as not to know the meaning of lime-
twigging.
' Lime-twigging ?' said he ; ' why, zounds, 'tis lime-twigging.'
ANGE PI70U AT HIS AUNT'S. tl
* Yes, but saucy fellow, I do not understand what you mean by
lime-twigging.'
' Well, you see, aunt, in the forest here there are at least thirty
small pools ; you place the lime twigs around them, and when the
birds go to drink there, as they do not, poor silly things, know any-
thing about them, they run their heads into them and are caught.'
' By what ?
' By the birdlime.'
' Ah ! ah !' exclaimed Aunt Angelique, ' I understand ; but who
gave you the money ?'
' Money !' cried fitou, astonished that any one could have
believed that he had ever possessed a penny ; ' money, Aunt
Angelique ?'
' Yes.'
' No one.'
' But where did you buy the birdlime, then i"
' I made it myself.'
' And the lime twigs ?'
' I made them also, to be sure.'
' Therefore, these birds
4 Well, aunt ?
1 Cost you nothing ?
1 The trouble of stooping to pick them up.'
' And can you go often to these pools r*
' One might go every day.'
' Good !'
' Only, it would not do.'
' What would not do ?'
' To go there every day.'
' And for what reason ?'
' Why, because it would ruin it.'
' Ruin what ?'
' The lime-twigging. You understand, Aunt Angelique, that the
birds which are caught '
' Well ?'
' Well, they can't return to the pool.'
' That is true/ said the aunt.
This was the first time, since Pitou had lived with her, that Aunt
Angelique had allowed her nephew was in the right, and this unac-
customed approbation perfectly delighted him.
' But,' said he, ' the days that one does not go to the pools one
goes somewhere else. The days we do not catch birds, we catch
something else.'
' And what do you catch ?'
' Why, we catch rabbits.'
' Rabbits ?'
' Yes, we eat the rabbits and sell their skins. A rabbit-skin is
worth two sous.'
2 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Aunt Angelicjue gazed at her nephew with astonished eyes ; she
had never considered him so great an economist. Pitou had sud-
denly revealed himself.
' But will it not be my business to sell the skins ?
( Undoubtedly,' replied Pitou ; 'as Mamma Madeline used to do.'
It had never entered the mind of the boy that he could claim
any part of the produce of his sport excepting that which he con-
sumed.
' And when will you go out to catch rabbits ?'
' Ah .! that's another matter when I can get the wires, 5 replied
Pitou.
' Well, then, make the wires.'
Pitou shook his head.
' Why, you made the birdlime and the twigs.'
' Oh ! yes, I can make birdlime and I can set the twigs, but I can-
not make brass wire ; that is bought ready made at the grocer's.'
' And how much does it cost ?*
' Oh ! for four sous,' replied Pitou, calculating upon his fingers, i I
could make at least two dozen.'
' And with two dozen how many rabbits could you catch ?
' That is as it may happen four, five, six, perhaps and they
can be used over and over again if the gamekeeper does not find
them.'
' See, now, here are four sous,' said Aunt Angelique ; ' go and
buy some brass wire at M. Dambrun's, and go to-morrow and catch
rabbits/
; I will lay them to-morrow,' said Pitou, ; but it will only be the
next morning that I shall know whether I have caught any.'
' Weil, be it so ; but go and buy the wire.'
Brass wire was cheaper at Villers-Cotterets than in the country,
seeing that the grocers at Haramont purchased their supplies
in the town ; Pitou, therefore, bought wire enough for twenty-
four snares for three sous. He took the remaining penny back
to his aunt.
This unexpected probity in her nephew almost touched the heart
of the old maid. For a moment she had the idea, the intention, of
bestowing upon her nephew the penny which he had not expended;
unfortunately for Pitou, it was one that had been beaten out with a
hammer, and which, in the dusk, might be passed for a two sous
piece. Mademoiselle Angelique thought it would never do to dis-
possess herself of a. coin by which she could make cent, per cent.,
and she let it drop again into her pocket.
Pitou had remarked this hesitation, but had not analysed it ; he
never could have imagined that his aunt would give him a penny.
He at once set to work to make his wires. The next day he asked
his aunt for a bag.
' What for ? inquired Mademoiselle Angelique.
A NGE PI TO U A T HIS A UNT'S. 2 3
'Because I want it,' replied Pitou. Pitou was full of mystery.
Mademoiselle Angelique gave him the required bag, put into it
the provision of bread and cheese which was to serve for breakfast
and dinner to her nephew, who set out very early for the Bruyere-
aux-Loups.
As to Aunt Angelique, she set to work to pick the twelve red-
breasts which she had destined for her own breakfast and dinner.
She carried two thrushes to the Abbd Fortier, and sold the remain-
ing four to the host of the ' Golden Ball/ who paid her three sous
apiece for them, promising her to take as many as she would bring
him at the same price.
Aunt Angelique returned home transported with joy. The bless-
ing of heaven had entered beneath her roof with Ange Pitou.
' Ah !' cried she, while eating her robin-redbreasts, which were as
fat as ortolans and as delicate as beccaficos, ' people are right in
saying that a good deed never goes unrewarded.'
In the evening Ange returned ; his bag, which was magnifi-
cently rounded, he carried on his shoulders. On this occasion
Aunt Angelique did not waylay him behind the door, but waited
for him on the threshold, and instead of giving him a box on the ear,
she received the lad with a grimace which very much resembled a
smile.
' Here I am !' cried Pitou, on entering the room with all that
firmness which denot*.s a conviction of having well employed one's
time.
' You and your bag,' said Aunt Angelique.
' I and my bag,' said Pitou.
' And what have you in your bag ?' inquired Aunt Angelique,
stretching forth her hand with curiosity.
' Beech-mast,' said Pitou.*
' Beech-mast !'
' Undoubtedly ; you must understand, Aunt Angelique, that if old
Father La Jeunesse, the gamekeeper at the Bruyere-aux-Loups, had
seen me prowling over his grounds without my bag, he would have
said to me, " What do you come here after, you little vagabond ?''
And this without calculating that he might have suspected some-
thing ; while having my bag, were he to ask me what I was doing
there, I should say to him, "Why, I am come to gather mast is it
forbidden to gather mast?" " No." "Well, then, if it is not for-
* Beech-mast, we must inform our readers who are less acquainted with
forest terms than we are, is the fruit of the beech tree. This fruit, of which
a very good sort of oil is made, is, to the poor, a species of manna, which
during two months of the year falls for them from heaven.
(Dumas should also have told his readers that beech-mast is excellent for
pigs, and that pheasants, and indeed most kinds of game, are very fond of
it. TRANSLATOR.]
24 TAKING THE BASTILE.
bidden, you have nothing to say." And indeed, should he say any-
thing, Father La Jeunesse would be in the wrong.'
' Then you have spent your whole day in gathering mast instead
of laying your wires, you idle fellow !' exclaimed Aunt Angelique
angrily, who, amidst all the cunning of her nephew, thought that the
rabbits were escaping her.
' On the contrary, I laid my snares while gathering the mast, so
that he saw me at work at it.'
' And did he say nothing to you ?
1 Oh yes ; he said to me, you will present my compliments to
your aunt, Pitou. Hey ! Is not Father La Jeunesse a kind, good
man ?
' But the rabbits ? again repeated the old devotee, whom nothing
could divert from her fixed idea.
' The rabbits ? Why, the moon will rise at midnight, and at one
o'clock I will go and see if there are any caught.'
' Where ?
' In the woods.'
' How ! would you go into the woods at one o'clock in the morn-
ing ?'
' To be sure.'
' And without being afraid ?'
' Afraid ! of what ?
Angelique was as much astounded at Pitou's courage as she had
been astonished at his calculations.
The fact is, that Pitou, as simple as a child of nature, knew
nothing of those fictitious dangers which terrify children born in
cities.
Therefore at midnight he went his way, walking along the
churchyard wall without once looking back. The innocent youth
who had never offended, at least according to his ideas of inde-
pendence, either God or man, feared not the dead more than he did
the living.
There was only one person of whom he felt any sort of apprehen-
sion, and this was Father La Jeunesse ; and therefore did he take
the precaution to go somewhat out of his way to pass by his
house. As the doors and shutters were all closed, and there was no
light to be perceived, Pitou, in order to assure himself that the keeper
was really at home and not upon the watch, began to imitate the
barking of a dog, and so perfectly that Ronflot, the keeper's terrier,
was deceived by it, and answered it by giving tongue with all his
might, and by sniffing the air under the door.
From that moment Pitou was perfectly reassured ; as Ronflot was
at home, Father La Jeunesse must be there also. Ronflot and
Father La Jeunesse were inseparable ; and at the moment the
one was seen, it was certain that the other would soon make his
appearance.
ANGE P1TOU A T HIS A UNT'S. 25
Pitou, being perfectly satisfied of this fact, went on the Bruyere-
aux-Loups. The snares had done their work ; two rabbits had been
caught and strangled.
Pitou put them into the capacious pocket of that coat, which, then
too long for him, was destined within a year to become too short,
and then returned to his aunt's house.
The old maid had gone to bed ; but her cupidity had kept her
awake ; like Perrette, she had been calculating what her rabbit-
skins might produce, and this calculation had led her on so far,
that she had not been able to close her eyes ; and therefore was it
with nervous tremulation that she asked the boy what success he
had had.
' A couple,' said he. ' Ah ! the deuce, Aunt Angelique, it is not
my fault that I have not brought more, but it appears that Father
Jeunesse's rabbits are of a cunning sort.'
The hopes of Aunt Angelique were fulfilled, and even more.
She seized, trembling with joy, the two unlucky quadrupeds and
examined their skins, which had remained intact, and locked them
up in her meat-safe, which never had seen such provisions as those
it had contained since Pitou had hit upon the idea of supplying it.
Then, in a very honeyed tone, she advised Pitou to go to bed,
which the lad, who was much fatigued, did instantly, and that with-
out even asking for his supper, which raised him greatly in the
opinion of his aunt.
Two days after this Pitou renewed his attempts, and on this
occasion was more fortunate than the first. He brought home three
rabbits. Two of them took the road to the Golden Ball, and the
third that of the presbytery. Aunt Angelique was very attentive to
the Abb Fortier, who on his side strongly recommended her to the
pious souls of the parish.
Things went on in. this manner during three or four months. Aunt
Angelique was enchanted, and Pitou found his position somewhat
supportable. In fact, with the exception of the tender cares of his
mother, Pitou led nearly the same life at Villers-Cottere'ts which he
had done at Haramont. But an unexpected circumstance, which,
however, might nave been foreseen, at once dashed to the ground
the milk pitcher ot the aunt, and put a stop to the excursions of the
nephew.
A letter had been received from Doctor Gilbert, dated from New
York. On placing his foot on the soil of the United States the
philosophic traveller had not forgotten his prote'ge'. He had written
to Master Niguet, the notary, to inquire whether his instructions had
been carried into effect, and to claim the execution of the agreement
if they had not been, or to cancel it altogether, if the old aunt would
not abide by her engagements.
The case was a serious one ; the responsibility of the public officer
was at stake ; he presented himself at the house of Aunt Pitou, and
3
26 TAKING THE BASTILE.
with the doctor's letter in his hand called upon her to perform the
promise she had made.
There was no backing out ; all allegations as to ill-health were at
once belied by the physical appearance of Pitou. Pitou was tall and
thin. Every standel of the forest was also thin and tall, but this
did not prevent them from being in a perfectly healthy and thriving
condition.
Mademoiselle Angelique asked for a delay of eight days, in order
to make up her mind as to the trade or occupation in which she
should place her nephew.
Pitou was quite as sorrowful as his aunt. The mode of life he
led appeared to him a very excellent one, and he did not desire any
other.
During these eight days there was no thought of going bird-
catching or poaching ; moreover, the winter had arrived, and in
winter the birds find water everywhere ; but some snow had fallen,
and while that was on the ground Pitou did not dare go out to lay
his snares. Snow retains the impression of footsteps, and Pitou
possessed a pair of feet so huge that they gave Father La Jeunesse
the greatest possible chance of ascertaining in four-and-twenty
hours who was the skilful poacher who had depopulated his rabbit
warren.
During these eight days the claws of the old maid again showed
themselves. Pitou had once more found the aunt of former days,
she who had caused him so much terror and whom self-interest,
the primum mobile of her whole life, had for awhile rendered as
smooth as velvet.
As the day for the important decision approached, the temper of
the old maid became more and more crabbed, and to such a degree
that, about the fifth day, Pitou sincerely desired that his aunt would
immediately decide upon some trade, be it what it might, provided
it should no longer be that of the scolded drudge which he had been
filling in the old maid's house.
Suddenly a sublime idea struck the mind of the old woman who
had been so cruelly agitated. This idea restored her equanimity,
which for six days had altogether abandoned her.
This idea consisted in entreating the Abbs' Fortier to receive int
his school, and this without any remuneration whatever, poor Pitou,
and enable him to obtain the purse for entering the seminary,
founded by his highness the Duke of Orleans. This was an
apprenticeship which would cost nothing to Aunt Angelique ; and M.
Fortier, without taking into calculation the thrushes, black-birds,
and rabbits with which the old devotee had so abundantly supplied
him for the last month, was bound to do something, more than for
any other, for the nephew of the chair-letter of his own church.
Thus kept as under a glass frame, Ange would continue to be pro-
fitable to her at the present time, and promised to be much more so
in the future.
4NGE PITO U AT HIS A L/JVT'S. 27
Consequently, Ange was received into the Abbe' Fortier's school,
without any charge for his education. This abbe* was a worthy
man, and not in any way interested, giving his knowledge to the
poor in mind, and his money to the poor in body. He was, however,
intractable on one single point : solecisms rendered him altogether
furious, barbarisms would send him almost out of his mind ; on these
occasions he considered neither friends nor foes, neither poor nor rich,
nor paying pupils, nor gratuitous scholars ; he struck all with agrarian
impartiality and with Lacedemonian stoicism, and as his arm was
strong, he struck severely.
This was well known to the parents, and it was for them to decide
whether they would or would not send their sons to theAbbd Fortier's
school, or if they did send them there, they knew they must abandon
them entirely to his mercy, for when any maternal complaint was
made to him. the abbd always replied to it by this device, which he
had engraved on the handle of his cane, and on that of his cat-o'-
nine-tails, ' Who loves well chastises well?
Upon the recommendation of his aunt, Ange Pitou was therefore
received by the Abbe" Fortier. The old devotee, quite proud of this
reception, which was much less agreeable to Pitou, whose wandering
and independent mode of life it altogether destroyed, presented
herself to Master Niguet, and told him that she had not .only con-
formed to her agreement with Dr. Gilbert, but had even gone beyond
it. In fact, Dr. Gilbert had demanded for Ange Pitou an honourable
means of living, and she gave him much more than this, since she
gave him an excellent education. And where was it that she gave
him this education ? Why, in the very academy in which Sebastian
Gilbert received his, and for which Master Niguet, by the doctor's
orders, paid fifty livres per month.
It was indeed true that Ange Pitou received his education gratis ;
but there was no necessity whatever for letting Dr. Gilbert into this
secret. The impartiality and the disinterestedness of the Abbd
Fortier were well known ; as his sublime Master, he stretched out
his arms saying, ' Suffer little children to come unto me ;' only the
two hands affixed to these two paternal arms, were armed, the one with
a rudiment, and the other with a large birch rod ; so that in the greater
number of instances, instead of receiving the children weeping and
sending them away consoled, the Abb Fortier saw the children
approach him with terror in their countenances and sent them away
weeping.
The new scholar made his entrance into the school-room with an
old trunk under his arm, a horn inkstand in his hand, and two or
three stumps of pens stuck behind his ears. The old trunk was
intended to supply, as it best might, the absence of a regular desk.
The inkstand was a gift from the grocer, and Mademoiselle Ange-
lique had picked up the stumps of pens at M. Niguet, the notary's,
when she had paid him a visit the evening before.
28 TAKING THE BASTILE,
Ange Pitou was welcomed with that fraternal gentleness which
is born in children and perpetuated in grown men, that is to say
with hootings. The whole time devoted to the morning class was
passed in making game of him. Two of the scholars were kept
for laughing at his yellow hair, and two others for ridiculing his
marvellous knees, of which we have already slightly made mention.
The two latter had said that Pitou's legs looked like a well rope in
which a knot had been tied. This jest was attended with great
success, had gone round the room and excited general hilarity, and
consequently the susceptibility of the Abb Fortier.
Therefore, the account being made up at noon when about to
leave the school, that is to say, after having remained four hours in
class, Pitou, without having addressed a single word to any one,
without having done anything but gape behind his trunk, Pitou had
made six enemies in the school ; six enemies, so much the more
inveterate that he had not inflicted any wrong upon them, and
therefore did they over the fire-stove, which in the school-room
represented the altar of their country, swear a solemn oath, some
to tear out his yellow hair, others to punch out his earthenware blue
eyes, and the remainder to straighten his crooked knees.
Pitou was altogether ignorant of these hostile intentions. As he
was going out he asked a boy near him, why six of their comrades
remained in school, when all the rest were leaving it.
The boy looked askance at Pitou ; called him a shabby tale-
bearer, and went away, unwilling to enter into conversation with him.
Pitou asked himself how it could have happened that he, not
having uttered a single word during the whole time, could be called
a shabby tale-bearer. But while the class had lasted he had heard
so many things said, either by the pupils or by the Abbe" Fortier,
which he could in no way comprehend, that he classed this accusa-
tion of his schoolfellow with those things which were too elevated
for him to understand.
On seeing Pitou return at noon, Aunt Angelique, with great
ardour for the success of an education for which it was generally
understood she made great sacrifices, inquired of him what he had
learned.
Pitou replied that he had learned to remain silent. The answer
was worthy of a Pythagorean ; only a Pythagorean would have made
it by a sign.
The new scholar returned to school at one o'clock without too
much repugnance. The hours of study in the morning had been
passed by the pupils in examining the physical appearance of Pitou ;
those of the afternoon were employed by the professor in examin-
ing his moral capabilities. This examination being made, the
Abb Fortier remained convinced that Pitou had every possible dis-
position to become a Robinson Crusoe, but very little chance of ever
becoming a Fontenelle or a Bossuet.
ANGE PI TO U AT HIS A UNT '5. 29
During the whole time that the class lasted, and which was much
more fatiguing to the future seminarist than that of the morning, the
scholars who had been punished on account of him repeatedly held
up their fists to him. In all countries, whether blessed with civilisa-
tion or not, this demonstration is considered as a sign of threat.
Pitou therefore determined to be on his guard.
Our hero was not mistaken. On leaving, or rather when he had
left, and got clear away from all the dependencies of the collegiate
house, it was notified to Pitou, before the six scholars who had been
kept in the morning, that he would have to pay for the two hours of
arbitrary detention, with damages, interest and capital.
Pitou at once understood that he would have to fight a pugilistic
duel. Although he was far from having studied the sixth book of
the yneid, in which young Dares and the old Entellus give proofs of
their great skill in this manly exercise before the loudly applauding
Trojan fugitives, he knew something of this species of recreation, to
which the country people in his village were not altogether strangers.
He therefore declared that he was ready to enter the lists with either
of his adversaries who might wish to begin, and to combat, succes-
sively, with all his six enemies. This demonstration began to raise
the last comer in the consideration of his schoolfellows.
The conditions were agreed on as Pitou had proposed. A circle
was soon formed round the place of combat, and the champions,
the one having thrown off his jacket, the other his coat, advanced
towards each other.
We have already spoken of Pitou's hands. These hands, which
were by no means agreeable to look at, were still less agreeable tc_
feel. Pitou at the end of each arm whirled round a fist equal in
size to a child's head, and although boxing had not at that time
been introduced in France, and consequently Pitou had not studied
the elementary principles of the science, he managed to apply to
one of the eyes of his adversary a blow so hermetically directed
that the eye he struck was instantly surrounded by a dark bistre-
coloured circle, so geometrically drawn that the most skilful mathe-
matician could not have formed it more correctly with his com-
passes.
The second then presented himself. If Pitou had against him
the fatigue occasioned by his first combat, on the other side, his
adversary was visibly less powerful than his former antagonist. Th
battle did not last long. Pitou gave a straightforward blow at his
enemy's nose, and his formidable fist fell with such weight, that in-
stantly his two nostrils gave evidence of the validity of the blow by
spouting forth a double stream of blood.
The third got off with merely a broken tooth ; he received much
less damage than the two former. The other three declared that
they were satisfied.
Pitou then pressed through the crowd, which drew back as he
30 TAKING THE BASTILE.
approached with the respect due to a conqueror, and he withdrew
safe and sound to his own fireside, or rather to that of his aunt.
The next morning, when the three pupils reached the school, the
one with his eye poached, the second with a fearfully lacerated nose,
and the third with his lips swelled, the Abbe" Fortier instituted an
inquiry. But young collegians have their good points too. Not one
of the wounded whispered a word against Pitou, and it was only
through an indirect channel, that is to say, from a person who had
been a witness of the fight, but who was altogether unconnected with
the school, that the Abbd Fortier learned, the following day. that it
was Pitou who had done the damage to the faces of his pupils,
which had caused him so much uneasiness the day before.
And in fact, the Abbe" Fortier was responsible -to the parents, not
only for the morals, but for the physical state of his pupils. Fortier
had received complaints from the three families. A reparation was
absolutely necessary. Pitou was kept in school three days : one
day for the eye, one day for the bloody nose, and one day for the
tooth.
This three days' detention suggested an ingenious idea to Made-
moiselle Angelique. It was to deprive Pitou of his dinner every time
that the Abb Fortier kept him in school. This determination must
necessarily have an advantageous effect on Pitou's education, since
it would naturally induce him to think twice before committing a
fault which would subject him to this double punishment.
Only, Pitou could never rightly comprehend why it was that he
had been called a tale-bearer, when he had not opened his lips, and
why it was he had been punished for beating those who had wished
to beat him ; but if people were to comprehend everything that
happens in this world, they would lose one of the principal charms
of life that of mystery and the unforeseen.
Pitou was therefore detained three days in school, and during
those three days he contented himself with his breakfast and
supper.
Contented himself is not the word, for Pitou was by no means
content ; but our language is so poor, and the academy so severe,
that we must content ourselves with what we have.
Only that this' punishment submitted"to by 1 Pito'iij without saying
a word of the aggression to which he had been subjected, and to
which he had only properly replied, won him the esteem of the
whole school. It is true that the three majestic blows he had been
seen to deliver might also have had sonic little influence on his
schoolfellows.
From that forward the life of Pitou was pretty nearly that of most
scholars, with this sole difference, that from his compositions being
more defective than those of any of the rest, he was kept twice as
often as any of his condisciples.
But, it must be said, there was one rhmg in Pitou's nature which
ANGE P1TOU A T HIS A UNT'S. 31
arose from the primary education he received, or rather from that
which he did not receive, a thing which is necessary to consider as
contributing at least a third to the numerous keepings he underwent,
and this was his natural inclination for animals.
The famous trunk which his Aunt Angelique had dignified with
the name of desk, had become, thanks to its vastness, and the nu-
merous compartments with which Pitou had decorated its interior,
a sort of Noah's ark, containing a couple of every species of climbing,
crawling, or flying reptiles. There were lizards, adders, ant-eaters,
beetles, and frogs, which reptiles became so much dearer to Pitou
from their being the cause of his being subjected to punishment
more or less severe.
It was in his walks during the week that Pitou made collections
for his menagerie. He had wished for salamanders, which were
very popular at Villers-Cotterts, being the crest of Francois I., and
who had them sculptured on every chimney-piece in the chateau.
He had succeeded in obtaining them ; only one thing had strongly
pre-occupied his mind, and he ended by placing this thing among
the number of those which were beyond his intelligence ; it was,
that he had constantly found in the water these reptiles which poets
have pretended exist only in fire. This circumstance had given to
Pitou, who was a lad of precise mind, a profound contempt for
poets.
Pitou being the proprietor of two salamanders, set to work to find
a cameleon ; but this time his search was altogether vain, and success
did not attend his labours. Pitou at last concluded, from these un-
fruitful researches, that the cameleon did not exist, or at all events,
that it existed in some other latitude.
This point being settled, Pitou did not obstinately continue his
search for the cameleon.
The two other thirds of Pilou's keepings-in were occasioned by
those accursed solecisms, and those confounded barbarisms, which
sprang up in the themes written by Pitou, as tares do in a field of
wheat.
As to Sundays and Thursdays, days when there was no attendance
at school, he had continued to employ them in laying his lime-twigs
or in poaching ; only, as Pitou was still growing taller, as he was
already five feet six, and sixteen years of age, a circumstance Oc-
curred which somewhat withdrew Pitou's attention from his favou-
rite occupations.
Upon the road to the Wolfs Heath is situated a small village, tbt
same perhaps which gave a name to the beautiful Anne d'Heilly,
the mistress of Francois I.
Near this village stood the farm-house of Father Billot, as he was
called throughout the neighbourhood, and at the door of this farm-
house was standing, no doubt by chance, but almost every time
when Pitou passed and repasse<?, a pretty girl from seventeen to
32 TAKING THE BASTILE.
eighteen years of age, fresh-coloured, lively, jovial, and who was
called by her baptismal name, Catherine, but still more frequently
after her father's name, La Billote.
Pitou began by bowing to La Billote ; afterwards, he by degrees
became emboldened, and smiled while he was bowing ; then at last,
one fine day, after having bowed, after having smiled, he stopped,
and although blushing deeply, ventured to stammer out the follow-
ing words, which he considered as great audacity on his part :
' Good day, Mademoiselle Catherine.'
Catherine was a good, kind-hearted girl, and she welcomed Pitou
as an old acquaintance. He was in point of fact an old acquain-
tance, for during two or three years she had seen him passing and
repassing before the farm-gate at least once a week. Only that
Catherine saw Pitou, and Pitou did not see Catherine. The reason
was, that at first when Pitou used to pass by the farm in this manner
Catherine was sixteen years old and Pitou but fourteen. We have
just seen what happened when Pitou in his turn had attained his
sixteenth year.
By degrees Catherine had learned to appreciate the talents oi
Pitou, for Pitou had given her evidence of his talents by offering to
her his finest birds and his fattest rabbits. The result of this was
that Catherine complimented him upon these talents, and that Pitou,
who was the more sensible to compliments from his being so little
habituated to receive them, allowed the charm of novelty to influence
him, and instead of going on straightforward, as heretofore, to the
Wolf's Heath, he would stop halfway, and instead of employing the
whole of his day in picking up beech-mast and in laying his wires,
he would lose his time in prowling round Father Billot's farm, in the
hope of seeing Catherine, were it only for a moment.
The result of this was a very sensible diminution in the produce
of rabbit-skins, and a complete scarcity of robin-redbreasts and
thrushes.
Aunt Angelique complained of this. Pitou represented to her
that the rabbits had become mistrustful, and that the birds, who had
found out the secret of his lime-twigs, now drank out of hollows of
trees, or out of leaves that retained the water.
There was one consideration which consoled Aunt Angelique for
this increase in the intelligence of the rabbits and the cunning of
the birds, which she attributed to the progress of philosophy, and
this was that her nephew would obtain the purse, enter the seminary,
pass three years there, and on leaving it would be an abbe". Now,
being housekeeper to an abbe" had been the constant aim of Made-
moiselle Angelique's ambition.
This ambition could not fail of being gratified, for Ange Pitou,
having once become an abbe", could not do otherwise than take
his aunt for housekeeper, and above all, after what his aunt had done
for him.
THE INFLUENCE OF A BARBARISM. 33
The only thing which disturbed the golden dreams of the old maid
was, when speaking of this hope to the Abb Fortier, the latter r<
plied, shaking his head :
' My dear Demoiselle Pitou, in order to become an abbe", you\
nephew should give himself up less to the study of natural history,
and much more to " De virus illustribus" or to the " Selecttz pro-
fanis scrtptortbus." '
'Aud which means ?* said Mademoiselle Angelique, inquiringly.
' That he makes too many barbarisms, and infinitely too many
solecisms,' replied the Abbe" Fortier.
An answer which left Mademoiselle Angelique in the most afflict-
ing state of vagueness and uncertainty
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE INFLUENCE WHICH A BARBARISM AND SEVEN SOLECISMS
MAY HAVE UPON THE WHOLE LIFE OF A. MAN.
THESE details were indispensable to the reader, whatever be the
degree of intelligence we suppose him to possess, in order that he
might comprehend the whole horror of the position in which Pitou
found himself on being finally expelled from the school.
With one arm hanging down, the other maintaining the equi-
librium of the trunk upon his head, his ears still ringing with the
furious vituperations of the Abbd Fortier, he slowly directed his
steps towards the Pleux, in a state of meditation which was nothing
more than stupor carried to the highest possible degree.
At last an idea presented itself to his imagination, and fourwords,
which composed his whole thought, escaped his lips :
' Oh Lord ! my aunt !'
And indeed what would Mademoiselle Angelique Pitou say to this
complete overthrow of all her hopes ?
However. Ange Pitou knew nothing of the projects of the old
maid, excepting as a faithful dog surmises the intentions of his
master, that is to say, by an inspection of his physiognomy. Instinct
is a most valuable guide it seldom deceives : while reason, on the
contrary, may be led astray by the imagination.
The result of these reflections on the part of Ange Pitou, and which
had given birth to the doleful exclamation we have given above, was
the apprehension of the violent outbreak of discontent the old maid
would give way to on receiving the fatal news. Now, he knew from
sad experience the result of discontent in Mademoiselle Angelique.
Only upon this occasion, the cause of discontent arising from an in-
calculably important event, the result would attain a degree alto-
gether incalculable.
It was under these terrific impressions that Pitou entered the
Pleux. He had taken a quarter of an hour to traverse the distance
34 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
n the great gate at the Abb Fortieth and the entrance to this
street, and yet it was scarcely three hundred yards.
At that moment the church clock struck twelve ; he then per-
ceived that his final conversation with the Abb Fortier and the
slowness with which he had walked, had delayed him in all sixty
minutes, and that consequently he was half an hour later than the
time at which no more dinner was to be had in Aunt Angelique's
abode.
We have already said that such was the salutary restraint which
Aunt Angelique had added to his being kept in school, and on the
wild ramblings of her nephew ; it was thus that in the course of a
year she managed to economise some sixty dinners at the expense
of her poor nephew's stomach.
But this time, that which rendered more uneasy the retarded
schoolboy was not the loss of his aunt's meagre dinner, although
his breakfast had been meagre enough, for his heart was too full to
allow him to perceive the emptiness of his stomach.
There is a frightful torment, well known to a student, however
perverse he may be, and this is the illegitimate hiding in some re-
tired corner, after being expelled from college ; it is the definitive
and compelled holiday which he is constrained to take advantage of,
while his fellow students pass by him with their books and writings
under their arm, proceeding to their daily task. That college,
formerly so hated, then assumes a most desirable form ; the scholar
occupies his mind with the great affairs of themes and exercises, to
which he before so little directed his attention, and which are being
proceeded with in his absence. There is a strong similarity be-
tween a pupil so expelled by his professor and a man who has been
excommunicated by the Church for his impiety, and who no longer
has a right to enter one, although burning with desire to hear a
mass.
Ana this was why, the nearer he approached his aunt's house, his
residence in that house appeared the more frightful to poor Pitou.
And this was why, for the first time in his life, his imagination pic-
tured to him the school as a terrestrial paradise, from which the Abb
Fortier, as the exterminating angel, had driven him forth, with his
cat-o'-nine-tails wielded as a flaming sword.
But yet, slowly as he walked, and although he halted at every
ten steps he took halts which became still longer as he approached
nearer he could not avoid at last reaching the threshold of that
most formidable house. Pitou then reached the threshold with
shuffling feet, and mechanically rubbing his hand on the seam of his
nether garment.
' Ah ! Aunt Angelique, I am really very sick,' said he, in order to
stop her raillery or her reproaches, and perhaps also to induce her
to pity him, poor boy.
' Good !' said Angelique. ' I well know what your sickness is j
THE INFLUENCE OF A BARBARISM. 35
and it would be cured at once by putting back the hands of the clock
an hour and a half.'
' Oh ! good heavens, no !' cried Pitou ; ' for I am not hungry.'
Aunt Angelique was surprised and almost anxious. Sickness
equally alarms affectionate mothers and crabbed stepmothers
affectionate mothers from the dangers caused by sickness, and
stepmothers from the heavy pulls it makes upon their purse.
' Well ! what is the matter ? Come, now, speak out at once,'
said the old maid.
On hearing these words, which were, however, pronounced with-
out any very tender sympathy, Ange Pitou burst into tears ; and it
must be acknowledged that the wry faces he made when proceeding
from complaints to tears, were the most terrifically ugly wry faces
that could be seen.
' Oh ! my good aunt,' cried he, sobbing, ' a great misfortune has
happened to me.'
' And what is it ? asked the old maid.
' The Abbd Fortier has sent me away,' replied Ange, sobbing so
violently that he was scarcely intelligible.
' Sent you away ?' repeated Mademoiselle Angelique, as if she had
not perfectly comprehended what he said.
' Yes, aunt.'
' And from where has he sent you ?
1 From the school.'
And Pitou's sobs redoubled.
' From the school ?'
' Yes, aunt.'
' What ! altogether ?'
'Yes, aunt.'
' So there is no longer any examination, no competition, no purse,
no seminary.'
Pitou's sobs were changed into perfect howlings.
Mademoiselle Angelique looked at him, as if she would read the
very heart of her nephew, to ascertain the cause of his dismissal.
' I will wager that you have again been among the bushes,
instead of going to school. I would wager that you have again
been prowling about Father Billot's farm. Oh, fie ! and a future
abbe" !'
Ange shook his head.
' You are lying,' cried the old maid, whose anger augmented in
proportion as she acquired the certainty that the state of matters
was very serious. ' You are lying. Only last Sunday you were
seen again in the Hall of Sighs, with La Billote.'
It was Mademoiselle Angelique who was lying. But devotees
have, in all ages, considered themselves authorised to lie, in virtue
of that Jesuitical axiom, ' It is permitted to assert that which is
false, in order to discover that which is true.'
36 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' No one could have seen me in the Hall of Sighs,' replied Pitou;
' that is impossible, for we were walking near the orangery.'
' Ah, wretch ! you see that you were with her.'
' But, aunt,' rejoined Pitou, blushing, ' Mademoiselle Billot has
nothing to do with this question.'
' Yes, call her mademoiselle, in order to conceal your impure
conduct. But I will let this minx's confessor know all about it.'
' But, aunt, I swear to you that Mademoiselle Billot is not a
minx.'
' Ah ! you defend her, when it is you that stand in need of being
excused. Oh, yes ; you understand each other better and better.
What are we coming to, good heaven ! and children only sixteen
years old.'
' Aunt, so far from there being any understanding between me
and Catherine, it is Catherine who always drives me away from
her.'
'Ah ! you see you are cutting your own throat ; for now you call
her Catherine, right out. Yes, she drives you away from her,
hypocrite, when people are looking at you.'
' Ho ! ho !' said Pitou to himself, illuminated by this idea. ' Well,
that is true. I had never thought of that'
' Ah, there again !' said the old maid, taking advantage of th
ingenuous exclamation of her nephew, to prove his connivance with
La Billote ; 'but, let me manage it. I will soon put all this to rights
again. Monsieur Fortier is her confessor. I will beg him to have you
shut up in prison, and order you to live on bread and water for a
fortnight : as to Mademoiselle Catherine, if she requires a convent
to moderate her passion for you, well ! she shall have a taste of it.
We will send her to St. Remy.'
The old maid uttered these last words with such authority, and
with such conviction of her power, that they made Pitou tremble.
' My good aunt,' cried he, clasping his hands, ' you are mistaken,
I swear to you, if you believe that Mademoiselle Billot has anything
to do with the misfortune that has befallen me."
' Impurity is the mother of all vices,' sententiously rejoined
Mademoiselle Angelique.
' Aunt, I again tell you that the Abbe* Fortier did not send me
away because I was impure ; but he has dismissed me because I
make too many barbarisms, mingled with solecisms, which every
now and then escape me, and which deprive me, as he says, of all
chance of obtaining the purse for the seminary.'
' All chance, say you ? Then you will not have that purse : then
ou will not be an abbe" : then I shall not be your housekeeper ?
' Ah, good heaven, no ! dear aunt.'
' And what is to become of you, then ?' cried the old maid, in a
savage tone.
' I know not,' cried Pitou, piteously, raising his eyes to heaven.
'Whatever it may please Providence to order,' he added.
THE INFLUENCE OF A BARBARISM. 37
*Ah ! Providence, you say ! I see how it is,' exclaimed
Mademoiselle Angelique. ' Some one has been exciting his brain.
Some one has been talking to him of these new ideas ; some one
has been endeavouring to fill him with these principles of philo-
sophy.'
' It cannot be that, aunt ; because no one gets into philosophy
before having gone through his rhetoric ; and 1 have never yet been
able to get even so far as that.'
'Oh, yes! jest jest ! It is not of that philosophy that I am
speaking. 1 speak of the philosophy of the philosophers, you
wretch. I speak of the philosophy of Monsieur Arouet ; I speak of
the philosophy of Monsieur Jean Jacques ; of the philosophy of
Monsieur Diderot, who wrote " La Religieuse." '
Mademoiselle Angelique crossed herself.
' " La Religieuse !" ' cried Pitou ; ' what is that, aunt ?
1 You have read it, wretch !'
' I swear to you, aunt, that I have not.'
'And this is the reason why you will not go into the church.'
'Aunt, aunt, you are mistaken. It is the church that will not
admit me.'
' Why, decidedly, this child is a perfect serpent. He even dares
to reply. 3
' No, aunt ; I answer, and that is all.'
'Oh! he is lost!' exclaimed Mademoiselle Angelique, with all
the signs of most profound discouragement, and falling into her
favourite arm-chair.
In fact, ' He is lost !' merely signified, ' I am lost !'
The danger was imminent ; Aunt Angelique formed an extreme
resolve. She rose as if some secret spring had forced her to her
feet, and ran off to the Abbe" Fortier, to ask him for an explana-
tion, and above all to make a last effort to get him to change his
determination.
Pitou followed his aunt with his eyes till she had reached the
door ; and when she had disappeared, he went to the threshold and
watched her walking with extraordinary rapidity towards the Rue
de Soissons. He was surprised at the quickness of her move-
ments ; but he had no longer any doubt as to the intentions of
Mademoiselle Angelique, but was convinced that she was going to
his professor's house.
He could, therefore, calculate on at least a quarter of an hour's
tranquillity. Pitou thought of making a good use of this quarter of
an hour which Providence had granted to him. He snatched up
the remainder of his aunt's dinner to feed his lizards, caught two or
three flies for his ants and frogs ; then, opening successively a
hutch and a cupboard, he set about feeding himself, for with solitude
his appetite had returned to him.
Having arranged all these matters, he returned to watch at the
38 TAKING THE BASTILE.
door, that he might not be surprised by the return of his second
mother.
Mademoiselle Angelique had given herself the title of Pitou's
second mother.
While he was watching, a handsome young girl passed at the
end of the Pleux, going along a narrow lane which led from the
end of the Rue de Soissons to that of the Rue de 1'Ormet. She
was seated on a pillion on the back of a horse loaded with t\vo
panniers, the one full of fowls, the other of pigeons. It was
Catherine. On perceiving Pitou standing at his door, she stopped.
Pitou, according to custom, blushed, then remained with his
mouth wide open, looking at, that is to say, admiring, for
Mademoiselle Billot was in his eyes the most heavenly sample of
human beauty.
The young girl darted a glance into the street, saluted Pitou with
a little graceful nod, and continued on her way.
Pitou replied to it, trembling with satisfaction.
This little scene lasted just time enough to occupy the tall
scholar's attention, who was quite lost in his contemplation, and
continued eagerly gazing at the spot where Mademoiselle Catherine
had appeared, so as to prevent him from perceiving his aunt when
she returned from the Abb Fortier, who suddenly seized his hand,
turning pale with anger.
Ange being thus startlirigly awakened from his sweet dream by
that electrical shock which the touch of Mademoiselle Angelique
always communicated to him, turned round, and seeing that the
enraged looks of his aunt were fixed upon his hand, cast his own
eyes down upon it, and saw with horror that it was holding the half
of a large round of bread upon which he had apparently spread a
too generous layer of butter, with a corresponding slice of cheese,
and which the sudden appearance of Mademoiselle Catherine had
made him entirely forget
Mademoiselle Angelique uttered a cry of terror, and Pitou a
groan of alarm ; Angelique raised her bony hand, Pitou bobbed
down his head ; Angelique seized a broom handle which unluckily
was but too near her, Pitou let fell his slice of bread-and-butter,
and took to his heels without farther explanation.
These two hearts had understood each other, and had felt that
henceforth there could be no communion between them.
Mademoiselle Angelique went into her house and double-locked
the door. Pitou, whom the grating noise alarmed as a continuation
of the storm, ran on still faster.
From this scene resulted an effect which Mademoiselle Ange-
lique was very far from foreseeing, and which certainly Pitou in no
way expected.
A PHILOSOPHICAL FARMER. 39
CHAPTER V.
A PHILOSOPHICAL FARMER.
PlTOU ran as if all the demons of the infernal regions were at his
heels, and in a few seconds he was outside the town.
On turning round the corner of the cemetery, he very nearly ran
his head against the hind part of a horse.
' Why, good Lord !' cried a sweet voice well known to Pitou,
"-where are you running to at this rate, Monsieur Ange ? You have
very nearly made Cadet run away with me, you frightened us both
so much.'
' Ah, Mademoiselle Catherine !' cried Pitou, replying rather to his
own thoughts than to the question of the young girl. ' Ah, Made-
moiselle Catherine, what a misfortune ! great God, what a mis-
fortune !'
' Oh, you quite terrify me !' said the young girl, pulling up her
horse in the middle of the road. ' What, then, has happened, Mon-
sieur Angel"
' What has happened !' said Pitou ; and then, lowering his voice as
if about to reveal some mysterious iniquity, 'why, it is, that I am
not to be an abbe", mademoiselle.'
But instead of receiving the fatal intelligence with all those signs
of commiseration which Pitou had expected, Mademoiselle Billot
gave way to a long burst of laughter.
' You are not to be an abb ?' asked Catherine.
' No,' replied Pitou, in perfect consternation ; ' it appears that it
is impossible.'
' Well, then, you can be a soldier,' said Catherine.
'A soldier?'
' Undoubtedly. You should not be in despair for such a trifle.
Good Lord ! I at first thought that you had come to announce to
me the death of your aunt.'
' Oh !' said Pitou, feelingly, ' it is precisely the same thing to me
as if she were dead indeed, since she has driven me out of her
house.'
' I beg your pardon,' said Catherine, laughing ; ' you have not now
the satisfaction of weeping for her.'
And Catherine began to laugh more heartily than before, which
scandalised poor Pitou more than ever.
' But did you not hear that she has turned me out of doors ?' re-
joined the student, in despair.
' Well, so much the better,' she replied.
* You are very happy in being able to laugh in that manner,
Mademoiselle Billot ; and it proves that you have a most agreeable
disposition, since the sorrows of others make so little impression
upon you.'
' And who has told you, then, that, should a real misfortune
happen to you, I would not pity you, Monsieur Ange ?'
40 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' You would pity me if a real misfortune should befall me \ But
do you not, then, know that I have no other resource ?'
' So much the better again !' cried Catherine.
' But one must eat !' said he ; ' one cannot live without eating 1
and I, above all, for I am always hungry.'
' You do not wish to work, then, Monsieur Pitou ?'
'Work, and at what ? Monsieur Fortier and my Aunt Angelique
have told me more than a hundred times that I was fit for nothing.
Ah ! if they had only apprenticed me to a carpenter or a blacksmith,
instead of wanting to make an abbe" of me ! Decidedly, now, Made-
moiselle Catherine,' said Pitou, with a gesture of despair, 'decidedly
there is a curse upon me.'
' Alas !' said the young girl compassionately, for she knew, as did
all the neighbourhood, Pitou's lamentable story. ' There is some
truth in what you have just now said, my dear Monsieur Ange ; but
why do you not do one thing ?
1 What is it ?' cried Pitou, eagerly clinging to the proposal which
Mademoiselle Billot was about to make, as a drowning man clings
to a willow branch. ' What is it ; tell me ?
' You had a protector ; at least, I think I have heard so.'
c Doctor Gilbert.'
' You were the schoolfellow of his son, since he was educated, as
you have been, by the Abb Fortier.'
' I believe I was indeed, and I have more than once saved him
from being thrashed.'
' Well, then, why do you not write to his father ? He will not
abandon you.'
' Why, I would certainly do so, did I know what had become of
him ; but your father perhaps knows this, Mademoiselle Billot,
since Doctor Gilbert is his landlord.'
'I know that he sends part of the produce of the farm to him in
America, and pays the remainder to a notary at Paris.'
'Ah !' said Pitou, sighing, 'in America ; that is very far.'
' You would go to America ? You ?' cried the young girl, almost
terrified at Pitou's resolution.
' Who, I, Mademoiselle Catherine ! Never, never ! If I knew
where to go, and how to procure food, I should be very happy in
France.'
'Very happy,' repeated Mademoiselle Billot.
Pitou cast down his eyes. The young girl remained silent.
This silence lasted some time. Pitou was plunged in meditation?
which would have greatly surprised the Abb Fortier, with all h\z
logic.
These meditations, though rising from an obscure point, haci
become lucid ; then they again became confused, though brilliant,
like the lightning whose origin is concealed, whose source is lost.
During this time Cadet had again moved on, though at a walk,
A PHILOSOPHICAL FARMER. 41
and Pitou walked at Cadet's side, with one hand leaning on one of
the panniers. As to Mademoiselle Catherine, who had also become
full of thought, she allowed her reins to fall upon her courser's neck,
without fearing that he would run away with her. Moreover, there
were no monsters on the road, and Cadet was of a race which had
no sort of relation to the steeds of Hippolytus.
Pitou stopped mechanically when the horse stopped. They had
arrived at the farm.
' Well, now, is it you, Pitou ?' cried a broad-shouldered man, stand-
ing somewhat proudly by the side of a pond, to which he had led
his horse to drink.
' Eh ! good Lord ! Yes, Monsieur Billot, it is myself.'
' Another misfortune has befallen this poor Pitou,' said the young
girl, jumping off her horse, without feeling at all uneasy as to
whether her petticoat hitched or not, to show the colour of her
garters ; ' his aunt has turned him out of doors.'
' And what has he done to the old bigot ?' said the farmer.
' It appears that I am not strong enough in Greek.'
He was boasting, the puppy. He ought to have said in Latin.
' Not strong enough in Greek !' exclaimed the broad shouldered
man. ' And why should you wish to be strong in Greek ?'
; To construe Theocritus and read the Iliad.'
'And of what use would it be to you to construe Theocritus and
read the Iliad ?'
' It would be of use in making me an abbe*.'
'Bah !' ejaculated Monsieur Billot, 'and do I know Greek ? do I
know Latin ? do I know even French ? do I know how to read ? do
I know how to write ? That does not hinder me from sowing, from
reaping, and getting my harvest into the granary.'
' Yes, but you, Monsieur Billot, you are not an abbe" ; you are a
cultivator of the earth, agricola^ as Virgil says. O fortunatiis
nimium '
' Well, and do you then believe that a cultivator is not equal to a
black-cap ; say, then, you shabby chorister you, is he not so, par-
ticularly when this cultivator has sixty acres of good land in the
sunshine, and a thousand louis in the shade ?'
' I had been always told that to be an abbe" was the best thing in
the world. It is true,' added Pitou, smiling with his most agreeable
smile, ' that I did not always listen to what was told me.
' And I give you joy, my boy. You see that T can rhyme like any one
else when I set to work. It appears to me that there is stuff in you
to make something better than an abbe", and that it is a lucky thing for
you not to take to that trade, particularly as times now go. Do you
see now, as a farmer I know something of the weather, and the
weather just now is bad for abbe's.*
' Bah !' exclaimed Pitou.
' Yes, we shall have a storm,' rejoined the farmer, and not kmp
first, believe me. You are honest, you are learned
4
42 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Pitou bowed, much honoured at being called learned, for the first
time in his life.
' You can therefore gain a livelihood without that.'
Mademoiselle Billot, while taking the fowls and pigeons out of the
panniers, was listening with much interest to the dialogue between
Pitou and her father.
' Gain a livelihood,' rejoined Pitou ' that appears a difficult
matter to me.'
' What can you do r*
' Do ! why I can lay lime-twigs, and set wires for rabbits. I can
imitate, and tolerably well, the notes of birds, can I not, Made-
moiselle Catherine ?'
' Oh, that is true enough !' she replied. ' He can whistle like a
blackbird.'
' Yes, but all this is not a trade, a profession,' observed Father
Billot.
' And that is what I say, by heaven.'
' You swear that is already something.'
' How, did I swear ? said Pitou. ' I beg your pardon for having
done so, Monsieur Billot.'
' Oh ! there is no occasion, none at all,' said the farmer ; ' it hap-
pens also to me sometimes. Eh ! thunder of heaven !' cried he,
turning to his horse, ' will you be quiet, hey ? these devils of Perch
horses, they must be always neighing and fidgeting about. But
now, tell me,' said he, again addressing Pitou, ' are you lazy ?
' 1 do not know. I have never done anything but Latin and
Greek, and '
'And what?
' And I must admit that I did not take to them very readily.'
' So much the better/ cried Billot ; ' that proves you are not so
stupid as I thought you.'
Pitou opened his eyes to an almost terrific width ; it was the first
time he had ever heard such an order of things advocated, and which
was completely subversive of all the theories which up to that time
he had been taught.
' I ask you,' said Billot, ' if you are so lazy as to be afraid of
fatigue.'
' Oh ! with regard to fatigue, that is quite another thing,' replied
Pitou ; ' no, no, no ; I could go ten leagues without being fatigued.'
' Good ! that's something, at all events,' rejoined Billot ; ' by
getting a few pounds of flesh more off your bones, you could set up
for a runner. 1
' A few pounds more !' cried Pitou, looking at his own lanky
form, his long arms and his legs, which had much the appearance
of stilts : ' it seems to me, Monsieur Billot, that I am thin enough
as it is.'
' Upon my word, my friend,' cried Billot, laughing very heartily,
' you are a perfect treasure.'
A PHILOSOPHICAL FARMER. 43
it was also the first time that Pitou had been estimated at so
high a price, and therefore was he advancing from surprise to
surprise.
' Listen to me,' said the farmer ; ' I ask you whether you are lazy
in respect to work ?
1 What sort of work ?
' Why, work in general.'
' I do not know, not I ; for I have never worked.'
Catherine also began to laugh, but this time Pere Billot took the
matter in a serious point of view.
' Those rascally priests !' said he, holding his clenched fists
towards the town ; ' and this is the way they bring up lads, in idle-
ness and uselessness. In what way, I ask you, can this great stripling
here be of service to his brethren ?'
' Ah ! not of much use, certainly ; that I know full well,' replied
Pitou ; ' fortunately I have no brothers.'
' By brethren I mean all men in general,' observed Billot. ' Would
you, perchance, insist that all men are not brothers.'
' Oh ! that I acknowledge ; moreover, it is so said in the gospel.'
' And equals,' continued the farmer.
' Ah ! as to that,' said Pitou, ' that is quite another affair. If I had
been the equal of Monsieur Fortier, he would not so often have
thrashed me with his cat-o'-nine-tails and his cane ; and if I had
been the equal of my aunt, she would not have turned me out of
doors.'
' I tell you that all men are equal,' rejoined the farmer, 'and we
will very soon prove it to the tyrants.'
' '/yratttus,' added Pitou.
' And the proof of this is, that I will take you into my house.'
' You will take me into your house, my dear Monsieur Billot ?'
cried Pitou, amazed. ' Is it not to make game of me that you say
this?"
' No ; come now, tell me, what would you require to live ?'
' Bread.'
1 And with your bread ?'
' A little butter or cheese.'
' Well, well,' said the farmer ; ' I see it will not be very expensive
to keep you in food. My lad, you shall be fed.'
' Monsieur Pitou,' said Catherine, ' had you not something to
ask my father ?
4 Who ! I, mademoiselle ! Oh, good Lord, no !'
' And why was it that you came here, then ?
' Because you were coming here '
' Ah ! cried Catherine, ' that is really very gallant ; but I accept
compliments only at their true value. You came, Monsieur Pitou,
to ask my father if he had any news of your protector. '
' Ah, that is true !' replied Pitou. ' Well, now, how very droll !
I had forgotten that altogether.'
44 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' You are speaking of our worthy Monsieur Gilbert ? said the
farmer, in a tone which evinced the very high consideration he
felt for his landlord.
' Precisely,' said Pitou. ' But I have no longer any need of him :
and since Monsieur Billot takes me into his house, I can tranquilly
wait till we hear from him.'
' In that case, my friend, you will not have to wait long, for he has
returned.'
' Really !' cried Pitou ; ' and when did he arrive ?*
' I do not know exactly ; but what I know is, that he was at Havre
a week ago ; for I have in my holsters a packet which comes from
him, and which he sent to me as soon as he arrived ; and which was
delivered to me this very morning, at Villers-Cotterets ; and in proof
of that, here it is.'
'Who was it told you that it was from him, father?' said
Catherine.
' Why, zounds ! since there is a letter in the packet '
' Excuse me, father,' said Catherine, smiling, ' but I thought that
you could not read. I only say this, father, because you make a
boast of not knowing how to read.' f
' Yes, I do boast of it. I wish that people should say, " Father
Billot owes nothing to any mannot even a schoolmaster. Father
Billot made his fortune himself." That is what I wish people to
say. It was not, therefore, I who read the letter. It was the quarter-
master of the gendarmerie, whom I happened to meet.'
' And whaKdid this letter tell you, father ? He is always well
satisfied with us, is he not ?'
' Judge for yourself.'
And the farmer drew from his pocket a letter, which he handed
to his daughter. Catherine read as follows :
1 MY DEAR MONSIEUR BILLOT, I arrived from America, where
I found a people richer, greater, and happier than the people of our
country. This arises from their being free, which we are not. But
we are also advanced towards a new era. Everyone should labour
to hasten the day when the light shall shine. I know your principles,
Monsieur Billot. I know your influence over your brother farmers,
and over the whole of that worthy population of workmen and
labourers whom you order, not as a king, but as a father. Inculcate
in them principles of self-devotedness and fraternity, which I have
observed that you possess. Philosophy is universal : all men ought
to read their duties by the light of its torch. I send you a small
book, in which all these duties and all these rights are set forth.
This little book was written by me, although my name does not
appear upon the title page. Propagate the principles it contains,
which are those of universal equality. Let it be read aloud in
the long winter evenings. Reading is the pasture of the mind, as
bread is the food of the body.
A PHILOSOPHICAL FARMER, 45
' One of these days I shall go to see you, and propose to you a
new system of farm-letting, which is much in use in America. It
consists in dividing the produce of the land between the farmer and
landlord. This appears to me more in conformity with the laws of
primitive society ; and, above all, more in accordance with the
goodness of God.
' Health and fraternity,
' HONORE GILBERT,
' Citizen of Philadelphia.'
' Oh ! oh !' cried Pitou, ' this is a well-written letter.'
' Is it not ?' said Billot, delighted.
' Yes, my dear father,' observed Catherine ; ' but I doubt whether
the quartermaster of the gendarmerie is of your opinion.
' And why do you think so ?'
' Because it appears to me that this letter may not only bring the
doctor into trouble, but you also, my dear father.'
' Pshaw !' said Billot ; 'you are always afraid. But that matters
not. Here is the pamphlet ; and here is employment ready found
for you, Pitou. In the evenings you shall read it.'
' And in the day-time ?'
' In the day-time you will take care of the sheep and cows. In
the meantime, there is your pamphlet.'
And the farmer took from one of his holsters one of those small
pamphlets with a red cover of which so great a number were
published in those days, either with or without permission of the
authorities.
Only, in the latter case, the author ran the risk of being sent to
the galleys.
' Read me the title of that book, Pitou, that I may always speak
of the title until I shall be able to speak of the work itself. You
shall read the remainder to me another time.'
Pitou read on the first page these words, which habit h?s since
rendered very vague and very insignificant, but which at that period
struck to the very fibres of all hearts
' Of the Independence of Man, and the Liberty of Nations?
1 What do you say to that, Pitou ?' inquired the farmer.
' I say, that it appears to me, Monsieur Billot, that independence
and liberty are the same thing. My protector would be turned out
of Monsieur Fortier's class, for being guilty of a pleonasm.'
' Pleonasm or not,' cried the farmer, ' that book is the book of
a man.'
' That matters not, father,' said Catherine, with woman's admir-
able instinct. ' Hide it, I entreat you ! It will bring you into
trouble. As to myself, I know that I am trembling even at the
sight, of it.'
' And why would you have it injure me, since it has not injured
its authw ?'
46 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' And how can you tell that, father ? It is eight days since that
letter was written ; and it could not have taken eight days for the
parcel to have come from Havre. I also have received a letter this
morning.'
' And from whom ?'
' From Sebastian Gilbert, who has written to make inquiries. He
desires me, even, to remember him to his foster-brother, Pitou. I
had forgotten to deliver his message.'
1 Well !'
' Well ! he says that his father had been expected to arrive in Paris,
and that he had not arrived.'
' Mademoiselle is right,' said Pitou. ' It seems to me that this
non-arrival is disquieting.'
' Hold your tongue, you timid fellow, and read the doctor's
treatise,' said the farmer : ' then you will become not only learned,
but a man.'
It was thus people spoke in those days ; for they were at the pre-
face of that great Grecian and Roman history, which the French
nation imitated, during ten years, in all its phases, devotedness, pro-
scriptions, victories, and slavery.
Pitou put the book under his arm with so solemn a gesture, that
he completely gained the farmer's heart.
' And now,' said Billot, ' have you dined ?
1 No, sir,' replied Pitou, maintaining the same religious, semi-
heroic attitude he had assumed since the book had been entrusted
to his care.
' He was just going to get his dinner, when he was driven out of
doors,' said the young girl.
' Well, then,' said Billot, ' go in and ask my wife for the usual
farm fare, and to-morrow you shall enter on your functions.
Pitou, with an eloquent look, thanked M. Billot, and, led by
Catherine, entered the farm kitchen, a domain placed under the
absolute direction of Madame Billot.
CHAPTER VI.
PASTORAL SCENES.
MADAME BILLOT was a stout, buxom mamma, between thirty-five
and thirty-six years old, round as a ball, fresh-coloured, smooth-
skinned, and cordial in her manners. She trotted continually from
the fowl house to the dove-cote, from the sheep-pens to the cow-
stable. She inspected the simmering of her soup, the stoves on
which her fricassees and ragouts were cooking, and the spit on which
the joint was roasting, as does a general when surveying his canton-
ments, judging by a mere glance whether everything was in its right
place, and by their very odour, whether the thyme and laurel-leaves
PASTORAL SCENES. 47
were distributed in due proportions in the stew-pans. She scolded
from habit, but without the slightest intention that her scolding
should be disagreeable ; and her husband, whom she honoured as
she would the greatest potentate of the earth, did not escape. Her
daughter, also, got her share, though she loved her more than
Madame de Sevigne" loved Madame de Grignan : and neither were
her work-people overlooked, though she fed them better than any
farmer in a circuit of ten leagues fed his. Therefore was it, that
when a vacancy occurred in her household, there was great compe-
tition to obtain the place. But, as in heaven, unfortunately, there
were many applicants, and comparatively but few chosen.
We have seen that Pitou, without having been an applicant, had
been elected. This was a happiness that he appreciated at its just
value, especially when he saw the gold coloured manchet which was
placed at his left hand, the pot of cider which was on his right, and
the piece of pickled pork on a plate before him. Since the moment
that he lost his poor mother, arid that was about five years since,
Pitou had not, even on great festival days, partaken of such fare.
Therefore Pitou, full of gratitude, felt, as by degrees he bolted the
bread which he devoured, and as he washed down the pork with
large draughts of the cider therefore Pitou felt a vast augmenta-
tion of respect for the farmer, of admiration for his wife, and of love
for his daughter. There was only one thing which disquieted him,
and that was the humiliating function he would have to fulfil during
the day, of driving out the sheep and cows, a function so little in
harmony with that which awaited him each evening, and the object
of which was to instruct humanity in the most elevated principles of
sociality and humanity.
It was on this subject that Pitou was meditating, immediately
after his dinner. But even in this reverie, the influence of that
excellent dinner was sensibly manifested. He began to consider
things in a very different point of view to that which he had taken
of them when fasting. The functions of a shepherd and a cow-driver,
which he considered as so far beneath him, had been fulfilled by
gods and demi-gods.
Apollo, in a situation very similar to his own, that is to say, driven
from Olympus by Jupiter, as he, Pitou, had been driven from
Pleux by his aunt, had become a shepherd, and tended the flocks of
Admettus. It is true that Admettus was a shepherd -king ; but,
then, Apollo was a god !
Hercules had been a cow-keeper, or something very like it ; since
as we are told by mythology he seized the cows of Geryon by
the tail ; for, whether a man leads a cow by the tail or by the head,
depends entirely on the difference of custom of those who take care
of them, and that is all ; and this would not in any way change
the fact itself, that he was a cow-leader, that is to say, a cow-
keeper.
48 TAKING THE BASTILE.
And, moreover, Tityrus, reclining at the foot of an elm-tree, of
whom Virgil speaks, and who congratulates himself in such beautiful
verses on the repose which Augustus has granted to him, he also was
a shepherd.
And, finally, Melibaeus was a shepherd, who so poetically bewails
his having left his domestic hearth.
Certainly, alljthese persons spoke Latin well enough to have been
abbe's, and yet they preferred seeing their goats browse on the bitter
cytisus to saying mass or to chanting vespers. Therefore, taking
everything into consideration, the calling of a shepherd had its
charms. Moreover, what was to prevent Pitou from restoring to it
the poetry and the dignity it had lost ? who could prevent Pitou
from proposing trials of skill in singing, to the Menalcas and the
Palemons of the neighbouring villages ? No one, undoubtedly.
Pitou had more than once sung in the choir ; and but for his having
once been caught drinking the wine out of the Abbd Fortier's cruet,
who, with his usual rigour, had on the instant dismissed the singing
boy, this talent might have become transcendent. He could not
play upon the pipe, 'tis true ; but he could imitate the note of every
bird, which is very nearly the same thing. He could not make him-
self a lute with pipes of unequal thickness, as did the lover of Syrinx;
but from the linden-tree or the chestnut he could cut whistles, whose
perfection had more than once produced the enthusiastic applause
of his companions. Pitou therefore, could become a shepherd with-
out great derogation of his dignity. He did not lower himself to
this profession, so ill appreciated in modern days. He elevated the
profession to his own standard.
Besides which, the sheep-folds were placed under the special
direction of Mademoiselle Billot ; and receiving orders from her lips
was not receiving orders.
But, on her part, Catherine watched over the dignity of Pitou.
The same evening, when the young man approached her, and
asked her at what hour he ought to go out to rejoin the shepherds,
she said, smiling
' You will not go out at all.'
'And why so?' said Pitou, with astonishment.
' I have made my father comprehend that the education you have
received places you above the functions which he had allotted to
you. You will remain at the farm.'
' Ah ! so much the better,' said Pitou. ' In this way, I shall not
leave you.'
The exclamation had escaped the ingenuous Pitou. But he had
no sooner uttered it, than he blushed to his very ears ; while Cathe-
rine, on her part, held down her head and smiled.
'Ah ! forgive me, mademoiselle. It came from my heart in
spite of me. You must not be aiwrv with me on that account,' said
Pitou.
PASTORAL SCENES. 49
' Neither am I angry with you, Monsieur Pitou,' said Cathe-
rine ; ' and it is no fault of yours if you feel pleasure in remaining
with me.'
There was a silence of some moments. This was not at all
astonishing, the poor children had said so much to each other in so
few words.
' But,' said Pitou, ' I cannot remain at the farm doing nothing.
What am I to do at the farm ?'
' You will do what I used to do. You will keep the books, the ac-
counts with the work-people, and of our receipts and expenses. You
know how to reckon, do you not ?'
' I know my four rules,' proudly replied Pitou.
' That is one more than ever I knew,' said Catherine. ' I never
was able to get farther than the third. You see, therefore, that my
father will be a gainer by having you for his accountant ; and as
I also shall gain, and you yourself will gain by it, everybody will
be a gainer.'
' And in what way will you gain by it, mademoiselle ? inquired
Pitou.
' I shall gain time by it ; and in that time I will make myself
caps, that I may look prettier.'
' Ah !' cried Pitou, ' I think you quite pretty enough without
caps.'
' That is possible ; but it is only your own individual taste,' said
the young girl, laughing. ' Moreover, I cannot go and dance on a
Sunday at Villers-Cotterets, without having some sort of a cap upon
my head. That is all very well for your great ladies, who have the
right of wearing powder and going bareheaded.'
' I think your hair more beautiful as it is, than if it were powdered,'
said Pitou.
' Come, come, now ; I see you are bent on paying me compli-
ments.'
' No, mademoiselle, I do not know how to make them. We did
not learn that at the Abb Fortier's.'
' And did you learn to dance there ?
1 To dance ?' inquired Pitou, greatly astonished.
' Yes to dance ?'
' To dance, and at the Abbe" Fortier's ? Good Lord, made-
moiselle ! oh ! learn to dance, indeed !'
' Then, you do not know how to dance ?'
' No,' said Pitou.
' Well, then, you shall go with me to the ball on Sunday, and you
will look at Monsieur de Charny, while he is dancing. He is the
best dancer of all the young men in the neighbourhood.'
' And who is this Monsieur de Charny ?' demanded Pitou.
' He is the proprietor of the Chateau de Boursonne.'
'And he will dance on Sunday?'
50 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Undoubtedly.'
'And with whom ?
' With me.'
Pitou's heart sank within him, without his being able to ascertain
a reason for it
' Then,' said he, ' it is in order to dance with him that you wish to
dress yourself so finely.'
' To dance with him with others with everybody.'
' Excepting with me.'
' And why not with you ?
' Because I do not know how to dance:
'You will learn.'
' Ah ! if you would but teach me : you, Mademoiselle Catherine.
I should learn much better than by seeing Monsieur de Charny, I
can assure you.'
' We shall see that,' said Catherine. ' In the meantime, it is nine
o'clock, and we must go to bed. Good-night, Pitou.'
' Good-night, Mademoiselle Catherine.'
There was something both agreeable and disagreeable in what
Mademoiselle Catherine had said to Pitou. The agreeable was,
that he had been promoted from the rank of a cow-keeper and shep-
herd to that of book-keeper. The disagreeable was, that he did not
know how to dance, and that M. de Charny did know. According
to what Catherine had said, he was the best dancer in the whole
neighbourhood.
Pitou was dreaming all night that he saw M. de Charny dancing,
and that he danced very badly.
The next day Pitou entered upon his new office, under the direc-
tion of Catherine. Then one thing struck him, and it was that,
under some masters, study is altogether delightful. In the space of
about two hours he completely understood the duties he had to
perform.
' Ah, mademoiselle!' exclaimed he, ' if you had but taught me
Latin, instead of that Abbe" Fortier, I believe I never should have
committed any barbarisms.'
' And you would have become an abbd ?'
' And I should have been an abbe*,' replied Pitou.
' So, then, you would have shut yourself up in a seminary, in which
no woman would have entered.'
' Well, now,' cried Pitou, ' I really had never thought of that,
Mademoiselle Catherine. I would much rather, then, not be an
abbeV
The good man Billot returned home at nine o'clock. He had
gone out before Pitou was up. Every morning the farmer rose at
three o'clock, to see to the sending out of his horses and his wag-
goners. Then he went over his fields until nine o'clock, to see that
every one was at his post, and that all his labourers were doing
PASTORAL SCENES. 51
their duty. At nine o'clock he returned to the house to breakfast,
and went out again at ten. One o'clbck was the dinner-hour; and
the afternoon was, like the morning, spent in looking after the work-
men. Thus the affairs of worthy Billot were prospering marvellously.
As he had said, he possessed sixty acres in the sunshine, and a
thousand louis in the shade ; and it was even probable that, had the
calculation been correctly made had Pitou made up the account,
and had not been too much agitated by the presence or remembrance
of Mademoiselle Catherine, some few acres of land, and some few
hundred louis more would have been found than the worthy farmer
had himself admitted.
At breakfast, Billot informed Pitou that the first reading of Dr.
Gilbert's new book was to take place in the barn, two days after, at
ten in the morning.
Pitou then timidly observed that ten o'clock was the hour for at-
tending mass. But the farmer said that he had specially selected
that hour to try his workmen.
We have already said that Father Billot was a philosopher.
He detested the priests, whom he considered as the apostles of
cyranny ; and finding an opportunity for raising an altar against an
altar, he eagerly took advantage of it.
Madame Billot and Catherine ventured to offer some observations;
but the farmer replied that the women might, if they chose, go to
mass, seeing that religion had been made expressly for women ; but,
as to the men, they should attend the reading of the doctor's work,
or they should leave his service.
Billot, the philosopher, was very despotic in his own house.
Catherine alone had the privilege of raising her voice against his
decrees. But if these decrees were so tenaciously determined upon
that he knitted his brows when replying to her, Catherine became
as silent as the rest.
Catherine, however, thought of taking advantage of the circum-
stance to benefit Pitou. On rising from table, she observed to her
father that, in order to read all the magnificent phrases he would
have to read on the Sunday morning, Pitou was but miserably clad ;
that he was about to play the part of a master, since he was to in-
struct others ; and that the master ought not to be placed in a posi-
tion to blush in the presence of his disciples.
Billot authorised his daughter to make an arrangement with M.
Dulauroy, the tailor at Villers-Cottere"ts, for a new suit of clothes for
Pitou.
Catherine was right ; for new garments were not merely a matter
of taste with regard to Pitou. The breeches which he wore were
the same which Dr. Gilbert had. five years before, ordered for him.
At that time they were too long, but since then had become much
too short. We are compelled to acknowledge, however, that, through
the care of Mademoiselle Angelique, they had been elongated at
$2 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
least two inches every year. As to the coat and waistcoat, they had
both disappeared for upwards of two years, and had been replaced
by the serge gown in which our hero first presented himself to the
observation of our readers.
Pitou had never paid any attention to his toilet. A looking-glass
was an unknown piece of furniture in the abode of Mademoiselle
Angelique : and not having, like the handsome Narcissus, any
violent tendency to fall in love with himself, Pitou had never thought
of looking at himself in the transparent rivulets near which he set
.ais bird-snares.
But from the moment that Mademoiselle Catherine had spoken
to him of accompanying her to the ball ; from the moment the ele-
gant cavalier, M. de Charny's, name had been mentioned ; since
the conversation about caps, on which the young girl calculated to
increase her attractions, Pitou had looked at himself in a mirror ;
and, being rendered melancholy by the very dilapidated condition
of his garments, had asked himself in what way he also could make
any addition to his natural advantages.
Unfortunately, Pitou was not able to find any solution to this
question. The dilapidation of his clothes was positive. Now, in
order to have new clothes made, it was necessary to have ready
cash ; and during the whole course of his existence Pitou had never
possessed a single penny.
Pitou had undoubtedly read that, when shepherds were contend-
ing for the prize in music or in poetry, they decorated themselves
with roses. But he thought, and with great reason, that, although
such a wreath might well assort with his expressive features, it
would only place in stronger relief the miserable state of his habili-
ments.
Pitou was, therefore, most agreeably surprised when, on the
Sunday morning, at eight o'clock, and at the moment he was
racking his brains for some means of embellishing his person, M.
Dulauroy entered his room and placed upon a chair a coat and
breeches of sky-blue cloth, and a large white waistcoat with red
stripes.
At the same instant a sempstress came in, and laid upon another
chair, opposite to the above-mentioned one, a new shirt and a
cravat. If the shirt fitted well, she had orders to complete the
half-dozen.
It was a moment teeming with surprise. Behind the sempstress
appeared the hat-maker. He had brought with him a small cocked
hat, of the very latest fashion and of most elegant shape, and which
had been fabricated by M. Cornu, the first hat-maker in Villers-
Cotterts.
A shoemaker had also been ordered to bring shoes for Pitou ;
and he had with him a pair with handsome silver buckles made ex-
pressly for him.
PASTORAL SCENES. 53
Pitou could not recover his amazement ; he could not in any way
comprehend that all these riches were for him. In his most exag-
gerated dreams, he could not even have dared to wish for so sump-
tuous a wardrobe. Tears of gratitude gushed from his eyelids, and
he could only murmur out these words :
'Oh! Mademoiselle Catherine ! Mademoiselle Catherine ! never
will I forget what you have done for me.'
Everything fitted remarkably well, and as if Pitou had been ac-
tually measured for them, with the sole exception of the shoes, which
were too small by half. M. Lauderau, the shoemaker, had taken
measure by his son's foot, who was four years Pitou's senior.
This superiority over young Lauderau gave a momentary feeling
of pride to our hero ; but this feeling of pride was soon checked by
the reflection that he would either be obliged to go to the dance in
his old shoes, or in no shoes at all, which would not be in accord-
ance with the remainder of his costume. But this uneasiness was
not of long duration. A pair of shoes which had been sent home at
the same time to Farmer Billot fitted him exactly. It fortunately
happened that Billot's feet and Pitou's were of the same dimensions,
which was carefully concealed from Billot, for fear that so alarming
a fact might annoy him.
While Pitou was busied in arraying himself in these sumptuous
habiliments, the hairdresser came in and divided Pitou's hair into
three compartments. One, and the most voluminous, was destined
to fall over the collar of his coat, in the form of a tail : the two
others destined to ornament the temples, by the strange and un-
poetical name of dog's-ears ridiculous enough, but that was the
name given to them in those days.
And now, there is one thing we must acknowledge and that is,
that when Pitou, thus combed and frizzled, dressed in his sky-blue
coat and breeches, with his rose-striped waistcoat and his frilled shirt,
with his tail and his dog's-ear curls, looked at himself in the glass,
he found great difficulty in recognising himself, and twisted himself
about to see whether Adonis in person had not redescended on the
earth.
He was alone ; he smiled graciously at himself ; and with heaa
erect, his thumbs thrust into his waistcoat pockets, he said, raising
himself upon his toes :
' We shall see this Monsieur de Charny ! '
It is true that Ange Pitou in his new costume resembled, as one
pea does another, not one of Virgil's shepherds, but one of those
so admirably painted by Watteau.
Consequently, the first step which Pitou made on entering the
farm-kitchen was a perfect triumph.
'Oh ! mamma, oniysee,' cried Catherine, 'how well Pitou looks now.'
' The fact is, that one would hardly know him again,' replied
Madame Billot.
54 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Unfortunately, after the first general survey which had so much
struck the young girl, she entered into a more minute examination
of the details, and Pitou was less good looking in the detailed than
in the general view.
' Oh ! how singular !' cried Catherine ; ' what great hands you
have.'
* Yes,' said Pitou, proudly, ' I have famous hands, have I not ?
' And what thick knees !'
' That is a proof that I shall grow taller.'
' Why, it appears to me that you are tall enough already,
Monsieur Pitou,' observed Catherine.
' That does, not matter, I shall grow taller still,' said Pitou. ' I
am only seventeen and a half years old.'
' And no calves !'
' Ah ! yes, that is true none at all ; but they will grow soon.'
'That is to be hoped,' said Catherine, 'but no matter, you are
very well as you are.'
Pitou made a bow.
' Oh ! oh !' exclaimed Billot, coming in at that moment, and also
struck with Pitou's appearance. ' How fine you are, my lad. How
I wish your aunt Angelique could see you now.'
'And so do I,' said Pitou.
' I wonder what she would say ?
' She would not say a word ; she would be in a perfect fury.'
' But, father,' said Catherine, with a certain degree of uneasi-
ness, ' would she not have the right to take him b^ck again ?
' Why, she turned him out of doors.'
' An4 besides which,' said Pitou, ' the five years have gone
by.'
' What five years ? inquired Catherine.
' The five years for which Doctor Gilbert left a thousand livres.'
' He had then left a thousand livres with your aunt ?
' Yes, yes, yes : to get me into a good apprenticeship.
' That is a man !' exclaimed the farmer. ' When one thinks that
I hear something of the same kind related of him every day.
Therefore for him ' he added, stretching out his hands with a
gesture of admiration, ' will I be devoted in life and death.'
' He wished that I should learn some trade,' said Pitou.
' And he was right. And this is the way in which good intentions
are thwarted. A man leaves a thousand francs that a child may be
taught a trade, and instead of having him taught a trade, he is
placed under the tuition of a bigoted priest ! And how much did
she pay to your Abbe" Fortier ?*
' Who ?'
' Your aunt.'
' She never paid him anything.'
1 What ? Did she pocket the twe hundred livres a year, which
that good Monsieur Gilbert paid !'
PASTORAL SCENES. 55
Probably. 5
' Listen to me, for I have a bit of advice to give you, Pitou ;
whenever your bigoted old aunt shall walk off, take care to
examine minutely every cupboard, every mattress, every pickle-
jar '
' And for what ?' asked Pitou.
' Because, do you see, you will find some hidden treasure, some
good old louis, in some old stocking-foot. Why ! it must un-
doubtedly be so, for she could never have found a purse large
enough to contain all her savings.'
' Do you think so If
1 Most assuredly. But we will speak of this at a more proper
time and place. To-day we must take a little walk. Have you
Doctor Gilbert's book '?
' I have it here, in my pocket.'
' Father,' said Catherine, ' have you well reflected upon this ?'
'There is no need for reflection,' replied the farmer,- ' when one
is about to do a good thing, my child. The doctor told me to have
the book read, and to propagate the principles which it contains ;
the book shall therefore be read, and the principles shall be pro-
pagated."
' And,' said Catherine, timidly, ' may my mother and I, then, go
to attend mass ?'
' Go to mass, my child ; go with your mother,' replied Billot.
' You are women ; we, who are men, have other things to think of.
Come, Pitou, we must be off, for we are waited for.'
Pitou bowed majestically to Madame Billot and Mademoiselle
Catherine ; then with head erect he followed the worthy farmer,
proud of having been thus, for the first time, called a man.
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT ALTHOUGH LONG LEGS
MAY BE SOMEWHAT UNGRACEFUL IN DANCING, THEY ARE VERY
USEFUL IN RUNNING.
THERE was a numerous assemblage in the barn. Billot, as we
have said, was much respected by his labourers, inasmuch as
though he scolded them unscrupulously, he fed and paid them
well.
Consequently, every one of them had hastened eagerly to accept
his invitation.
Moreover, at this period the people had been seized with that ex-
traordinary fever which pervades nations when nations are about
to set themselves to work to produce some great change. Strange,
new words, which until then had scarcely ever been uttered, issued
from mouths which had never before pronounced them. They
56 TAKING THE BASTILE.
were the words Liberty, Independence, Emancipation, and,
strange to say, it was not only among the people that these words
were heard ; no, these words had been pronounced in the firs'
place by the nobility, and the voice which responded them was bu<
an echo.
It was in the west that had first shone forth this light, which was
destined to illuminate until it seared. It was in America that arose
this sun, which, in accomplishing its course, was to make France
one vast and burning mass, by the light of which the affrighted
nations were to read the word Republic traced in vivid characters
of blood.
But notwithstanding this, meetings in which political affairs were
discussed were less frequent than might have been imagined.
Men, who had sprung up, no one knew from where, apostles of an
invisible and almost unknown deity, had traversed towns and
country villages, strewing in their road words in praise of liberty.
The government, blinded heretofore, began at length to open its
eyes. Those who were at the head of the immense machine, de-
nominated the public chariot, felt that some of its wheels were
paralysed, without being able to comprehend whence the obstacle
proceeded. The opposition existed in all minds, if it had not yet
instilled itself into all hands and arms ; invisible, though present,
though sensible, though threatening, and still more threatening
from being like ghosts un tangible, and from being divined, although
it could not be clutched.
Twenty or twenty-five husbandmen, all in the employment of
Billot, had assembled in the barn.
Billot entered it, followed by Pitou. All heads were instantly
uncovered, and they waved their hats to welcome their loved master.
It was plainly visible that all these men were ready to meet death,
should he but give the signal.
The farmer explained to the country people that the pamphlet
which Pitou was about to read to them was the work of Doctor
Gilbert. The doctor was well known throughout the whole district,
in which he was the proprietor of several farms, the one rented by
Billot being the most considerable.
A cask had been prepared for the reader. Pitou ascended this
extempore form, and at qnce began.
It is to be remarked that people of the lower class, and I might
almost venture to say, men in general, listen with most attention to
that which they understand the least. It was evident that the
general sense of the pamphlet escaped the perceptions of the most
enlightened among this rustic auditory, and even of Billot himself.
But in the midst of that obscure phraseology from time to time
flashed, like lightnings in a dark sky charged with electricity, the
luminous words of Independence. Liberty, Equality. Nothing
more was necessary ; shouts of applause burst forth ; cries of
LONG LEGS USEFUL IN RUNNING. 57
' Long live Doctor Gilbert !' resounded on every side. Not more
than one third of the pamphlet had been read ; it was decided
that the remainder should be delivered on the two following
Sundays.
The auditors were therefore invited for the next Sunday, and
every one of them promised to attend.
Pitou had well performed his part ; he had read energetically and
well. Nothing succeeds so well as success. The reader had taken
his share of the plaudits which had been addressed to the work, and,
submitting to the influence of this relative science, Billot himself felt
growing within him a certain degree of consideration for the pupil
of the Abbe* Fortier. Pitou, already a giant in his physical propor-
tions, had morally grown ten inches in the opinion of Billot.
But there was one thing wanting to Pitou's happiness ; Made-
moiselle Catherine had not been present at his triumph.
But Father Billot, enchanted with the effect produced by the
doctor's pamphlet, hastened to communicate its success to his wife
and daughter. Madame Billot made no reply ; she was a short-
sighted woman.
Mademoiselle Catherine smiled sorrowfully.
' Well ! what is the matter with you now ?' said the farmer.
' Father ! my dear father !' cried Catherine, ' I fear that you are
running into danger.'
' There, now ; are you going to play the bird of ill omen ? You
are well aware that I like the lark better than the owl.'
' Father, I have already been told to warn you that eyes are
watching you.'
' And who was it that told you this, if you please ?'
'A friend.'
' A friend ? All advice is deserving of thanks. You must tell me
the name of this friend. Who is he ? Come, now, let us hear.'
' A man who ought to be well informed on such matters.'
' But who is it ?
' Monsieur Isidor de Charny.
' What business has that fop to meddle in such matters ? Does
he pretend to give me advice upon my way of thinking ? Do I give
him advice upon his mode of dressing ? It appears to me that as
much might be said on one subject as the other.'
' My dear father, I do not tell you this to vex you. The advice he
gave me was well intended.'
' Well, then, in return, I will give him my counsel, and which you
can on my behalf transmit to him/
' And what is that ?
f It is that he and his fellows take good care what they are about.
They shake these noble gentlemen about very nicely in the National
Assembly ; and more than once a great deal has been said of court
favourites, male and female. Let him forewarn his brother, Monsieur
5
$8 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Oliver Charny, who is out yonder, to look to himself, for it is said he
is not on bad terms with the Austrian woman.'
' Father,' said Catherine, ' you have more experience than we
have ; act according to your pleasure.'
' Yes, indeed,' murmured Pitou, whose success had given him
great confidence, ' what business has your Monsieur Isidor to make
and meddle ?*
Catherine either did not hear him, or pretended not to hear him,
and there the conversation dropped.
The dinner was got through as usual. Never did dinner appear
so long to Pitou. He was feverishly anxious to show himself abroad
with Mademoiselle Catherine leaning on his arm. This Sunday
was a monstrously great day to him, and he promised himself that
the date, the I2th of July, should ever remain engraved upon his
memory.
They left the farm at last at about three o'clock. Catherine was
positively charming. She was a pretty fair-haired girl with black
eyes, slight and flexible as the willows that shaded the small spring
from which the farm was supplied with water. She was, moreover,
dressed with that natural coquetry which enhances the advantages
of every -woman, and her pretty little fantastic cap, made with her
own hands, as she had told Pitou, became her admirably.
The ball did not in general commence till six o'clock. Four
village minstrels, mounted upon a small stage formed of planks, did
the honours of this ball-room in the open air, on receiving a contri-
bution of six shillings for every country dance.
While waiting for the opening of the dance, the company walked
in the celebrated Hall of Sighs, of which Aunt Angelique had
spoken, to see the young gentlemen of the town and the neighbour-
hood play at tennis, under the direction of Master Farollet, tennis-
master-in-chief to his Highness the Duke of Orleans. Master
Farollet was considered a perfect oracle, and his decision in matters
of chase and passe, and service, was as irrevocable as were the laws
of the Medes and Persians.
Pitou, without knowing why, would have very much desired to
remain in the Hall of Sighs, but it was not for the purpose of re-
maining concealed beneath the shade of this double row of beech-
trees that Catherine had attired herself in the becoming dress which
had so much astonished Pitou.
Women are like the flowers which chance hath brought forth in
the shade ; their tendency is always towards the light ; and one way
or the other they must expand their fresh and perfumed petals in
the sunshine, though it withers and destroys them.
The violet alone, as is asserted by the poets, has the modesty to
remain concealed, but then she is arrayed in mourning, as if deploring
her useless, because unnoticed, charms.
Catherine, therefore, dragged away at Pitou's arm, and so -sue-
LONG LEGS USEFUL IN RUNNING. 59
cessfully, that they took the path to the tennis court. We must, how-
ever, hasten to acknowledge that Pitou did not go very unwillingly.
He also was as anxious to display his sky-blue suit and his cocked
hat, as Catherine was to show her Galatea cap and her shining short
silk bodice.
One thing above all flattered our hero, and gave him a momentary
advantage over Catherine. As no one recognised him, Pitou never
having been seen in such sumptuous habiliments, they took him for
some young stranger arrived in the town, some nephew or cousin of
the Billot family ; some even asserted that he was Catherine's in-
tended. But Pitou felt too great an interest in proving his own
identity, to allow the error to be of long continuance.
He gave so many nods to his friends, he so frequently took offhis
hat to his acquaintance, that at last the unworthy pupil of the
Abbe" Fortier was recognised in the spruce young countryman.
A sort of buzzing murmur quickly ran through the throng, and
many of his former companions exclaimed, ' Why, really, it is Pitou !'
' Only look at Pitou !' ' Did you see Ange Pitou ?'
This clamour at length reached the ears of Mademoiselle Ange-
lique ; but as this clamour informed her that the good-looking youth
pointed out by it was her nephew, walking with his toes turned out
and his elbows gracefully curved, the old maid, who had always seen
Pitou walk with his toes turned in and his elbows stuck to his ribs,
shook her head incredulously, and merely said :
'You are mistaken ; that is not my pitiful nephew.'
The two young people reached the tennis court. On that day
there happened to be a match between the players of Soissons
and those of Villers-Cottere'ts, so that the game was very animated.
Catherine and Pitou placed themselves close to the rope stretched
to prevent the crowd from interfering with the players ; it was
Catherine who had selected this place as being the best.
In about a minute the voice of Master Farollet was heard, calling
out : ' Two in go over.'
The players effectually changed places ; that is to say, that they
each went to defend their quarters and attack those of their ad-
versaries. One of the players, on passing by, bowed to Catherine
with a smile : Catherine replied by a courtesy, and blushed. At the
same moment Pitou felt a nervous trembling shoot through
Catherine's arm, which was leaning on his.
An unknown anguish shot through Pitou's heart.
' That is Monsieur de Charny,' said he, looking at his companion.
' Yes,' replied Catherine. ' Ah ! you know him, then ?'
' I do not know him,' replied Pitou, ' but I guessed that it was he. 1
And, in fact, Pitou had readily conceived this young man to be
Monsieur de Charny, from what Catherine had said to him the pre-
vious evening.
The person who had bowed to the young girl was an elegant gen-
60 TAKING THE BASTILE.
tleman, who might be twenty-three or twenty-four years of age ; he
was handsome, of good stature, well formed, and graceful in his
movements, as are all those who have had an aristocratic education
from their very cradle. All those manly exercises in which perfec-
tion can only be attained, but on the condition of their being studied
from childhood, M. Isidor de Charny executed with remarkable
Eerfection ; besides which, he was one of those whose costume always
armonised with the pursuit he was engaged in. His hunting-
dresses were quoted for their perfect taste ; his attire in the fencing-
room might have served as a pattern to Saint Georges himself; and
his riding-coats were, or rather appeared to be, thanks to his manner
of wearing them, of a particularly elegant shape.
On the day we are speaking of, M. de Charny, a younger brother
of our old acquaintance the Count de Charny, was attired in tight-
fitting pantaloons of a light colour, which set off to great advantage
the shape of his finely-formed and muscular limbs ; his hair was
negligently dressed as for the morning ; elegant tennis sandals for
the moment were substituted for the red-heeled shoe or the top-
boots ; his waistcoat was of white marsella, fitting as closely to his
waist as if he had worn stays ; and to sum up all, his servant was
waiting upon the slope with a green coat embroidered with gold
lace, for his master to put on when the match was ended.
The animation of the game communicated to his features all the
charm and freshness of youth, notwithstanding his twenty-three
years, the nightly excesses he had committed, and the gambling
parties he had attended, which frequently the rising sun had
illumined with its rays ; all this had made sad havoc in his
constitution.
None of these personal advantages, which doubtless the young
girl had remarked, had escaped the jealous eyes of Pitou. On ob-
serving the small hands and feet of M. de Charny, he began to feel
less proud of that prodigality of nature which had given him the
victory over the shoemaker's son, and he reflected that nature might
have distributed in a more skilful manner over every part of his
frame the elements of which it was composed.
In fact, with what there was too much in the hands, the feet, and
the knees of Pitou, nature might have furnished him with a hand-
some, well-formed leg. Only, things were not in their right place :
where there required a certain elegance of proportion, there was an
unnatural thickness : where a certain sleekness and rotundity would
have been advantageous, there was an utter void.
Pitou looked at his legs with the same expression as the stag did
of whom we have read in the fable.
' What is the matter with you, Monsieur Pitou ? said Catherine,
who had observed his discontented looks.
Pitou did not reply : he could not have explained his feelings ; he
therefore only sighed.
LONG LEGS USEFUL IN RUNNING. 61
The game had terminated. The Viscount de Charny took advan-
tage of the interval between the game just finished and the one about
to commence, to come over to speak to Catherine. As he approached
them nearer and nearer, Pitou observed the colour heightening in
the young girl's cheeks, and felt her arm become more and more
trembling.
The viscount gave a nod to Pitou, and then, with that familiar
politeness which the nobility of that period knew how to adopt
with the citizens' daughters and grisettes, he inquired of Catherine
as to the state of her health, and asked her to be his partner in the
first dance. Catherine accepted. A smile conveyed the thanks of
the young nobleman. The game was about to begin, and he was
called for. He bowed to Catherine, and then left her with the same
elegant ease with which he had approached her.
Pitou felt all the superiority which the man possessed over
him, who could speak, smile, approach and take leave in such a
manner.
A month's study, employed in endeavouring to imitate the simple,
though elegant, movements of M. de Charny, would only have
produced a ridiculous parody, and this Pitou himself acknowledged.
If Pitou had been capable of entertaining a feeling of hatred,
he would from that moment have detested the Viscount de Charny.
Catherine remained looking at the tennis players until the moment
when they called their servants to bring their coats to them. She
then directed her steps towards the place set apart for dancing, to
Pitou's great despair, who on that day appeared to be destined to go
everywhere but where he wished.
M. de Charny did not allow Catherine to wait long for him. A
slight change in his dress had converted him from a tennis player
into an elegant dancer.
The violins gave the signal, and he at once presented his hand
to Catherine, reminding her of the promise she had made to dance
with him.
That which Pitou experienced when he felt Catherine withdraw-
ing her arm from within his, and saw the young girl blushing
deeply as she advanced with her cavalier into the circle, was one
of the most disagreeable sensations of his whole life. A cold per-
spiration stood upon his brow ; a cloud passed over his eyes ; he
stretched out his hand and caught hold of the balustrade for support,
for he felt that his knees, strongly constituted as they were, were
giving way.
At to Catherine, she did not appear to have, and very probably
even had not, any idea of what was passing in poor Pitou's heart.
She was at once happy and proud ; happy at being about to dance,
and proud of dancing with the handsomest cavalier of the whole
neighbourhood.
If Pitou had been constrained to admire M. de Charny as a
62 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
tennis player, he was compelled to do him justice as a dancer. In
those days the fashion had not yet sprang up of walking instead of
dancing. Dancing was an art which formed a necessary part of
the education of every one. Without citing the case of M. de
Lauzun, who had owed his fortune to the manner in which he had
danced his first steps in the king's quadrille, more than one noble-
man owed the favour he had enjoyed at court to the manner in which
he had extended his legs or pointed the extremity of his toe. In
this respect the viscount was a model of grace and perfection, and
he might, like Louis XIV., have danced in a theatre with the
chance of being applauded, although he was neither a king nor an
actor.
For the second time Pitou looked at his own legs, and was
obliged to acknowledge that unless some great metamorphosis
should take place in that portion of his individuality, he must alto-
gether renounce any attempt to succeed in vying with M. de Charny
in the particular art which he was displaying at that moment.
The country dance having ended for Catherine it had scarcely
lasted a few seconds, but to Pitou it had appeared a century she
returned to resume the arm of her cavalier, and could not avoid
observing the change which had taken place in his countenance.
He was pale ; the perspiration was streaming from his forehead,
and a tear, half dried up by jealousy, was standing in his humid
eye.
' Ah ! good heaven !' she exclaimed, ' what is the matter with
you, Pitou ?*
' The matter is,' replied the poor youth, ' that I shall never dare
to dance with you, after having seen you dance with Monsieur
de Charny.'
4 Pshaw !' said Catherine, ' you must not allow yourself to be cast
down in this way ; you will dance as well as you are able, and I
shall not feel the less pleasure in dancing with you.'
1 Ah !' cried Pitou, ' you say that, mademoiselle, to console me ;
but I know myself, and I feel assured that you will always feel more
pleasure in dancing with this young nobleman than with me.'
Catherine made no reply, for she would not utter a falsehood,
only, as she was an excellent creature, and had begun to perceive
that something extraordinary was passing in the heart of the poor
youth, she treated him very kindly ; but this kindness could not
restore to him his lost joy and peace of mind. Father Billot
had spoken truly : Pitou was beginning to be a man he was
suffering.
Catherine danced five or six country dances after this, one of which
was with M. de Charny. This time, without suffering less in reality
than before, Pitou was, in appearance, much more calm. He
followed each movement which Catherine and her cavalier made,
with eager eyes. He endeavoured from the motion of their lips to
LONG LEGS USEFUL IN RUNNING. 63
divine what they were saying to each other, and when, during the
figures of the dance, their hands were joined, he tried to discern
whether their hands merely touched or pressed each other when
thus they came in contact.
Doubtless, it was the second dance with De Charny that Catherine
had been awaiting, for it was scarcely ended when the young girl
proposed to Pitou to return to the farm. Never was proposal acceded
to with more alacrity ; but the blow was struck, and Pitou, while
Taking long strides which Catherine from time to time was obliged
to restrain, remained perfectly silent.
' What is the matter with you ?' at length said Catherine to him,
'and why is it that you do not speak to me ?'
' I do not speak to you, mademoiselle,' said Pitou, ' because I do
not know how to speak as M. de Charny does. What would you
have me say to you, after all the fine things which he whispered to
you while dancing with you ?
1 Only see how unjust you are, Monsieur Ange ; why, we were
speaking of you.'
' Of me, mademoiselle, and how so ?
'Why, Monsieur Pitou, if your protector should not return, you
must have another found to supply his place.'
' I am then no longer capable of keeping the farm accounts ?'
inquired Pitou, with a sigh.
On the contrary, Monsieur Ange, it is the farm accounts which
are no longer worthy of being kept by you. With the education
that you have received, you can find some more fitting occupation.'
' I do not know what I may be fit for, but this I know, that I will
not accept anything better if I am to obtain it through the Viscount
de Charny.'
' And why should you refuse his protection ? His brother the
Count de Charny is, it would appear, in high favour at court, and
has married an intimate friend of the queen. He told me that, if
it would be agreeable to you, he could obtain for you a place in the
custom-house.'
' Much obliged, mademoiselle ; but I have already told you that
I am well satisfied to remain as I am, and unless, indeed, your
father wishes to send me away, I will remain at the farm.'
' And why in the devil's name should I send you away ?' cried a
gruff voice, which Catherine tremblingly recognised to be that of
her father.
' My dear Pitou,' said Catherine in a whisper, ' do not say a word
of Monsieur Isidor, I beg of you.'
' Well ! why don't you answer ?
'Why, really I don't know/ said Pitou, much confused ; 'per-
haps you do not think me sufficiently well informed to be useful
to you ?
* Not sufficiently well informed, when you calculate as well as
64 TAKING THE BASTILb.
Bareine, and when you read well enough to teach our schoolmaster,
who notwithstanding thinks himself a great scholar. No, Pitou,
it is God who brings to my house the people who enter it, and
when once they are in it they shall remain there as lone as God
pleases.'
Pitou returned to the farm on this assurance ; but although this
was something, it was not enough. A great change had been
operated in his mhid between the time of his going out and return-
ing : he had lost a thing which, once lost, is never recovered ; this
was confidence in himself, and therefore Pitou, contrary to his" usual
custom, slept very badly. In his waking moments he recalled to
mind Dr. Gilbert's book ; this book was written principally against
the nobility, against the abuses committed by the privileged classes,
against the cowardice of those who submitted to them ; it appeared
to Pitou that he only then began to comprehend all the fine things
which he had read that morning, and he promised himself, as soon
as it should be daylight, to read for his own satisfaction, and to
himself, the masterpiece which he had read aloud and to every-
body.
But as Pitou had slept badly he awoke late. He did not, how-
ever, the less determine on carrying into effect his project of read-
ing the book. It was seven o'clock ; the farmer would not return
until nine ; besides, were he to return earlier, he could not but ap-
prove an occupation which he had himself recommended.
He descended by a small staircase, and seated himself on a lofr
bench which happened to be under Catherine's window. Was it
accident that had led Pitou to seat himself precisely in that spot,
or did he know the relative positions of that window and that
bench ?
Be that as it may, Pitou was attired in his old every-day clothes,
which there had not yet been time to get replaced, and which were
composed of his black breeches, his green cassock, and his rusty-
looking shoes. He drew the pamphlet from his pocket and begam
to read.
We would not venture to say that on beginning to read the eyes
of Pitou were not, from time to time, turned from his book to the
window ; but as the window did not exhibit the fair face of tht
young girl in its framework of nasturtiums and convolvuli, Pitou's
eyes at length fixed themselves intently on his book.
It is true that as his hand neglected to turn over the leaves, and
that the more fixed his attention appeared to be, the less did his
hand move, it might be believed that his mind was fixed upon
some other object, and that he was meditating instead of reading.
Suddenly it appeared to Pitou that a shade was thrown over the
pages of the pamphlet, until then illuminated by the morning sun.
This shadow, too dense to be that of a cloud, could therefore only
be produced by some opaque body. Now, there are opaque
LONG LEGS USEFUL IN RUNNING. 65
bodies which are so delightful to look upon, that Pitou quickly
turned round to ascertain what it was that thus intercepted his sun-
shine.
Pitou's hopes were, however, delusive. There was in fact an
opaque body which robbed him of the daylight and heat which
Diogenes desired Alexander not to deprive him of. But this opaque
body, instead of being delightful, presented to his view a sufficiently
disagreeable appearance.
It was that of a man about forty-five years old, who was taller
and thinner than Pitou himself, dressed in a coat almost as thread-
bare as his own, and who was leaning his head over his shoulder,
and appeared to be reading the pamphlet with a curiosity equal to
Pitou's absence of mind.
Pitou was very much astonished ; a gracious smile was playing
round the lips of the dark-looking gentleman, exhibiting a mouth
which had only retained four teeth, two in the upper and two in the
lower jaw, crossing and sharpening themselves against each other,
like the tusks of the wild boar.
'An American edition,' said the man, with a strong nasal twang :
' an octavo : " On the Liberty of Man and the Independence of
Nations, Boston, 1788."'
While this man was reading, Pitou opened his eyes with pro-
gressively increasing astonishment, so that when the black man
ceased speaking, Pitou's eyes had attained the greatest possible
development of which they were capable.
' Boston, 1788. That is right, sir,' replied Pitou.
' It is the treatise of Doctor Gilbert,' said the gentleman in
black.
' Yes, sir,' politely replied Pitou, rising from his seat, for he had
been told that it was uncivil to remain sitting when speaking to a
superior ; and in the still ingenuous mind of Pitou this man had
the right to claim superiority over him.
But on getting up, Pitou observed something of a rosy colour
moving towards the window, and which gave him a significant
glance. This rosy something was Mademoiselle Catherine. The
young girl looked at him with an extraordinary expression, and
made strange signs to him.
' Sir, if it is not being indiscreet,' said the gentleman in black,
who, having his back turned towards the window, was altogether
ignorant of what was passing, ' may I ask to whom this book be-
longs ?
And he pointed with his finger to the pamphlet which Pitou held
in his hand.
Pitou was about to say that the book belonged to M. Billot,
when he heard the following words uttered in an almost supplicating
tone :
' Say that it is your own.'
66 TAKING THE BASTILE.
The gentleman in black, who was at that moment all eyes, did
not hear these words.
' Sir/ replied Pitou majestically, ' this book belongs to me.'
The gentleman in black raised his head, for he began to remark
that the amazed looks of Pitou were from time to time diverted from
him, to fix themselves on one particular spot. He saw the window,
but Catherine had divined the movement of the gentleman in black,
and, rapid as a bird, she had disappeared.
' What are you looking at, up yonder ? inquired the gentleman
in black.
' Well, now,' replied Pitou, smiling, ' permit me to observe to you,
that you are very inquisitive curwstes, or rather, avtdus cognoscendi,
as the Abbe" Fortier, my preceptor, used to say.'
4 You say, then,' rejoined the interrogator, without appearing in
the slightest degree intimidated by the proof of learning which
Pitou had just given, with the intention of affording the gentleman
in black a higher idea of his acquirements than he had before en-
tertained ; ' you say, then, that this book is yours ?
Pitou gave his eyes a furtive glance, so that the window came
within the scope of his visual organs. Catherine's head again ap-
peared at it, and made him an affirmative sign.
' Yes, sir,' replied Pitou. ' You are, perhaps, anxious to read it
Airidus legendi libri, or legenda historia.'
' Sir,' said the gentleman in black, ' you appear to be much above
the position which your attire would indicate. Non dives vesitu
sed ingenio. Consequently, I arrest you.'
' How ! you arrest me ?' cried Pitou, completely astounded.
'Yes, sir ; follow me, I beg of you.'
Prtou no longer looked up in the air but around him, and per-
ceived two police sergeants who were awaiting the orders of the
gent'eman in black. The two sergeants seemed to him to have
sprung up from beneath the ground.
' Let us draw up our report, gentlemen,' said the gentleman in
black.
The sergeants tied Pitou's hands together with a rope, and be-
tween his hands remained Dr. Gilbert's book.
Then they fastened Pitou himself to a ring which was in the
wall under the window.
Pitou was about to exclaim against this treatment, but he heard
the voice which had so much influence over him, saying, ' Let them
do what they please.'
Pitou therefore allowed them to do as they pleased, with a
docility which perfectly enchanted the sergeants, and, above all,
the gentleman in black. So that without the slightest mistrust
they entered the farm-house, the two sergeants to fetch a table, the
gentleman in black to but this we shall learn by-and-by.
The sergeants and the gentleman in black had scarcely entered
the house when the soft voice was again heard.
LONG LEGS USEFUL IN RUNNING. 6}
* Hold up your hands,' said the voice.
Pitou not only held up his hands but his head, and he perceived
the pale and terrified face of Catherine ; she had a knife in her
hand.
' Higher ! higher !' said she.
Pitou raised himself on tiptoe.
Catherine leaned out of the window, the knife touched the rope,
and Pitou recovered the liberty of his hands.
' Take the knife,' said Catherine, ' and in your turn cut the rope
which fastens you to the ring.'
It was not necessary to repeat this twice to Pitou. He cut the
cord, and was then completely free.
' And now,' said Catherine, ' here is a double louis. You have
good legs ; make your escape. Go to Paris and acquaint the
m \ A
doctor '
She could not complete the sentence. The two sergeants re-
appeared, and the double-louis fell at Pitou's feel.
Pitou quickly snatched it up. The sergeants were on the thres-
hold of the door, where they remained for a moment or two,
astonished at seeing the man at liberty who so short a time before
they had so securely tied up. On seeing them, Pitou's hair stood
on an end, and he confusedly remembered the in crinibus agues of
Euminedes.
The two sergeants and Pitou remained for a short time in the
position of two pointer dogs and a hare motionless, and looking
at each other. But as, at the slightest movement of the dogb, the
hare springs off, at the first movement of the sergeants, Pitou gave
a prodigious bound, and leaped over a high hedge.
The sergeants uttered a cry which made the exempt rush out of
the house, who had a small casket under his arm. The exempt
did not lose any time in parleying, but instantly ran after Pitou ;
the two sergeants imitated his example ; but they were not active
enough to jump, as he had done, over a hedge four feet and a
half in height. They were therefore compelled to go round to a
gate.
But when they reached the corner of the hedge, they perceived
Pitou five hundred yards off in the plain, and hastening towards
the forest, from which he was distant scarcely a quarter of a
league, and which he would doubtless reach in some six or seven
minutes.
At that moment Pitou turned round ; and on perceiving the
sergeants, who were pursuing him rather from a desire to perform
their duty than with the hope of catching him, he redoubled his
speed, and soon disappeared in the skirts of the wood.
Pitou ran on at this rate for another quarter of an hour. He could
have run two hours had it been necessary, for he had the vynd of a
stag, as well as its velocity.
68 TAKING THE BASTILE.
But at the end of a quarter of an hour he felt instinctively that
he must be out of danger. He stopped, drew breath, and listened ;
and having assured himself that he had completely distanced his
pursuers, he said to himself
' It is incredible that so many events can have been crowded into
three days,' and he looked alternately at his double-louis and his
knife.
' Oh !' said he, ' I wish I had only time to change my double-Jouis,
and give two sous to Mademoiselle Catherine ; for I am much afraid
that this knife will cut our friendship. No matter,' added he, ' since
she has desired me to go to Paris, let us go there.'
And Pitou, having looked about him to ascertain what part of
the country he had reached, and finding that he was between
Bouronne and Yvors, took a narrow path which would lead him
straight to Gondreville, which path was crossed by the road which
led direct to Paris.
CHAPTER VIII.
SHOWING WHY THE GENTLEMAN IN BLACK HAD GONE INTO THE
FARM AT THE SAME TIME WITH THE TWO SERGEANTS.
BUT now let us return to the farm, and relate the catastrophe of
which Pitou's episode was the winding up.
At about six o'clock in the morning, an agent of the Paris
police, accompanied by two sergeants, arrived at Villers-Cottere'ts,
had presented themselves to the Commissary of Police, and had
requested that the residence of Farmer Billot might be pointed out
to them.
When they came within about five hundred yards of the farm, the
exempt perceived a labourer working in a field. He went to him
and asked him whether he should find M. Billot at home. The
labourer replied that M. Billot never returned home till nine o'clock
that is to say, before the breakfast hour. But at that very moment,
as chance would have it, the labourer raised his eyes, and pointed to
a man on horseback who was talking with a shepherd at the dis-
tance of a quarter of a league from the farm.
' And yonder,' said he, ' is the person you are inquiring for.'
' Monsieur Billot ?
'Yes.'
' That horseman ?'
' Yes that is Monsieur Billot.'
' Well, then, my friend,' rejoined the exempt, ' do you wish to
afford great pleasure to your master ?'
' I should like it vastly.'
' Go and tell him that a gentleman from Paris is waiting for him
at the farm.'
' Oh !' cried the labourer, ' can it be Dr. Gilbert ?
THE PERQUISITION. 69
'Tell him what I say that is all.'
The countryman did not wait to have the order repeated, but ran
as hard as he could across the fields, while the police-officer and the
two sergeants went and concealed themselves behind a half-ruined
wall which stood facing the gate of the farm-yard.
In a very few minutes the galloping uf a horse was heard. It was
Billot, who had hastened back.
He went into the farm-yard, jumped from his horse, threw the
bridle to one of the stable-boys, and rushed into the kitchen, being
convinced that the first person he should see there would be Dr.
Gilbert, standing beneath the immense mantelpiece ; but he only saw
Madame Billot seated in the middle of the room, plucking the
feathers from a duck with all the minute care which this difficult
operation demands.
Catherine was in her own room, employed in making a cap for
the following Sunday. As it appears, Catherine was determined to
be prepared in good time ; but if the women have one pleasure
greater than that of being well-dressed, it is that of preparing the
articles with which they are to adorn themselves..
Billot paused on the threshold of the kitchen, and looked around
inquiringly.
' Who, then, was it sent for me ?' said he.
' It was I/ replied a flute-like voice behind him.
Billot turned round, and perceived the gentleman in black and the
two sergeants.
' Hey-day !' cried he, retreating three paces from them, ' and what
do you want with me ?'
' Oh ! good heavens ! almost nothing, my dear Monsieur Billot,'
said the man with the flute-like voice ; ' only to make a perquisition
in your farm, that is all.'
' A perquisition ?' exclaimed the astonished Billot.
'A perquisition,' repeated the exempt.
Billot cast a glance at his fowling-piece, which was hanging ovei
the chimney.
' Since we have a National Assembly,' said he, ' I thought that
citizens were no longer exposed to such vexations, which belong to
another age, and which appertain to a bygone state of things. What
do you want with me ? I am a peaceable and loyal man.'
The agents of every police in the world have one habit which is
common to them all that of replying to the questions of their
victims only while they are searching their pockets. While they are
arresting them, or tying their hands behind, some appear to be moved
by pity. These tender-hearted ones are the most dangerous, inas-
much as they appear to be the most kind-hearted.
The one who was exercising his functions in the house of
Farmer Billot was of the true Tapin and Desgre's school, made
up of sweets, having always a tear for those whom they are per-
70 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
secuting, but who nevertheless do not use their hands to wipe their
eyes.
The one in question, although heaving a deep sigh, made a sign
with his hand to the two sergeants, who approached Billot. The
worthy farmer sprang forward, and stretched out his hand to seize
his gun, but it was diverted from the weapon a doubly-dangerous
act at such a moment, as it might not only have killed the person
about to use it, but the one against whom it was to be pointed. His
hand was seized and imprisoned between two little hands, rendered
strong by terror and powerful by supplication. .\
It was Catherine, who had run downstairs on hearing the noise,
and had arrived in time to save her father from,committing the crime
of rebelling against th constituted authorities.
The first moment of anger having passed by, Billot no longer
offered any resistance. The exempt ordered that he should be con-
fined in a room on the ground floor, and Catherine in a room on the
first story. As to Madame Billot, she was considered so inoffensive
that no attention was paid to her, and she was allowed to remain
in the kitchen. After this, finding himself master of the place, the
exempt began to search the secretary, wardrobes, and chests-of-
drawers.
Billot, on finding himself alone, wished to make his escape. But,
like most of the rooms on the ground .floor of the farm-house, the
windows of the one he was imprisoned in were secured by iron
bars. The gentleman in black had with a glance observed these
bars, while Billot, who had had them placed there, had forgotten
them.
Then, peeping through the key-hole, he perceived the exempt and
his two acolytes, who were ransacking everything throughout the
house.
' Hilloa !' cried he ; ' what is the meaning of all this ?' What are
you doing there ?'
' You can very plainly see that, my dear Monsieur Billot,' said
the exempt. ' We are seeking for something which we have not yet
found.'
' But perhaps you are banditti, villains, regular thieves. Who
knows f
' Oh, sir !' replied the exempt, through the door, ' you do us
wrong. We are honest people, as you are ; only that we are in
the pay of his majesty, and, consequently, compelled to obey his
orders.'
' His majesty's orders !' exclaimed Billot. ' The king, Louis XVI.,
has ordered you to search my secretary, to turn everything topsy-
turvy in my closets and my wardrobes ?
'Yes.'
' His majesty,' rejoined Billot, ' who last year, when there was
such a frightful famine that we were thinking of eating our horses
THE PEKQU1S1TWN. ^l
his majesty, who two years ago, when the hail-storm of the I3th
July destroyed our whole harvest, and did not then deign to ieel
any anxiety about us what has he now to do with my farm, which
he never saw, or with me, whom he does not know ?'
' You will pardon me, sir,' said the exempt, opening the door a
little, but with great precaution, and exhibiting his order, signed by
the lieutenant of police, and which, according to the usual mode,
was headed with these words, ' In the king's name ' ' his majesty
has heard you spoken of, although he may not be personally ac-
quainted with you ; therefore, do not refuse the honour which he
does you, and receive in a fitting manner those who present them-
selves to you in his name.'
And the exempt, with a polite bow, and a friendly wink of the
eye, closed the door again ; after which the examination was re-
sumed.
Billot said not a word more, but crossed his arms and paced up
and down the room, like a lion in a cage. He felt that he was caught,
and in the power of this man.
The investigation was silently continued. These men appeared
to have dropped from the clouds. No one had seen them but
the labourer who had been sent to fetch Billot. The dogs even
in the yards had not barked on their approach. Assuredly the
chief of this expedition must have been considered a skilful man,
even by his own fraternity. It was evidently not his first enterprise
of this nature.
Billot heard the moanings of his daughter, shut up in the room
above his own, and he remembered her prophetic words ; for there
could not be a doubt that the persecution; the farmer had been sub-
jected to had for its cause the doctor's book.
At length the clock struck nine ; and Billot through his grated
window could count his labourers, as they returned to the farm-
house to get their breakfast. On seeing this, he reflected that, in
case of any conflict, might, if not right, was on his side. This con-
viction made the blood boil in his veins. He had no longer the
fortitude to restrain his feelings ; and, seizing the door with both
hands, he shook it so violently, that with two or three efforts of the
same nature, he would have byrst off the lock.
The police-agents immediately opened the door, and they saw the
farmer standing close by it, .with threatening looks. All was con-
fusion in the house.
' But, finally,' cried Billot, ' what is it you are seeking for in my
house ? Tell me, or zounds ! I will make you tell me.'
The successive return of the labourers had not escaped the ex-
perienced eye of such a man as the exempt. He had counted the
farm-servants, and had admitted to himself that in case of any com
bat, he would not be able to retain possession of the field of battle.
He there fore approached Billot with a demeanour more honeyed even
than before, and bowing almost to the ground, said :
72 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' I will tell you what it is, dear Monsieur Billot, although it is
against our custom. What we are seeking for in your house is a
subversive book, an incendiary pamphlet, placed under ban by our
royal censors.'
' A book ! and in the house of a farmer who cannot read ?
' What is there astonishing in that, if you are a friend to the author,
and he has sent it to you ?
' I am not the friend of Dr. Gilbert ; I am merely his humble
servant. The friend of the doctor, indeed ! that would be too great
an honour for a poor farmer like me.'
This inconsiderate outbreak, in which Billot betrayed himself
by acknowledging that he not only knew the author, which was
natural enough, he being his landlord, but that he knew the book,
insured the agent's victory. The latter drew himself up, assumed
his most amiable air, and touching Billot's arm, said, with a smile
which appeared to distend transversely over one half of his face :
' "'Tis thou hast named him? Do you know that verse, my dear
Monsieur Billot 3"
' I know no verses.'
' It is by Racine, a very great poet.'
* Well, what is the meaning of that line ? cried Billot
' It means that you have betrayed yourself.'
1 Who I ?'
' Yourself.'
' And how so ?'
' By being the first to mention Monsieur Gilbert, whom we had
the discretion not to name.'
' That is true,' said Billot.
' You acknowledge it, then ?
' I will do more than that.'
' My dear Monsieur Billot, you overwhelm us with kindness :
what is it you will do ?
1 If it is that book you are hunting after, and I tell you where that
book is,' rejoined the farmer, with an uneasiness which he could not
altogether control, ' you will leave off turning everything topsy-turvy
here, will you not ?'
The exempt made a sign to his two assistants.
' Most assuredly,' replied the exempt, ' since it is that book which
is the object of our perquisition. Only,' continued he, with his
smiling grimace, ' you may perhaps acknowledge one copy of it
when you may have ten in your possession.'
' I have only one, and that I swear to you.'
'But it is this we are obliged to ascertain by a most careful
search, dear Monsieur Billot,' rejoined the exempt. ' Have patience,
therefore ; in five minutes it will be concluded. We are only poor
sergeants obeying the orders of the authorities, and you would not
surely prevent men of honour there are men of honour in every
THE PERQUISITION. 73
station of life, dear Monsieur Billot you would not throw any im-
pediment in the way of men of honour, when they are domg their
duty.'
The gentleman in black had adopted the right mode : this was
the proper course for persuading Billot.
' Well, do it then,' replied the farmer, ' but do it quickly.'
And he turned his back upon them.
The exempt then very gently closed the door, and more gently
still turned the key in the lock, at which Billet shrugged his
shoulders in disdain, being certain of pulling open the door when-
ever he might please.
On his side the gentleman in black made a sign to the sergeants,
who resumed their investigation, and they set to work much more
actively than before. Books, papers, linen, were all opened, exa-
mined, unfolded.
Suddenly, at the bottom of a wardrobe which had been completely
emptied, they perceived a small oaken casket bound with iron.
The exempt darted upon it as a vulture on his prey. At the mere
sight, the scent, the handling of this object, he undoubtedly at once
recognised that which he was in search of, for he quickly concealed
the casket beneath his threadbare coat and made a sign to the two
sergeants that his mission was effected.
Billot was again becoming impatient : he stopped before the
locked door.
' Why, I tell you again that you will not find it unless I tell you
where it is,' he cried ; ' it is not worth the while to tumble and de-
stroy all my things for nothing. I am not a conspirator. In the
devil's name, listen to me. Do you not hear what I am saying ?
Answer me, or I will set off for Paris, and will complain to the king,
to the National Assembly, to everybody.'
In those days the king was always mentioned before the people.
' Yes, my dear Monsieur Billot, we hez r you, and we are quite
ready to do justice to your excellent reasoning. Come, now, tell us
where is this book ? And as we are now convinced that you have
only that single copy, we will take it, and then we will withdraw,
and all will be over.'
' Well,' replied Billot, ' the book is in the possession of an honest
lad to whom I have given it with the charge of carrying it to a
friend.'
' And what is the name of this honest lad ?' asked the gentleman
in black, in an insinuating tone.
' Ange Pitou he is a poor orphan whom I aave taken into my
house from charity, and who does not even know the subject of this
book.'
' Thanks, dear Monsieur Billot,' said the exempt.
They threw the linen back again into the wardrobe, and locked itf
up again, but the casket was not there.
o
74 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
1 And where is this amiable youth to be found ?
' I think I saw him as I returned, somewhere near the bed ot
scarlet-runners, close to the tunnel. Go, take the book from him ;
but take care not to do him any injury.'
' Injury ! Oh ! my dear Monsieur Billot, how little you know us.
We would not harm even a fly.'
And he went towards the indicated spot. When he got near the
scarlet-runners he perceived Pitou, whose tall stature made him
appear more formidable than he was in reality. Thinking that the
two sergeants would stand in need of his assistance to master the
young giant, the exempt had taken off his cloak, had rolled the
casket in it, and had hid the whole in a secret corner, but where he
could easily regain possession of it.
But Catherine, who had been listening with her ear glued, as it
were, to the door, had vaguely heard the words Book, Doctor, and
Pitou. Therefore, finding the storm she had predicted had burst
upon them, she had formed the idea of attenuating its effects. It
was then that she prompted Pitou to say that he was the owner of
the book.
We have related what then passed regarding it : how Pitou,
bound and handcuffed by the exempt and his acolytes, had been
restored to liberty by Catherine, who had taken advantage of the
moment when the two sergeants went into the house to fetch a table
to write upon, and the gentleman in black to take his cloak and
casket.
We have stated how Pitou made his escape by jumping over a
hedge, but that which we did not state is, that, like a man of talent,
the exempt had taken advantage of this flight.
And, in fact, the two-fold mission entrusted to the exempt having
been accomplished, the flight of Pitou afforded an excellent oppor-
tunity to the exempt and his two men to make their escape also.
The gentleman in black, although he knew he had not the slightest
chance of catching the fugitive, excited the two sergeants by his
vociferations and his example to such a degree, that on seeing them
racing through the clover, the wheat, and Spanish trefoil fields, one
would have imagined that they were the most inveterate enemies
of Pitou, whose long legs they were most cordially blessing in their
hearts.
But Pitou had scarcely gained the covert of the wood, or had
even passed the skirts of it, when the confederates halted behind a
bush. During their race they had been joined by two other ser-
geants, who had kept themselves concealed in the neighbourhood
of the farm, and who had been instructed not to show themselves
unless summoned by their chief.
' Upon my word,' said the exempt, ' it is very well that our gallant
young fellow had not the casket instead of the book, for we should
have been obliged to hire post-horses to catch him. By Jupiter !
those legs of his are not men's legs, but those of a stag.'
THE PERQUISITION. 75
'Yes,' replied one of the sergeants, ' but he has not got it, has he,
Monsieur Wolfsfoot ; for, on the contrary, 'tis you who have it.'
' Undoubtedly, my friend, and here it is,' replied the exempt,
whose name we have now given for the first time, or we should*
rather say the nickname which had been given to him on account
of the lightness of his step and the stealthiness of his walk.
' Then we are entitled to the reward which was promised us,' ob-
served one of the sergeants.
' Here it is,' said the exempt, taking from his pocket four golden
louis, which he divided among his four sergeants, without any dis-
tinction as to those who had been actively engaged in the perquisi-
tion or those who had merely remained concealed.
* Long live the lieutenant of police !' cried the sergeants.
'There is no harm in crying "Long live the lieutenant,"' said
Wolfsfoot, ' but every time you utter such exclamations you should
do it with discernment. It is not the lieutenant who pays.'
' Who is it then ?'
' Some gentleman or lady friend of his, I know not which, but
who desires that his or her name may not be mentioned in the
business.'
' ! would wager that it is the person who wishes for the casket,'
said one of the sergeants.
' Hear now, PJgold, my friend,' said the gentleman in black ; ' I
have always affirmed that you are a lad replete with perspicacity, but
until the day when this perspicacity shall produce its fruits by being
amply recompensed, I advise you to be silent. What we have now
to do is to make the best of our way on foot out of this neighbour-
hood. That damned farmer has not the appearance of being con-
ciliatory, and as soon as he discovers that the casket is missing, he
will despatch all his farm labourers in pursuit of us, and they are
fellows who can aim a gun as truly as any of his majesty's Swiss
guards.'
This opinion was doubtless that of the majority of the party, for
they all five set off at once, and, continuing to remain within the
border of the forest, which concealed them from all eyes, they
rapidly pursued their way, until, after walking three-quarters of a
league, they came out upon the public road.
This precaution was not a useless one, for Catherine had scarcely
seen the gentleman in black and his two attendants disappear in
pursuit of Pitou, than, full of confidence in him whom they pursued,
who, unless some accident happened to him, would lead them a
long dance, she called the husbandmen, who were well aware that
something strange was going on, although they were ignorant of the
positive facts, to tell them to open her door for her.
The labourers instantly obeyed her, and Catherine, again free,
hastened to set her father at liberty.
Billot appeared to be in a dream. Instead of at once rushing out
76 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
of the room, he seemed to walk mistrustfully, and returned from the
door into the middle of the apartment. It might have been
imagined that he did not dare to remain in the same spot, and yet
that he was afraid of casting his eyes upon the articles of furniture
which had been broken open and emptied by the sergeants.
' But,' cried he on seeing his daughter, ' tell me, did they take the
book fr >m him ?*
' I believe so, father,' she replied, ' but they did not take him.'
' Whom do you mean ?
' Pitou : he has escaped from them, and they are still running
after him. They must already have got to Cayolles or Vauciennes.'
' So much the better ! Poor fellow ! It is I who have brought
this upon him.'
' Oh, father, do not feel uneasy about him, but think only of what
we have to do ! Pitou, you may rest assured, will get out of this
scrape. But what disorder ! good heaven ! only look, mother.'
' Oh, my linen wardrobe !' cried Madame Billot ; ' they have not
even respected my linen wardrobe ! what villains they must be !'
' They have searched the wardrobe where the linen was kept !'
exclaimed Billot.
And he rushed towards the wardrobe, which the exempt, as we
have before stated, had carefully closed again, and plunged his
hands into piles of towels and table napkins, all confusedly huddled
together.
' Oh,' cried he, ' it cannot be possible !'
' What are you looking for, father ? inquired Catherine.
Billot gazed around him as if completely bewildered.
' Search search if you can see it anywhere ! But no : not in
that chest of drawers not in that secretary. Besides, it was there
there ; it was I myself who put it there. I saw it there only yes-
terday. It was not the book they were seeking for, the wretches,
but the casket !'
' What casket ? asked Catherine.
1 Why, you know well enough.'
' What ! Dr. Gilbert's casket ? inquired Madame Billot, who
always, in matters of transcendent importance, allowed others to
speak and act.
' Yes, Dr. Gilbert's casket !' cried Billot, plunging his fingers into
his thick hair ; ' that casket which was so precious to him.'
' You terrify me, my dear father,' said Catherine.
' Unfortunate man that I am !' cried Billot, with furious anger ;
'and I, who had not in the slightest imagined such a thing ! I, who
did not even for a moment think of that casket ! Oh, what will the
doctor say ? What will he think of me ? That I am a traitor, a
coward, a miserable wretch !'
' But, good heaven ! what did this casket contain, father ?
' I do not know ; but this I know, that I had engaged, even at the
THE PERQUISITION. 77
hazard of my life, to keep it safe ; and I ought to have allowed
myself to be killed in order to defend it.'
And Billot made a gesture of such despair, that his wife and
daughter started back with terror.
' Oh God ! oh God ! are you losing your reason, my poor father ?
.said Catherine.
And she burst into tears.
' Answer me, then,' she cried ! ' for the love of heaven, answer me i'
' Pierre, my friend,' said Madame Billot, 'answer your daughter
answer your wife.'
' My horse ! my horse !' cried the farmer ; ' bring out my horse !'
' Where are you going, father p
' To let the doctor know. The doctor must be informed of this.'
' But where will you find him P
' At Paris. Did you not read in the letter he wrote to us that he
was going to Paris? He must be there by this time. I will go to
Paris. My horse ! my horse !'
' And you will leave us thus, my dear father ? You will leave us
in such a moment as this ? You will leave us full of anxiety and
anguish ?
' It must be so, my child ; it must be so,' said the farmer, taking
his daughter's face between his hands and convulsively fixing his
lips upon it. ' " If ever you should lose this casket," said the
doctor to me, " or rather, should it ever be surreptitiously taken
from you, the instant you discover the robbery, set off at once,
Billot, and inform me of it, wherever I may be. Let nothing stop
you, not even the life of a man." '
' Good Lord ! what can this casket contain ?'
' Of that I know nothing ; all that I know is, that it was placed
under my care, and that I have allowed it to be taken from me. Ah,
here is my horse ! From the son, who is at college, I shall learn
where to find the father.'
And kissing his wife and daughter for the last time, the farmer
jumped into his saddle, and galloped across the country, in the
direction of the high road to Paris.
CHAPTER IX.
THE ROAD TO PARI&
LET us return to Pitou.
Pitou was urged onwards by the two most powerful stimulants
known in this great world Fear and Love.
Fear whispered to him in direct terms :
' You may be either arrested or beaten take care of yourself,
Pitou !'
And that sufficed to make him run as swiftly as a roebuck.
Love had said to him, in the voice of Catherine ;
' Escape quickly, my dear Pitou !'
78 TAKING THE BASTILB.
And Pitou had escaped.
These two stimulants combined, as we have said, had such an
effect upon him, that Pitou did not merely run : Pitou absolutely
flew.
How useful did Pitou's long legs, which appeared to be knotted
to him, and his enormous knees, which looked so ungainly in a ball-
room, prove to him in the open country, when his heart, enlarged
with terror, beat three pulsations in a second.
M. de Charny, with his small feet, his elegantly-formed knees,
and his symmetrically-shaped calves, could not have run at such a
rate as that.
Pitou recalled to his mind that pretty fable, in which a stag is
represented weeping over his slim shanks, reflected in a fountain ;
and although he did not bear on his forehead the ornament which
the quadruped deemed some compensation for his slender legs, he
reproached himself for having so much despised his stilts.
For such was the appellation which Madame Billot gave to
Pitou's legs, when Pitou looked at them standing before a looking-
glass.
Pitou, therefore, continued making his way through the wood,
leaving Poyolles on his right, and Yvors on his left, turning round at
every corner of a bush, to see, or rather to listen, for it was long
since he had seen anything of his persecutors, who had been dis-
tanced at the outset by the brilliant proof of swiftness Pitou had
given, in placing a space of at least a thousand yards between them
and himself, a distance which he was increasing every moment.
Why was Atalanta married ? Pitou would have entered the lists
with her ; and to have excelled Hippomenes he would not assuredly
have needed to employ, as he did, the subterfuge of the three golden
apples.
It is true, as we have already said, that M. Wolfsfoot's agents, de-
lighted at having possession of their booty, cared not a fig as to
what became of Pitou ; but Pitou knew not this.
Ceasing to be pursued by the reality, he continued to be pursued
by the shadows.
As to the black-clothed gentlemen, they had that confidence in
themselves which renders human beings lazy.
' Run ! run !' cried they, thrusting their hands into their pockets,
and making the reward which M. Wolfsfoot had given them jingle
in them : ' run, good fellow, run ; we can always find you again,
should, we want you.'
Which, we may say in passing, far from being a vain boast, was
the precise truth.
And Pitou continued to run as if he had heard the aside of M.
Wolfsfoot's agents.
When he had, by scientifically altering his course, and turning
and twisting as do the wild denizens of the forest, to throw the
THE Pf^.4J> TO PARIS. 79
hounds off scent, when he had doubled and uuned so as to form
such a maze that Nimrod himself would not have been able to
unravel it, he at once made up his mind as to his route, and
taking a sharp turn to the right, went in a direct line to the high
road which leads from Villers-Cotterets to Paris, near the heath of
Gondreville.
Having formed this resolution, he bounded through the thicket,
and after running for little more than a quarter of an hour, he per-
ceived the road inclosed by its yellow sand, and bordered with its
green trees.
An hour after his departure from the farm he was on the king's
highway.
He had run about four leagues and a half during that hour, as
much as any rider could expect from an active horse, going a good
round trot.
He cast a glance behind him. There was nothing on the road.
He cast a glance before him. There were two women upon
asses.
Pitou had got hold of a small work on mythology, with engrav-
ings, belonging to young Gilbert ; mythology was much studied in
those days.
The history of the gods and goddesses of the Grecian Olympus
formed part of the education of young persons. By dint of looking
at the engravings, Pitou had become acquainted with mythology.
He had seen Jupiter metamorphose himself into a bull, to carry off
Europa ; into a swan, that he might approach and make love to the
daughter of King Tyndarus. He had. in short, seen other gods
transforming themselves into forms more or less picturesque ; but
that one of his majesty's police officers had transformed himself
into an ass had never come within the scope of his erudition. King
Midas himself had never had anything of the animal but the ears
and he was a king he made gold at will he had therefore money
enough to purchase the whole skin of the quadruped.
Somewhat reassured by what he saw, or rather by what he did
not see, Pitou threw himself down on the grassy bank of the road-
side, wiped with his sleeve his broad red face, and thus luxuriously
reclining, he yielded himself up to the voluptuousness of perspiring
in tranquillity.
But the sweet emanations from the clover and marjoram could
not make Pitou forget the pickled pork made by Madame Billot, and
the quarter of a six pound loaf which Catherine allotted to him at
every meal that is to say, three times a day.
This bread, which at that time cost four sous and a half a pound,
a most exorbitant price, equivalent at least to nine sous in our days,
this bread, which was so scarce throughout France, and which when
it was eatable, passed for the fabulous brioche ,* which the Duchess
* A sort of dry cake made of flour, eggs and saffron, which the Parisians
eat with their coffee and milk. TRANSLATOR.
8o TAKING
of Polignac advised the Parisians to feed upon when flour should
altogether fail them.
Pitou therefore said to himself philosophically that Mademoiselle
Catherine was the most generous princess in the world, and that
Father Billot's farm was the most sumptuous palace in the universe.
Then, as the Israelites on the banks of the Jordan, he turned a
dying eye towards the East, that is to say, in the direction of that
thrice happy farm, and sighed heavily.
But sighing is not so disagreeable an operation to a man who
stands in need of taking breath, after a violent race.
Pitou breathed more freely when sighing, and he felt his ideas,
which for a time had been much confused and agitated, return to
him gradually with his breath.
'Why is it,'reasoned he with himself,' that so many extraordinary
events have happened to me in so short a space of time ? Why
should I have met with more accidents within the last three days
than during the whole course of my previous life ?
' It is because I dreamt of a cat that wanted to fly at me,' con-
tinued Pitou.
And he made a gesture signifying that the source of all his mis-
fortunes had been thus already pointed out to him.
' Yes,' added he, after a moment's reflection, ' but this is not the
logic of my venerable friend the Abbe" Fortier. It is not because I
dreamed of an irritated cat that all these adventures have happened
to me. Dreams are only given to a man as a sort of warning, and
this is why an author said " Thou hast been dreaming, beware !
Cave somniasti /"
' Somniasti] said Pitou, doubtingly, and with somewhat of alarm,
'am I then again committing a barbarism ? Oh ! no : I am only
making an elision : it was somniavisti which I should have said, in
grammatical language.
' It is astonishing,' cried Pitou, considering himself admiringly,
' how well I understand Latin since I no longer study it.'
And after this glorification of himself, Pitou resumed his journey.
Pitou walked on very quickly, though he was much tranquillised.
His pace was somewhere about two leagues an hour.
The result of this was that two hours after he had recommenced
his walk Pitou had got beyond Nanteuil, and was getting on towards
Dammartin.
Suddenly the ears of Pitou, as acute as those of an Osagu
Indian, were struck with the distant sound of a horse's feet upon
the paved road.
' Oh !' cried Pitou, scanning the celebrated verse of Virgil :
' " Quadru pedante putrem soni tu ouatit ungula campum." '
And he looked behind him.
But he saw nothing.
THE ROAD TO PARIS. 81
Could it be the asses which he had passed at Levignon, and
which had now come on at a gallop ? No : for the iron hoof, as the
poet calls it, rang upon the paved road : and Pitou, whether at
Haramont or at Villers-Cotterets, had never known an ass, excepting
that of Mother Sabot, that was shod, and even this was because
Mother Sabot performed the duty of letter-carrier between ViUers-
Cotterts and Crespy.
He therefore momentarily forgot the noise he had heard, to return
to his reflections.
Who could these men in black be who had questioned him about
Dr. Gilbert, who had tied his hands, who had pursued him, and
whom he had at length so completely distanced ?
Where could these men have sprung from, for they were altogether
unknown in the district?'
What could they have in particular to do with Pitou ? He who
had never seen them, and who, consequently, did not know them.
How then was it, as he did not know them, that they had known
him ? Why had Mademoiselle Catherine told him to set off for
Paris ? and why, in order to facilitate his journey, had she given
him a louis of forty-eight francs ? That is to say, two hundred and
forty pounds of bread, at four sous a pound. Why, it was enough
to supply him with food for eighty days, or three months, if he would
stint his rations somewhat.
Could Mademoiselle Catherine suppose that Pitou was to remain
eighty days absent from the farm ?
Pitou suddenly started.
' Oh ! oh !' he exclaimed, ' again that horse's hoofs.
' This time,' said Pitou, ' I am not mistaken. The noise I hear is
positively that of a horse galloping. I shall see it when he gets to
the top of yon hill.'
Pitou had scarcely spoken when a horse appeared at the top of a
hill he had just left behind him, that is to say, at the distance of
about four hundred yards from the spot on which he stood.
Pitou, who would not allow that a police agent could have trans-
mogrified himself into an ass, admitted at once that he might have
got on horseback to regain the prey that had escaped him.
Terror, from which he had been for some time relieved, again
seized on Pitou, and immediately his legs became even longer and
more intrepid thaa when he had made such marvellous good use of
them some two hours previously.
Therefore, without reflecting, without looking behind, without
even endeavouring to conceal his flight, calculating on the excellence
of his steel-like sinews, Pitou, with a tremendous leap, sprang across
the ditch which ran by the road-side, and began a rapid course in
the direction of Ermenonville. Pitou did not know anything of
Ermenonville, he only saw upon the horizon the summits of some
tall trees, and he said to himself :
82 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' If I reach those trees, which are undoubtedly on the border of
some forest, I am saved.'
And he ran toward Ermenonville.
On this occasion, he had to outvie a horse in running. Pitou had
no longer legs, but wings.
And his rapidity was increased after having run some hundred
yards, for Pitou had cast a glance behind him, and had seen the
horseman oblige his horse to take the same immense leap which he
had taken over the ditch on the road-side.
From that moment there could be no longer a doubt in the mind
of the fugitive that the horseman was, in reality, in pursuit of him,
and consequently the fugitive had increased his speed, never again
turning his head, for fear of losing time. What most urged him on
at that moment was not the clattering on the paved road that
noise was deadened by the clover and the fallow fields ; what most
urged him on was a sort of cry which pursued him, the last syllable
of his name pronounced by the horseman, a sort of hou ! hou !
which appeared to be uttered angrily, aud which reached him on
the wings of the wind, which he was endeavouring to outstrip.
But after having maintained this sharp race during ten minutes,
Pitou began to feel that his chest became oppressed the blood
rushed to his head his eyes began to wander. It seemed to him
that his knees became more and more developed that his loins
were filling with small pebbles. From time to time he stumbled
over the furrows ; he who usually raised his feet so high when
running, that every nail in the soles of his shoes were visible.
At last, the horse, created superior to man in the art of running,
gained on the biped Pitou, who, at the same time, heard the voice
of the horseman, who no longer cried ' hou ! hou !' but clearly and
distinctly, ' Pitou ! Pitou !'
All was over. All was lost
However, Pitou endeavoured to continue the race. It had be-
come a sort of mechanical movement. Suddenly, his knees failed
him ; he staggered and fell at full length with his face to the
ground.
But, at the same time that he thus fell, he fully resolved not to
get up again at all events of his own free will ; and he received a
lash from a horsewhip which wound round his loins.
With a tremendous oath, which was not unfamiliar to his ears, a
well-known voice cried out to him
" How now, you stupid fellow ! how now, you simpleton ! have
you sworn to founder Cadet ?
The name of Cadet at once dispelled all Pitou's suspense.
' Ah !' cried he, turning himself round, so that instead of lying
upon his face he lay upon his back 'Ah ! I hear the voice of
Monsieur Billot !'
It was in fact Goodman Billot. When Pitou was well assured of
his identity, he assessed a sitting posture.
THE ROAD TO PARIS. 83
The farmer, on his side, had pulled up Cadet, covered with flakes
of foam.
'Ah ! dear Monsieur Billot,' exclaimed Pitou, 'how kind it is of
you to ride in this way after me. I swear to you I should have
returned to the farm after having expended the double-louis
Mademoiselle Catherine gave me. But, since you are here, take
back your double-louis for of course it must be yours and let us
return to the farm.'
' A thousand devils !' exclaimed Billot ' who was thinking of the
farm ? where are th mouchards ?
' The moucliards ? inquired Pitou, who did not comprehend the
meaning of this word, which had only just been admitted into the
vocabulary of our language.
' Yes, the mouchards^ rejoined Billot ' the men in black ? Do
you not understand me ?'
' Ah ! the men in black ! You will readily understand, my dear
Monsieur Billot, that I did not amuse myself by waiting for them.'
' Bravo ! You have left them behind, then ?'
' Why, I flatter myself, after the race I have run, it was to be ex-
pected, as it appears to me.'
' Then, if you were so sure of your affair, what the devil made
you run at such a rate ?'
'Because I thought- it was their chief, who, not to be outwitted,
was pursuing me on horseback.
' Well, well ! You are not quite so simple as I thought you.
Then, as the road is clear, up, up, and away for Dammartin !'
' What do you mean by " up, up ?" '
' Yes, get up and come with me.'
' We are going, then, to Dammartin ?'
' Yes. I will borrow a horse there, of old Lefranc. I will leave
Cadet with him, for he can go -no farther ; and to-night we will
push on to Paris.'
'Be it so, Monsieur Billot : be it so.'
' Well, then, up ! up !'
Pitou made an effort to obey him.
' I should much wish to do as you desire,' said he ; ' but, my dear
Monsieur Billot, I cannot.'
' How you cannot get up ?' ;n
' No.'
' But, just now, you could manage to turn round.'
' Oh, just now ! that was by no means astonishing. I heard
your voice, and at the same moment I received a swinging cut
across the back. But such things can only succeed once. At pre-
sent, I am accustomed to your voice ; and as to your whip, I feel
* Spies common informers men who live by betraying others.
TRANSLATOR.
g4 TAKING THE BASTILE.
well assured that you can only apply it to managing our poor
Cadet, who is almost as heated as I am.'
Pitou's logic, which, after all, was nothing more than the Abbe*
F order's, persuaded, and even affected the farmer.
' I have not time to sympathise in your fate,' said he to Pitou ;
' but, come now, make an effort and get up behind me.'
'Why,' said Pitou, 'that would be, indeed, the way to founder
Cadet at once, poor beast !'
' Pooh ! in half an hour we shall be at old Lefranc's.'
' But, it appears to me, dear Monsieur Billot,' said Pitou, * that
it would be altogether useless for me to go with you to old
Lefranc's.'
' And why so ?
' Because, although you have business at Dammartin, I have no
business there not I.'
' Yes ; but I want you to come to Paris with me. In Paris you
will be of use to me. You have good stout fists ; and I am certain
it will not be long before hard knocks will be given there.'
' Ah ! ah !' cried Pitou, not much delighted with this prospect ;
' do you believe that ?
And he managed to get on Cadet's back ; Billot dragging him up
as he would a sack of flour.
The good farmer soon got on the high road again, and so well
managed his bridle, whip, and spurs, that in less than half an hour,
as he had said, they reached Dammartin.
Billot had entered the town by a narrow lane, which was well
known to him. He soon arrived at Father Lefranc's farm-house ;
and leaving Pitou and Cadet in the middle of the farm-yard, he ran
straight to the kitchen, where Father Lefranc, who was setting out
to take a turn round his fields, was buttoning on his gaiters.
' Quick ! quick ! my friend,' cried Billot, before Lefranc had re-
covered from the astonishment which his arrival had produced
' the strongest horse you have !'
' That is Margot,' replied Lefranc ; ' and fortunately she is already
saddled : I was going out.'
' Well, Margot be it, then ; only, it is possible I may founder her,
and of that I forewarn you.'
'What, founder Margot ! and why so, I ask?'
' Because it is necessary that I should be in Paris this very
night.'
And he made a masonic sign to Lefranc, which was most signi-
ficant.
' Well, founder Margot, if you will,' said old Lefranc : ' you shall
give me Cadet, if you do.'
'Agreed.'
' A glass of wine P
1 Two.'
THE ROAD TO PARIS. 85
' But it seemed to me that you were not alone P 7
' No ; I have a worthy lad there whom I am taking with me, and
who is so fatigued that he had not the strength to come in here.
Send out something to him.'
' Immediately, immediately,' said the farmer.
In ten minutes, the two old comrades had each managed to soak
in a bottle of good wine ; and Pitou had bolted a two pound loaf
with half a pound of bacon. While he was eating, one of the farm-
servants, a good fellow, rubbed him down with a handful of clean
straw, to take the mud from his clothes, and with as much care as
if he had been cleaning a favourite horse.
Thus freshened up and invigorated, Pitou had also some wine
given to him, taken from a third bottle, which was the sooner
emptied from Pitou's having his share of it ; after which Billot
mounted Margot, and Pitou, stiff as a pair of compasses, was lifted
on behind him.
The poor beast, being thereunto urged by whip and spur, im-
mediately trotted off bravely, under this double load, on the road
to Paris, and without ceasing, whisked away the flies with its for-
midable tail, the thick hair of which threw the dust of the road on
Pitou's back, and every now and then lashed his calfless legs, which
were exposed to view, his stockings having fallen down to his
ankles.
CHAPTER X.
WHAT WAS HAPPENING AT THE END OF THE ROAD WHICH
PITOU WAS TRAVELLING UPON THAT IS TO SAY, AT PARIS.
IT is eight leagues from Dammartin to Paris. The four first leagues
were tolerably well got over ; but after they reached Bourget, poor
Margot's legs at length began to grow somewhat stiff. Night was
closing in.
On arriving at La Villette, Billot thought he perceived a great
light extending over Paris.
He made Pitou observe the red light, which rose above the ho-
rizon.
1 You do not see, then,' said Pitou to him, ' that there are troops
bivouacking, and that they have lighted their fires.'
' What mean you by troops ? cried Billot.
'There are troops here,' said Pitou ; 'why should there not be
some farther on ?'
And, in fact, on examining attentively, Father Billot saw, on
looking to the right, that the plain of St. Denis was dotted over
with black-looking detachments of infantry and cavalry, which were
marching silently in the darkness.
Their arms glistened occasionally with the pale reflection of the
stars.
86 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Pitou, whose nocturnal excursions in the woods had accustomed
him to see clearly in the dark Pitou pointed out to his master
pieces of artillery, which had sunk up to the axles in the middle of
the muddy plain.
' Oh ! oh !' cried Billot, ' there is something new up yonder, then !
Let us make haste ! Let us make haste !'
' Yes, yes ; there is a fire out yonder,' said Pitou, who had raised
himself on Margot's back. ' Look ! look ! Do you not see the
sparks ?'
Margot stopped. Billot jumped off her back, and approaching a
group of soldiers in blue and yellow uniform, who were bivouacking
under the trees by the road side
' Comrades,' said he to them, ' can you tell me what there is going
on at Paris ?
But the soldiers merely replied to him by oaths, which they
uttered in the German language.
' What the devil is it they say 5* inquired Billot, addressing
Pitou.
' It is not Latin, dear Monsieur Billot,' replied Pitou, trembling ;
' and that is all I can affirm to you.'
Billot reflected, and looked again.
'Simpleton that I was,' said he, 'to attempt 'to question these
Kainserltks.'
And in his curiosity he remained motionless in the middle of the
road.
An officer went up to him.
' Bass on your roat,' said he : ' bass on quickly.'
' Your pardon, captain,' replied Billot ; ' but I am going to
Paris.'
' Veil, mein Gott ; vot den ?'
' And as I see that you are drawn up across the road, I fear that
we cannot get through the barriers.'
' You can get drough.'
And Billot remounted his mare, and went on.
But it was only to fall in the midst of the Bercheur Hussars, who
encumbered the street of La Villette.
This time he had to deal with his own countrymen. He questioned
them with more success.
' Sir,' said he, ' what has there happened at Paris, if you please ?"
' That your headstrong Parisians,' replied the hussar, ' will have
their Necker ; and they are firing musket-shots at us. as if we had
anything to do with the matter.'
' Have Necker !' exclaimed Billot. ' They had lost him, then j
' Assuredly, since the king had dismissed him.'
' The king had dismissed him !' exclaimed Billot, with the stupe-
faction of a devotee calling out against a sacrilege : ' the king has
dismissed that great man ?
WHA T WAS HAPPENING A T PARIS. 87
Oh ! in faith he has, my worthy sir ; and more than that, this
great man is now on his road to Brussels.'
' Well, then, in that case we shall see some fun,' cried Billot, in a
tremendous voice, without caring for the danger he was incurring by
thus preaching insurrection in the midst of twelve or fifteen hundred
royalist sabres.
And he again mounted Margot, spurring her on with cruel violence,
until he reached the barrier.
As he advanced, he perceived that the fire was increasing and
becoming redder. A long column of flame ascended from the
barrier towards the sky.
It was the barrier itself that was burning.
A howling, furious mob, in which there were many women, and
who, as usual, threatened and vociferated more loudly than the men,
were feeding the fire with pieces of wainscoting, and chairs and
tables, and other articles of furniture belonging to the clerks em-
ployed to collect the city dues.
Upon the road were Hungarian and German regiments, who,
leaning upon their grounded arms, were looking on with vacant eyes
at this scene of devastation.
Billot did not allow this rampart of flames to arrest his progress.
He spurred on Margot through the fire. Margot rushed through
the flaming ruins ; but when she had reached the inner side of the
barrier she was obliged to stop, being met by a crowd of people
coming from the centre of the city, towards the suburbs. Some of
them were singing, others shouting, ' To arms !'
Billot had the appearance of being what he really was, a good
farmer coming to Paris on his own affairs. Perhaps he cried out
rather too loudly, ' Make room ! make room !' but Pitou repeated
the words so politely, ' Room if you please, let us pass !' that the
one was a corrective of the other. No one had any interest in
preventing Billot from going to his affairs, and he was allowed to
pass.
Margot, during all this, had recovered her wind and strength ;
the fire had singed her coat. All these unaccustomed shouts ap-
peared greatly to amaze her, and Billot was obliged to restrain the
efforts she now made to advance, for fear of trampling under foot
some of the numerous spectators whom curiosity had drawn
together before their doors to see the gate on fire, and as many
curious people who were running from their doors towards the
burning toll-house.
Billot went on pushing through the crowd, pulling Margot first to
the right, and then to the left, twisting and turning in every direc-
* The city of Paris is encircled by a wall, and at every entrance to it is a
custom-house, where people coming from the country are obliged to give
an account of the produce poultry, meal, butter, eggs, etc. , and pay the
city dues upon them. TRANSLATOR.
88 TAKING THE BASTILE.
tion, until they reached the Boulevard ; but having got thus far he
was obliged to stop.
A procession was then passing, coming from the Bastile, and
going towards the place called the Garde Meuble, those two masses
of stone which in those days formed a girdle which attached the
centre of the city to its outworks.
This procession, which obstructed the whole of the Boulevard,
was following a bier ; on this bier were borne two busts ; the one
veiled with black crape, and other crowned with flowers.
The bust covered with black crape was that of Necker, a minister
who had not been disgraced, but dismissed. The one crowned
with flowers was that of the Duke of Orleans, who had openly
espoused at court the party of the Genevese economists.
Billot immediately inquired what was the meaning of this pro-
cession. He was informed that it was a popular homage paid to
M. Necker and to his defender, the Duke of Orleans.
Billot had been born in a part of the country where the name of
a Duke of Orleans had been venerated for a century and a half.
Billot belonged to the new sect of philosophers, and considered
Necker not only as a great minister, but as an apostle of humanity.
This was more than sufficient to excite Billot. He jumped oft"
his horse, without being exactly aware of what he was about to do,
shouting, ' Long live the Duke of Orleans ! long live Necker !' and
he then mingled with the crowd. Having once got into the thick
of the throng, all personal liberty was at an end at once ; as every
one knows, the use of our free will at once ceases. We wish what
the crowd wishes, we do what it does. Billot, moreover, allowed
himself the more easily to be drawn into this movement, from being
near the head of the procession.
The mob kept on vociferating most strenuously, ' Long live
Necker ! no more foreign troops ! Down with the foreign troops !'
Billot mingled his stentorian voice with all these voices.
A superiority, be it of whatsoever nature it may, is always appre-
ciated by the people. The Parisian of the suburbs, with his faint
hoarse voice, enfeebled by inanition or worn out by drinking, duly
appreciated the full, rich, and sonorous voice of Billot, and readily
made way for him, so that without being too much elbowed, too
much pushed about, too much pressed by the crowd, Billot at
length managed to get close up to the bier.
About ten minutes after this, one of the bearers, whose enthu-
siasm had been greater than his strength, yielded his place to
Billot.
As has been seen, the honest farmer had rapidly obtained pro-
motion.
The day before he had been merely the propagator of the
principles contained in Doctor Gilbert's pamphlet, and now he had
become one of the instruments of the ereat triumph of Necker and
the Duke of Orleans.
WHAT WAS HAPPENING AT PARIS. 89
But he had scarcely attained this post when an idea crossed his
mind.
' What had become of Pitou what had become of Margot ?'
Though carefully bearing his portion of the bier, he gave a glance
behind him, and by the light of the torches which accompanied the
procession, by the light of the lamps which illuminated every
window, he perceived in the midst of the procession a sort of
ambulating eminence, formed of five or six men, who were gesti-
culating and shouting.
Amidst these gesticulations and shouts it was easy to distinguish
the voice and recognise the long arms of his follower, Pitou.
Pitou was doing all he could to protect Margot ; but despite all
his efforts Margot had been invaded. Margot no longer bore
Billot and Pitou, a very honourable and sufficient burden for the
poor animal.
Margot was bearing as many people as could manage to get upon
her back, her croup, her neck ; Margot looked in the obscurity of
the night, which always magnifies the appearance of objects, like
an elephant loaded with hunters going to attack a tiger.
Five or six furious fellows had taken possession of Margot's
broad back, vociferating, 'Long live Necker !' ^Long live the
Duke of Orleans !' ' Down with the foreigners '' to which Pitou
replied,
' You will break Margot's back !'
The enthusiasm was general.
Billot for a moment entertained the idea of rushing to the aid of
Pitou and poor Margot ; but he reflected that if he should only for a
moment resign the honour of carrying one of the corners of the bier,
he would not be able to regain his triumphal post. Then, he re-
flected that by the barter he had agreed to with old Lefranc, that of
giving him Cadet for Margot, Margot belonged to him, and that,
should any accident happen to Margot, it was, after all, but an affair
of some three or four hundred livres, and that he, Billot, was un-
doubtedly rich enough to make the sacrifice of three or four hundred
livres to his country.
During this time the procession kept on advancing ; it had moved
obliquely to the left, and had gone down the Rue Montmartre to the
Place des Victoires. When it reached the Palais Royal some great
impediment prevented its passing on. A troop of men with green
leaves in their hats were shouting ' To arms !'
It was necessary to reconnoitre. Were these men who blocked
up the Rue Vivienne friends or enemies ? Green was the colour of
the Count d'Artois. Why then these green cockades ?
After a minute's conference all was explained.
On learning the dismissal of Necker, a young man had issued
from the Cafe Foy, had jumped upon a table in the garden of the
Palais Royal, and, taking a pistol from his breast, had cried, ' To arms !'
7
90 TAKING THE BASTILE.
On hearing this cry, all the persons who were walking there had
assembled round him, and had shouted, ' To arms !'
We have already said that all the foreign regiments had been
collected around Paris. One might have imagined that it was an
invasion by the Austrians. The names of these regiments alarmed
the ears of all Frenchmen ; they were Reynac, Salis Samade, Dies-
bach, Esterhazy, Roemer ; the very naming of them was sufficient
to make the crowd understand that they were the names of enemies.
The young man named them ; he announced that the Swiss were
encamped in the Champs Elyse'es, with four pieces of artillery, and
that they were to enter Paris the same night, preceded by the
dragoons, commanded by Prince Lambesq. He proposed a new
cockade which was not theirs, snatched a leaf from a chestnut tree
and placed it in the band of his hat. Upon the instant every one
present followed his example. Three thousand persons had in ten
minutes unleaved the trees of the Palais Royal.
That morning no one knew the name of that young man ; in the
evening it was in every mouth.
That young man's name was Camille Desmoulins.
The two crowds recognised each other as friends ; they frater-
nised, they embraced each other, and then the procession continued
on its way.
During the momentary halt we have just described, the curiosity
of those who had not been able to discover, even by standing on
tiptoe, what was going on, had overloaded Margot with an increas-
ing burden. Every inch on which a foot could be placed had been
invaded, so that when the crowd again moved on, the poor beast
was literally crushed by the enormous weight which overwhelmed
her.
At the corner of the Rue Richelieu Billot cast a look behind him ;
Margot had disappeared.
He heaved a deep sigh, addressed to the memory of the unfor-
tunate animal ; then, soon recovering from his grief, and calling up
the whole power of his voice, he three times called Pitou, as did
the Romans of ancient times when attending the funeral of a rela-
tive. He imagined that he heard, issuing from the centre of the
crowd, a voice which replied to his own, but that voice was lost
among the confused clamours which ascended towards the heavens,
half threatening, half with applauding acclamations.
The procession still moved on.
All the shops were closed ; but all the windows were open, and
from every window issued cries of encouragement which fell like
blessings on the heads of those who formed this great ovation.
In this way they reached the Place Vendome.
But on arriving there the procession was obstructed by an un-
foreseen obstacle.
Like to those trunks of trees rooted up by a river tnat has over-
WHA T WAS HAPPENING A T PARIS. 91
flown its banks, and which, on encountering the piers of a bridge,
recoil upon the wreck of matter which is following them, the popu-
lar army found a detachment of the Royal Germans on the Place
Vendome.
These foreign soldiers were dragoons, who, seeing an inundation
streaming from the Rue St. Honore, and which began to overflow
the Place Vendome, loosened their horses' reins, who, impatient at
having been stationed there during five hours, at once galloped furi-
ously forward, charging upon the people.
The bearers of the bier received the first shock, and were thrown
down beneath their burden. A Savoyard, who was walking before
Billot, was the first to spring to his feet again, raised the effigy of
the Duke of Orleans, and placing it on the top of a stick, held it
above his head, crying :
' Long live the Duke of Orleans !' whom he had never seen ; ana
' Long live Necker !' whom he did not know.
Billot was about to do as much for the bust of Necker, but found
himself forestalled. A young man, about twenty-four or twenty-
five years old, and sufficiently well-dressed to deserve the title of a
beau, had followed it with his eyes, and which he could do more
easily than Billot, who was carrying it ; and as soon as the bust
had fallen to the ground, he had rushed towards it and seized
upon it.
The good farmer, therefore, vainly endeavoured to find it on the
ground : the bust of Necker was already on the point of a sort of
pike, and, side by side with that of the Duke of Orleans, rallied
around them a good portion of the procession.
Suddenly a great light illuminates the square ; at the same mo-
ment a violent explosion is heard ; the balls whiz through the air ;
something heavy strikes Billot on the torenead ; he falls. At first,
Billot imagined himself killed.
But, as his sensations had not abandoned him, as, excepting a
violent pain in the head, he felt no other injury, Billot compre-
hended that he was, even at the worst, but wounded. He presses
his hand to his forehead, to ascertain the extent of damage he had
received, and perceived at one and the same time that he had only
a contusion on the head, and that his hand was streaming with
blood.
The elegantly-dressed young man who had supplanted Billot had
received a ball full in his breast. It was he who had died. The blood
on Billot's hands was his. The blow which Billot had experienced
was from the bust of Necker, which, losing its supporter, had fallen
upon his head.
Billot utters a cry, partly of anger, partly of terror.
He draws back from the young man, who was convulsed in the
agonies of death. Those who surrounded him also draw back ;
and the shout he had uttered, repeated by the crowd, is prolonged
like. a. funeral echo by the groups assembled in the Rue St. Honore'.
92 TAKING THE BASTILE.
This shout was a second rebellion.
A second detonation was then heard : and immediately deep va-
cancies hollowed in the mass attested the passage of the murderous
projectiles.
To pick up the bust, the whole face of which was stained with
blood ; to raise it above his head, and protest against this outrage
with his sonorous voice, at the risk of being shot down, as had been
the handsome young man whose body was then lying at his feet, was
what Billot's indignation prompted him to effect, and which he did
in the first moment of his enthusiasm.
But at the same instant a large and powerful hand was placed
upon the farmer's shoulder, and with so much vigour that he was
compelled to bend down beneath its weight. The farmer wishes to
relieve himself from this pressure ; another hand, no less heavy
than the first, falls on his other shoulder. He turned round, red-
dening with anger, to ascertain what sort of antagonist he had to
contend with.
' Pitou !' he exclaimed.
' Yes, yes,' replied Pitou. * Down ! down ! and you will soon
see.'
And redoubling his efforts, he managed to drag with him to the
ground the opposing farmer.
No sooner had he forced Billot to lie down flat upon the pave-
ment, than another discharge was heard. The Savoyard who was
carrying the bust of the Duke of Orleans fell in his turn.
Then was heard the crushing of the pavement beneath the horses'
hoofs ; then the dragoons charged a second time ; a horse, with
streaming mane, and furious as that of the Apocalypse, bounds over
the unfortunate Savoyard, who feels the coldness of a lance pene-
trate his breast. He falls on Billot and Pitou.
The tempest rushed onwards towards the end of the street,
spreading, as it passed, terror and death. Dead bodies alone re-
mained on the pavement of the square. All those who had formed
the procession fled through the adjacent streets. The windows are
instantly closed a gloomy silence succeeds to the shouts of enthu-
siasm and the cries of anger.
Billot waited a moment, still restrained by the prudent Pitou ;
then, feeling that the danger was becoming more distant with the
noise, while Pitou, like a hare in its form, was beginning to raise,
not his head, but his ears.
' Well, Monsieur Billot,' said Pitou, ' I think that you spoke truly,
and that we have arrived here in the nick of time.'
' Come, now, help me !'
' And what to do : to run away ?'
' No. The young dandy is dead as a door-nail ; but the poor
Savoyard, in my opinion, has only fainted. Help me to put him on
my back. We cannot leave him here, to be finished by those
damned Germans.'
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JLL Y. 93
Billot spoke a language which went straight to Pitou's heart. He
had no answer to make but to obey. He took up the fainting and
bleeding body of the poor Savoyard, and threw him, as he would
have done a sack, across the shoulders of the robust farmer ; who,
seeing that the Rue St. Honore" was free, and in all appearance de-
serted, advanced with Pitou towards the Palais Royal;
CHAPTER XI.
THE NIGHT BETWEEN THE I2TH AND I3TH OF JULY.
THE street had, in the first place, appeared empty and deserted to
Billot and Pitou, because the dragoons, being engaged in the pursuit
of the great body of the fugitives, had turned into the market of St.
Honord, and had followed them up the Rue Louis-le- Grand and the
Rue Gaillon. But, as Billot advanced towards the Palais Royal,
roaring instinctively, but in a subdued voice, the word ' vengeance,'
men made their appearance at the corners of the streets, at the end
of alleys, and from under the carriage gateways, who, at first, mute
and terrified, looked around them ; but being at length assured of
the absence of the dragoons, brought up the rear of this funereal
march, repeating, first in hollow whispers, but soon aloud, and finally
with shouts, the word ' Vengeance ! vengeance !'
Pitou walked behind the farmer, carrying the Savoyard's black
cap in his hand.
They arrived thus, in gloomy and fearful procession, upon the
square before the Palais Royal, where a whole people, drunk with
rage, was holding council, and soliciting the support of French soldiers
against the foreigners.
' Who are these men in^ uniform ?* inquired Billot, on arriving in
front of a company who were standing with grounded arms, stopping
the passage across the square, from the gate of the palace to the
Rue de Chartres.
' They are the French Guards !' cried several voices.
' Ah !' exclaimed Billot, approaching them, and showing them the
body of the Savoyard, which was now a lifeless corpse ' Ah ! you
are Frenchmen, and you allow us to be murdered by these
Germans !'
The French Guards drew back with horror.
' Dead ?' murmured a voice from within their ranks.
' Yes, dead ! dead ! assassinated ! he and many more besides !'
' And by whom ?'
' By the Royal German Dragoons. Did you not hear the cries,
the firing, the galloping of their horses ?'
' Yes, yes, we did !' cried two or three hundred voices. ' They
were butchering the people on the Place Vendome !'
' And you are part of the people ; by heaven, you are !' cried
Billot, addressing the soldiers. 'It is, therefore, cowardly in you to
allow your brothers to be butchered.'
94 TAKING THE B A STILE.
' Cowardly !' exclaimed several threatening voices in the ranks.
' Yes, cowardly ! I have said it, and I repeat the word. Come
now,' continued Billot, advancing three steps towards the spot from
whence these murmurs had proceeded, ' well, now, will you not kill
me, in order to prove that you are not cowards ?'
' Good ! that is all well, very well, 1 said one of the soldiers. 'You
are a brave fellow, my friend \ but you are a citizen, and can do
what you will ; but a military man is a soldier, do you see, and he
must obey orders.'
' So that,' replied Billot, ' if you had received orders to fire upon
us that is to say, upon unarmed men you would fire : you who
have succeeded the men of Fontenoy ! you who gave the advantage
to the English, by telling them to fire first !'
' As to me, I know that I would not fire, for one,' said a voice
from the ranks.
* Nor I ! nor I ''repeated a hundred voices.
* The dragoons ! the dragoons !' cried several voices at the same
time that the crowd, driven backwards, began to throng the square,
flying by the Rue de Richelieu.
And there was heard the distant sound of the galloping of heavy
Cavalry upon the pavement, but which became louder at every
moment.
' To arms to arms !' cried the fugitives.
' A thousand gods !' cried Billot, throwing the dead body of the
Savoyard upon the ground, which he had till then held in his arms ;
' give us your muskets, at least, if you will not yourselves make use
of them.'
' Well, then, yes ; by a thousand thunders, we will make use of
them !' said the soldier to whom Billot had addressed himself,
snatching out of his hand his musket, which the other had already
seized. ' Come, come ! let us bite our cartridges, and if the Austrians
have anything to say to these brave fellows, we shall see !'
* Yes, yes, well see !' cried the soldiers, putting their hands into
their cartouche-boxes and biting off the ends of their cartridges.
* Oh, thunder !' cried Billot, stamping his feet ; ' and to think that
I have not brought my fowling-piece ! But perhaps one of those
rascally Austrians will be killed, and then I will take his carbine.'
' In the meantime,' said a voice, ' take this carbine ; it is ready
loaded.'
And at the same time an unknown man slipped a richly mounted
<arbine into Billot's hands.
At that instant the dragoons, galloped into the square, riding
down and sabreing all that were in their way.
The officer who commanded the French Guards advanced four
steps.
' Hilloa ! there, gentlemen dragoons,' cried he, 'halt there, if you
please !'
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JULY. 95
Whether the dragoons did not hear, or whether they did not
choose to hear, or whether they could not at once arrest the violent
course of their horses, they rode across the square, making a half-
wheel to the right, and ran over a woman and an old man, who dis-
appeared beneath their horses' heels.
' Fire, then, fire !' cried Billot.
Billot was standing close to the officer. It might have been
thought that it was the latter who had given the word.
The French Guards presented their guns, and fired a volley,
which at once brought the dragoons to a stand.
* Why, gentlemen of the Guards,' said a German officer, advancing
in front of his disordered squadron, ' do you know that you are firing
upon us ?'
' Do we not know it ?' cried Billot ; and he fired at the officer, who
fell from his horse.
Then the French Guards fired a second volley, and the Germans,
seeing that they had on this occasion to deal, not with plain citizens,
who would fly at the first sabre cut, but with soldiers, who firmly
waited their attack, turned to the right about, and galloped back to
the Place Vendome, amidst so formidable an explosion of bravoes
and shouts of triumph, that several of their horses, terrified at the
noise, ran off with their riders, and knocked their heads against the
closed shutters of the shops.
' Long live the French Guards !' cried the people.
' Long live the soldiers of the country !' cried Billot.
' Thanks,' replied the latter. ' We have smelt gunpowder, and
we are now baptised.'
'And I, too,' said Pitou, 'I have smelt gunpowder.'
' And what do you think of it ?' inquired Billot.
' Why, really, I do not find it sc disagreeable as I had expected,'
replied Pitou.
' But now,' said Billot, who had had time to examine the carbine,
and had ascertained that it was a weapon of some value, ' but now,
to whom belongs this gun ?
' To my master,' said the voice, which had already spoken behind
him. ' But my master thinks that you make too good use ot it to
take it back again.'
Billot turned round, and perceived a huntsman in the livery of the
Duke of Orleans.
' And where is your master ?' said he.
The huntsman pointed to a half open Venetian blind, behind
which the prince had been watching all that had passed.
' Your master is then on our side ?' asked Billot.
' With the people, heart and soul,' replied the huntsman.
' In that case, once more, " Long live the Duke of Orleans !" '
cried Billot. ' My friends, the Duke of Orleans is with us. Long
live the Duke of Orleans !'
96 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
And he pointed to the blind behind which the prince stood.
Then the blind was thrown completely open, and the Duke of
Orleans bowed three times.
After which the blind was again closed.
Although of such short duration, his appearance had wound up
the enthusiasm of the people to its acme.
' Long live the Duke of Orleans !' vociferated two or three thousand
voices.
' Let us break open the armourers' shops !' cried a voice in the
crowd.
' Let us run to the Invalides !' cried some old soldiers. ' Som-
breuil has twenty thousand muskets.'
'To the Invalides !'
' To the Town Hall !' exclaimed several voices. ' Flesselles, the
provost of the merchants, has the key of the depot, in which the
arms of the Guards are kept. He will give them to us.'
' To the Hotel de Ville !' cried a fraction of the crowd.
And the whole crowd dispersed, taking the three directions which
had been pointed out.
During this time, the dragoons had rallied round the Baron de
Bezenval and the Prince de Lambesq, on the Place Louis XV.
Of this Billot and Pitou were ignorant. They had not followed
either of the three troops of citizens, and they found themselves
almost alone in the square before the Palais Royal.
'Well, dear Monsieur Billot, where are we to go next, if you
please ?' said Pitou.
' Why,' replied Billot,' I should have desired to follow those worthy
people ; not to the gunmakers' shops, since I have such a beautiful
carbine, but to the Hotel de Ville, or to the Invalides. However, not
having come to Paris to fight, but to find out the address of Dr.
Gilbert, it appears to me that I ought to go to the College of Louis-
le-Grand, where his son now is ; and then, after having seen the
doctor, why, we can throw ourselves again into this fighting busi-
ness.' And the eyes of the farmer flashed lightnings.
' To go in the first place to the College Louis-le- Grand, appears
to me quite logical,' sententiously observed Pitou ; ' since it was
for that purpose that we came to Paris.'
' Go, get a musket, a sabre, a weapon of some kind or other from
some one or other of those idle fellows who are lying on the pave-
ment yonder, said Billot, pointing to one out of five or six dragoons
who were stretched upon the ground ; ' and let us at once go to
the college.'
' But these arms,' said Pitou, hesitating, ' they are not mine.'
"Who, then, do they belong to ?' asked Billot.
' To the king.'
' They belong to the people,' rejoined Billot.
And Pitou, strong in the opinion of the farmer, who knew that he
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JULY. 97
was a man who would not rob a neighbour of a grain of millet, Pitou,
with every necessary precaution, approached the dragoon who hap-
pened to be the nearest to him, and, after having assured himself
that he was really dead, took from him his sabre, his musketoon,
and his cartouche-box.
Pitou had a great desire to take his helmet also, only he was not
quite certain that what Father Billot had said with regard to offen-
sive weapons extended to defensive accoutrements.
But, while thus arming himself, Pitou directed his ears towards
the Place Vendome.
' Ho, ho !' said he, ' it appears to me that the Royal Germans are
coming this way again.'
And, in fact, the noise of a troop of horsemen returning at a foot-
pace could be heard. Pitou peeped from behind the corner of the
coffee-house called La Regence, and perceived, at about the dis-
tance of the market of St. Honord, a patrol of dragoons advancing,
with their musketoons in hand.
' Oh, quick, quick !' cried Pitou, ' here they are, coming back again.'
Billot cast his eyes around him, to see if there was any means of
offering resistance. There was scarcely a person in the square.
' Let us go, then,' said he, 'to the College Louis-le- Grand.'
And he went up the Rue de Chartres, followed by Pitou, who, not
knowing the use of the hook upon his belt, was dragging his long
sabre after him.
' A thousand thunders !' exclaimed Billot : ' why, you look like a
dealer in old iron. Fasten me up that lath there.'
' But how ?' asked Pitou.
' Why, so, by heaven ! there !' said Billot.
And he hooked Pitou's long sabre up to his belt, which enabled
the latter to walk with more celerity than he could have done but
for this expedient.
They pursued their way without meeting with any impediment, till
they reached the Place Louis XV. ; but there Billot and Pitou fell
in with the column which had left them to proceed to the Invalides,
and which had been stopped short in its progress.
' Well !' cried Billot, ' what is the matter ?'
1 The matter is, that we cannot go across the Bridge Louis XV.'
' But you can go along the quays.'
' All passage is stopped that way too.'
' And across the Champs Elyse'es ?'
'Also.'
' Then let us retrace our steps, and go over the bridge at the
Tuileries.'
The proposal was a perfectly natural one ; and the crowd, by fol-
lowing Billot, showed that they were eager to accede to it. But
they saw sabres gleaming half way between them and the Tuileries
Gardens. The quay was occupied by a squadron of dragoons.
98 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Why, these cursed dragoons are, then, everywhere,' murmured
the farmer.
' I say, my dear Monsieur Billot,' said Pitou, ' I believe that we
are caught.'
' Pshaw ! they cannot catch five or six thousand men ; and we are
five or six thousand men, at least.'
The dragoons on the quay were advancing slowly, it is true, at a
very gentle walk ; but they were visibly advancing.
' The Rue Royale still remains open to us. Come this way : come.
Pitou.'
Pitou followed the farmer as if he had been his shadow
But a line of soldiers was drawn across the street, near the St.
Honor gate.
' Ah, ah !' muttered Billot ; ' you may be in the right, friend
Pitou.'
* Hum !' was Pitou's sole reply.
But this word expressed, by the tone in which it had been
pronounced, all the regret which Pitou felt at not having been
mistaken.
The crowd, by its agitation and its clamours, proved that it
was not less sensible than Pitou of the position in which it was
then placed.
And, in fact, by a skilful manceuvre, the Prince de Lambesq had
surrounded not only the rebels, but also those who had been drawn
there from mere curiosity ; and, by preventing all egress by the
bridges, the quays, the Champs Elys^es, and the Rue Royale and
Les Feuillants, he had enclosed them in a bow of iron, the string of
which was represented by the walls of the Tuileries Gardens, which
it would be very difficult to escalade, and the iron gate of the Pont
Tournant, which it was almost impossible to force.
Billot reflected on their position ; it certainly was not a favourable
one ; however, as he was a man of calm, cool mind, full of resources
when in danger, he cast his eyes around him, and perceiving a pile
of timber lying beside the river
' I have an idea,' said he to Pitou : ' come this way.'
Pitou followed him, without asking him what the idea was.
Billot advanced towards the timber, and seizing the end of a large
block, said to Pitou, ' Help me to carry this.'
Pitou, for his part, without questioning him as to his intentions,
caught hold of the other end of the piece of timber. He had such
implicit confidence in the farmer, that he would have gone down to
the infernal regions with him, without even making any observation
as to the length of the descent.
They were soon upon the quay again, bearing a load which
five or six men of ordinary strength would have found difficult to
raise.
Strength is always a subject of admiration to the mob, and al-
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JULY. 99
though so compactly huddled together, they made room for Billot
and Pitou to pass through them.
Then, as they felt convinced that the manoeuvre which was being
accomplished was a manoeuvre of general interest, some men walked
before Billot, crying, ' Make room ! make room !'
4 Tell me now, Father Billot,' inquired Pitou, after having carried
the timber some thirty yards, ' are we going far in this way ?'
' We are going as far as the gate of the Tuileries.'
' Ho ! ho !' cried the crowd, who at once divined his intention.
And it made way for them more eagerly even than before.
Pitou looked about him, and saw that the gate was not more than
thirty paces distant from tuem.
' I can reach it,' said he, with the brevity of a Pythagorean.
The labour was so much the easier to Pitou from five or six of the
strongest of the crowd taking their share in the burden.
The result of this was a very notable acceleration in their pro-
gress.
In five minutes they had reached the iron gate.
' Come, now/ cried Billot, ' clap your shoulders to it, and all push
together.'
' Good !' said Pitou. ' I understand it now. We have just made
a warlike engine ; the Romans used to call it a ram.'
' Now, my boys,' cried Billot, 'once, twice, thrice.' And the joist,
directed with a furious impetus, struck the lock of the gate with re-
sounding violence.
The soldiers who were on guard in the interior of the garden,
hastened to resist this invasion. But at the third stroke the gate
gave way, turning violently on its hinges, and through that gaping
and gloomy mouth the crowd rushed impetuously.
From the movement that was then made, the Prince de Lambesq
perceived at once that an opening had been effected which allowed
the escape of those whom he had considered as his prisoners. He
was furious with disappointment. He urged his horse forward in
order the better to judge of the position of affairs. The dragoons
who were drawn up behind him imagined that the order had been
given to charge, and they followed him. The horses, going off at
full speed, could not be suddenly pulled up. The men, who wished
to be revenged for the check they had received on the square before
the Palais Royal, scarcely endeavoured to restrain them.
The prince saw that it would 'be impossible to moderate their ad-
vance, and allowed himself to be borne away by it. A sudden shriek
uttered by the women and children ascended to heaven crying for
vengeance against the brutal soldiers.
A frightful scene then occurred, rendered still more terrific by the
darkness. Those who were charged upon became mad with pain ;
those who charged them were mad with anger.
Th^n a species of defence was organised from the top of a ter-
ioo TAKING THE BASTILE.
race. The chairs were hurled down on the dragoons. The Prince
de Lambesq, who had been struck on the head, replied by giving a
sabre cut to the person nearest to him, without considering that he
was punishing an innocent man instead of a guilty one, and an old
man more than seventy years of age fell beneath his sword.
Billot saw this man fall, and uttered a loud cry. In a moment his
carbine was at his shoulder. A furrow of light for a moment
illuminated the darkness, and the prince had then died, had not his
horse, by chance, reared at the same instant.
The horse received the ball in his neck, and fell
It was thought that the prince was killed ; the dragoons then
rushed into the Tuileries, pursuing the fugitives, and firing their
pistols at them.
But the fugitives, having now a greater space, dispersed among
the trees.
Billot quietly reloaded his carbine.
' In good faith, Pitou,' said he, ' I think that you were right. We
really have arrived in the nick of time.' .
' If I should become a bold daring fellow,' said Pitou, discharg-
ing his musketoon at the thickest group of the dragoons. ' It seems
to me not so difficult as I had thought.'
' Yes,' replied Billot ; ' but useless courage is not real courage.
Come this way, Pitou, and take care that your sword does not get
between your legs.'
' Wait a moment for me, dear Monsieur Billot ; if I should lose
you I should not know which way to go. I do not know Paris as
you do : I was never here before.'
' Come along, come along,' said Billot ; and he went by the ter-
race by the water side, until he had got ahead of the line of troops,
which were advancing along the quay ; but this time as rapidly as
they could, to give their aid to the Lambesq dragoons, should such
aid be necessary.
When they reached the end of the terrace, Billot seated himself
on the parapet and jumped on to the quay.
Pitou followed his example.
CHAPTER XII.
WHAT OCCURRED DURING THE NIGHT OF THE I2TH JULY,
1789.
ONCE upon the quay, the two countrymen saw glittering on the
bridge near the Tuileries the arms of another body of men, which,
in all probability, was not a body of friends ; they silently glided
to the end of the quay and descended the bank which leads along
the Seine.
The clock of the Tuileries was just then striking eleven.
When they had got beneath the trees which line the banks of the
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JULY. 101
river, fine aspen trees and poplars, which bathe their feet in its
current ; when they were lost to the sight of their pursuers, hid by
their friendly foliage, the farmer and Pitou threw themselves upon
the grass and opened a council of war.
The question was to know, and this was suggested by the
farmer, whether they should remain where they were, that is to
say, in safety, or comparatively so, or whether they should again
throw themselves into the tumult and take their share of the
struggle which was going on, and which appeared likely to be con-
tinued the greater part of the night.
The question being mooted, Billot awaited the reply of Pitou.
Pitou had risen very greatly in the opinion of the farmer. In the
first place, by the knowledge of which he had given proofs the day
before, and afterwards by the courage of which he had given such
proofs during the evening.
Pitou instinctively felt this, but instead of being prouder from it,
he was only the more grateful towards the good farmer. Pitou was
naturally very humble.
' Monsieur Billot,' said he, ' it is evident that you are more brave,
and I less a poltroon than I imagined. Horace, who, however, was
a very different man to us, with regard to poetry, at least, threw
away his arms and ran off at the very first blow. As to me, I
have still my musketoon, my cartridge-box, and my sabre, which
proves that I am braver than Horace.'
' Well ! what are you driving at ?
'What I mean is this, dear Monsieur Billot, that the bravest man
in the world may be killed by a ball/
' And what then ?' inquired the farmer.
' And then, my dear sir, thus it is : as you stated, on leaving
your farm, that you were coming to Paris for an important
object '
' Oh ! confound it, that is true, for the casket.'
' Well, then, did you come about this casket yes, or no ?
1 1 came about the casket, by a thousand thunders, and for nothing
else.'
' If you should allow yourself to be killed by a ball, the affair for
which you came cannot be accomplished.'
' In truth, you are ten times right, Pitou.'
' Do you hear that crashing noise those cries?' continued Pitou,
encouraged by the farmer's approbation ; ' wood is being torn like
paper, iron is twisted as if it were but hemp.'
It is because the people are angry, Pitou.'
' But it appears to me,' Pitou ventured to say, ' that the king is
tolerably angry too.'
' How say you, the king ?'
' Undoubtedly : the Austrians, the Germans, the Kainserliks, as
you call them, are the king's soldiers. Well ! if they charge the
102 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
people it is the king who orders them to charge and for him to
give such an order, he must be angry too.'
' You are both right and wrong, Pitou.'
' That does not appear possible to me, Monsieur Billot, and I
dare not say to you that had you studied logic, you would not ven-
ture on such a parodox.'
' You are right and you are wrong, Pitou, and I will presently
make you comprehend how this can be.'
' I do not ask anything better, but I doubt it.'
' See you now, Pitou, there are two parties at court ; that of the
king, who loves the people, and that of the queen, who loves the
Austrians ?
' That is because the king is a Frenchman, and the queen an
Austrian,' philosophically replied Pitou.
' Wait a moment. On the king's side, are Monsieur Turgot and
Monsieur Necker, on the queen's, Monsieur de Breteuil and the
Polignacs. The king is not the master, since he has been obliged
to send away Monsieur Turgot and Monsieur Necker. It is there-
fore the queen who is the mistress, the Breteuils and the Polignacs :
therefore all goes badly.
' Do you see, Pitou, the evil proceeds from Madame Deficit, and
Madame Deficit is in a rage, and it is in her name that the troops
charge ; the Austrians defend the Austrian women, that is natural
enough.'
'Your pardon, Monsieur Billot,' said Pitou, interrupting him,
' but deficit is a Latin word, which means to say a want of some-
thing. What is it that is wanting ?
' Zounds ! why money, to be sure ; and it is because money is
wanting, it is because the queen's favourites have devoured this
money which is wanting, that the queen is called Madame Deficit.
It is not therefore the king who is angry, but the queen. The king
is only vexed vexed that everything goes so badly.'
' I comprehend,' said Pitou ; ' but the casket ?'
' That is true, that is true, Pitou ; these devilish politics always
drag me on farther than I would go yes, the casket, before every-
thing. You are right, Pitou ; when I shall have seen Doctor Gil-
bert, why then, we can return to politics it is a sacred duty.'
' There is nothing more sacred than sacred duties,' said Pitou.
'Well, then, let us go to the College Louis-Ie-Grand, where
Sebastian Gilbert now is,' said Billot.
' Let us go,' said Pitou, sighing ; for he would be compelled to
leave a bed of moss-like grass, to which he had accustomed him-
self. Besides which, notwithstanding the over-excitement of the
evening, sleep, the assiduous host of pure consciences and tired
limbs, had descended with all its poppies to welcome the virtuous
and heartily tired Pitou.
Billot was already on his feet, and Pitou was about to rise when
the half-hour struck.
THE NIGHT Of THE TWELFTH JULY. 103
' But,' said Billot, 'at half-past eleven o'clock, the college of Louis-
le-Grand must, it would appear to me, be closed.'
' Oh ! most assuredly,' said Pitou.
' And then, in the dark,' continued Billot, ' we might fall into some
ambuscade ; it seems to me that I see the fires of a bivouac in the
direction of the Palace of Justice, I may be arrested, or I may be
killed \ you are right, Pitou, I must not be arrested I must not be
killed.'
It was the third time since that morning that Pitou's ears had
been saluted with those words so flattering to human pride :
' You are right.'
Pitou thought he could not do better than to repeat the words of
Billot.
' You are right,' he repeated, lying down again upon the grass,
'you must not allow yourself to be killed, dear Monsieur Billot.'
And the conclusion of this phrase died away in Pitou's throat.
Voxfaucibus hcestt, he might have added, had he been awake, but
he was fast asleep.
Billot did not perceive it.
' An idea,' said he.
' Ah !' snored Pitou.
' Listen to me, I have an idea. Notwithstanding all the precau-
tions I am taking, I may be killed. I may be cut down by a sabre
or killed from a distance by a ball killed suddenly upon the spot;
if that should happen, you ought to kno-jy what you will have to
say to Doctor Gilbert in my stead : but you must be mute,
Pitou.'
Pitou heard not a word of this, and consequently made no
reply.
' Should I be wounded mortally, and not be able to fulfil my
mission, you will, in my place, seek out Doctor Gilbert, and you
will say to him do you understand me, Pitou ?' added the farmer,
stooping towards his companion, ' and you will say to him why,
confound him, he is positively snoring, the sad fellow !'
All the excitement of Billot was at once damped on ascertaining
that Pitou was asleep.
' Well, let us sleep, then,' said he : and he laid himself down by
Pitou's side, without grumbling very seriously. For, however
accustomed to fatigue, the ride of the previous day, and the events
of the evening, did not fail to have a soporific effect on the good
farmer.
And the day broke about three hours after they had gone to
sleep, or rather, we should say, after their senses were benumbed.
When they again opened their eyes, Pitou had lost nothing of
that savage countenance which they had observed the night
before.
Only there were no soldiers to be seen, the people were every-
where.
104 TAKING THE BASTILE.
The people arming themselves with pikes, hastily manufactured,
with muskets, which the majority of them knew not how to handle,
with magnificent weapons made centuries before, and of which the
bearers admired the ornaments, some being inlaid with gold or
ivory, or mother-of-pearl, without comprehending the use or the
mechanism of them.
Immediately after the retreat of the soldiers, the populace had
pillaged the palace called the Garde-Meuble.
And the people dragged towards the Hotel de Ville two small
pieces of artillery.
The alarm-bell was rung from the towers of Notre Dame, at the
Hotel de Ville, and in all the parish churches. There were seen
issuing and from where no one could tell but as from beneath
the pavement, legions of men and women, squalid, emaciated, in
filthy rags, half naked, who, but the evening before, cried, ' Give us
bread P but now vociferated, ' Give us arms /'
Nothing could be more terrifying than these bands of spectres,
who, during the last three months, had poured into the capital from
the country, passing through the city gates silently, and installing
themselves in Paris, where famine reigned, like Arabian ghouls in
a cemetery.
On that day, the whole of France, represented in Paris by the
starving people from each province, cried to its king, ' Give us
liberty !' and to its God, ' Give us food !'
Billot, who was first to awake, roused up Pitou, and they both
set off to the College Louis-le-Grand, looking around them, shud-
dering and ;errified at the miserable creatures they saw on every
side.
By degrees, as they advanced towards that part of the town
which we now call the Latin quarter, as they ascended the Rue de
la Harpe, as they approached the Rue Saint Jacques, they saw, as
during the times of La Fronde, barricades being raised in every
street. Women and children were carrying to the tops of the
houses ponderous folio volumes, heavy pieces of furniture, and
precious marble ornaments, destined to crush the foreign soldiers,
in case of their venturing into the narrow and tortuous streets of
old Paris.
From time to time, Billot observed one or two of the French
guards, forming the centre of some meeting which they were organiz-
ing, and which, with marvellous rapidity, they were teaching the
handling of a musket, exercises which women and children were
curiously observing, and almost with a desire of learning them
themselves.
Billot and Pitou found the college of Louis-le-Grand in flagrant
insurrection ; the pupils had risen against their teachers, and had
driven them from the building. At the moment when the farmer
and his companion reached the grated gate, the scholars were
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JUL Y. yo$
attacking this gate, uttering loud threats, to which the affrighted
principal replied with tears.
The farmer, for a moment, gazed on this intestine revolt, when
suddenly, in a stentorian voice, he cried out :
' Which of you here is called Sebastian Gilbert ?'
' 'Tis I,' replied a young lad, about fifteen years of age, of almost
feminine beauty, and who, with the assistance of four or five of his
comrades, was carrying a ladder wherewith to escalade the walls,
seeing that they could not force open the gate.
' Come nearer to me, my child.'
' What is it that you want with me ?' said young Sebastian to
Billot.
' Do you wish to take him away ?' cried the principal, terrified at
the aspect of two armed men, one of whom, the one who had spoken
to young Gilbert, was covered with blood.
The boy, on his side, looked with astonishment at these two men,
and was endeavouring, but uselessly, to recognise his foster-brother,
Pitou, who had grown so immeasurably tall since he last saw him,
and who was altogether metamorphosed by the warlike accoutre'
ments he had put on.
' Take him away !' exclaimed Billot, ' take away Monsieur
Gilbert's son, and lead him into all this turmoil expose him to
receiving some unhappy blow ! Oh ! no, indeed !'
' Do you see, Sebastian,' said the principal, ' do you see, you
furious fellow, that even your friends will have nothing to do with
you ? For, in short, these gentlemen appear to be your friends.
Come, gentlemen, come, my young pupils, come, my children,' cried
the poor principal, ' obey me obey me, I command you obey me,
I entreat you.'
' Oro obtestorque] said Pitou.
4 Sir,' said young Gilbert, with a firmness that was extraordinary
in a youth of his age, ' retain my comrades, if such be your pleasure,,
but as to me, do you understand me, I will go out.'
He made a movement towards the gate, the professor caught
him by the arm.
But he, shaking his fine auburn curls upon his pallid forehead
' Sir,' said he, ' beware what you are doing. I am not in the
same position as your other pupils my father has been arrested,
imprisoned my father is in the power of the tyrants.'
' In the power of the tyrants !' exclaimed Billot ; ' speak, my
child ; what is it that you mean ?'
'Yes, yes,' cried several of the scholars, ' Sebastian is right ; his
father has been arrested ; and, since the people have opened the
prisons, he wishes they should open his father's prison too.'
' Oh, oh !' said the farmer, shaking the bars of the gate with his
herculean arms, ' they have arrested Doctor Gilbert, have they ?
By heaven ! my little Catherine, then, was right !'
8
106 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
'Yes, sir,' continued young Gilbert, 'they have arrested my
father, and that is why I wish to get out, why I wish to take a
musket, why I wish to fight until I have liberated my dear father.'
And these words were accompanied and encouraged by a hundred
furious voices, crying in every key :
' Arms ! arms ! let us have arms !'
On hearing these cries, the crowd which had collected in the
street, animated in its turn by an heroic ardour, rushed towards the
gate to give liberty to the collegians.
The principal threw himself upon his knees between his scholars
and the invaders, and held out his arms with a supplicating
gesture :
' Oh ! my friends ! my friends !' cried he, ' respect my children !'
' Do we not respect them ?' said a French Guard : ' I believe we
do, indeed. They are fine boys, and they will do their exercise
admirably.'
' My friends ! my friends ! These children are a sacred deposit
which their parents have confided to me ; I am responsible for
them ; their parents calculate upon me ; for them I would sacrifice
my life ; but, in the name of heaven ! do not take away these
children !'
Hootings, proceeding from the street, that is to say, from the
hindmost ranks of the crowd, replied to these piteous supplica-
tions.
Billot rushed forward, opposing the French Guards, the crowd,
the scholars themselves :
' He is right, it is a sacred trust ; let men fight, let men get
themselves killed, but let children live they are seed for the
future.'
A disapproving murmur followed these words.
' Who is it that murmurs ?' cried Billot ; ' assuredly, it cannot be
a father. I who am now speaking to you, had two men killed in
my arms ; their blood is upon my shirt. See this !'
And he showed his shirt and waistcoat all begrimed with blood,
and with a dignified movement which electrified the crowd.
' Yesterday,' continued Billot, ' I fought at tne Palais Royal, and
at the Tuileries ; and this lad also fought there, but this lad has
neither father nor mother ; moreover, he is almost a man.'
And he pointed to Pitou, who looked proudly around him.
' To-day,' continued Billot, ' I shall fight again ; but let no one
say to me the Parisians were not strong enough to contend against
the foreign soldiers, and they called children to their aid.'
' Yes, yes,' resounded on every side, proceeding from women in
the crowd, and several of the soldiers ; ' he is right, children : go
into the college ; go into the college.'
' Oh, thanks, thanks, sir !' murmured the principal of the college,
endeavouring to catch hold of Billot's hand through tta bars of
the gate.
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JUL V. 107
"And, above all, take special care of Sebastian ; keep him safe,'
said the latter.
' Keep me !, I say, on the contrary, that I will not be kept here,'
cried the boy, livid with anger, and struggling with the college
servants, who were dragging him away.
' Let me in,' said Billot. ' I will engage to quiet him.'
The crowd made way for him to pass ; the farmer dragged Pitou
after him, and entered the court-yard of the college.
Already three or four of the French Guards, and about ten men,
placed themselves as sentinels at the gate, and prevented the egress
of the young insurgents.
Billot went straight up to young Sebastian, and taking between
his huge and horny palms the small white hands of the child
' Sebastian, 5 he said, ' do you not recognise me ?'
'No.'
' I am old Billot, your father's farmer.'
' I know you now, sir.'
* And this lad,' rejoined Billot, pointing to his companion, ' do
you knowvhim ?'
' Ange Pitou,' said the boy.
'Yes, Sebastian ; it is me it is me.'
And Pitou, weeping with joy t threw his arms round the neck
of his foster-brother and former school-fellow.
' Well,' said the boy, whose brow still remained scowling, ' what
is now to be done ?'
' What ?' cried Billot. ' Why, if they have taken your father from
you, I will restore him to you. Do you understand ?'
' You ?'
' Yes, I I, and all those who are out yonder with me. What the
devil ! Yesterday, we had to deal with the Austrians, and we saw
their cartridge-boxes.'
' In proof of which, I have one of them,' said Pitou.
' Shall we not release his father ? cried Billot, addressing the
crowd.
' Yes ! yes !' roared the crowd. ' We will release him.'
Sebastian shook his head.
' My father is in the Bastile,' said he in a despairing tone.
' And what then ?' cried Billot.
' The Bastile cannot be taken,' replied the child.
' Then what was it you wished to do, if such is your conviction ?'
' I wished to go to the open space before the castle. There will
be fighting there, and my father might have seen me through the
bars of his window.'
' Impossible !'
1 Impossible ? And why should I not do so ? One day, when I
was walking out with all the boys here, I saw the head of a prisoner.
If I could have seen my father as I saw that prisoner, 1 should have
ro8 TAKING THE BASTILE
recognised him, and I would have called out to him, " Do not be
unhappy, father, I love you !" '
' And if the soldiers of the Bastile should have killed you ?*
' Well, then, they would have killed me under the eyes of my
father.'
' The death of all the devils !' exclaimed Billot. ' You are a
wicked lad to think of getting yourself killed in your father's sight,
and make him die of grief, in a cage ; he who has only you in the
world ; he who loves you so tenderly ! Decidedly, you have a bad
neart, Gilbert.'
And the farmer pushed the boy from him.
' Yes, yes ; a wicked heart !' howled Pitou, bursting into tears.
Sebastian did not reply.
And, while he was meditating in gloomy silence, Billot was ad-
miring his beautifully pale face, his flashing eyes, his ironical
expressive mouth, his well-shaped nose, and his strongly developed
chin all of which gave testimony at once of his nobility of soul and
nobility of race.
' You say that your father is in the Bastile,' said the farmer, at
length breaking the silence.
' Yes.'
' And for what ?'
' Because my father is the friend of Lafayette and Washington ;
because my father has fought with his sword for the independence
of America, and with his pen for the liberty of France ; because my
father is well known in both worlds as the detester of tyranny ;
because he has called down curses on the Bastile, in which so many
have suffered ; and therefore have they sent him there !'
' And when was this ?'
'Six days ago.'
'And where did they arrest him ?'
'At Havre, where he had just landed.'
' How do you know all this ?'
4 1 have received a letter from him.'
' Dated from Havre ?
'Yes.'
' And it was at Havre itself that he was arrested ?*
' It was at Lillebonne.'
' Come now, child, do not feel angry with me, but give me all
the particulars that you know. I swear to you that I will either
leave my bones on the Place de la Bastile, or you shall see your
father again.'
Sebastian looked at the fanner, and seeing that he spoke from
his heart, his angry feelings subsided
'Well, then,' said he, 'at Lillebonne, he had time to write in a
book, with a pencil, these words :
4 " Sebastian, I have been arrested, and they are taking me to
THE NIGHT OF THE TWELFTH JULY. loo
the Bastile. Be patient, and study diligently. Lillebonne, 7th July,
1789.'"
' " P.S. I am arrested in the cause oi Liberty. I have a son in
the College Louis-le-Grand, at Paris. The person who shall find
this book is entreated, in the name of humanity, to get it conveyed
to my son. His name is Sebastian Gilbert." '
' And this book ?' inquired Billot, palpitating with emotion.
* He put a piece of gold into this book, tied a cord round it, and
threw it out of the window.'
'And '
' The curate of the place found it, and chose from among his
parishioners a robust young man, to whom he said :
' " Leave twelve francs with your family, who are without bread,
and with the other twelve go to Paris ; carry this book to a poor
boy whose father has just been arrested because he has too great a
love for the people." '
' The young man arrived here yesterday afternoon, and delivered
to me my father's book. And this is the way I learned how my
father had been arrested.'
'Come, come,' cried Billot, 'this reconciles me somewhat with
the priests. Unfortunately they are not all like this one. And this
worthy young man what has become of him ?'
' He set off to return home last night. He hoped to carry back
with him to his family five francs out of the twelve he had brought
with him.'
' Admirable ! admirable !' exclaimed Pitou, weeping for joy.
' Oh ! the people have good feelings. Go on, Gilbert.'
' Why, now, you know all.*'
'Yes.'
' You promised me, if I would tell you all, that you would bring
back my father to me. I have told you all ; now remember your
promise.'
' I told you that I would save him, or I would be killed in the at-
tempt. That is true.'
'And now, show me the book,' said Billot.
' Here it is,' said the boy, taking from his pocket a volume of the
' Contrat Sociale.'
' And where is your father's handwriting ?
' Here,' replied the boy, pointing to what the doctor had written.
The farmer kissed the written characters.
' And now,' said he, ' tranquillise yourself. I am going to seek
your father in the Bastile.'
' Unhappy man !' cried the principal of the college, seizing Billot's
hands ; ' how can you obtain access to a prisoner of State ?'
' Zounds ! by taking the Bastile !'
Some of the French Guards began to laugh. In a few moments
the laugh had become general.
no TAKING THE B A STILE.
' Why,' said Billot, casting around him a glance flashing with
anger, what then is in the Bastile, if you please?'
' Stone,' said a soldier.
' Iron/ said another.
' And fire,' said a third. ' Take care, my worthy man ; you may
burn your fingers.'
' Yes, yes ; you may burn yourself,' reiterated the crowd, with
horror.
' Ah ! Parisians,' exclaimed the farmer, ' you have pickaxes, and
you are afraid of stone ! Ah ! you have lead, and you fear iron !
You have gunpowder, and you are afraid of fire. Parisians !
cowards ! Parisians ! poltroons ! Parisians ! machines for sla-
very ! A thousand demons ! where is the man of heart who will
go with me and Pitou to take the king's Bastile ? My name is
Billot, a farmer of the Isle de France. Forward !'
Billot had raised himself to the very climax of audacity.
The crowd, rendered enthusiastic by his address, and trembling
with excitement, pressed around him, crying, ' To the Bastile !'
Sebastian endeavoured to cling to Billot, and the latter gently
pushed him back.
' Child,' said he, ' what is the last word your father wrote to you ?'
' Work,' replied Sebastian.
' Well, then, work here. We are going to work down yonder ;
only our work is called destroying and killing.'
The young man did not utter a word in reply. He hid his face
with both hands, without even pressing the hand of Pitou, who em-
braced him ; and he fell into such violent convulsions, that he was
immediately carried into the infirmary attached to the college.
' To the Bastile !' cried Billot.
' To the Bastile !' cried Pitou.
' To the Bastile !' shouted the crowd.
And they immediately commenced their march towards the
Bastile.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE KING IS SO GOOD ! THE QUEEN IS SO GOOD !
AND now, we request our readers to allow us to give them an insight
into the principal political events that had occurred since the period
at which we abandoned the court of France.
Those who know the history of that period, or those whom dry,
plain history may alarm, can skip over this chapter, and pass on to
the next one, which completely dovetails in with Chapter XII. ;
the one we are now writing being intended for those very precise
and exacting spirits who are determined to be informed on every
point
THE KING AND QUEEN ARE SO GOOD. ill
During the last year or two something unheard of, unknown,
something emanating from the past, and looking towards the future,
was threatening and growling in the air.
It was the Revolution.
Voltaire had raised himself for a moment, while in his last agony,
and, leaning upon his elbow in his deathbed, he had seen shining,
even amidst the darkness in which he was about to sleep for ever,
the brilliant lightnings of this dawn.
When Anne of Austria assumed the regency of France, says
Cardinal de Retz, there was but one saying in every mouth, ' The
queen is so good P
One day Madame de Pompadour's physician, Quesnoy, who had
an apartment in her house, saw Louis XV. coming in. A feeling
altogether unconnected with respect agitated him so much that he
trembled and turned pale.
' What is the matter with you ? said Madame de Hausset to him.
' The matter is,' replied Quesnoy, ' that every time I see the king
I say to myself '''There is a man who, if he should feel so inclined,
can have my head cut off." '
' Oh, there's no danger of that,' rejoined Madame de Hausset
' The king is so good. 1 ''
It is with these two phrases ' The king is so good !' ' The queen
is so good !' that the French Revolution was effected.
When Louis XV. died, France breathed again. The country was
delivered at the same moment from the king, the Pompadours, the
Dubarrys, and the Pare aux Cerfs.
The pldasures of Louis XV. had cost the nation very dear. In
them alone were expended three millions of livres a year.
Fortunately, after him came a king who was young, moral, philan-
thropic, almost philosophical.
A king who, like the Emileof Jean Jacques Rousseau, had studied
a trade, or rather, we should say, three trades.
He was a locksmith, a watchmaker, and a mechanician.
Being alarmed at the abyss over which he was suspended, the
king began by refusing all favours that were asked of him. The
courtiers trembled Fortunately, there was one circumstance which
reassured them it was not the king who refused, but Turgot it
was, that the queen was not yet in reality a queen ; and, conse-
quently, could not have that influence to-day which she might ac-
quire to-morrow.
At last, towards the year 1777, she acquired that influence which
had been so long desired. The queen became a mother. The king,
who was already so good a king, so good a husband, could now also
prove himself a good father.
How could anything be now refused to her who had given an
heir to the crown ?
And besides, that was not all ; the king was also a good brother.
H2 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
The anecdote is well known of Beaurnurchais being sacrificed to the
Count de Provence, and yet the king did not like the Count de Pro-
vence, who was a pedant.
But, to make up for this, he was very fond of his younger
brother, the Count d'Artois, the type of French wit, elegance, and
nobleness.
He loved him so much that if he sometimes refused the queen any
favour she might have asked of him, the Count d'Artois had only
to add his solicitations to those of the queen, and the king had no
longer the firmness to refuse.
It was, in fact, the reign of amiable men. M. de Calonne, one of
the most amiable men in the whole world, was comptroller-general.
It was Calonne who said to the queen
' Madame, if it is possible, it is done : and if it is impossible, it
shall be done.'
From the very day on which this charming reply was circulated
in all the drawing-rooms of Paris and Versailles, the hed book,
which every one had thought closed for ever, was re-opened.
The queen buys Saint Cloud.
The king buys Rambouillet.
It is no longer the king who has lady favourites, it is the queen,
Mesdames Diana and Jules de Polignac cost as much to France as
La Pompadour and La Dubarry.
The qiteen is so good'
A reduction is proposed in the salaries of the high officers of the
court. Some of them make up their minds to it. But one of the
most habitual frequenters of the palace obstinately refuses to submit
to this reduction ; it is M. de Coigny. He meets the king in one of
the corridors, a terrible scene occurs, the king runs away, and in the
evening says laughingly :
' Upon my word, I believe if I had not yielded, Coigny would
have beaten me.'
The king is so good !
And then the fate of a kingdom sometimes depends upon a very
trivial circumstance ; the spur of a page, for instance.
Louis XV. dies ; who is to succeed M. d'Aiguillon ?
The king, Louis XVI., is for Marchant. Marchant is one of tht
ministers who had sustained the already tottering throne. Mes-
dames, that is to say, the king's aunts, are for M. de Maurepas,
who is so amusing, and who writes such pretty songs. He
wrote three volumes of them at Pontchartrain, which he called
his memoirs.
All this is a steeple-chase affair. The question was as to who
should arrive first. The king and queen at Arnouville or Mesdames
at Pontchartrain.
The king has the power in his own hands ; the chances are there-
fore in his favour.
THE KING AND QUEEN ARE SO GOOD. 113
He hastens to write :
' Set out, the very moment you receive this, for Paris ; I am wait-
ing for you.'
He slips his despatch into an envelope, and on the envelope he
writes :
' Monsieur le Comte de Marchant, at Arnouville.'
A page of the king's stables is sent for ; the royal missive is put
into his hands, and he is ordered to mount a horse, and to go to
Arnouville full speed.
And now that the page is despatched, the king can receive
mesdames.
Mesdames, the same whom the king their father, as has been
seen in ' Balsamo,' called Loque, Chiffe, and Graille, three names
eminently aristocratic, mesdames are waiting at a door opposite
to that by which the page goes out, until he shall have left the room.
The page once gone out, mesdames may go in.
They go in, entreat the king in favour of M. Maurepas all this
is a mere question of time the king does not like to refuse mes-
dames anything the king is so good.
He will accede to their request when the page shall have got so
far on his journey that no one can come up with him.
He contested the point with mesdames, his eyes fixed on the
time-piece. Half-an-hour will be sufficient for him. The time-
piece will not deceive him. It is the time-piece which he himself
regulates.
Twenty minutes have elapsed, and he yields.
' Let the page be overtaken,' said he, ' and all shall be as you
please.'
Mesdames rush out of the room ; they will despatch a man on
horseback ; he shall kill a horse, two horses, six horses, but the
page must be overtaken.
All these determinations are unnecessary, not a single horse will
be killed.
In going down the staircase one of the page's spurs struck against
one of the stone steps, and broke short off. How could any one go
at full speed with only one spur ?
Besides, the Chevalier d'Abzac is the chief of the great stable,
and he would not allow a courier to mount his horse he whose
duty it was to inspect the couriers if the courier was about to set
out in a manner that would not do honour to the royal stables.
The page therefore could not set out without having both his
spurs.
The result of all this was, that instead of overtaking the page on
the road to Arnouville galloping at full speed he was overtaken
before he had left the courtyard of the palace.
He was already in the saddle and was about to depart in the most
irreproachable good order.
114 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
The despatch is taken from him, the text of the missive is left
unchanged, for it was as good for the one as the other. Only
instead of writing the address, ' To M. de Marchant, at Arnou-
ville,' mesdames wrote, ' To M. le Comte de Maurepas, at Pont-
chartrain.'
The honour of the royal stable is saved, but the monarchy is lost.
With Maurepas and Calonne, everything goes on marvellously
well ; the one sings, the other plays ; but besides the courtiers,
there are the receivers-general, who also have their functions to
perform.
Louis XIV. began his reign by ordering two receivers-general to
be hanged, and with the advice of Colbert ; after which he took
Lavalliere for his mistress and built Versailles. Lavalliere cost him
nothing.
But Versailles, in which he wished to lodge her, cost him a round
sum.
Then, in 1685, under the pretext that they were Protestants, he
drove a million of industrious men from France.
And thus, in 1707, still under the great king, Boisguilbert said,
speaking of 1698 :
' Things still went on well in those days, there was yet some oil
in the lamp. But now all has come to an end, for want of aliment.'
What could be said eighty years afterwards, when the Dubarrys,
the Polignacs, had taken their fill ? after having made the people
sweat water, they would make them sweat blood. That was all.
And all this in so delightful and polite a manner.
In former days the contractors of the public revenue were
harsh, brutal, and cold, as the prison gates into which they cast
their victims.
But in these days they are philanthropists : with one hand they
despoil the people, it is true ; but with the other they build hospitals
for them.
One of my friends, a great financier, has assured me that out of
one hundred and twenty millions, which the town dues bring in, the
contractors managed to keep seventy millions for themselves.
It happened that at a meeting where the state of expenses was
demanded, a counsellor, playing upon the word, said :
' It is not any particular state that we require ; what we want are
the States General.'
The sparks fell upon gunpowder, the powder ignited and caused
a general conflagration.
Every one repeated the saying of the counsellor, and the States
General were loudly called for.
The court fixed the opening of the States General for the ist of
March, 1789.
On the 24th of August, 1788, M.de Brienne withdrew from public
affairs He was another who had managed the financial affairs with
tolerable recklessness.
THE KING AND QUEEN ARE SO GOOD. 115
But on withdrawing he, at least, gave good counsel ; he advised
that Necker should be recalled.
Necker resumed the administration of affairs, and all again
breathed confidence.
Notwithstanding this, the great question of the three orders was
discussed throughout France.
Sieyes published his famous pamphlets upon the Tiers Etat.*
Dauphiny, the States of which province still met in spite of all the
court could do, decided that the representations of the Tiers Etat
should be on an equality with that of the nobility and clergy.
The assembly of the notables was reconstructed.
This assembly lasted thirty-six days, that is to say, from the 6th of
November to the 8th of December, 1788.
On this occasion the elements performed their part. When the
whip of kings does not suffice, the whip of the Creator whistles in the
air and compels the people to move onwards.
Winter came, accompanied by famine. Hunger and cold opened
the gates of 1789.
Paris was filled with troops ; its streets with patrols.
Two or three times the muskets of the soldiers were loaded in
the presence of the people, who were dying with hunger.
And then the muskets being loaded, and the moment having
arrived for using them, they did not use them at all.
One morning, the 28th of April, five days before the opening of
the States General, a name was circulated among the crowd.
This name was accompanied by maledictions, and the more vitu-
perative because this name was that of a workman who had become
rich.
Reveillon, as was then asserted Reveillon,the director of the cele-
brated paper manufactory of the Faubourg Saint Antoine Reveillon
had said that the wages of workmen ought to be reduced to fifteen
sous a day.
And this was true.
It was also said that the court was about to decorate him with the
black riband that is to say, with the Order of Saint Michael.
But this was an absurdity.
There is always some absurd rumour in popular commotions.
And it is remarkable that it is also by this rumour that they increase
their numbers, that they recruit, and at last become a revolution.
The crowd makes an effigy, baptizes it with the name of RE-
VEILLON, decorates it with the black riband, sets fire to it before
Reveillon's own door, and then proceeds to the square before the
H6tel de Ville, where it completes the burning of the effigy before
the eyes of the municipal authorities, who see it burning.
Impunity emboldens the crowd, who give notice that, after having
* The Third Order, or Third Estate.
tl6 TAKING THE BASTILE.
done justice on the effigy, they will the following day do justice on
the real person of the offender.
This was a challenge in due form addressed to the public au-
thorities.
The authorities sent thirty of the French Guards, and even then it
was not the authorities who sent them, but their colonel, M. de Biron.
These thirty French Guards were merely witnesses of this great
duel, which they could not prevent. They looked on while the mob
was pillaging the manufactory, throwing the furniture out of the
windows, breaking everything, burning everything. Amid all this
hubbub, five hundred louis in gold were stolen.
They drank the wine in the cellars, and when there was no more
wine, they drank the colours of the manufactory, which they took
for wine.
The whole of the day of the 2yth was employed in effecting this
villainous spoliation.
A reinforcement was sent to the thirty men. It consisted tff
several companies of the French Guards, who in the first place fired
blank cartridges, then balls. Towards evening there came to the
support of the Guards part of the Swiss regiment of M. de Bezenval.
The Swiss never make a jest of matters connected with revolution.
The Swiss forgot to take the balls out of their cartridges, and as
the Swiss are naturally sportsmen and good marksmen too, about
twenty of the pillagers remained upon the pavement.
Some of them had about them a portion of the five hundred louis
which we have mentioned, and which from the secretary of Reveillon
had passed into the pockets of the pillagers, and from the pockets
of the pillagers into those of the Swiss Guards.
Bezenval had done all this ; he had done it out of his own head, as
the vulgar saying has it.
The king did not thank him for what he had done, nor did he
blame him for it.
Now, when the king does not thank, the king blames.
The parliament opened an inquiry.
The king closed it.
The king was so good !
Who it was that had stirred on the people to do this no one could
tell.
Has it not been often seen, during the great heats of summer, that
conflagrations have taken place without any apparent cause ?
The Duke of Orleans was accused of having excited this dis-
turbance.
The accusation was absurd, and it fell to the ground.
On the 2Qth Paris was perfectly tranquil, or at least appeared to
be so.
The 4th of May arrived. The king and the queen went in procession
with the whole court to the Cathedral of Notre Dame to hear ' Veni
Creator.'
THE KING AND QUEEN ARE SO GOOD. 117
There were great shouts of ' Long live the king !' and above ail of
* Long live the queen !'
The queen was so good !
This was the last day of peace.
The next day the shouts of ' Long live the queen!' were not so fre-
quent, but the mob cried more frequently, ' Long live the Duke of
Orleans !'
These cries wounded her feelings much, poor woman ! She who
detested the duks to such a degree, that she said he was a coward.
As if there had ever been a coward in the Orleans family ! from
Monsieur, who gained the battle of Cassel, down to the Duke of
Chartres, who contributed to the gaining of those at Jemmappes and
Valmy.
It went so far that the poor woman was near fainting. She was
supported, her head leaning on her shoulder.
Madame Campan relates this incident in her memoirs.
But this reclining head raised itself up haughty and disdainful.
Those who saw the expression of those features were at once cured,
and for ever, of using the expression :
The queen is so good!
There exist three portraits of the queen ; one painted in 1776,
another in 1784, and a third in 1788.
I have seen all three of them. See them in your turn ! If ever
these three portraits are placed in the same gallery, the history of
Marie Antoinette can be read in those three portraits.
The meeting of the three orders, which was to have produced a
general pacification, proved a declaration of war.
' Three orders,' said Sieyes ; ' no, three nations.'
On the 3rd of May, the eve of the Mass of the Holy Ghost, the
king received the deputies at Versailles.
Some persons counselled him to substitute cordiality for etiquette.
The king would not listen to anything.
He in the first place received the clergy.
After them the nobility.
At last the Tiers Etat.
The Third had been waiting a long time.
The Third murmured.
In the assemblies of former times the Tiers Etat pronounced their
discourses on their knees.
There was no possibility of inducing the president of the Tiers
Etat to go down on his knees.
It was decided that the Tiers Etat should not pronounce an
oration.
In the sittings of the 5th the king put on his hat.
The nobility put on their hats.
The Tiers Etat were about to put on their hats also, but the king
* The three portraits are at Versailles.
n8 TAKING THE BASTILE.
then took off his. He preferred holding it in his hand to seeing the
Tiers Etat covered in his presence.
On Wednesday, the loth of June, Sieyes entered the assembly
He found it almost entirely composed of the Tiers Etat.
The clergy and the nobility were assembled elsewhere.
' Let us cut the cable,' said Sieyes. ' It is now time.'
And Sieyes proposed that the clergy and the nobility should be
summoned to attend within an hour from that time at the latest.
In case of non-appearance, default should be pronounced against
the absent.
A German and Swiss army surrounded Versailles. A battery of
artillery was pointed against the assembly.
Sieyes saw nothing of all this ; he saw the people, who were
starving ; but the Third, Sieyes was told, could not, of itself, form the
States General.
' So much the better,' replied Sieyes, ' it will form the National
Assembly.'
The absent did not present themselves ; the proposal of Sieyes
was adopted ; the Tiers Etat calls itself the NATIONAL ASSEMBLY
by a majority of 400 votes.
On the igth of June, the king orders the building in which the
National Assembly held their meetings to be closed.
But the king, in order to accomplish such a coup d'ttat, needed
some pretext.
The hall is closed for the purpose of making preparations for
a royal sitting, which was to take place on the following Monday.
On the 20th of June, at seven in the morning, the President of
the National Assembly is informed that there will be no meeting on
that day.
At eight o'clock he presents himself rat the door of the hall, with
a great number of the deputies.
The doors are closed, and sentinels are guarding the doors.
The rain is falling.
They wish to break open the doors.
The sentinels had received their orders, and they present their
bayonets.
One of the deputies proposes that they should meet at the Place
d'Armes.
Another that it should be at Marly.
Guillotin proposes the Jeu de Paume. *
Guillotin !
What a strange thing that it should be Guillotin, whose name,
by adding an e to it, should become so celebrated four years after-
wards how strange that it should.be Guillotin who proposed the
Jeu de Paume.
The Jeu de Paume, unfurnished, dilapidated, open to the four
winds of heaven.
* The tennis court.
THE KING AND QUEEN ARE SO GOOD. 119
To this great demonstration, the king replies by the royal word,
VETO !
M. de Breze' is sent to the rebels, to order them to disperse:
'We are here by the will of tne people,' said Mirabeau, 'and
we will not leave this place but with bayonets pointed at our
breasts.'
And not as it has been asserted, that he said 'by the force oj
bayonets' Why is it that there is always behind great men some
paltry rhetorician who spoils his sayings, under pretext of arranging
them ?
Why was there such a rhetorician behind Mirabeau at the Jeu
de Paume ?
And behind Cambronne at Waterloo ?
The reply was at once reported to the king.
He walked about for some time with the air of a man who was
suffering from ennui.
4 They will not go away ?' said he.
' No, sire.'
' Well, then, leave them where they are.'
As is here shown, royalty was already bending beneath the hand
of the people, and bending very low.
From the 2ist of June to the I2th of July, all appeared tolerably
calm, but it was that species of calm which so frequently precedes
the tempest.
It was like the uneasy dream of an uneasy slumber.
On the nth, the king formed a resolution, urged to it by the queen,
the Count d'Artois, the Polignacs in fact, the whole of the Cama-
rilla of Versailles ; in short, be dismissed Neeker.
On the 1 2th this intelligence reached Paris.
The effect which it produced has already been seen. On the
evening of the I3th, Billot arrived just in time to see the barriers
burning.
On the 1 3th, in the evening, Paris was defending itsel
On the 1 4th, in the morning, Paris was ready to attack.
On the morning of the I4th, Billot cried> 'To the Bastile !' and
three thousand men, imitating Billot, reiterated the same cry, which
was about to become that of the whole population of Paris.
The reason was, that there had existed during five centuries a
monument weighing heavily upon the breast of France, like the in-
fernal rock upon the shoulders of Sisyphus.
Only that, less confiding than the Titan in his strength, France
had never attempted to throw it off.
This monument, the seal of feudality, imprinted on the forehead
of Paris, was the Bastile.
The king was too good, as Madame de Hausset had said, to have
a head cut off.
But the king sent people to the Bastile.
120 TAKING THE BASTILE.
When once a man became acquainted with the Bastile, by ordei
of the king, that man was forgotten, sequestrated, interred, annihi-
lated.
He remained there until the king remembered him ; and k ; ngs
have so many new things occurring around them every day, and of
which they are obliged to think, that they often forget to think of
old matters.
Moreover, in France there was not only one Baatile, there were
twenty other Bastiles, which were called Fort TEveque, Saint-
Lazare, the Chatelet, the Conciergerie, Vincennes, the Castle of La
Roche, the Castle of If, the Isles of St. Marguerite, Pigne-
rolles, etc.
Only the fortress at the gate Saint Antoine was called the Bastile^
as Rome was called the city.
It was the Bastile, par excellence, alone : it was of more import-
ance than all the others.
During nearly a whole century, the governorship of the Bastile
had continued in one and the same family.
The grandfather of this elect race was M. de Chateauneuf ; his
son Lavrilliere succeeded him, who, in turn, was succeeded by his
grandson, Saint Florentin. The dynasty became extinct in 1777.
During this triple reign, the greater part of which passed during
the reign of Louis XV., it would be impossible to state the number
of leltres de cachet.' Saint Florentin, alone, received more than
fifty thousand.
The lettre de cachet was a great source of revenue
They were sold to fathers who wished to get rid of their sons.
They were sold to women who wished to get rid of their hus-
bands.
The prettier the wives were, the less did the lettre de cachet cost
them.
It then became, between them and the minister, an, exchange of
polite attentions, and that was all.
Since the end of the reign of Louis XIV., all the state prisons,
and particularly the Bastile, were in the hands of the Jesuits.
Among the prisoners, it will be recollected, the following were of
the greatest note :
The Iron Mask, Lauzun, Latude.
The Jesuits were connoisseurs; for greater security they confessed
the prisoners.
For greater security still, the prisoners were buried under sup-
posititious names.
The Iron Mask, it will be remembered, was buried under the
name of Marchiali. He had remained forty-five years in prison.
Lauzun remained there fourteen years.
Latude, thirty years.
* Secret orders of imprisonment.
THE KING AND QUEEN ARE SO GOOD. ill
But, at all events, the Iron Mask and Lauzun had committed
heinous crimes.
The Iron Mask, whether brother or not of Louis XIV., it is
asserted, resembled King Louis XIV. so strongly, that it was almost
impossible to distinguish the one from the other.
It is exceedingly imprudent to dare to resemble a king.
Lauzun had been very near marrying, or did actually marry, the
Grand Mademoiselle.
It is exceedingly imprudent to dare to marry the niece of King
Louis XIII., the grand-daughter of Henry IV.
But Latude, poor devil, what had he done ?
He had dared to fall in love with Mademoiselle Poisson, Dame
de Pompadour, the king's mistress.
He had written a note to her.
This note, which a respectable woman would have sent back to
the man who wrote it, was handed by Madame de Pompadour to
M. de Sartines, the lieutenant-general of police.
And Latude, arrested, fugitive, taken and retaken, remained
thirty years locked up in the Bastile, the Castle of Vincennes, and
BicStre.
It was noi, therefore, without reason that the Bastile was ab-
horred.
The people hated it as if it were a living thing ; they had formed
of it a gigantic chimera, one of those monsters like those of Ge-
vauden, who pitilessly devour the human species.
The grief cf poor Sebastian Gilbert will, therefore, be fully com-
prehended, *vhen he was informed that his father was in the Bastile.
Billot's conviction will also be understood, that the doctor
would never be released from his prison unless he was released by
force.
The frenetic impulse of the people will be also understood, when
Billot vociferated, ' To the Bastile !'
Only that it was a senseless idea, as the soldiers had remarked,
that the Bastile could be taken.
The Bastile had provisions, a garrison, artillery.
The Bastile had walls, which were fifteen feet thick at their sum-
mit, and forty at their base.
The Bastile had a governor, whose name was De Launay, who
had stored thirty thousand pounds of gunpowder in his cellars, and
who had sworn, in case of being surprised by a coup de main, to
blow up the Bastile, and with it half the Faubourg St. Antoine.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE THREE POWERS OF FRANCE.
BILLOT still walked on, but it was no longer he who shouted. The
crowd, delighted with his martial air, recognised in this man one
9
122 TAKING THE BASTILE.
of their own class ; commenting on his words and action, they
followed him, still increasing like the waves of the incoming tide.
Behind Billot, when he issued from the narrow streets and came
upon the Quay Saint Michel, marched more than three thousand
men, armed with cutlasses, or pikes, or guns.
They all cried, ' To the Bastile ! to the Bastile !'
Billot counselled with his own thoughts. The reflections which
we have made at the close of the last chapter presented themselves
to his mind, and by degrees all the fumes of his feverish excitement
evaporated.
Then he saw clearly into his own mind.
The enterprise was sublime, but insensate. This was easily to
be understood from the affrighted and ironical countenances on
which were reflected the impressions produced by the cry of ' To the
Bastile.'
But nevertheless he was only the more strengthened in his
resolution.
He could not, however, but comprehend that he was responsible
to mothers, wives, and children for the lives of the men who were
following him, and he felt bound to use every possible precaution.
Billot, therefore, began by leading his little army on to the square
in front of the Hotel de Ville.
There he appointed his lieutenant and other officers watch-
dogs to restrain the flock.
4 Let us see,' thought Billot, ' there is a power in France there
are even two there are even three.
' Let us consult.'
He entered the Hotel de Ville, asking who was the chief of the
municipality.
He was told it was the Provost of the Merchants, the Mayor of
Paris, Monsieur de Flesselles.
' Ah ! ah !' cried he, with a dissatisfied air ; ' Monsieur de Fles-
selles, a noble, that is to say, an enemy of the people.'
4 Why no,' they replied to him ; ' he is a man of talent '
Billot ascended the staircase of the H6tel de Ville.
In the ante-chamber he met an usher.
' I wish to speak with Monsieur Flesselles,' said he, perceiving
that the usher was approaching him to ask him what he wanted.
* Impossible !' replied the usher ; 'he is now occupied in drawing
up the lists of a militia force which the city is about to organize.'
1 That falls out marvellously well,' observed Billot, * for I also
am organizing a militia, and as I have already three thousand men
enlisted, I am as good as Monsieur de Flesselles, who has not a
single soldier yet afoot. Enable me, therefore, to speak with
Monsieur de Flesselles, and that instantly. Oh ! look out of the
window, if you will.'
* Town .House, or City Hall.
THE THREE POWERS OF FRANCE. l3
The usher had, in fact, cast a rapid glance upon the quays, and
had perceived Billot's men. He therefore hastened to inform the
mayor, to whom he showed the three thousand men in question, as
a postscript to his message.
This inspired the provost with a sort of respect for the person who
wished to see him : he left the council room and went into the ante-
chamber, looking about for his visitor.
He perceived Billot, guessed that he was the person, and smiled.
' It was you who were asking for me, was it not ?' said he.
'You are Monsieur de Flesselles, Provost of the Merchants, I
believe ?' replied Billot.
' Yes, sir. In what way can I be of service to you ? Only speak
quickly, for my mind is much occupied.'
'.Good Monsieur Provost,' continued Billot, ' how many powers
are there in France ?'
' Why, that is as people may choose to understand it, my dear sir,'
replied Flesselles.
' Say it, then, as you yourself understand it.'
' Were you to consult Monsieur Bailly, he would tell you there is
but one, the National Assembly ; if you consult Monsieur de Dreux
Brze", he would also tell you there is but one the king.'
' And you, Monsieur Provost of these two opinions which is
yours ?'
' My own opinion, and above all at the present moment is, that
there is but one.'
{ The assembly or the king ?' demanded Billot.
' Neither the one nor the other it is the nation,' replied Flesselles,
playing with the frill of his shirt.
' Ah ! ah ! the nation !' cried the farmer.
' Yes ; that is to say, those gentlemen who are waiting down
yonder on the quay with knives and roasting spits. The nation
by that I mean everybody.'
'You may perhaps be right, Monsieur de Flesselles,' replied
Billot, ' and they were not wrong in telling me that you are a man
of talent.'
De Flesselles bowed.
' To which of these three powers do you think of appealing, sir ?'
asked Flesselles.
' Upon my faith,' said Billot, ' I believe that when one has any-
thing very important to ask, a man had better address himself at
once to God and not to his saints.'
' Which means to say that you are about to address yourself to
the king.'
' I am inclined to do so.'
' Would it be indiscreet to inquire what it is you think of asking of
the king ?'
' The liberation of Doctor Gilbert, who is in the Bastile-'
124 TAKING THE BASTILE.
1 Doctor Gilbert ?' solemnly asked M. de Flesselles ; ' he is a writer
of pamphlets, is he not ?
1 Say a philosopher, sir.'
' That is one and the same thing, my dear Monsieur Billot. I think
you stand but a poor chance of obtaining what you desire from
the king.'
' And why so ?
' In the first place, because, if the king sent Doctor Gilbert to the
Bastile, he must have had reasons for so doing '
"Tis well,' replied Billot, 'he shall give me his reasons on the
subject, and I will give him mine.'
' My dear Monsieur Billot, the king is just now very busy, and he
would not even receive you.'
' Oh ! if he does not receive me, I shall find some means of getting
in without his permission.'
' Yes ; and when you have once got in, you will find there Monsieur
de Dreux Bre'ze', who will have you shoved out of doors.'
' Who will have me shoved out of doors ?
'Yes ; he wished to do that to the National Assembly altogether.
It is true that he did not succeed ; but that is a stronger reason for
his being in a furious rage, and taking his revenge on you.'
' Very well ; then I will apply to the Assembly.'
' The road to Versailles is intercepted.'
' I will go there with my three thousand men.'
' Take care, my dear sir. You xvould find on your road some four
or five thousand Swiss soldiers and two or three thousand Austrians,
who would make only a mouthful of you and your three thousand
men. In the twinkling of an eye you would be swallowed.'
' Ah ! the devil ! What ought I to do, then ?'
' Do what you please ; but do me the service to take away your
three thousand men who are beating the pavement yonder with
their pikes, and who are smoking. There are seven or eight
thousand pounds of powder in our cellars here. A single spark
might blow us all up.'
' In that case, I think, I will neither address myself to the king
nor to the National Assembly. I will address myself to the nation,
and we will take the Bastile.'
' And with what ?
1 With the eight thousand pounds of powder that you are going to
give me, Monsieur Provost.'
' Ah, really !' said Flesselles, in a jeering tone.
'It is precisely as I say, sir. The keys of the cellars, if you
please.'
' Hey ! you are jesting, sure !' cried the provost.
' No, sir, I am not jesting,' said Billot.
And seizing Flesselles by the collar of his coat with both bands
' The keys,' cried he, ' or I call up my men.'
THE THREE POWERS OF FRANCE. 125
Flesselles turned as pale as death. His lips and his teeth were
closed convulsively ; but when he spoke his voice was in no way
agitated, and he did not even change the ironical tone he had
assumed.
' In fact, sir,' said he, ' you are doing me a great service by re-
lieving me from the charge of this powder. I will therefore order
the keys to be delivered to you, as you desire. Only please not to
forget that I am your first magistrate, and that if you have the
misfortune to conduct yourself towards me'.before others in the way
you have done when alone with me, an hour afterwards you would
be hanged by the town guards. You insist on having this powder ?'
' I insist/ replied Billot.
'And you will distribute it yourself?'
' Myself.'
' And when ?
' This very moment.'
' Your pardon. Let us understand each other. I have business
which will detain me here about a quarter of an hour, and should
rather like, if it is the same to you, that the distribution should not
be commenced until I have left the place. It has been predicted to
me that I shall die a violent death ; but I ackno wledge that I have
a very decided repugnance to being blown into the air.'
' Be it so. In a quarter of an hour, then. But now, in my turn,
I have a request to make.'
'What is it?'
' Let us both go close up to that window.'
' For what purpose ?'
' I wish to make you popular.'
I am greatly obliged ; but in what manner P
You shall see.'
Billot took the provost to the window, which was open, and called
out to his friends in the square below
'My friends,' said he, 'you still wish to take the Bastile, do you not? 1
' Yes yes yes !' shouted three or four thousand voices.
' But you want gunpowder, do you not ?'
' Yes ! gunpowder ! gunpowder !'
' Well, then, here is his honour the provost, who is willing to give
you all he has in the cellars of the H6tel de Ville. Thank him for
it, my friends.'
' Long live the Provost of the Merchants ! Long live Monsieur
de Flesselles ! : shouted the whole crowd.
'Thanks, my friends : thanks for myself thanks for him,' cried
Billot.
Then, turning towards the provost :
' And now, sir,' said Billot, ' it is no longer necessary that I should
take you by the collar, while here alone with you, or before all the
world ; for if you do not give me the gunpowder, the nation, as you
call it, the nation will tear you to pieces.'
126 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Here are the keys, sir,' said the provost. ' You have so persua-
sive a mode of asking, that it does rot even admit a refusal.'
' What you say really encourages me,' said Billot, who appeared
to be meditating some other project.
' Ah, the deuce ! Can you have anything else to ask of me ?'
' Yes. Are you acquainted with the Governor of the Bastile ?'
' Monsieur de Launay ?'
' I do not know what his name is.'
' His name is De Launay.'
' Be it so. Well do you know Monsieur de Launay ?
' He is a friend of mine.'
' In that case, you must desire that no misfortune should happen
to him.'
' In fact, I should desire it.'
' Well, then, the way to prevent any misfortune happening to him
is, that he should surrender the Bastile to me, or, at all events, libe-
rate the doctor.'
' You do not imagine, surely, that I should have influence enough
with him to induce him to surrender to you either his prisoner or
his fortress, do you ?'
' That is my affair. All that I ask is, that you will give me an in-
troduction to him.'
' My dear Monsieur Billot, I forewarn you that if you go into the
Bastile, you will go into it alone.'
' Very well.'
' I forewarn you, moreover, that if you enter it alone, you will,
perhaps, not get out again.'
' Marvellously well.'
' Then I will give you your permission to go into the Bastile.'
' I will wait for it.'
' But it will be on still another condition.'
' What is that ?
'It is, that you will not come to me again to-morrow, and ask me
for a passport to the moon. I forewarn you that I am not acquainted
with any one in those regions."
' Flesselles ! Flesselles !' said a hollow and threatening voice
from behind the Provost of the Merchants, ' if you continue to wear
two faces the one which laughs with the aristocrats, the other
which smiles upon the people you will, perhaps, receive, between
this and to-morrow morning, a passport for a world from which no
one returns.'
The provost turned round, shuddering.
1 Who is it that speaks thus ? said he.
"Tis I Marat.'
' Marat, the philosopher ! Marat, the physician !' exclaimed Billot.
' Yes,' replied the same voice.
'Yes Marat, the philosooher ; Marat, the physician,' repeated
THE THREE POWERS OF FRANCE. 127
Flesselles ; ' who, in this last capacity, ought to attend to curing
coughs, which would have been a sure means of now having a goodly
number of patients.'
'Monsieur de Flesselles/ replied the lugubrious interlocutor, 'this
worthy citizen has asked you for a passport which will facilitate his
seeing Monsieur de Launay. 1 would observe to you, that not only
is he waiting for you, but that three thousand men are waiting for him.'
' 'Tis well, sir ; he shall soon have it.'
Flesselles went to a table, passed one hand over his brow, and
with the other seizing a pen, he rapidly wrote several lines.
' Here is your safe conduct,' said he, delivering the paper to Billot
' Read it,' said Marat.
1 1 cannot read,' said Billot.
' Well, then, give it to me ; I can read.'
Billot handed the paper to Marat.
This passport was conceived in the following terms :
' M. GOVERNOR, We, Provost of the Merchants of the city of
Paris, send to you M. Billot, in order to concert with you as to the
interests of the said city.
' i4th July, 1789. DE FLESSELLES.'
'.Good,' said Billot, ' give it to me.'
' You find this passport good as it is ? said Marat.
' Undoubtedly.'
' Stop a minute. The provost is going to add a postscript to it,
which will make it better.'
And he went up to Flesselles, who had remained standing, his
hand on the table, and who looked with a disdainful air at the two
men with whom he was so particularly engaged, and a third one, half
naked, who had just presented himself at the door, leaning upon a
musketoon.
It was Pitou, who had followed Billot, and who held himself ready
to obey the farmer's orders, be they what they might.
' Sir,' said Marat to Flesselles, ' the postscript which you are about
to add, and which will render the passport so much better, is the
following :'
' Say ojv, Monsieur Marat.'
Marat placed the paper on the table, and, pointing with his finger
to the place on which the provost was to write the required postscript:
' The citizen Billot,' said he, ' having the character of bearer of a
flag of truce, I confide his care to your honour.'
Flesselles looked at Marat, as if he would rather have smashed
his flat face with his fist than do that which he had requested.
'Would you resist, sir?' demanded Marat.
' No,' replied Flesselles, 'for, after all, you only ask me what is
strictly right.'
And he wrote the postscript demanded of him.
128 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' However, gentlemen, you will be pleased to well observe this,
that I do not answer for the safety of Monsieur Billot.'
' And I I will be answerable for it,' said Marat, jerking the paper
out of his hands ; ' for your liberty is the guarantee of his liberty
your head for the safety of his head. Here, worthy Billot,' con-
tinued Marat, ' here is your passport.'
' Labrie !' cried M. de Flesselles ' Labrie !'
A lackey in grand livery entered the room.
' My carriage,' said the provost.
' It is waiting for you, sir, in the courtyard.'
' Let us go, then,' said the provost. ' There is nothing else which
you desire, gentlemen ?
1 No,' simultaneously replied Billot and Marat.
Am I to let them pass ? inquired Pitou.
' My friend,' said Flesselles to him, ' I would observe to you that
you are rather too indecently attired to mount guard at my door. If
you insist upon remaining here, turn your cartouche-box round in
front, and set your back against the wall.'
' Am I to let them pass ? Pitou repeated, with an air which indi-
cated that he did not greatly relish the jest of which he had been
the subject.
' Yes,' said Billot.
Pitou made way for the provost to pass by him.
' Perhaps you were wrong in allowing that man to go,' said Marat.
' He would have been a good hostage to have kept. But, in any
case, let him go where he will, you may feel perfectly assured that
I will find him again.'
' Labrie,' said the Provost of the Merchants, as he was getting
into his carriage, ' they are going to distribute powder here. Should
the Hotel de Ville perchance blow up, I should like to be out of the
way of the splinters. Let us get out of gunshot, Labrie, out of gun-
shot.'
The carriage rattled through the gateway, and appeared upon the
square, on which were growling some four or five thousand persons.
Flesselles was afraid that they might misinterpret his departure,
which might be considered as a flight.
He leaned half-way out of the door.
' To the National Assembly,' cried he, in a loud voice, to the
coachman.
This drew upon him from the crowd a loud and continued out-
burst of applause.
Marat and Billot were on the balcony, and had heard the last
words of Flesselles.
' My head against his,' said Marat, ' that he is not going to the
National Assembly, but to the king.'
' Would it not be uell to have him stopped ?' said Billot.
1 No,' replied Marat, with his hideous smile ; ' make yourself
THE THREE POWERS OF FRANCE, 129
easy ; however quickly he may go, we shall go still quicker than he
But now for the gunpowder.'
' Yes, to the gunpowder,' said Billot.
And they both went down the great staircase, followed by Pitou.
CHAPTER XV.
MONSIEUR DE LAUNAY, GOVERNOR OF THE BASTILE.
As M. de Flesselles had said, there were eight thousand pounds of
gunpowder in the cellars of the H6tel de Ville.
Marat and Billot went into the first cellar with a lantern, which
they suspended to a hook in the ceiling.
Pitou mounted guard at the door.
The powder was in small kegs, containing each about twenty
pounds. Men were stationed upon the stairs, forming a chain
which reached the square, and they at once began to send up the
kegs.
There was at first a momentary confusion. It was not known
whether there would be powder enough for everybody, and they all
rushed forward to secure their share. But the chain formed by
Billot at length succeeded in making the people wait patiently for
their turn, and the distribution was effected with something like an
approach to order.
Every citizen received half a pound of powder ; about thirty or
forty shots.
But when everyone had received the powder, it was perceived that
muskets were sadly deficient ; there were scarcely five hundred
among the whole crowd.
While the distribution was going on, a portion of this furious
population who were crying out for arm s, went up to the rooms where
the electors held their sittings. They were occupied in forming the
National Guard, of which the usher had spoken to Billot.
They had just decreed that this civic militia should be composed
of forty-eight thousand men. This militia but yet existed in the
decree, and they were disputing as to the general who should
command it.
It was in the midst of this discussion that the people invaded the
Hotel de Ville, They had organised themselves. They only asked
to march all they required was arms.
At that moment the noise of a carriage coming into the courtyard
was heard. It was the Provost of the Merchants, who had not been
allowed to proceed upon bis journey, although he had exhibited a
mandate from the king, ordering him to proceed to Versailles, and
he was brought back by force to the Hotel de Ville.
' Give us arms ! give us arms !' cried the crowd, a. soon as they
perceived him at a distance.
1 30 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' Arms !' cried he ; ' I have no arms ; but there must be some at
the arsenal.'
' To the arsenal ! to the arsenal !' cried the crowd.
And five or six thousand men rushed on to the Quay de la Greve.
The arsenal was empty.
They returned, with bitter lamentations, to the H6tel de Ville.
The provost had no arms, or rather would not give them. Pressed
by the people, he had the idea of sending them to the Chartreux.
The Chartreux opened its gates ; they searched it in every direc-
tion, but did not find even a pocket-pistol.
During this time, Flesselles, having been informed that Billot and
Marat were still in the cellars of the ri6tel de Ville, completing the
distribution of the gunpowder, proposed to send a deputation to De
Launay, to propose to him that he should withdraw the cannon from
his ramparts, so as to be out of sight.
That which the evening before had made the crowd hoot most
obstreperously was these guns, which, stretching forth their long
necks, were seen beyond the turreted parapets. Flesselles hoped
that, by causing them to disappear, the people would be contented
by the concession, and would withdraw satisfied.
The deputation had just set forth, when the people returned in
great fury.
On hearing the cries they uttered, Billot and Marat ran upstairs
into the courtyard.
Flesselles, from an interior balcony, endeavoured to calm the
people. He proposed a decree which should authorise the districts
to manufacture fifty thousand pikes.
The people were about to accept this proposal.
' Decidedly this man is betraying us, said Marat.
Then, turning to Billot :
' Go to the Bastile,' said he, ' and do what you proposed to do. In
an hour I will send you there twenty thousand men, and each man
with a musket on his shoulder.'
Billot, at first sight, had felt great confidence in this man, whose
name had become so popular that it had reached even him. He
.lid not even ask him how he calculated on procuring them. An
: ibe* was there, imbued with the general enthusiasm of the moment,
and crying, like all the rest, ' To the Bastile !' Billot did not like
abbe's ; but this one pleased him. He gave him the charge of con-
tinuing the distribution, which the worthy abbe" accepted.
Then Marat mounted upon a post. There was at that moment
the most frightful noise and tumult.
' Silence !' cried he ; ' I am Marat, and I wish to speak.'
They were at once quieted as if by magic, and every eye was
directed towards the orator.
' You wish for arms ?' he said.
' Yes ! yes !' replied thousands fti aces.
MONSIEUR DE LA UNA Y. 131
' To take the Bastile ?'
' Yes ! yes ! yes !'
' Well, then, come with me, and you shall have them.'
' And where ?
' To the Invalides, where there are twenty-five thousand muskets.
To the Invalides !'
' To the Invalides ! t.o the Invalides !' cried every voice.
' And now,' said Marat to Billot, who had just called Pitou, ' you
will go to the Bastile ?
Yes.'
' Stay. It might happen that before my men arrive you may
stand in need of assistance.'
' In fact,' said Billot, ' that is possible.'
Marat tore out a leaf from a small memorandum book, and wrote
four words upon it with a pencil :
' This comes from Marat.'
Then he drew a sign upon the paper.
' Well !' cried Billot, ' what would you have me do with this note,
since you do not tell me the name or the address of the person to
whom I am to deliver it ?
' As to the address,. the man to whom I recommend you has none;
as to his name, it is well known. Ask the first workman you may
meet for Gonchon, the Mirabeau of the people.'
' Gonchon you will remember that name, Pitou.'
1 Gonchon or Gonchonius] said Pitou, ' I shall not forget it.'
' To the Invalides ! to the Invalides !' howled the mob, with in-
creasing ferocity.
'Well, then, go !' said Marat to Billot, ' and may the genius of
Liberty march before thee !'
' To the Invalides !' he then cried, in his turn.
And he went down the Quay de Gevres, followed by more than
twenty thousand men.
Billot, on his side, took with him some five or six thousand. These
were all armed in one way or another.
At the moment when they were about to proceed along the bank
of the river, and the remainder were going towards the Boulevard,
the Provost of the Merchants called to them from a window :
' My friends,' said he, ' why is it that I see a green cockade in
your hats ?'
They were the leaves of the linden trees of Camille Desmoulins,
which many had adopted merely from seeing others wear them, but
without even knowing their signification.
' Hope ! hope !' cried several voices.
' Yes ; but the colour that denotes hope is, at the same time, that
of the Count d'Artois. Would you have the air of wearing the livery
of a prince P
i.ia TAKING THE BASTILE.
' No, no !' cried all the crowd in chorus, and Billot louder than the
rest.
' Well ! then you ought to change that cockade ; and, if you will
wear a livery, let it at least be that of the city of Paris, the mother
of us all blue and red, my friends, blue and red.'*
' Yes, yes,' cried every tongue ; ' blue and red.'
Upon these words, every one trampled under foot his green cockade,
every one called for ribands ; as if by enchantment, the windows
round the square were opened, and blue and red ribands rained
down in floods.
But all the ribands that fell scarcely sufficed for a thousand men.
Instantly, aprons, silk gowns, scarfs, curtains are torn, stripped,
and cut in fragments ; these fragments were formed into bows,
rosettes, and scarfs. Every one took his share.
After which Billot's small army again moved forward.
It kept on recruiting as it advanced ; all the arteries of the Fau-
N>urg Saint Antoine sent to it as it passed the most ardent and the
.nost active of their population.
They reached, in tolerably good order, the end of the Rue
Lesdiguieres, where already a mass of curious lookers-on some
timid, others calm, and others insolent were gazing at the towers
of the Bastile, exposed to an ardent sun.
The arrival of the popular drums by the Faubourg Saint Antoine :
The arrival of about a hundred of the French Guards from the
Boulevards :
The arrival of Billot and his troop at once changed the cha-
racter and the aspect of the assembled crowd ; the timid became
emboldened, the calm became excited, and the insolent began to
threaten.
' Down with the cannon ! down with the cannon !' cried twenty
thousand voices, threatening with their clenched fists the heavy
guns which stretched forth their brazen necks from the embrasures
of the platforms.
Just at that moment, as if the governor of the Bastile had heard
these cries and was obeying these injunctions of the crowd, some
artillerymen approached the guns, which they drew in, and at last
they disappeared entirely.
The crowd clapped their hands . they had then become a power,
since the governor had yielded to their threats.
Notwithstanding this, the sentinels continued pacing backwards
and forwards on the platforms. At every post was an Invalide and
a Swiss.
After having cried ' Down with the cannon !' the crowd shouted,
* Some time afterwards, M. de Lafayette also made the observation that
blue and red were likewise the colours of the House of Orleans, and added
to them a third colour, white, saying to those who received it from him,
4 I give you a cockade that will make the tour of the wVwte world.'
MONSIEUR DE LA UNA Y. 133
4 Down with the Swiss !' It was a continuation of the cry of the
night before, ' Down with the Germans !'
But the Swiss did not the less continue their guard, crossing the
Invalides in their measured pacings up and down.
One of those who cried ' Down with the Swiss !' became impa-
tient ; he had a gun in his hand ; he pointed the muzzle of his gun
at the sentinel and fired.
The ball struck the grey wall of the Bastile, one foot below the
coping stone of the tower, and immediately in front of the spot
where the Swiss had passed. At the spot where the shot had
struck, it left a white mark, but the sentinel did not stop, and did
not even turn his head.
A loud murmur soon arose around the man who had fired, and
thus was given the signal of attack, as unheard of as it was sense-
less. There was more of terror than of anger in this rumour. Many
persons conceived that it was a crime punishable with death to have
thus fired a musket shot at the Bastile.
Billot gazed upon the dark green mass like to those fabulous
monsters which in ancient legends are represented to us as covered
with scales. He counted the embrasures at which the cannon might
at any given moment be rolled back to their places. He counted the
number of muskets the muzzles of which might be directed through
the loopholes at the assembled crowd.
And Billot shook his head, recalling to mind the words uttered
by Flesselles.
' We shall never be able to get in there,' said he.
' And why shall we never be able to get in? said a voice close be-
side him.
Billot turned round and saw a man with a savage countenance,
dressed in rags, and whose eyes sparkled like two stars.
' Because it appears to me impossible to take such a mass as that
by force.'
1 The taking of the Bastile,' said the man, ' is not a deed of war,
but an act of faith. Believe, and thou shalt succeed.'
' Patience,' said Billot, feeling in his pocket for his passport.
The man was deceived as to his meaning.
' Patience,' cried he, ' oh ! yes, I understand you you are fat
you you look like a farmer.'
' And I am one, in fact,' said Billot.
' Then I can well understand why you say patience ! You have
been always well fed ; but look behind you for a moment and see
those spectres who are now surrounding us see their dried-tip veins,
count their bones through the rents in their garments, and then ask
them whether they understand the word patience.'
' This is one who speaks well,' said Pitou, ' but he terrifies me.'
' He does not terrify me,' said Billot ; and turning again towards
the man :
134 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Yes, patience,' he said, ' but only for another quarter of an hour,
that's all.'
' Ah ! ah !' cried the man, smiling, 'a quarter of an hour ; that
indeed is not too much. And what will you do between this and a
quarter of an hour ?'
' During that time I shall have visited the Bastile, I shall know
the number of its garrison, I shall know the intentions of its go-
vernor ; I shall know, in fine, the way into it.'
' Yes ! if after that you could only find the way out of it ?'
' Well, supposing that I do not get out of it ; there is a man who
will come and show me the way.'
' And who is this man ?*
' Gonchon, the Mirabeau of the people.
The man gave a start. His eyes emitted flashes of fire.
' Do you know him ?' inquired he.
'No.'
' Well, what mean you, then ?
' Why, I am going to know him ; for I was told that the first to
whom I might speak on the square before the Bastile would lead
me to him. You are on the square of the Bastile ; take me to him.'
' What do you want with him ?
' To deliver to him this paper.'
1 From whom is it ?
' From Marat, the physician.'
' From Marat ! you know Marat !' exclaimed the man.
' I have just left him.'
' Where ?
'At the Hotel de Ville.'
' What is he doing ?'
' He is gone to arm twenty thousand men at the Invalides.'
' In that case, give me that paper. I am Gonchon.'
Billot drew back a step.
' You are Gonchon ?' cried he.
' My friends,' said the man in rags, ' here is one who does not
know me, and who is asking whether it is true that I am Gonchon.'
The crowd burst into a loud laugh. It appeared to all these men
that it was impossible that any one could be so ignorant as not to
know their favourite orator.
' Long live Gonchon !' cried two or three thousand voices.
' Take it,' said Billot, handing the paper to him.
' Friends,' cried Gonchon, after having read it, and laying his
hand on Billot's shoulder, ' this is a brother. Marat recommends
him ; we can therefore rely upon him. What is your name ? said
he to the fanner.
4 My name is Billot.'
MONSIEUR DE LA UN A Y. 135
' And mine,' rejoined Gonchon, 'is Hache, and between us both 1
trust we shall be able to do something.'
The crowd smiled at this sanguinary jest.
' Yes, yes, we shall soon do something,' cried they.
' Well ! what are we going to do ?' asked several voices.
' Why, zounds !' cried Gonchon, ' we are going to take the Bas-
tile.'
' This is as it should be,' cried Billot ; ' that is what I call speak-
ing. Listen to me, brave Gonchon. How many men have you to
back you ?'
' Thirty thousand, or somewhere near that.'
' Thirty thousand men you have at your disposal, twenty thousand
who will soon be here from the Invalides, and ten thousand who are
already here why, 'tis more than enough to ensure our success, or
we shall never succeed at all.'
' We shall succeed,' replied Gonchon.
' I believe so. Well, then, call together your thirty thousand
men. I, in the meantime, will go to the governor, and summon him
to surrender. If he surrenders, so much the better ; we shall avoid
much bloodshed. If he will not surrender, the blood that will be
spill&d will fall upon his head ; and in these days, blood that is
spilled in an uniust cause brings down misfortunes with it. Ask the
Germans if it be not so.'
'How long do you expect to remain with the governor?' asked
Gonchon.
' As long as I possibly can, until the Bastile is completely invested,
if it be possible. When I come out again, the attack will begin.'
' 'Tis understood.'
' You do not mistrust me ?' said Billot to Gonchon, holding out
his hand to him.
' Who, I ?' replied Gonchon, with a smile of disdain, at the same
time pressing the hand of the stout farmer, and with a strength that
could not have been expected from his emaciated appearance ; ' I
mistrust you ! and for what reason, pray ? If it were my will, upon
a word, a sign given by me, I could have you pounded like glass,
even were you sheltered by those formidable towers which to-
morrow will no longer exist were you protected by these soldiers,
who this evening will have espoused our party or wifl have ceased
to exist. Go, then, and rely on Gonchon as he relies on Billot.'
Billot was convinced, and walked towards the entrance of the
Bastile, while the strange person with whom he had been convers-
ing darted down the faubourg, amid shouts, repeated a thousand
times, of
' Long live Gonchon ! long live the Mirabeau of the people !'
' I do not know what the Mirabeau of the nobles may be/ said
* Billot, in French, means block the block on which criminals' heads
are struck off. Hache means axe. TRANSLATOR.
136 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Pitou to Billot, ' but I think our Mirabeau a hideously ugly per
son age.'
CHAPTER XVI.
THE BASTILE AND ITS GOVERNOR.
WE will not describe the Bastile it would be useless.
It lives as an eternal image, both in the memory of the old and in
the imagination of the young.
We shall content ourselves with merely stating, that, seen from
the Boulevard, it presented, in front of the square then called
Place de la Bastile, two twin towers, while its two fronts ran parallel
with the banks of the canal which now exists.
The entrance to the Bastile was defended, in the first place, by a
guardhouse, then by two lines of sentinels, and besides these by two
drawbridges.
After having passed through these several obstacles, you came to
the courtyard of the government house that is to say, the residence
of the governor.
From this courtyard a gallery led to the ditches of the Bastile.
At this other entrance, which opened upon the ditches, was a
drawbridge, a guardhouse, and an iron gate.
At the first entrance they wished to stop Billot ; but Billot shows
the passport he received from Flesselles, and they allow him to
pass on.
Billot then perceives that Pitou is following him. Pitou had no
permission ; but he would have followed the farmer's steps down to
the infernal regions, or would have ascended to the moon.
' Remain outside,' said Billot. ' Should I not come out again, it
would be well there should be some one tc remind the people that I
have come in.'
' That is perfectly right,' said Pitou. ' How long am I to wait before
I remind them of it ?'
' One hour.'
' And the casket ? inquired Pitou.
' Ah, you remind me ! Well, then, should I not get out again ;
should Gonchon not take the Bastile ; or, in short, if, after having
taken it, I should not be found, you must tell Dr. Gilbert, whom
they will find perhaps, that men who came from Paris took from me
the casket which he confided to my care five years ago ; that I, on
thn instant, started off to inform him of what had happened ; that, on
arriving at Paris, I was informed that he was in the Bastile ; that I
attempted to take the Bastile, and that in the attempt I left my skin
there, which was altogether at his service.'
' 'Tis well, Father Billot,' said Pitou ; '. only 'tis rather a long story,
and I am afraid I may forget it.'
' Forget what I have said to you ?
fi'X BAS'iiLE AND 2TS GOVERNOR. 137
1 Yes.'
' I will repeat it to you, then.'
' No/ said a voice close to Billot s ear ; ' it would be better co
write it.'
' I do not know how to write, said Billot.
' I da I am an usher.'
' Ah !Cyou are an usher, are you ?' inquired Billot.
Stanislaus Maillard, usher in the Court of the Chatelet/
And he drew from his pocket a long ink-horn, in which there
were pens, paper, and ink ; in fine, all that was necessary for writing.
He was a man about forty-five years old, tall, thin, and grave-
looking, dressed entirely in black, as became his profession.
Hare is me who looks confoundedly like an undertaker,' muttered
Pitou.
' You say,' inquired the usher, with great calmness, ' that men who
came from Parie Carried off a casket which Dr. Gilbert confided to
you ?'
'Yes.'
' That is a punishable crime.'
' These men belonged to the police of Paris.'
' Infamous robbers !' muttered Maillard.
Then, handing the paper to Pitou :
Here, take this, young man/ said he ; ' it is the memorandum you
require; and should he be killed' he pointed to Billot ' should
you be killed, it is l .o be hoped that I shall not be killed too.'
' And should you not be killed, what would you do ?' asked Pitou.
' I would do that which you were to have done/ replied Maillard.
' Thanks,' said Billot.
And he held out his hand to the usher.
The usher grasped it with a vigour which could not have been
anticipated from his lank meagre body.
' Then I may fully depend upon you ? said Billot.
'As on Marat as on Gonchon.'
' Good/ said Pitou ; ' they form a trinity which I am sure I c.iall
not find in paradise.'
Then, going up to Billot :
' Tell me, Father Billot, you will be prudent, wili you iiot ?'
' Pitou,' replied the farmer, with an eloquence which sometimes
astonished people, when proceeding from one who had always led a
country life, ' forget not what I now say to you, that the most prudent
line of conduct now in France is to be courageous.'
And he passed the first line of sentinels, while Pitou returned
towards the square.
At tl.e drawbridge he was again obliged to parley.
Billot showed his passport ; the drawbridge was let down ; the
i.ron-grated gate was opened.
Close beside the gate stood the governor.
138 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
This interior court, in which the governor was waiting for Billot,
was the courtyard which served as a promenade to the prisoners. It
was guarded by eight towers that is to say, by eight giants. No
window opened into it. Never did the sun shine on its pavement,
which was damp and almost muddy. It might have been thought
the bottom of an immense well.
In this courtyard was a clock, supported by figures representing
enchained captives, which measured the hours, from which fell the
regular and slow sounds of the minutes as they passed by, as in a
dungeon the droppings from the ceiling eat into the pavement slabs
on which they fall.
At the bottom of this well, the prisoner, lost amid the abyss of
stone, for a moment contemplated its cold nakedness, and soon
asked to be allowed to return to his room.
Close beside the grated gate which -opened on this courtyard,
stood, as we have said, M. de Launay.
M. de Launay was a man from forty-five to fifty years of age. On
that day he was dressed in a grey coat. He wore the red riband
of the order of St. Louis ; and in his hand he carried a sword-cane.
This M. de Launay was a man of wicked disposition ; the memoirs
of Linguet had just bestowed upon him a sorrowful celebrity ; he
was almost as much detested as the prison itself.
In fact, the De Launays, like the Chateauneufs, the Levrillieres,
and the Saint Florentins, who held the lettres de cachet from father
to son, the De Launays also from father to son transmitted the
Bastile to one another.
For, as it is well known, it was not the minister who appointed the
officers of this gaol. At the Bastile, all the places were sold to the
highest bidder, from that of the governor himself, down to that of
the scullion. The governor of the Bastile was a gaoler on a grand
scale, an eating-house keeper wearing epaulettes, who added to his
salary of sixty thousand livres sixty thousand more, which he extorted
and plundered.
It was highly necessary that he should recover the capital and
interest of the money he had invested.
M. de Launay, in point of avarice, far surpassed his predecessors.
This might, perhaps, have arisen from his having paid more for the
place, and having foreseen that he would not remain in it so long as
they did.
He fed his whole house at the expense of his prisoners. He had
reduced the quantity of firing, and doubled the hire of furniture in
each room.
He had the right of bringing yearly into Pans a hundred pipes of
wine, free of duty. He sold his right to a tavern-keeper, who
brought in wines of excellent quality. Then, with a tenth part of
this duty, he purchased the vinegar with which he supplied his
prisoners.
THE BASTILE AND ITS GOVERNOR. 139
The unhappy prisoners in the Bastile had only one consolation ;
this was a small garden, which had been formed on one of the
bastions. There they could walk there for a few moments they
could inhale pure air, the perfumes of the flowers, and enjoy the
light.
He rented this little garden to a gardener, and for fifty livres a
year which he received from him, he had deprived the prisoners of
this last enjoyment.
It is true that to rich prisoners his complaisance was extreme. He
conducted one of them to the house of his own mistress, who had
thus her apartments furnished, and was kept in luxury, without its
costing a stiver to him, De Launay.
See the work entitled ' The Bastile Unveiled,' and you will find in
it this fact, and many others besides.
And, notwithstanding, this man was courageous.
From the previous evening the storm had been threatening
around him. Since the previous evening, he perceived the waves
of this great commotion, which was still ascending, beat against his
walls.
And yet he was calm, though pale.
It is true that he had to support him four pieces of artillery, ready
prepared to fire ; around him, a garrison of Swiss and Invalides ;
before him, only an unarmed man.
For, on entering the Bastile, Billot had given Pitou his carbine to
take care of.
He had understood that within that iron grating which he saw
before him, a weapon would be more dangerous than useful to him.
Billot, at a single glance, observed all ; the calm and almost
threatening attitude of the governor ; the Swiss and Invalides in the
several guardhouses and on the platforms ; and the silent agitation
of the artillerymen, who were stowing into the magazines of their
ammunition- waggons their cartridges.
The sentinels held their muskets at the make-ready ; the officers
had their swords drawn.
The governor remained motionless ; Billot was obliged to advance
towards him ; the iron-grated gate closed behind the bearer of the
people's flag of truce with a sinister noise of grating iron, which, brave
as he was, made the marrow of his bones chill within him.
' What want you with me again ?' said De Launay to him.
' Again !' reiterated Billot ; ' it appears to me, however, that this
is the first time I have seen you, and consequently, that you have
yet no right to be wearied of seeing me.'
' It is because I have been told that you come from the H6tel de
Ville.'
' That is true. I came from there.'
' Well, then, only just now I received a deputation from the muni-
cipality.'
140 TAKING THE BASTILE
And for what purpose did it come ?
1 It came to obtain a promise from me that I would not be the first
to fire.'
' And you promised that you would not ?
* Yes.'
' And was this all ?'
' It also came to request that I would draw in my guns.'
' And you did have them drawn in ; I know that, for I was on the
square of the Bastile when this manoeuvre was executed.
' And you doubtless thought that I was yielding to the threats of
the people ?'
' Why, zounds ! it did look very like it.
' Did I not tell you so, gentlemen ? exclaimed De Launa, , turning
towards his officers ; ' did I not tell you that we should be thought
capable of such cowardice ?'
Then, turning to Billot
' And you from whom do you come ?
' I come on behalf of the people,' proudly replied Billot.
"Tis well,' said De Launay, smiling ; 'but you have some other
recommendation, I suppose ; for with that which you set forth, you
would not have been allowed to pass the first line of my sentries.'
' Yes I have a safe-conduct from Monsieur de Flesselles, your
friend.'
' Flesselles ! You say that he is my friend,' rejoined De Launay
looking intently at Billot, as if he would have read the inmost re-
cesses of his heart. ' From whom do you know that Monsieur de
Flesselles is my friend ?
1 Why, I supposed him te be so/
' Supposed ! oh, that is all ! 'Tis well. Let us see your safe-
conduct.'
Billot presented the paper to him.
De Launay read it once ; then a second time ; and turned and
twisted it about to discover whether it did not contain some post-
script between its pages ; held it up to the light, to see whether
there were not some lines written between the lines of the missive.
' And this is all he has to say to me ?
* AIL-
' You are sure ?
1 Perfectly sure.'
' Nothing verbal r"
* Nothing.'
' 'Tis very strange !' exclaimed De Launay, darting through one
of the loopholes a glance at the crowd assembled in the square
before the Bastile.
' But what would you have had him send to teil you r said Billot.
De Launay made an impatient gesture.
' Oh, nothing, nothing ! Come, now, tell me what you want ; but
speak quickly, for I am pressed for time '
THE BASTILE AND ITS GOVERNOR. 141
'Well, then, what 1 want is, that you should surrender the Bastile
to us.'
' What said you ?' cried De Launay, quickly turning round, as if he
thought he had misunderstood the termer's meaning. 'You say ?
' 1 say that I have come, in the name of the people, to demand
that you surrender the Bastile.'
De Launay shrugged up his shoulders.
' The people are, in truth, very stranse animals.' said he.
Hey !' cried Billot.
* And what do they want to do with the Bastile ?'
' They want to demolish it.'
' And what the devil has the Bastile to do with the people ? Was
ever a man of the people put into the Bastile? The people, on the
contrary, ought to bless every stone of which the Bastile is formed.
Who are they who are put into the Bastile ? Philosophers, men of
science, aristocrats, ministers, princes that is to say. the enemies
of the people.'
' Well, that proves that the people are not egotists/ retorted Billot.
' My friend,' said De Launay, with a shade of commiseration in his
tone, ' it is easy to perceive that you are not a soldier.'
' You are quite right. I am a farmer.'
' That you do not inhabit Paris.'
' In fact, I am from the country.'
' That you do not thoroughly know what the Bastile is.'
' That is true. I only know what I have seen of it that is to say,
the exterior walls.'
' Well, then, come along with me, and I will show you what the
Bastile is.'
' Ho ! ho !' muttered Billot to himself, ' he is going to lead me
over some villainous trap-door, which will suddenly open under my
feet, and then, good-night, Father Billot.'
But the intrepid farmer did not even blink, and showed himself
ready to tollow the governor of the Bastile.
' In the first place,' said De Launay, ' you must know that I have
powder enough in my cellars to blow up, not only the Eastile itself,
but with it at least half of the Faubourg St. Antoine.'
' I know that,' tranquilly replied Billot.
' Very well ; but now look at those four pieces of artillery.'
' I see them/
' They enfilade the whole of this gallery, as you can also see ; and
tnis gallery is defended, first, by a guard-house ; secondly, by two
ditches, which only can be crossed with the assistance of two draw-
bridges ; and lastly- by a grated iron gate.'
' Oh ! I do not say that the Bastile is badly defended,' calmly ob-
served Billot ; ' all that I say is, that it will be well attacked.'
' Let us go on,' said De Launay.
Billot gave an assenting nod.
I 4 2 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' Here is a postern which opens on the ditches,' said the gover-
nor ; ' look at the thickness of the walls.'
Somewhere about forty feet.'
- Yes ; forty at the bottom, and fifteen at the top. You see that,
although the people may have good nails, they would break them
against these stones.'
' I did not say,' rejoined Billot, ' that the people would demolish
the Bastile before taking it. What I said was, that they would de-
molish it after having taken it.'
' Let us go upstairs,' said De Launav ' let us go up.
They went up some thirty steps.
The governor stopped.
' See,' said he, ' here is another embrasure, which opens on the
passage by which you wish to enter : this is only defended by a
rampart gun ; but it has already acquired a certain reputation. You
know the song
' " O my tender Musette
Musette, my only love." '
' Certainly,' said Billot ; ' I do know it ; but I do not think that
this is the time to sing it.'
' Wait a moment. Well, Marshal Saxe called this small cannon
his Musette, because it sung correctly the air he best liked. That
is an historical detail.'
' Oh !' ejaculated Billot.
' Let us go up higher,' and they continued to climb up the stairs.
They soon reached a platform, on the tower called La Compte'.
Ah ! ah !' ejaculated Billot.
' What is it ?' inquired De Launay.
' You have not had the cannon dismounted.'
' I have had them drawn in that's all.'
' You know that I shall tell the people that cannon are still here.'
' Tell them so.'
' You will not have them dismounted, then ?
'No.'
' Decidedly ?
1 The king's cannon are here by the king's order, sir ; they can
only be dismounted by an order from the king.'
1 Monsieur de Launay,' said Billot, feeling the importance of the
moment, and raising his mind to the full height of it, with dignified
eloquence, replied, ' Monsieur de Launay, the real king, whom I
counsel you to obey, is yonder.'
And he showed to the governor the grey crowd, some of whom
were still covered with blood from the combat of the preceding even-
ing, and whose undulating movements before the ditches made their
arms gleam in the sunshine.
Sir,' said De Launay in his turn, throwing his head back with a
THE BASTILE AND ITS GOVERNOR. 143
haughty air, s you may perhaps acknowledge two kings ; but I, tne
governor of the Bastile, I Know but one, and he is Louis, the Six-
teenth of that name, who has affixed his name to a commission by
virtue of which I command here, both men and things.'
' You are not, then, a citizen !' cried Billot in anger.
' I am a French gentleman,' said the governor.
' Ah ! that is true you are a soldier, and you speak as a soldier.'
' You have said the word, sir,' said De Launay, bowing. ' I am
a soldier, and I execute the orders I receive.'
' And I, sir,' said Billot, ' I am a citizen, and my duty as a citizen
being in opposition with your orders as a soldier, one of us two will
die whether it be the one who obeys his orders, or the one who
fulfils his duty.
' It is probable, sir.'
' Then you are determined to fire upon the people ?'
' By no means so long as they do not fire upon me. I have
pledged my word to the envoys of Monsieur de Flesselles. You see
that the guns have been drawn in, but at the first shot fired from
the square upon my castle '
'Well, at the first shot?'
' I will run to one of these guns this one, for instance I will
myself wheel it to the embrasure, I will point it with my own hands,
and I will fire it with the match you see standing here.'
< You ?'
'Yes, I.'
' Oh ! if I believed that,' said Billot, ' before allowing you to com-
mit such a crime '
' I have told you that I am a soldier, sir, and that I know nothing
but my orders.'
' Well, then, look !' said Billot, drawing De Launay towards an
embrasure, and pointing out to him alternately two different points,
the Faubourg Saint Antoine and the Boulevard, 'yonder are those
from whom in future you will receive your orders.'
And he showed De Launay two dark, dense, and howling masse-j,
who, compelled to take the form of the Boulevards, undulated like
an immense serpent, of which the head and the body could be seen,
but the last rings of which were lost to sight, from the unevenness
of the ground on which it crawled.
And all that could be seen of the gigantic reptile was refulgent
with luminous scales.
It was the double troop, to which Billot had given rendezvous on
the square of the Bastile the one led by Marat, and the other by
Gonchon.
On both sides they advanced, brandishing their arms, and uttering
the most terrific cries.
De Launay turned pale at the sight, and raising his cane
' To your guns !' cried he.
144 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Then, advancing towards Billot with a threatening gesture
' And you, wretch!' he exclaimed, ' you who have come hereundei
the pretext of parleying with me while the others are advancing to
the attack, do you know that you deserve to die ?'
And he half drew his sword from the cane which concealed it.
Billot saw the movement, and, rapid as the lightning, seized DC
Launay by the collar and the waistband.
' And you,' said he, as he raised him from the ground, ' you de-
serve that I should hurl you over the ramparts, to break your bones
against the sides of the ditch ! But God be thanked ! I shall fight
you in another manner !'
At that moment an immense and universal clamour, proceeding
from below, and rushing through the air like the wild howlings of
the hurricane, reached their ears, and M. de Losme, the major of the
Bastile, appeared upon the platform.
' Sir,' cried he, addressing himself to Billot, ' sir, be pleased to
show yourself; all those people yonder believe that some misfortune
has befallen you, and they are calling for vou.'
And in fact the name of Billot, which had been spread among the
crowd by Pitou, was heard amidst the clamour.
Billot had loosed his hold, and M. de Launay sheathed his sword.
Then there was a momentary hesitation between these three men;
cries calling for vengeance, and threatening shouts were heard.
' Show yourself then, sir,' said De Launay : ' not that these
clamours intimidate me, but that it may be known that I am a man
who loyally keeps his word.'
Then Billot put his head between the battlements, making a sign
with his hand.
On seeing this, loud shouts of applause rose from the populace. It
was, in a manner, the revolution rising from the forehead of the
Bastile in the person of this man of the people, v ho had been the
first to trample on its platform as a conqueror.
"Tis well, sir, : then said De Launay, 'all is new terminated be-
tween us ; you have nothing further to dc here. You are called for
yonder : go down.
Billot was sensible of this moderation in a man who had him com-
pletely in his power ; he went down the same staircase by which he
had ascended the ramparts, the governor followiiif him.
As to the major, he had remained there ; the governor had given
him some orders in a whisper.
It was evident that M. de Launay had but one desire, and this
was that the bearer of the fl^s of truce should become his enemy,
and that as quickly as possible.
Billot walked across the courtyard without uttering a word. He
saw the artillerymen standing by their guns. The match was
smoking at the end of a lance.
Billot stepped before them.
THE BASTILE AND ITS GOVERNOR. 145
' My friends,' said he, ' remember that I came to request your
chief to prevent the spilling of blood, and that he has refused.'
' In the name of the king, sir,' cried De Launay, stamping his foot,
' leave this place !'
' Beware !' said Billot ; ' for if you order me out in the name of the
king, I shall come in again in the name of the people.'
Then, turning towards the guard-house, before which the Swiss
were standing
' Come, now,' said he, ' tell me for which side are you ?
The Swiss soldiers remained silent.
De Launay pointed with his ringer to the iron gate.
Billot wished to essay a last effort.
' Sir,' said he, ' in the name of the nation ! in the name 01 your
brothers !'
' Of my brothers ! You call my brothers those men who are
howling " Down with the Bastile !" " Death to its governor !'' They
may be your brothers, sir. but most assuredly they are not mine !'
' In the name of humanity, then.'
' In the name of humanity, which urgae you on to come here, with
a hundred thousand men, to cut the throats of a hundred unfortu-
nate soldiers shut up in these walls.'
' And by surrendering the Bastile you would be doing precisely
that which would save their lives.'
' And sacrifice my honour.'
Billot said no more to him ; this logic ot the soldier completely
overcame him ; but turning to the Swiss and Invalides
' Surrender, my friends !' cried he, ' it is still time. In ten minutes
it will be too late.'
' If you do not instantly withdraw, sir,' in his turn cried De
Launay, ' on the word of a gentleman I will order you to be shot !'
Billot paused a moment, crossed his arms over his chest in token
of defiance, exchanged a last threatening glance with De Launay,
and passed through the gate.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE BASTILE.
THE crowd was waiting ; scorched by the burning July sun, they
were trembling, mad with excitement. Gonchon's men had just
joined those of Marat. The Faubourg Saint Antoine had recognised
and saluted its brother, the Faubourg Saint Marceau
Gonchon was at the head of his patriots. As to Marat, he had
disappeared.
The aspect of the square was frightful.
On Billot's appearance the shouts redoubled.
' Well ?' said Gonchon, going up to him
* Well, this man is a man of courage,' said Billot.
146 TAKING THE BAS7ILE.
'What mean you by saying "This man is a man of courage ?"
inquired Gonchon.
1 1 mean to say that he is obstinate.'
- He will not surrender the Bastile ?
'No.'
'He will obstinately sustain the siege ?
' Yes.'
c And you believe that he will sustain it long ?*
' To the very death.'
' Be it so ! Death he shall have !'
' But .what numbers of men we are about to expose to death "
exclaimed Billot, doubting assuredly that God had given him the
right which generals arrogate to themselves as do kings and
emperors men who have received commissions to shed blood.
' Pooh !' said Gonchon, ' there are too many in this world, since
there is not bread enough for half the population. Is it not so,
friends ?'
1 Yes, yes !' cried the crowd, with.. a sublime s
' But the ditch ? observed Billot, inquiringly.
' It is only necessary that it should be filled up at one particular
spot,' replied Gonchon, ' and I have calculated that with the half
of the bodies we have here we could fill it up completely ; is it not
so, friends?'
4 Yes, yes !' repeated the crowd, with no less enthusiasm than
before.
' Well, then, be it so !' said Billot, though completely -overcome.
At that moment De Launay appeared ponthe~terra, followed
by Major dfe Losme and two or three officers.
' Begin !' cried Gonehoo.. to the governor.
The latter turned his back "without replying.
Gonchon, who would perhaps have endured a threat, could not
endure disdain ; he quickly raised his carbine to his shoulder, and
a man in~the governor's suite fell to the ground.
A hundred shots, a thousand musket shots, were fired at the same
moment, as if they had only waited for this signal, and marbled with
white the grey towers of the Bastile.
A silence of some seconds succeeded this discharge, as it the crowd
itself had been alarmed at that which it had done.
Then a flash of fire, lost in a cloud of smoke, crowned the summit
of a tower ; a detonation resounded ; cries of pain were heard issuing
from the closely pressed crowd ; the first cannon shot had been fired
from the Bastile ; the first blood had been spilled. The battle had
commenced.
What the crowd experienced, which just before had been so
threatening, very much resembled terror. That Bastile, defending
itself by this sole act, appeared in all its formidable impregnability.
The people had doubtless hoped that in those days, when so many
THE BASTILE. 147
concessions had been made to them, the surrender of the Bastile
would be accomplished without the effusion of blood.
The people were mistaken. The cannon shot which had been
fired upon them gave them the measure of the Titanic work which
they had undertaken.
A volley of musketry, well directed, and coming from the platform
of the Bastile, followed closely on the cannon shot
Then all was again silent for a while, a silence which was inter-
rupted only by a few cries, a few groans, a few complainings uttered
here and there.
A shuddering anxious movement could then be perceived among
the crowd ; it was the people who were picking up their killed ^nd
wounded.
But the people thought not of flying, or if they did think of it,
they were ashamed of the feeling when they considered their great
numbers.
In -fecii^theBoulevards, the Rue Saint AntoinCj the Faubourg
Saint AntoTtie, formed but one vast human sea ; every wave had a
head, ever}' head two flashing eyes, a threatening mouth.
In an instant all the windows of the neighbourhood were filled
with sharp-shooters, even those which were out of gun-shot.
Whenever a Swiss soldier or an Invalids appeared upon the
terraces * irt-man nf.-th^-jMytfrrasyitgg^ a hundred muskets were at
once aimed at him, and a shower of balls splintered the corners of
the stones behind which the soldier was sheltered.
But they soon got tired of firing at insensible walls. It was
against human flesh that their balls were directed. It was blood
that they wished to see spout forth wherever the balls struck, and
not dust.
Numerous opinions were emitted from amid the crowd.
A circle would then be formed around the orator, and when the
people thought the proposal was devoid of sense they at once left him.
A blacksmith proposed to form a catapult, upon the model of the
ancient Roman machines, and with it to make a breach in the walls
of the Bastile.
A brewer, who commanded the Faubourg Saint Antoine, and
whose name has since acquired a fatal celebrity, proposed to set
fire to the fortress, by throwing into it a quantity of oil, which had
been seized the night before, and which they were to ignite with
phosphorus.
The firemen proposed to inundate with their fire-engines the
priming of the cannon and the matches of the artillerymen, without
reflecting that the most powerful of their engines could not throw
water even to two-thirds the height of the walls of the Bastile.
Billot listened to all these mad-brained proposals one after the
other. On hearing the last, he seized a hatchet from the hands of
a carpenter, and advancing amid a storm of bullets, which struck
148 TAKING THE BASTIL&.
down all around him numbers of men, huddled together as thickly
as ears of corn in a field, he reached a small guardhouse, near to
the first drawbridge, and although the grape-shot was whizzing and
cracking against the roof, he ascended it, and by his powerful and
well-directed blows, succeeded in breaking the chains, and the draw-
bridge fell with a tremendous crash.
During the quarter of an hour which this seemingly insensate
enterprise had occupied, the crowd were palpitating with excitement.
At every report, they expected to see the daring workman fall from
the roof. The people forgot the danger to which they were ex-
posed, and thought only of the danger which this brave man was
incurring. When the bridge fell, they uttered a loud, joyful cry,
and rushed into the first court-yard.
The movement was so rapid, so impetuous, so irresistible, that
the garrison did not even attempt to prevent it.
Shouts of frantic joy announced this first advantage ,t~TVTTl*
Launoy.
No one even observed that a man had been crushed to atoms
beneath the mass of wood-work. Then the four pieces of artillery
which the governor had shown to Billot were simultaneously dis-
charged with a frightful explosion, and swept the first court-yard of
the fortress.
The iron hurricane traced through the crowd a long furrow of
blood. Ten men shot dead, fifteen or twenty wounded, were the
consequences of this discharge.
Billot slid down from the roof of the guard-house to the~round,
on reaching which he found Pitou, who had come there he knew not
how. Pitou's eye*- WC43? quick, as are those of all poachers. He
had seen the artUlerymen preparing to put their matches to the
touchholes of their guns, and, selztng-Jgillot by the skirts of his
jacket, jerked him violently towards him, arfd thtis-thgy^ were both
protected by the angle ol the wall from the effects of their first
discharge.
From that moment the affair became really serious. The tumult
was actually frightful the combat a mortal one. Ten thousand
muskets were at once fired round the Bastile, more dangerous in
their effect to the besiegers than to the besieged.
At length a cannon served by the French Guards had mixed its
thunder with the musketry.
The noise was frightful, but the crowd appear^oTto be more and
more intoxicated by it ; and this noise began to terrify even the be-
sieged, who, calculating their own small number^ felt they could never
equal the noise which was then deafening them.
The officers of the Bastile felt Instinctively that their soldiers were
becoming disheartened. They snatched their muskets from them,
and themselves fired them at the crowd.
,JAt this moment, and amid the noise of artillery and musketry,
THE BASTILE. 149
amid the bowlings of the crowd, as some of them were rushing to
pick up the dead bodies of their companions toJbri-ef-4lm.a new
inirilenieni- for their gaping wounds would cry aloud for vengeance
against the besieged there appeared at the entrance of the first
court-yard a small group of unarmed, quiet citizens. They made
their way through the crowd, and advanced, ready to sacrifice their
lives, protected only by a white flag, which preceded them, and
which intimated that they were the bearers of a message to the
governor.
^t was a deputation from the Hotel de Ville. The electors knew
thar>hostilities had commenced, and, anxious to prevent the effusion
of blochi^had compelled Flesselles to send new proposals to the
governor. "*- -.^
The deputies' tame, therefore, in the name of the city to summon
M. de Launay to order the firing to cease, and to guarantee at once
the lives of the citizens, his own, and those of the garrison ; to pro-
pose that he should receive one hundred men of the civic guard into
the interior of the fortress.
This was the rumour, which was spread as the deputies advanced.
The people, terrified at the enterprise they had undertaken ; the
people, who saw the dead bodies of their companions carried out in
littery, were quite ready to support this proposal. Let De Launay
accept a half defeat, and satisfy himself with half a victory.
At their approach, the fire of the second court-yard ceased. A
sign was made to them that they might approach ; and they accord-
ingly advanced, slipping on the ensahgtiirtea pavement, striding over
carcasses, and holding out their hands to the wounded.
Under this protection, the people form themselves into groups.
The dead bodies and the wounded are carried out of the fortress :
the blood alone remains, marbling with large purple spots the pave-
ment of the court-yard.
The fire from the fortress had ceased. Brrhrt-Tras- -leaving it, in
order to stop that of the besiegers. At the door he meets Gonchon
Gonchon, altogether unarmed, exposing himself like one inspired,
calm,'t-if he were invulnerable.
' Well,' inquired he of Billot, ' what has become of the deputation ?'
' It has gone into the fortress, 3 replied Billot ; ' order our men to
cease firing.'
' It will be useless,' said Gonchon, ' they will not consent.'
' That matters not/ rejoined Billot ; ' it is our duty to make the
attempt. Let us respect the usages of war, since we have become
soldiers.'
' Be it so,' said Gonchon.
Then, addressing himself to two men in the crowd, who appeared
to command under him the whole of the assembled mass
' Go, Elie go, Hullin,' said he, ' and see that not a musket-shot
be fired.'
ijo TAKING THE B A STILE,
The two aides-de-camp rushed out, and, obeying the orders of
their chief, pressed through the crowded masses, and soon the firing
of the musketry diminished, and then ceased altogether.
A momentary quiet was established. Advantage was taken of it
to attend to the wounded, the number of whom had already amounted
to thirty-five or forty.
During this respite, the prison clock struck two. The attack had
begun at noon, the combat had already lasted two hours.
Billor. had returned to his post, and it was Gonchon in his turn
who followed him.
His eyes were turned anxiously towards the gate. His impatience
was visible.
' What is the matter with you ?' inquired Billot.
' The matter is/ replied Gonchon, ' that if the Bastile is not taken
within two hours from this time, all is lost.'
'And why so?'
* Because the court will be informed of the work we are about,
and will despatch the Swiss to us, under Bezenval, and Lambesq's
dragoons ; so that we shall then be caught between three fires.'
Billot was compelled to acknowledge that there was some truth
in what Gonchon was saying.
At length the deputies reappeared. From their countenances it
was evident they had obtained no concession.
' Well,' cried Gonchon, whose eyes sparkled with delight, ' what
did I tell you ? Things that are predicted must happen. The ac-
cursed fortress is condemned !'
Then, without waiting even to put a Question to the deputation,
he sprang out of the first court-yard, crying
' To arms, my children ! to arms ! The commandant refuses.
And, in fact, the governor had scarcely read the letter from Fles-
selles, when his countenance brightened ; and, instead of acceding
to the proposals which had been made tc him, he exclaimed
' Gentlemen Parisians- you have insisted on a battle : and now
it is too late to speak of treating.'
The bearers of the flag of truce persisted in urging their suit ;
they represented to De Launay all the evils which his defending the
castle might entail ; but he would not listen to them ; and he con-
cluded by saying to the deputation what he had said two hours be-
fore to Billot
1 Leave the fortress, or I will have you shot.'
And the bearers of the flag of truce were compelled to leave the
governor.
On this occasion it was De Launay who resumed the offensive.
He appeared burning with impatience.
Before the deputies had reached the gate of the court-yard, the
Musette of Marshal Saxe played a tune, and three persons fell
one of them dead, two others wounded.
THE BASTILE. 151
One of the wounded was a French Guard ; the other, one of the
deputies.
On seeing a man whose office should have rendered him sacred
carried forth covered with blood, the crowd became more enraged
than ever.
Gonchon's two aides-de-camp had returned to their places at his
side ; but each of tjiem had had time to go home to change his
dress.
It is true that one of them lived near the arsenal, the other in
the Rue de Charonne.
Hull in, who had in the first place been a watchmaker at Geneva,
then chasseur to the Marquis de Conflans, returned in his brilliant
livery, which gave him the appearance of a Hungarian officer,
Elie, formerly an officer in the. Queen's Regiment, had put on
his unifonn, which inspired the people with greater confidence,
as it made them believe that the army was for them and with
them.
The firing recommenced with greater fury than ever. And at
that moment, the Major of the Bastile, M. de Losme, approached
the governor.
He was a brave and faithful soldier ; but there were some remains
of the citizen in him, and he sav with much regret what had taken
place, and, above all, what was likely to ensue.
' Sir/ said he, to De Launay ' we have no provisions, and of this
you must be aware.'
' I know it,' replied the governor.
' You also know that we have no orders.'
' I beg your pardon, Monsieur de Losme ; my orders are to keep
the gates of the Bastile closed, and it is for that purpose that the
keys are entrusted to me.
' Sir, the keys are used as well to open the gates as to close them.
Beware that you do n^t cause the massacre of the whole of the
garrison, without saving the castle, two triumphs on the same day.
Look at those men whom we are killing ; they appear to spring up
from beneath the pavement. This morning there were at first only
five hundred of them : three hours age there were ten thousand.
They are more than sixty thousand now : to-morrow they will be a
hundred thousand. When our guns shall ct- silenced, and it must
at last end in that, they will be strong enough to take the Bastile
with their hands.'
' You speak not like a soldier, Monsieur de Losme.'
' I speak like a Fre. ^hman, sir. I say, that his majesty, not
having given us any order I say that the Provost of the Merchants
having made us a proposal which was a very acceptable one, which
was that of admitting a hundred men of the civic guard into the
castle, you might, to avoid the evils which I foresee, accede to the
proposal of Monsieur de Flesselles.'
I $2 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' In your opinion, then, Monsieur de Losme, the power which
represents the city of Paris is a power which we ought to obey ?'
' In the absence of the direct authority of his majesty, yes, sir, it
is my opinion.'
' Well, then,' said De Launay, leading the major into a corner of
the court-yard, ' read that, Monsieur de Losme.'
And he handed him a small square piece of paper.
The major read it.
' Hold firm ! I amuse the Parisians with cockades and promises.
Before the close of the day, Monsieur de Bezenval will send you a
reinforcement.
' DE FLESSELLES.-
' How then, did this note reach you, sir ?' inquired the major.
v ' In the letter which the gentlemen of the deputation brought
me. They thought they were delivering to me a request to sur-
render the Bastile, while they were delivering to me an order to
defend it.'
The major bowed his head.
' Go to your post, Monsieur de Losme, and do not leave it until I
send for you.'
M. de Losme obeyed.
De Launay very quietly refolded the letter, and put it into his
pocket. He then returned to his artillerymen, and recommended
them to fire low, and to take good aim.
^ v The artillerymen obeyed, as M. de Losme had obeyed.
"^But the fate of the fortress was predestined. No human power
could delay its fulfilment.
To every cannon-shot the people replied by shouting
' We will have the Bastile !'
And while mouths were shouting, arms were vigorously acting
Among the voices which shouted most energetically among the
arms which were acting the most efficaciously, were the voices and
arms of Pitou and Billot.
Only each of them proceeded according to their different natures.
Billot, courageous and confident, as is the bull-dog, had from the
first rushed forward, defying balls and grape-shot.
Pitou, prudent and circumspect, like the fox, Pitou, endowed to a
supreme degree with the instinct of self-preservation, made use of all
his faculties to watch the danger and avoid it.
His eyes knew the embrasures which sent forth the most deadly
fire ; they distinguished the almost imperceptible movement of the
brazen mouth which was about to be fired. He had at last studied
the thing so minutely that he could divine the precise moment when
the battery gun was about to be fired across the drawbridge.
Then his eyes having performed their office, it was the turn of his
limbs to work for their proprietor
THE BASTILE. 153
His shoulders were drawn in, his chest contracted, his whole body
did not seem to offer a larger surface than a plank when seen edge-
ways.
In these movements of Pitou, of the chubby Pitou for Pitou was
thin only in the legs there remained only a geometrical line, which
had neither breadth nor thickness.
He had selected for his post a corner in the passage from the first
drawbridge to the second, a sort of vertical parapet formed by jutting
stones ; his head was protected by one of these stones, his body by
another, his knees by a third, and Pitou congratulated himself that
nature and the art of fortification were thus so agreeably combined
that a stone was given to him to protect each of the parts where a
wound might have proved mortal.
From his corner, in which he was covered like a hare in its form,
he now and then fired a shot, but merely for form's sake, for he had
before him only walls and pieces of timber ; but this evidently pleased
Billot, who from time to time called out :
' Fire, you lazy fellow, fire !'
And he, in his turn, would cry to Billot, but in order to calm his
exuberant ardour instead of exciting it
' But do not expose yourself so much, Father Billot.'
Or else :
' Take care of yourself, Monsieur Billot, there is a cannon pointed
at you ; thete r 4-hn i ve justiieard them-eeeking the Musette.'
An4~scarcely had Pitou uttered fhese word^ sn i\\\\ qf fnrgcigh^
than the /Qn^pn.'.'.faii; in ,\ f.^f| fag grape-shot, sweeping the passage
between the bridges.
Notwithstanding all these injunctions, Billot performed prodigies
of strength and activity, but of perfect inutility. Not being able to
shed his blood, and assuredly it was not his fault, he shed large and
abundant drops of perspiration.
Ten times did Pitou seize him by the skirts of his jacket, and pulled
him to the ground in spite of his great strength, at the moment when
a discharge would have assuredly swept him off.
But each time Billot jumped up again, not only like Antaeus with
renewed strength, but with some new idea.
At one time this idea consisted in venturing upon the platform of
the bridge to hack at the beams which the chains upheld, as he had
before done.
Then Pitou uttered fearful howls to restrain the farmer, and find'
ing that his howling was of no avail, he would rush from his place of
safety to him, crying
' Monsieur Billot, my dear Monsieur Billot, why, Madame Billot
will be a widow, if you go on in this way.'
And the Swiss soldiers could be seen, placing their muskets
obliquely through the embrasure of the Musette, to aim at the auda-
cious man who was endeavouring to reduce their bridge to chips.
il
154 TAKING THE BASTILE.
At another time he called upon his men to bring up a cannon to
destroy the head-work of the bridge ; but then the Musette was
fired, the gunners retreated, and Billot remained .alone to load the
gun and fire it, which again brought out Pitou from his retreat.
' Monsieur Billot,' cried he, ' Monsieur Billot, in the name of
Mademoiselle Catherine I conjure you, reflect a moment. Should
you get yourself killed, Mademoiselle Catherm^will be an orphan.'
And Billot yielded to this reason, which appeaTed^ to have much
more influence on his mind than the first.
-.At length the fruitful imagination of the farmer gave birth to
another idea.
He ran towards the square, crying
' A cart ! bring a cart here !'
Pitou considered that that which was good would be rendered
excellent by being doubled. He followed Billot, vociferating
' Two carts ! two carts !'
And immediately ten carts were brought.
' Some straw and some dry hay !' cried Billot.
'Some straw and some dry hay !' reiterated Pitou.
And almost instantly two hundred men came forward, each carry-
ing a truss of straw or hay.
They were obliged to call out that they had ten times more than
they wanted. In an hour there was a heap of forage which would
have equalled the height of the Bastile.
Billot placed himself between the shafts of a cart loaded with
straw, and instead of dragging it, he pushed it on before him.
Pitou did the same, wTTtiuut -knwwng-what it could be for, but
thinking that he could not do better than to imitate the farmer.
Elieand Hullin divined Billot's intention ; they each seized a cart
and pushed it before them into the court-yard.
They had scarcely entered when they were assailed by a discharge
of grape shot ; they heard the balls strike with a whizzing sound
among the straw or hay, or against the wood-work of the carts.
But neither of the assailants received a wound.
As soon as this discharge was over, two or three hundred men
with muskets rushed on behind those who were pushing forward the
carts, and, sheltered by those moving ramparts, they lodged them-
selves beneath the apron of the bridge itself.
There Billot drew from his pocket a flint, a steel and some tinder,
formed a match by rubbing gunpowder on paper, and set fire to it.
The powder ignited the paper and the paper ignited the straw
and hay.
Each formed a torch for himself, and the four carts were simul-
taneously set fire to.
The flames reached the apron, caught the timbers with itsacerated
teeth, and ran along the wood-work of the bridge.
A shout of joy then uttered from the court-yard, was taken up by
THE BASTILE. 155
the crowd in the Square Saint Antoine, and reiterated with deafening
clamours. They saw the smoke rising above the walls, and they
hence imagined that something fatal to the besieged was occurring.
In fact, the reddened chains detached themselves from the beams.
The bridge fell half broken and destroyed by fire, smoking and
cracking. The firemen rushed forward with their engines and soon
extinguished the flames upon the bridge.
The governor ordered the Invalides to fire upon the people, but
they refused.
The Swiss alone obeyed ; but they were not artillerymen, they
were therefore obliged to abandon the guns.
The French Guards, on the contrary, seeing that the enemy's fire
was discontinued, brought up their gun and planted it before the
gate ; their third shot shivered it to pieces.
The governor had gone up to the platform of the castle to see
whether the promised reinforcement was approaching, when he found
himself suddenly enveloped in smoke. It was then that he precipi-
tately descended and ordered the artillerymen to fire.
The refusal of the Invalides exasperated him. The breaking
down of the gate made him at once comprehend that all was lost.
M. de Launay knew that he was hated. He felt that there was
no salvation for him. During the whole time that the combat had
lasted, he had matured the idea of burying himself beneath the
ruins of the Bastile.
At the moment he felt assured that all further defence was hope-
less, he snatched a match from the hand of one of the artillerymen,
and sprang towards the cellar which served as a powder magazine.
' The gunpowder ! the powder !' cried twenty terrified voices, ' the
powder ! the powder !'
They saw the burning match in the governor's hand. They
guessed his purpose. Two soldiers rush forward and cross their
bayonets before his breast just at the moment when he had opened
the door.
' You may kill me,' said De Launay, ' but you cannot kill me
quick enough to prevent me letting this match fall among the
powder casks ; and then besieged and besiegers will all be blown
to atoms.'
The two soldiers stopped. Their bayonets remained crossed and
pointed at De Launay's breast, but De Launay was still their com-
mander, for all felt that he had the lives of the whole of them in his
power. His action had nailed every one to the spot on which he
stood. The assailants perceived that something extraordinary was
happening. They looked anxiously into the court-yard and saw
the governor threatened and threatening in his turn.
' Hear me/ cried De Launay, to the besiegers ; ' as surely as I
hold this match in my hand, with which I could exterminate you
all, should any one of you make a single step to enter this court-yard,
so surely will T. set fire to Jae powder.'
156 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Those who heard these words imagined that they already felt the
ground trembling beneath their feet.
' What is your wish ? what do you demand ? cried several voices
with an accent of terror.
' I wish for a capitulation,' replied De Launay, ' an honourable
capitulation.'
The assailants pay but little attention to what the governor said ;
they cannot credit such an act of despair ; they wish to enter the
courtyard. Billot is at their head. Suddenly Billot trembles and
turns pale ; he had just remembered Dr. Gilbert.
As long as Billot had thought only of himself, it was a matter of
little importance to him whether the Bastile was blown up, and he
blown up with it, but Gilbert's life must be saved at any cost.
' Stop !' exclaimed Billot, throwing himself before Elie and Hullin ;
' stop, in the name of the prisoners !'
And these men, who feared not to encounter death themselves,
retreated, pale and trembling, in their turn.
' What do you demand ?' they cried, renewing the question they had
previously put to the governor by his own men.
' I demand that you should all withdraw,' replied De Launay,
fiercely. ' I will not accept any proposal so long as there remains a
single stranger in the Bastile.'
'But,' said Billot, 'will you not take advantage of our absence to
place yourself again in a state of defence ?
' If the capitulation is refused, you shall find everything in the state
it now is : you at that gate, I where I am now standing.'
' You pledge your word for that ?'
' On the honour of a gentleman.'
Some of them shook their heads.
' On the honour of a gentleman,' reiterated De Launay. ' Is there
any one here who can still doubt, when a gentleman has pledged his
honour ?'
' No, no, no one !' repeated five hundred voices.
' Let paper, pen, and ink be brought here to me."
The orders of the governor were instantly obeyed.
' 'Tis well,' said De Launay.
Then, turning towards the assailants :
' And now, you must retire.'
Billot, Hullin, and Elie set the example, and were the first to
withdraw.
All the others followed them.
De Launay placed the match by his side, and began writing the
capitulation on his knee.
The Invalides and the Swiss soldiers, who felt that their existence
depended on the result, gazed at him while he was writing with a
sort of respectful terror.
De Launay looked round before allowing his pen to touch the
paper. He saw that the courtyard was free of all intruders.
THE BASTILE. 157
In an instant the people outside were informed of all that had
happened within the fortress.
*> As M. de Losme had said, the population seemed to spring up
from beneath the pavement. One hundred thousand men sur-
rounded the Bastile.
They were no longer merely labourers and artisans, but citizens
of every class had joined them. They were not merely men in the
prime of life, but children and old men had rushed forward to the
fight.
And all of them had arms of some description, all of them shouted
vehemently.
Here and there among the groups was to be seen a woman in
despair, with hair dishevelled, wringing her hands, and uttering
maledictions against the granite giant.
She is some mother whose son the Bastile has just annihilated,
some daughter whose father the Bastile has just levelled with the
ground, some wife whose husband the Bastile has just exterminated.
But during some moments no sounds had issued from the Bastile,
no flames, no smoke. The Bastile had become as silent as the
tomb.
It would have been useless to endeavour to count the spots made
by the balls which had marbled its surface. Every one had wished
to fire a ball at the stone monster, the visible symbol of tyranny.
Therefore, when it was rumoured in the crowd that the Bastile
was about to capitulate, that its governor had promised to surrender,
they could scarcely credit the report.
Amid this general doubt, as they did not yet dare to congratulate
themselves, as they were silently awaiting the result, they saw a letter
pushed forth through a loophole on the point of a sword. Only
between this letter and the besiegers there was the ditch of the
Bastile, wide, deep, and full of water.
Billot calls for a plank. Three are brought and are pushed across
the ditch, but, being too short, did not reach the opposite side. A
fourth is brought, which lodges on either side of the ditch.
Billot had them lashed together as he best could, and then ven-
tured unhesitatingly upon the trembling bridge.
The whole crowd remained breathlessly silent ; all eyes were fixed
upon the man who appears suspended above the ditch, whose stag-
nant waters resemble those of the river Cocytus.
Pitou tremblingly seated himself on the edge of the slope, and hid
his head between his knees.
His heart failed him, and he wept.
When Billot had got about two-thirds of the way over the plank,
it twisted beneath his feet. Billot extends his arms, falls, and dis-
appears in the ditch.
Pitou utters a fearful groan and throws himself into the ditch, like
a Newfoundland dog anxious to save his master.
158 TAKING THE BASTILE.
A man then approached the plank from which Billot had just
before been precipitated.
Without hesitation he walked across the temporary bridge. This
man is Stanislaus Maillard, the usher f the Chatelet.
When he had reached the spot below which Pitou and Billot were
struggling in the muddy ditch, he, for a moment, cast a glance upon
them, and, seeing that there was no doubt they would regain the
shore in safety, he continued to walk on.
Half a minute afterwards he had reached the opposite side of the
ditch, and had taken the letter which was held out to him .>n the
point of a sword.
Then, with the same tranquillity, the same firmness of step, he re-
crossed the ditch.
But at the moment, when the crowd were pressing round him? to
hear the letter read, a storm of musket balls rained down upon them
from the battlements, and a frightful detonation was heard.
One only cry, but one of those cries which announce the vengeance
of a whole people, issues from every mouth.
' Trust, then, in tyrants !' exclaimed Gonchon.
And then, without thinking any more of the capitulation, without
thinking any more of the powder magazine, without thinking of
themselves or of the prisoners, without desiring, without demanding
anything but vengeance, the people rushed into the courtyard, no
longer by hundreds of men, but by thousands.
That which prevents the crowd from entering is no longer the
musketry, but the gates, which are too narrow to admit them.
On hearing the detonation we have spoken of, the two soldiers who
were still watching M. de Launay threw themselves upon him ; a
third snatched up the match, and then extinguished it by placing his
heel upon it.
De Launay drew the sword which was concealed in his cane, and
would have turned it against his own breast, but the soldiers seized
it and snapped it in two.
He then felt that all he could do was to resign himself to the re-
sult ; he therefore tranquilly awaited it.
The people rush forward ; the garrison open their arms to them ;
and the Bastile is taken by assault by main force, without a capi-
tulation.
The reason for this was that, for more than a hundred years, the
royal fortress had not merely imprisoned inert matter within its
walls it had imprisoned thought also. Thought had thrown down
the walls of the Bastile, and the people entered by the breach.
As to the discharge of musketry, which had taken place amid the
general silence, during the suspensic.. of hostilities ; as to this un-
foreseen aggression, as impolitic as it was murderous, it was never
known who had ordered it, who had excited it, how it was accom-
plished.
DOCTOR GILBERT. 159
There are moments when the destiny of a whole nation is being
weighed in the scales of Fate. One of them weighs down the other.
Every one already thinks he has attained the proposed end. Sud-
denly some invisible hand lets fall into the other scale the blade of a
poniard or a pistol ball.
Then all changes, and one only cry is heard : ' Woe to the van-
quished !'
CHAPTER XVIII.
DOCTOR GILBERT.
WHILE the people were thus rushing into the fortress, howling at
once with joy and rage, two men were struggling in the muddy
waters of the ditch.
These men were Pitou and Billot.
Pitou was supporting Billot. No shot had struck him : he had
not been wounded in any way ; but his fall had somewhat confused
the worthy farmer.
Ropes were thrown to them poles were held out to them.
Pitou caught hold of a pole, Billot a rope.
Five minutes afterwards, they were carried in triumph by the
people, and eagerly embraced, notwithstanding their muddy state.
One man gives Billot a glass of brandy, another stuffs Pitou's
mouth full of sausages, and gives him wine to wash them down.
A third rubs them down with straw, and wishes to place them in
the sun to dry their clothes.
Suddenly, an idea, or rather a recollection, shot through the mind
of Billot ; he tears himself away from their kind cares and rushes
into the Bastile.
' To the prisoners !' cried he, ' to the prisoners !'
' Yes, to the prisoners !' cried Pitou, in his turn, bounding after
the farmer.
The crowd, which until then had thought only of the executioners,
shuddered when thinking of their victims.
They with one shout repeated : ' Yes, yes, yes to the prisoners!'
And a new flood of assailants rush through the barriers, seeming
to widen the sides of the fortress by their numbers, and bearing
liberty with them to the captives.
A dreadful spectacle then offered itself to the eyes of Billot and
Pitou. The excited, enraged, maddened throng had precipitated
themselves into the courtyard. The first soldier they had met was
at once hacked to pieces.
Gonchon had quietly looked on. Doubtless he had thought that
the anger of the people, like the currents of great rivers, does more
harm when any impediment is thrown in its way to arrest it than if
allowed tranquilly to flow on.
160 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Elie and Hullin, on the contrary, had thrown themselves before
the infuriated sacrifices ; they prayed, they supplicated, uttering
the sublime lie that they had promised life and safety to the whole
garrison.
The arrival of Billot and Pitou was a reinforcement to them.
Billot, whom they were avenging, Billot was living, Billot was not
even wounded. The plank had turned under his feet, and that was
all ; he had taken a mud-bath, and nothing more.
It was, above all, against the Swiss that the people were particu-
larly enraged, but the Swiss were nowhere to be found. They had
had time to put on grey frocks, and they were taken for either ser-
vants or for prisoners.
The mob hurled large stones at the dial of the clock, and destroyed
the figures of the two captives which supported it. They rushed to
the ramparts to mutilate the cannon which had vomited forth death
upon them. They even wreaked their vengeance on the stone walls,
tearing their hands in endeavouring to displace them. When the
first of the conquerors were seen upon the platform, all those who
had remained without the fortress, that is to say, a hundred thou-
sand men, shouted with clamorous joy
' The Bastile is taken !'
This cry resounded through Paris, and spread itself over the whole
of France as if borne with the rapidity of eagle's wings.
On hearing this cry all hearts were softened, all eyes shed tears,
all arms were extended : there were no longer any contending parties;
there were no longer any inimical castes ; all Parisians felt that they
were brothers, all men felt that they were free.
A million of men pressed each other in a mutual embrace.
Billot and Pitou had entered the Bastile, following some and fol-
lowed by others ; what they wished for was, not to claim their share
in the triumph ; it was the liberty of the prisoners.
When crossing the courtyard of the government house, they passed
near a man in a grey coat, who was standing calmly, his hand rest-
ing on a gold-headed cane.
This man was the governor. He was quietly waiting either that
his friends should come to save him, or that his enemies should
come to strike him down.
Billot, on perceiving him, recognised him, uttered a light exclama-
tion of surprise, and went straight to him.
De Launay also recognised Billot. He crossed his arms and
waited, looking at the farmer with an expression that implied
' Let us see : is it you that will give me the first blow ?'
Billot at once divined the meaning of his look, and stopped.
' If I speak to him,' said he to himself, ' I shall cause him to be
recognised, and should he be recognised, his death is certain.'
And yet, how was he to find Dr. Gilbert amid this chaotic con-
fusion ? How could he drag from the Bastile the secret which its
wails enclosed ?
DOCTOR GILBER7. 161
All this hesitation, these heroic scruples, were understood by De
Launay.
' What is it that you wish ?' asked De Launay, in an undertone.
* Nothing,' replied Billot, pointing with his finger to the gate, in-
dicating to him that escape was yet possible ; ' nothing. I shall be
able readily to find Dr. Gilbert.'
' Third Bertaudiere,' replied De Launay, in a gentle and almost
affectionate tone of voice.
But he stirred not from the place on which he stood.
Suddenly, a voice from behind Billot pronounced these words:
' Ah \ there is the governor.'
This voice was so calm, so hollow, that it appeared not to be of
this world, and yet each word it had uttered was a sharp poniard
turned against the breast of De Launay.
He who had spoken was Gonchon.
These words, like the first sounds of an alarm bell, excited a
fearful commotion : all these men, drunk with revengeful feelings,
started on hearing them ; they looked around with flaming eyes,
perceived De Launay, and at once darted upon and seized him.
'Save him,' said Billot, as he passed near Elie and Hullin, 'or
they will murder him.'
' Assist us to do so,' said the two men.
' I am obliged to remain here,' replied Billot, ' for I also have
some one to save.'
In an instant, De Launay had been surrounded by a thousand
men, who dragged him along, lifted him up, and were bearing
him away.
Elie and Hullin bounded after him, crying
' Stop ! stop ! we promised him that his life should be saved.'
This was not true ; but the thought of uttering this magnanimous
falsehood had risen to the mind of these two generous men at the
same moment.
In a second, De Launay, followed by Elie and Hullin, disap-
peared under the vaulted passage which led from the Bastile,
amidst loud voices of ' To the Hotel de Ville! to the Hotel de Ville! 1
It was a singular spectacle, to see this mournful and silent monu-
ment, which for four centuries had been tenanted only by prisoners,
their jailers, their guards, and a gloomy governor, now become the
prey of the people, who ran through the courtyards, ascended and
descended the staircases, buzzing like a swarm of flies, and filling
this granite hive with noise and movement.
De Launay, a living prey, was to some of the victors of as great
value as the dead prey, the captured Bastile.
Billot, for a moment or two, followed De Launay with his eyes,
who was carried rather than led, and appeared to soar above the crowd.
But, as we have said, he soon disappeared. Billot heaved a sigh,
i6a TAKING THE BASTILE.
looked around him, perceived Pitou, and rushed towards a tower,
crying
' Third Bertaudiere.'
A trembling jailer met him on his way.
'Third Bertaudiere,' said Billot.
' This way, sir,' replied the jailer ; ' but I have not the keys.'
' Where are they ?'
' They took them from me.'
' Citizen, lend me your hatchet,' said Billot, to one of the men fron^
the Faubourg.
' I give it to you,' replied the latter ; ' I do not want it any more,
since the Bastile is taken.'
Billot snatched the hatchet, and ran up a staircase, conducted by
the jailer.
The jailer stopped before a door.
' Third Bertaudiere ?' said the man, inauiringly.
'Yes.'
' This is it.'
'The prisoner confined in this room is Dr. Gilbert, is it not?
' I do not know.'
' He was brought here only five or six days ago ?'
' I do not know.'
' Well, then,' said Billot, ' I shall soon know it.'
And he began chopping at the door with his hatchet.
The door was of oak, but it soon flew into splinters beneath the
vigorous blows of the robust farmer.
In a few moments he had cut a hole through it, and could look
into the room.
Billot placed his eye at the opening. Through it he could see the
interior of the cell.
In the line of sunshine which penetrated into the dungeon through
its grated window, a man was standing, his head thrown rather
backwards, holding in his hand one of the posts of his bedstead, and
in an attitude of defence.
This man had evidently prepared himself to knock down the first
person who should enter his room.
Notwithstanding his long beard, notwithstanding his pallid coun-
tenance, notwithstanding his short-cut hair, Billot recopnised him.
It was Dr. Gilbert.
' Doctor ! doctor !' cried Billot to him, ' is it you ?*
' Who is it that is calling me ?* inquired the prisoner.
"Tis I I, Billot, your friend.'
' You, Billot ?'
' Yes ! yes ! he ! he ! we ! we !' cried the voices of twenty men,
who had run into the passage on hearing the vigorous blows struck
by Billot.
' But who are you f
DOCTOR GILBERT. 163
' We ? why, the conquerors of the Bastile. The Bastile is taken
you are free.'
' The Bastile is taken I am free !' exclaimed the doctor.
And passing both his hands through the opening, he shook the
door so violently that the hinges and the lock appeared nearly yield-
ing to his powerful pressure, and part of a panel, already loosened
by Billot, broke off, and remained in the prisoner's hands.
' Wait, wait,' said Billot, who was afraid that a second effort of so
violent a nature would exhaust his strength, which had been over-
taxed ; ' wait.'
And he redoubled his blows.
And indeed, through the opening, which was every moment be-
coming wider, he could see the prisoner, who had seated himself
upon his bench, pale as a spectre, and incapable of raising the bed-
post which was lying near him, and who but a few moments before,
another Samson, seemed strong enough to shake down the walls of
the Bastile.
' Billot ! Billot !' murmured he.
' Yes, yes ! and I also, my good doctor I, Pitou you must re-
member poor Pitou, whom you placed at board with his aunt Ange-
lique Pitou, who has come to liberate you.'
' But I can get through that hole,' cried the doctor.
No ! no !' cried all the voices : ' wait.'
All those present uniting their strength in one simultaneous effort,
some slipping a crowbar between the door and the framework, others
using a lever between the lock and door-post, and the remainder
pushing with all the might of their shoulders or their hands, the oak
gave a last cracking sound, the wall gave way, and they all of them
stumbled, one over the other, into the room.
In a moment Gilbert found himself in the arms of Pitou and Billot.
Gilbert, the little country lad of the Chateau de Taverney, Gilbert,
whom we left bathed in his blood in a cavern of the Azores, was
now a man from thirty-four to thirty-five years old, of pale com-
plexion, though he was not sickly, with black hair, eyes penetrating
and fixed ; never did his gaze lose itself in vacuity ; never did it
wander ; when it was not fixed on some exterior object worthy to
attract, it was fixed on his own thought, and became only more pro-
found and more gloomy ; his nose was straight, being attached to
his forehead in a direct line ; it rose above a lip of rather scornful ex-
pression, which, in the slight space between it and the nether lip,
allowed one to perceive the dazzling enamel of his teeth. In or-
dinary times his dress was simple and grave, like that of a Quaker ;
but this simplicity was closely allied to elegance from its extreme
neatness. His height was somewhat above the medium stature,
and he was well-formed ; as to his strength, we have just seen the
feats it could perform when in a state of over-excitement, whether
caused by anger or enthusiastic feeling.
164 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Although in prison for five or six days, the doctor had paid the
same attention to his person ; his beard, which had grown some
few lines, caused the paleness of his complexion to contrast favour-
ably with its darkness, and indicated only a negligence which cer-
tainly was not the prisoner's, but his jailer's, who had refused to
give him a razor, or to allow him to be shaved
When he had pressed Billot and Pitou in his arms, he turned
towards the crowd who had filled his dungeon. Then, as if a moment
had sufficed to restore all his self-possession :
' The day which I had foreseen has then arrived,' said he. ' Thanks
to you, my friends thanks to the eternal genius which watches over
the liberty of nations !'
And he held out both his hands to the men who had assisted
Billot to break down the door, and who, recognising in him, from
the dignity of his demeanour and his proud look, a man of superior
genius, hardly dared to touch them.
On leaving the dungeon, he walked before all these men, leaning
on Billot's shoulder, and followed by Pitou and his liberators.
The first moment had been devoted by Gilbert to friendship and
to gratitude, the second had re-established the distance which ex-
isted between the learned doctor and the ignorant farmer, the warm-
hearted Pitou and the whole throng which had liberated him.
When he reached the door at the foot of the staircase, Gilbert
stopped, on perceiving the broad sunshine which beamed full upon
him. He paused, crossing his arms over his breast and raising his
eyes to heaven. ' Hail to thee, lovely Liberty !' he exclaimed. ' I
saw thee spring to life in another world, and we are old friends.
Hail to thee, lovely Liberty !'
And the smile of the doctor clearly said that the cries he then
heard of a whole people, inebriated with independence, were no new
thing to him.
Then, meditating for a few seconds :
' Billot,' said he, ' the people, then, have vanauished despotism ?
1 Yes, sir.'
' And you came here to fight ?
' I came to liberate you.'
* You knew, then, of my arrest ?
1 Your son informed me of it this morning.'
' Poor Sebastian ! Have you seen him ?
' I have seen him.'
' And he remained quietly at his school ?
' I left him struggling with four of the attendants of the infirmary.'
' Is he ill has he been delirious ?*
' He wanted to come with us to fight.
' Ah !' ejaculated the doctor, and a smile of triumph passed over
his features. His son had proved himself to be what he had hoped.
' And what did you sav to him ?' inquired the doctor.
DOCTOR GILBERT 165
* I said, since Doctor Gilbert is in the Bastile, let us take the Bas-
tile ; and now the Bastile is taken. But that is not all'
' What is there, then, besides ? asked the doctor.
' The casket has been stolen.'
' The casket which I bad confided to your care ?
'Yes.'
I Stolen ! and by whom ?
' By some men dressed in black, who came into my house under
the pretext of seizing your pamphlets : they arrested me ; locked me
up in a room ; they searched the house all over, found the casket,
and carried it off.'
' When did this happen ?
' Yesterday.'
' Ho ! ho ! there is an evident connection between my arrest and
this robbery. The person who caused my arrest, at the same time
had the casket stolen. Let me but know the person who originated
my arrest, and I shall know who it was contrived the robbery. Where
are the archives of the fortress r" continued the doctor, turning to
the jailer.
In the court-yard of the government house, sir,' replied the jailer.
'Then to the archives,my friends to the archives!' cried thedoctor.
' Sir,' said the jailer, stopping him, ' let me go with you, or speak
a word in my favour to these worthy people, that no harm may
happen to me.'
' Be it so,' said Gilbert.
Then, addressing the crowd who surrounded him, and gazed at
him with curiosity mingled with respect
' My friends,' said he, ' I recommend this worthy man to you ; he
only fulfilled his office in opening and shutting the prison doors ; but
he was kind towards the prisoners. Let no injury happen to him.'
' No, no !' cried the crowd, with one accord, 'no ! he need not
fear ; no harm shall be done to him. Let him come with us.'
I 1 thank you, sir,' said the jailer to the doctor ; ' but if you wish
for anything in the archives, I advise you to move quickly, for I
believe they are burning the papers.'
' Oh, then there is not an instant to be lost,' cried Gilbert ; ' to
the archives !'
And he hastened towards the court-yard of the government
house, followed by the crowd, at the head of which were still Billot
and Pitou.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE TRIANGLE.
ON reaching the door of the office in which the archives were kept
Gilbert perceived that a large heap of old papers was being burnt
Unhappily, it is a general consequence that after having obtained
166 TAKItfG THE BAST1LE.
a victory, the first desire the people have to gratify is that of de-
struction.
The archives of the Bastile had been invaded.
This office was a vast hall, heaped up with registry books and
plans ; the documents relating to all the prisoners who had been
confined in the Bastile during the last hundred years were confusedly
enclosed in it.
The people tore these papers to pieces with senseless rage ; it
doubtless appeared to them that, by destroying these registrations of
imprisonment, they were legally bestowing freedom on the prisoners.
Gilbert went into the hall ; seconded by Pitou, he began to examine
the register books which were still standing on the shelves ; that of
the running year was not to be found.
The doctor, a man who was always so cool and calm, turned pale
and stamped with impatience.
At that moment Pitou caught sight of one of those heroic urchins
who are always to be found in popular triumphs, who was carrying
off on his head, and running witb it towards the fire, a volume
similar in shape and binding to that which Dr. Gilbert had been
examining.
He ran after him, and, with his long legs, cpeedily overtook him.
It was the register of the year 1789.
The negotiation did not occupy much time. Pitou was considered
as one of the leaders of the conquerors, and explained to the boy
that a prisoner had occasion to use that register, and the urchin
yielded up his prey to him, consoling himself with the observation
' It is all the same to me, I can burn another.'
Pitou opened the book, turned over the leaves, hunted through it,
and on the last page found the words :
'This day, the gth July, 1789, came in the Sieur G.,a philosopher
and political writer, a very dangerous person ; to be kept in close
and secret confinement.'
He carried the book to the doctor.
' Here, Monsieur Gilbert,' said he to him, ' is not this what you
are seeking for ?'
'Oh!' cried the doctor, joyfully, and seizing hold of the book,
' yes, that is it.'
And he read the words we have given above.
And now,' said he, ' let us see from whom the order emanated.'
And he examined the margin.
' Necker !' he exclaimed ; ' the order for my arrest signed by
Necker, my friend Necker. Oh ! most assuredly there must have
been some foul plot !'
' Necker is your friend ?* cried the crowd with respect, for it will
be remembered that this name had great influence with the people.
' Yes, yes, my friends,' said the doctor, ' I am convinced that
Monsieur Necker did not know that I was in prison. But I will at
once go to him.'
THE TRIANGLE. 16;
'Go to him and where ?' inquired Billot.
' To Versailles, to be sure.'
' Monsieur Necker is not at Versailles ; Monsieur Necker is
exiled.'
' And where ?
'At Brussels.'
1 But his daughter ?
' Ah ! I know nothing of her,' replied Billot.
' Their daughter is at their country-house, at Saint Ouen, ; said a
voice from the crowd.
' I am obliged to you,' replied Gilbert, not knowing even to whom
his thanks were addressed.
Then, turning towards those who were occupied in burning the
papers
' My friends,' he said, ' in the name of history, which in these
archives would find matter for the condemnation of tyrants, let me
conjure you not to pursue this work of destruction ; demolish the
Bastile, stone by stone, that not a vestige, not a trace of it may
remain, but respect the papers, respect the registers ; the enlighten-
ment of the future is contained in them.'
The crowd had scarcely heard these words, than, with its usual
admirable intelligence, it duly weighed this reasoning.
' The doctor is right,' cried a hundred voices ; ' no more devasta-
tion of these papers. Let us remove all these papers to the H6tel
de Ville.'
A fireman who, with a number of his companions, had dragged
an engine into the court-yard, on hearing the report that the
governor was about to blow up the fortress, directed the pipe of his
hose upon the burning pile, which, like to that of Alexander, was
about to destroy the archives of a world ; in a few minutes it was
extinguished.
' And at whose request were you arrested ?' said Billot to Gilbert.
'Ah ! that is precisely what I am endeavouring to discover and
cannot ascertain the name is left in blank.'
Then, after a moment's reflection
' But I will find it out,' said he.
And tearing out the leaf on which the entry was made regarding
him, he folded it up, and put it into his pocket. Then, addressing
himself to Billot and Pitou
' My friends,' said he, ' let us leave this place ; we have nothing
further to do here.'
' Well, let us go,' replied Billot ; ' only it is a thing more easily
talked about than done.'
And in fact, the crowd, urged into the interior court-yards by
curiosity, were so closely packed, that egress was almost impossible.
And, to add to the difficulty, the other liberated prisoners were
standing close to the principal gate.
168 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Eight prisoners, including Gilbert, had been liberated that
morning.
Their names were : Jean Becha.de, Bernard Laroche, Antoine
Pujade, De Wh Vte, Le Comte de Solage, and Tavernier.
The four first inspired but little interest. They were accused of
having forged a bill of exchange, without any proof whatsoever
being brought against them, and which led to the supposition that
the charge against them was false : they had been only two years
in the Bastile.
The Count de Solage was a man about thirty years of age, of
joyous and expansive temperament : he embraced his liberators,
congratulated them upon their victory, which he loudly extolled,
and related to them the story of his captivity. He had been arrested
in 1782, and imprisoned at Vincennes, his father having obtained a
lettre de cachet against him, and was removed from that castle to
the Bastile, where he had remained five years, without ever having
seen a judge, or having been examined even once : his father had
been dead two years, and no one had ever thought of him. If the
Bastile had not been taken, it is probable that no one would have
ever remembered that he was there.
De White was a man advanced in years, somewhere about sixty ;
he uttered strangely incoherent words, and with a foreign accent.
To the questions which poured in upon him from all sides, he re-
plied that he did not know how long he had been incarcerated, or
what had been the cause of his arrest. He remembered that he
was the cousin of M. de Sartines, and that was ;J1. One of the
turnkeys, whose name was Guyon, said that he had seen M. de
Sartines, on one occasion, go into White's cell, where he made him
sign a power of attorney. But the prisoner had completely forgotten
the circumstance.
Tavernier was the oldest of them all. He had been shut up for
ten years in the lies Sainte Marguerite ; thirty years had he been
immured in the Bastile. He was upwards of ninety years old, with
white hair and long white beard ; his eyes had become dimmed by
remaining so long in a dark cell, and he saw everything as through
a cloud. When the crowd broke open his door, he could not com-
prenend what they wanted with him ; when they spoke to him of
liberty, he shook his head ; then, afterwards, when they told him
that the Bastile was taken,
' Ho ! ho !' cried he, ' what will Louis XV., Madame de Pompa-
dour, and the Duke de la Vrilliere say to all this ?
Tavernier was not even mad ; like De White, he had become an
idiot
The joy of these men was frightful to behold, for it cried aloud
for vengeance, so much did it resemble terror. Two or three of
them seemed almost expiring in the midst of the clamour raised by
a hundred thousand voices. Poor men ! they who, during the whole
THE TRIANGLE. 169
time of their confinement in the Bastile, had never heard twonuman
voices speaking at the same moment ; they who were no longer ac-
customed to any noises but the low and mysterious one of wood,
when warping with the damp, that of the spider, when unperceived
he weaves his net with a ticking similar to that of an invisible pen-
dulum, or of the affrighted rat, which gnaws and flies at the least stir.
At the moment that Gilbert made his appearance, the most en-
thusiastic among the crowd proposed that the prisoner should be
carried in triumph a proposal which was unanimously adopted.
Gilbert would have much desired to avoid this species of ovation ;
but there were no means of escaping it ; he had been at once re
cognised, as well as Billot and Pitou.
Cries of 'To the Hotel de Ville ! To the Hotel de Ville !' re
sounded on all sides, and Gilbert was raised in an instant on the
shoulders of twenty persons.
In vain did the doctor resist, in vain did Billot and Pitou distribute
among their victorious brethren the most vigorous fisticuffs ; joy and
enthusiasm had hardened the skins of the populace. These, and
even blows given with pike-handles, and the butt-ends of muskets,
appeared only gentle caresses to the conquerers, and only served to
redouble their delight.
Gilbert was therefore compelled to mount the triumphal car.
This car was formed of a square table, in the middle of which was
stuck a lance, to serve as a support to the victor, and enable him to
preserve his balance.
The doctor, therefore, was raised above this sea of heads, which
undulated from the Bastile to the Arcade Saint Jean, a tempestuous
sea, whose waves were bearing, in the midst of pikes and bayonets,
and arms of every description, of every form, and of every age, the
triumphant prisoners.
But at the same time, this terrible and irresistible ocean was
rolling on another group, so compact and closely formed that it ap-
peared an island. This group was the one which was leading away
De Launay as a prisoner.
Around this group arose cries not less tumultuous, nor less en-
thusiastic than those which accompanied the prisoners ; but they
were not shouts of triumph, they were threats of death.
Gilbert, from his elevated position, did not lose a single detail of
this frightful spectacle.
He was the only one among all the prisoners who had been re-
stored to liberty, who was in the enjoyment of all his faculties. Five
days of captivity were merely a dark spot in his life. His eyes had
not been weakened or rendered dim by his short sojourn in the
Bastile.
A combat, generally, does not have the effect of rendering the
combatants pitiless excepting during the time that it continues.
Men, generally, when issuing from a struggle in which they have
12
I ;o TAKING THE BAST1LE.
risked their lives, without receiving injury, are full of kindly feelings
towards their enemies.
But in great popular commotions, such as those of which France
has seen so many from the times of the Jacquerie down to our own
days, the masses whom fear has withheld from aiding in the fight,
whom noise has irritated, the masses, at once ferocious and cowardly,
endeavour, after the victory has been gained, to claim their share of
the triumph which they had not dared to accelerate. They take
their share in the vengeance.
From the moment of his leaving the Bastile, the procession was
the commencement of the governor's execution.
Elie, who had taken the governor's life under his own respon-
sibility, marched at the head of the group, protected by his uniform
and by the admiration of the people, who had seen him one of the
first to advance amid the enemy's fire. He carried his sword above
his head, on the point of which was the note which M. de Launay
had caused to be handed to the people through one of the loopholes
of the Bastile.
After him came the guard of the royal taxes, holding in his hand
the keys of the fortress ; then Maillard, bearing the standard ; and
after him a young man carrying the regulations of the Bastile on
his bayonet ; an odious rescript by means of which so many bitter
tears had flowed.
The governor walked next, protected by Hullin and two or three
others, but who disappeared amid the throng of threatening fists, of
waving sabres and of quivering lances.
By the side of this group, and rolling onward in an almost parallel
line with it in the great artery of the Rue Saint Antoine, which leads
from the Boulevard to the river, another could be distinguished, not
less threatening, not less terrible than the first : it was that which
was dragging forward Major de Losme, whom we have seen for a
moment combating the will of the governor, and who at length had
been compelled to bow down his head before the determination
which De Launay had taken to defend himself.
Major de Losme was a worthy, brave, and excellent young man.
Since he had been in the Bastile he had alleviated the sorrows of
many of the prisoners by his kind treatment of them. But the
people were ignorant of this. The people, from his brilliant uniform,
imagined that he was the governor. Whereas the governor, thanks
to his grey coat, on which there was no embroidery whatsoever, and
from which he had torn the riband of the order of St. Louis, was
surrounded as it were by a protecting doubt which could be dispelled
by those only who were acquainted with his person.
Such was the spectacle which offered itself to the grieved eyes of
Doctor Gilbert. His look, even in the midst of dangers, was always
calm and observing, qualities which were inherent in his powerful
organisation-
THE TRIANGLE. 17!
Hullin, on leaving the Bastile, had called around him his most
trusty and devoted friends, the most valiant of the popular soldiers
of that day, and four or five had responded to his call, and endea-
voured to second him in his generous design of protecting the
governor. Among them are three men of whom impartial history
has consecrated the memory ; their names were Arne, Chollat and
De Lupine.
These men, preceded as we have said by Hullin and Maillard,
were therefore endeavouring to defend the life of one whose death
a hundred thousand men were clamorously calling for.
Around them had ranged themselves some grenadiers of the
French Guard, whose uniform, having become popular during the
last two days, was an object of veneration to the people.
M. de Launay had escaped receiving any blow as long as the
arms of his generous defenders were able to ward them off ; but he
had not escaped insulting language and threats.
At the corner of the Rue de Jouy, of the five grenadiers of the
French Guards, who had joined the procession on leaving the Bas-
tile, not one remained. They had one after the other been carried
off on the way, by the enthusiasm of the crowd, and perhaps also
by the calculation of assassins, and Gilbert had seen them disappear
one after the other, like beads from a rosary of which the cord had
been broken.
From that moment he had foreseen that the victory which had
been gained was about to be tarnished by a sanguinary sacrifice ;
he had attempted to jump from the table which served him as a
triumphal car, but arms of iron had riveted him to it. In his power-
less position, he had directed Billot and Pitou to rush forward to
defend the governor, and both of them, obedient to his voice, had
made every effort to cleave through the human waves and get near
to M. de Launay.
And in fact the little group of his defenders stood in great need
of a reinforcement. Chollat, who had not tasted food since the
previous evening, had felt his strength giving way, and at length
had fainted ; it was with great difficulty that he had been raised
and saved from being trampled under foot.
But this was a breach made in the wall, a falling in of the dyke,
A man rushed through this breach, and whirling the butt of his
gun over his head, aimed a deadly blow at the uncovered head of
the governor.
But De Lupine, who saw the terrific blow descending, had time
enough to throw himself with outstretched arms between the go-
vernor and his assailant, and received on his forehead the blow in-
tended for the governor.
Stunned by the shock, blinded with his own blood, which streamed
into his eyes, he staggered, and covered his face with his hands,
and, when he could again see, the governor was twenty paces from
him.
I 7 TAKING THE BASTILE.
It was at this moment that Billot, dragging Pitou after him through
the crowd, came up to him.
He perceived that what exposed M. de Launay, above all, to
observation, was his being the only man in the crowd who was
bareheaded.
Billot took his hat, stretched out his arm, and placed it on the
governor's head.
De Launay turned round and recognised Billot.
' I thank you,' he said ; ' but whatever you may do, you will not
save me.'
' Let us only reach the H6tel de Ville,' said Hullin, ' and I will
answer for your safety.'
' Yes,' replied De Launay, ' but shall we reach it ?'
' With the help of God, we will attempt it,' rejoined Hullin.
And in fact there was some hope of succeeding, for they were
just entering the square before the H&tel de Ville ; but this square
was thronged with men with naked arms, brandishing pikes and
sabres. The report, which had flown from street to street, had an-
nounced to them that the governor and the major of the Bastile
were being brought to them ; and, like a pack of hungry hounds
eager to be loosed upon their prey, they awaited, grinding their
teeth and impatient for their approach.
As soon as they saw the procession approach they rushed towards
the governor.
Hullin saw that this was the moment of extreme danger, of the
last struggle ; if he could only get the governor to the front steps,
and get him to rush up the staircase, De Launay was saved.
4 To me, Elie ! to me, Maillard ! to me, all men with hearts,'
cried he : ' our honour is at stake .'
Elie and Maillard heard the appeal ; they made a rush into the
centre of the mob, and the people seconded them but too well ; they
made way for them to pass, but closed in behind them.
In this manner Elie and Maillard were separated from the prin-
cipal group, and were prevented returning to it.
The crowd saw the advantage it had gained, and made a furious
effort. Like an enormous boa, it entwined its gigantic folds around
the group. Billot was lifted off his feet and dragged away ; Pitou,
who thought only of Billot, allowed himself to be forced away in
the same throng. Hullin, being hurried on by the crowd, stumbled
against the first step of the Hotel de Ville, and fell. He got up,
but it was to fail again almost immediately, and this time De Launay
fell with him.
The governor was constant to the last ; up to the final moment,
he uttered not a single complaint ; he did not ask for mercy, but he
cried out in a loud, shrill tone
' Tigers that you are, at all events do not allow me to remain
thus in suspense ; kill me at once.'
THE TRIANGLE. 173
Never was order more promptly executed than this reproachful
request of the poor governor. In an instant around the fallen De
Launay, every head was bowed down towards him. For a moment
nothing could be seen but upraised and threatening hands, grasp-
ing poniards which as suddenly disappeared ; then was seen a head
severed from the body, and which was raised, still streaming with
blood, upon the end of a pike ; the features had retained their livid
and contemptuous smile.
This was the first.
Gilbert, from his elevated position, could see all that was passing ;
Gilbert had once more attempted to spring to the assistance of the
governor, but two hundred arms prevented him.
He turned his head from the disgusting spectacle and sighed.
This head, with its staring eyes, was raised immediately in front,
and as if to salute him with a last look, of the window in which De
Flesselles was standing, surrounded and protected by the electors.
It would have been difficult to decide whether the face of the
living or that of the dead man was the most pale and livid.
Suddenly an immense uproar arose from the spot on which was
lying the mutiteted body of De Launay. His pockets had been
searched by his assassins, and in his breast-pocket had been found
the note which the Provost of the Merchants had addressed to him,
and which he had shown to De Losme.
This note, our readers may remember, was couched in the follow-
ing terms :
' Hold firm ! I amuse the Parisians with cockades and pro-
mises. Before the close of the day M. de Rezenval will send you a
reinforcement.
' DE FLESSELLES.'
The most blasphemous imprecations rose from the pavement of
the square to the window of the H6tel de Ville in which De Fles-
selles was standing.
Without guessing the cause of this new tumult, he fully compre-
hended the threat, and hastily drew back from the window ; but he
had been seen, every one knew that he was there ; the crowd rushed
up the staircase, and this time the movement was so universal
*hat the men who had been carrying Doctor Gilbert abandoned
him to follow the living tide which was overflowing the great stair-
case.
Gilbert would also have gone into the Hotel de Ville, not to
threaten but to protect Flesselles. He had already ascended three
or four of the front steps, when he felt himself violently pulled back.
He turned round to disengage himself from this new obstruction,
bul he recognised Billot and Pitou.
'Oh !' exclaimed Gilbert, who from his commanding position
could glance over the whole square, 'what can they be doing yomler ?
74 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
And he pointed with his convulsively clenched hand to the corner
of the Rue de la Tixe"randerie.
' Come with us, doctor, come !' simultaneously cried Billot and
Pitou.
' Oh ! the assassins !' cried the doctor, ' the assassins !'
And indeed at that moment Major de Losme fell, killed by a
desperate blow from a hatchet the people confounding in their rage
the egotistical and barbarous governor, who had been the persecutor
of his prisoners, with the generous man who had been their friend
and reliever.
' Oh ! yes, yes,' said he, ' let us be gone, for I begin to be ashamed
of having been liberated by such men.'
' Doctor,' said Billot, ' be not uneasy on that score. The men who
fought down yonder are not the same men who are committing these
horrid massacres.'
But at the moment when the doctor was about to descend the
steps which he had gone up, to hasten to the assistance of Flesselles,
the flood which had poured into the building was again vomited
forth. Amid the torrent of men was one who was struggling furiously
as they dragged him forward.
' To the Palais Royal ! to the Palais Royal !' cried the crowd.
' Yes, my friends yes, my good friends to the Palais Royal !'
repeated the man.
And they went towards the river, as if this human inundation had
yished, not to bear him towards the Palais Royal, but to drag him
towards the Seine.
' Oh !' cried Gilbert, ' here is another they are about to murder !
let us endeavour to save him at least.' But scarcely had he pro-
nounced these words when a pistol-shot was heard, and De Flesselles
disappeared amid the smoke.
Gilbert covered his eyes with both his hands, with a gesture of
excessive anger ; he cursed the people who, after having shown
themselves so great, had not the firmness to remain pure, and had
sullied the victory they had gained by a triple assassination.
Then, when he removed his hands from his eyes, he saw three
heads raised above the crowd, on three pikes.
The 6rst was that of De Flesselles, the second that of De Losme,
the third that of De Launay.
The one rose above the front steps of the H6tel de Ville, the other
from the middle of the Rue de la Tixe"randerie, the third on the
Quay Pelletier.
From their relative positions they assumed the form of a triangle.
' Oh ! Balsamo ! Balsamo !' murmured the doctor, with a sigh ;
'is it then such a triangle as this that is to be symbolical of liberty!'
And he ran along the Rue de la Vannerie, Billot and Pitou accom-
panying him.
SEBASTIAN GILBERT. 175
CHAPTER XX.
SEBASTIAN GILBERT.
AT the corner of the Rue Planche Mibray the doctor met a hack-
ney coach, made a sigh to the coachman to stop, and hastily got
into it.
Billot and Pitou quickly followed him.
' To the College of Louis-le-Grand !' cried Gilbert, and threw
himself into one corner of the vehicle, where f *he fell into a profound
reverie, which was respected by Billot and Pitou.
They went over the Pont au Change by the Rue de la Cite",
the Rue Saint Jacques, and at length reached the College Louis-
le-Grand.
All Paris was trembling with emotion. The news had spread
rapidly throughout the city ; rumours of the assassinations on the
Place de la Greve were mingled with the glorious recital of the
taking of the Bastile. On every face could be seen depicted the
various emotions to which the news gave rise, according to the
varied feelings they excited the lightnings of the soul which thus
betrayed themselves.
Gilbert had not once looked out of the coach window Gilbert
had not uttered a single word. There is always a ridiculous side in
popular ovations, and Gilbert contemplated his ovation in that point
of view.
And besides, it also appeared to him that notwithstanding all he
had done to prevent it, some drops of the blood which had been
shed would fall upon his head.
The doctor alighted from the hackney coach at the college gate,
and made a sign to Billot to follow him.
As to Pitou, he discreetly remained in the coach.
Sebastian was still in the infirmary ; the principal, in person, on
Doctor Gilbert's being announced, conducted him thither.
Billot, who although not a very acute observer, well knew the
character of both father and son Billot attentively examined the
scene which was passing before his eyes.
Weak, irritable, and nervous, as the boy had shown himself in the
moment of despair, he evinced an equal degree of tranquillity and
reserve in the moment of joy.
On perceiving his father he turned pale, and words failed him.
A slight trembling shook his legs, and then he ran and threw his
arms round his father's neck, uttering a cry of joy, which re-
sembled a cry of grief, and then held him silently clasped within
his arms.
The doctor responded as silently to this mute pressure ; only after
having embraced his son, he looked at him with an expression that
was more sorrowful than joyous.
A more skilful observer than Billot would have said that some
I7 TAKING THE BASTILE.
misfortune or some crime existed in the relations between that
youth and that man.
The youth was less reserved in his conduct towards Billot. When
he could observe any one excepting his father, who had in the first
moment engrossed all his attention, he ran to the good farmer, and
threw his arms round his neck, saying
' You are a worthy man, Monsieur Billot ; you have kept youi
promise to me, and I thank you for it.'
' Yes, yes,' replied Billot, ' and it was not without some trouble.
I can assure you, Monsieur Sebastian. Your father was very nicely
and safely locked up, and it was necessary to do a tolerable deal oi
damage before we could get him out.'
' Sebastian,' inquired the doctor, with some anxiety, 'you are in
good health ?
'Yes, father,' replied the young man, 'although you find me here
in the infirmary.'
Gilbert smiled.
' I know why it was you were brought here,' said he.
The boy smiled in his turn.
' Have you everything you require here ?' continued the doctor.
' Everything thanks to you.'
' I shall then, my dear boy, still recommend to you the same, the
only line of conduct study assiduously.'
' Yes, father.'
' I know that to you the word study is not a vain and monotonous
word ; if I believed it to be so, I would no longer say it.'
' Father, it is not for me to reply to you on that head ; it is the
province of Monsieur BeYardier, our excellent principal.'
The doctor turned towards Monsieur BeVardier, who made a sign
that he had something to say to him.
' I will speak to you again in a moment, Sebastian,' said the
doctor.
And he went over to the principal.
'Sir,' said Sebastian, with anxious feeling, to Billot, 'can any-
thing unfortunate have happened to Pitou ? The poor la.~l is not
with you.'
' He is at the door, in a hackney coach,' replied Billot.
' Father,' said Sebastian, ' will you allow Monsieur Billot to fetck
Pitou to me ? I should be very glad to see him.'
Gilbert gave an affirmative nod ; Billot left the room.
' What is it you would say to me ? inquired Gilbert of the Abbe
B^rardier.
' I wished to tell you, sir, that it is not study that you should re-
commend to the young lad, but, on the contrary, to amuse himself.
' And on what account, good abbe* ?*
' Yes, he is an excellent young man, who everybody here loves as
a son or as a brother, but '
SEBASTIAN GILBERT. 1*7
The abbe* paused.
' But what ?' cried Gilbert, with anxiety.
'But if great care be not taken, Monsieur Gilbert, there is some-
thing that will kill him.'
' And what is that ? said Gilbert.
' The study which you so strongly recommend to him.'
' Study ?
1 Yes, sir, study. If you could but see him seated at his desk, his
arms crossed, poring over his dictionary, with eyes fixed '
' Studying or dreaming ?' asked Gilbert.
'Studying, sir ; endeavouring to find a good expression the
antique style, the Greek or Latin form seeking for it for hours to-
gether ; and see ! even at this very moment ! look at him !'
And indeed the young man, although it was not five minutes since
his father had been speaking to him, although Billot had scarcely
shut the door after him, Sebastian had fallen into a reverie which
seemed closely allied to ecstasy.
' Is he often thus ?' anxiously inquired Gilbert.
' Sir, I could almost say that this is his habitual state ; only see
how deeply he is meditating.'
' You are right, sir ; and when you observe him in this state, you
should endeavour to divert his thoughts.'
' And yet it would be a pity, for the results of these meditations
are compositions which will one day do great honour to the College
Louis-le- Grand. I predict that in three years from this time, that
youth yonder will bear off all the prizes at our examination.'
' Take care !' replied the doctor ; ' this species of absorption of
thought, iu which you see Sebastian now plunged, is rather a proof
of weakness than of strength, a symptom rather of malady than of
.iealth. You are right, Monsieur Principal ; it will not do to recom-
mend assiduous application to that child ; or, at least, we must know
how to distinguish study from such a state of reverie.'
' Sir, I can assure you that he is studying.'
* What, as we see him now ?
' Yes ; and the proof is that his task is always finished before that
of the other scholars. Do you see how his lips move ? He is re-
peating his lessons.'
' Well, then, whenever he is repeating his lessons in this manner,
Monsieur Be"rardier, divert his attention from them. He will not
know his lessons the worse for it, and his health will be better
for it.'
' Do you think so ?'
' I am sure of it.'
'Well,' cried the good abbe", 'you ought to understand these
matters you, whom Messieurs de Condorcet and Cabanis proclaim
So be one of the most learned men now existing in the world.'
' Only,' rejoined Gilbert ' when vou wish to draw him out of such
I 7 8 TAKING THE BASTILE.
reveries, you must do it with much precaution. Speak to him very
softly in the first instance, and then louder.'
' And why so ?
1 To bring him gradually back to this world, which his mind has
left.'
The abbe" looked at the doctor with astonishment. It would not
have required much to make him believe that he was mad.
' Observe,' continued the doctor ; ' you shall see the proof of what
I am saying to you.'
Billot and Pitou entered the room at this moment. In three strides
Pitou was at the side of the dreaming youth.
' You asked for me, Sebastian,' said Pitou to him ; ' that was very
kind of you.'
And he placed his large head close to the pale face of the young
lad.
' Look !' said Gilbert, seizing the abbess arm.
And indeed, Sebastian, thus abruptly aroused from his reverie by
the cordial affection of Pitou, staggered, his face became more
vividly pale, his head fell on one side, as if his neck had not sufficient
strength to support it, a painful sigh escaped his breast, and then
the blood again rushed to his face.
He shook his head and smiled.
' Ah, it is you, Pitou ! Yes ; that is true : I asked for you.'
And then, looking at him :
' You have been fighting, then ?'
1 Yes, and like a brave lad, too,' said Billot.
' Why did you not take me with you ?' said the child, in a re-
proachful tone. ' I would have fought also, and then I should at
least have done something for my father.'
' Sebastian,' said Gilbert, going to his son, and pressing his head
to his breast, ' you can do much more for your father than to fight
for him ; you can listen to his advice, and follow it become a dis-
tinguished and celebrated man.'
'As you are?' said the boy, with proud emotion. ' Oh, it is that
which I aspire to.'
' Sebastian,' said the doctor, ' now that you have embraced both
Billot and Pitou, our good friends, will you come into the garden
with me for a few minutes, that we may have a little talk together ?'
' With great delight, father. Only two or three times in my whole
life have I been alone with you, and those moments, with all their
details, are always present in my memory.'
'You will allow us, good Monsieur Principal? 3 said Gilbert
' How can you doubt it ?
' Billot and Pitou, you must, my friends, stand in need of some
refreshment ?
1 Upon my word, I do,' said Billot. ' I have eaten nothing since
the morning, and I believe that Pitou has fasted as long as I have.'
SEBASTIAN klLBERT. 179
' I beg your pardon,' replied Pitou : ' I ate a crumb of bread and
two or three sausages, just the moment before I dragged you out of
the water ; but a bath always makes one hungry.'
' Well, then, come to the refectory,' said the Abbe" Be'rardier, ' and
you shall have some dinner/
' Ho, ho !' cried Pitou.
' You are afraid of our college fare !' cried the abbe" ; ' but do not
alarm yourselves ; you shall be treated as invited guests. More-
over, it appears to me,' continued the abbe", ' that it is not alone your
stomach that is in a dilapidated state, my dear Monsieur Pitou.'
Pitou cast a look replete with modesty on his own person.
' And that if you were offered a pair of breeches as well as a
dinner '
' The fact is, I would accept them, good Monsieur Be'rardier,' re-
plied Pitou.
' Well, then, come with me ; both the breeches and the dinner are
at vour service.'
.i-ind he led off Billot and Pitou by one door, while Gilbert and his
son, waving their hands to them, went out at another.
The latter crossed a yard which served as a play-ground to the
young collegians, and went into a small garden reserved for the pro-
fessors, a cool and shady retreat, in which the venerable Abb
Be'rardier was wont to read his Tacitus and his Juvenal.
Gilbert seated himself upon a bench, overshadowed by an alcove
of clematis and virgin vines ; then, drawing Sebastian close to him,
and parting the long hair which fell upon his forehead :
'Well, my child,' said he, 'we are, then, once more united.'
Sebastian raised his eyes to heaven.
'Yes, father, and by a miracle performed by God.
Gilbert smiled.
' If there be any miracle,' said Gilbert, ' it was the brave people of
Paris who have accomplished it.'
' My father,' said the boy, ' set not God aside in all that has just
occurred ; for I, when I saw you come in, instinctively offered my
thanks to God for your deliverance.'
' And Billot ?
' Billot I thanked after thanking God.'
Gilbert reflected.
' You are right, child,' said he ; ' God is in everything. ' But now
let us talk of you, and let us have some little conversation before we
again separate.'
' Are we, then, to be again separated, father ?'
' Not for a long time, I presume. But a casket, containing some
very precious documents, has disappeared from Billot's house, at the
same time that I was arrested and sent to the Bastile. I must, there-
fore, endeavour to discover who it was that caused my imprisonment
who has carried off the casket.'
I8o TAKIffG THE BASTILE.
' It is well, father. I will wait to see you again till your inquiries
shall be completed.'
And the boy sighed deeply.
' You are sorrowful, Sebastian ? said the doctor, inquiringly.
4 Yes.'
4 And why are you sorrowful ?'
4 I do not know. It appears to me that life has not been shaped
for me as it has been for other children.'
' What are you saying there, Sebastian ?'
' The truth.'
4 Explain yourself.'
' They all have amusements, pleasures, while I have none.'
4 You have no amusements, no pleasures ?
' I mean to say, father, that I take no pleasure in those games
which form the amusement of boys of my own age.'
4 Take care, Sebastian ; I should much regret that you should
be of such a disposition. Sebastian, minds that give promise of a
glorious future are like good fruits during their growth : they have
their bitterness, their acidity, their greenness, before they can delight
the palate by their matured full flavour. Believe me, my child, it is
good to have been young.'
' It is not my fault if I am not so,' replied the young man, with a
melancholy smile. Gilbert pressed both his son's hands within his
own, and fixing his eye intently upon Sebastian's, continued :
' Your age, my son, is that of the seed when germinating ; nothing
should yet appear above the surface of all that study has sown in
you. At the age of fourteen, Sebastian, gravity is either pride, or
it proceeds from malady. I have asked you whether your health
was good, and you replied affirmatively. I am going to ask you
whether you are proud ; try to reply to me that you are not.'
4 Father,' said the boy, ' on that head you need not be alarmed.
That which renders me so gloomy is neither sickness nor pride no,
it is a settled grief.'
4 A settled grief, poor child ! And what grief, good heaven, can
you have at your age ? Come, now, speak out.'
' No, father, no ; some other time. You have told me that you
were in a hurry. You have only a quarter of an hour to devote to me.
Let us speak of other things than my follies.'
' No, Sebastian, I should be uneasy were I to leave you so. Tell
me whence proceeds your grief.'
4 In truth, father, I do not dare.'
4 What do you fear ?'
4 I fear that in your eyes I shall appear a visionary, or perhaps
that I may speak to you of things that will afflict you.'
4 You afflict me much more by withholding your secret from me.'
4 You well know that I have no secrets from you, father.'
4 Speak out, then,'
SEBASTIAN GILBERT. l8l
Really, I dare not.'
1 Sebastian, you, who have the pretension of being a man, to'
1 It is precisely for that reason.'
'Come, now, take courage.'
' Well, then, father, it is a dream.
' A dream which terrifies you ?'
' Yes, and no ; for when I am dreaming I am not terrified, but as
f transported into another world.'
' Explain yourself.'
' When still quite a child I had these visions. You cannot but
remember that two or three times I lost myself in those great woods
which surround the village in which I was brought up?'
' Yes. I remember being toid of it.'
' Well, then, at those times I was following a species of phantom.'
' What say you ?' cried Gilbert, looking at his son with an aston-
ishment that seemed closely allied to terror.
' Well, then, father, I will' tell you all. I used to play, as did the
other children in the village. As long as there were children with
me, or near me, I saw nothing ; but if I separated from them, or
went beyond the last village garden, I felt something near, like the
rustling of a gown. I would stretch out my arms to catch it, and I
embraced only the air ; but as the rustling sound became lost in
distance, the phantom itself became visible. It was at first a vapour
as transparent as a cloud : then the vapour became more condensed,
and assumed a human form. The form was that of a woman gliding
along the ground rather than walking, and becoming more and
more visible as it plunged into the shady parts of the forest. Then
an unknown, extraordinary, and almost irresistible power impelled
me to pursue this form. I pursued her with outstretched arms, mute
as herself ; for often I attempted to call to her, and never could my
tongue articulate a sound. I pursued her thus, although she never
stopped, although I never could come up with her, until the same
prodigy which announced her presence to me, warned me of her
departure. This woman vanished gradually from my sight, matter
became once more vapour, the vapour became volatilised, and a^.1
was ended ; and I, exhausted with fatigue, would fall down on the
spot where she had disappeared. It was there that Pitou would
find me, sometimes the same day, but sometimes only the next
morning.'
Gilbert continued gazing at his son with increasing anxiety. He
had placed his fingers on his pulse. Sebastian at once compre-
hended the feeling which agitated the doctor.
' Oh ! do not be uneasy, father,' said he. ' I know that there was
nothing real in all this. I know that it was a vision, and nothing
more.'
' And this woman,' inquired the doctor, ' what was her appearance r
* Oh ! as majestic as a queen.'
152 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' And her face, did you sometimes see it, child ?
< Yes.'
' And how long ago ?* asked Gilbert, shuddering.
' Only since I have been here,' replied the youth.
' But here in Paris you have not the forest of Villers-Cotterftts,
the tall trees forming a dark and mysterious arch of verdure. At
Paris you have no longer that silence, that solitude, the natural
element of phantoms.'
' Yes, father, I have all these.'
I Where, then ?'
' Here, in this garden.'
' What mean you by saying here ? Is not this garden set apart
for the professors ?'
' It is so, my father ; but two or three times it appeared to me
that I saw this woman glide from the courtyard into the garden,
and each time I would have followed her, but the closed door always
prevented me. Then one day the Abb BeVardier, being highly
satisfied with my composition, asked me if there was anything I
particularly desired ; and I asked him to allow me sometimes to
walk in the garden with him. He gave me the permission. I came,
and here, tather, the vision reappeared to me.'
Gilbert trembled.
' Strange hallucination,' said he ; ' but, nevertheless, very possible
in a temperament so highly nervous as his. And you have seen her
face, then ?
' Yes, father.'
' Do you remember it ?
The youth smiled.
' Did you ever attempt to go near her?*
'Yes.'
' To hold out your hand to her ?'
' It was then that she would disappear.'
' And, in your own opinion, Sebastian, who is this woman ?
' It appears to me that she is my mother.'
' Your mother !' exclaimed Gilbert, turning pale.
And he pressed his hand against his heart, as if to stop the bleed-
ing of a painful wound.
' But this is all a dream,' cried he ; ' and really I am almost as
mad as you are.'
The youth remained silent, and looked at his father.
' Well ? said the latter, in the accent of inquiry.
' Well,' replied Sebastian, ' it is possible that it may be all a
dream ; but the reality of my dream is no less existing.'
' What say you ?
I 1 say that at the last Festival of Pentecost, when we were taken
to walk in the wood of Satory, near Versailles, and that while there,
as I was dreaming under a tree, and separated from my com-
panions '
SEBASTIAN GILBERT. 1*3
' The same vision again appeared to you ?
' Yes ; but this time in a carriage, drawn by four magnificent
horses. But this time real, absolutely living. I very nearly fainted.'
' And why so ?
' I do not know.'
'And what impression remained upon your mind from this new
vision r 1
' That it was not my mother whom I had seen appearing to me
in a dream, since this woman was the same I always saw in my
vision, and my mother is dead.'
Gilbert rose and pressed his hand to his forehead. A strange
swimming of the head had just seized him.
The young lad remarked his agitation, and was alarmed at his
sudden paleness.
' Ah !' said he, ' you see now, father, how wrong I was to relate to
you all my follies.'
* No, my child, no. On the contrary,' said the doctor, ' speak of
them often to me ; speak of them to me every time you see me, and
we will endeavour to cure you of them.'
Sebastian shook his head.
' Cure me ! and for what ?' asked he. ' I have been accustomed
to this dream. It has become a portion of my existence. I love
that vision, although it flies from me, and sometimes seems to repel
me. Do not, therefore, cure me of it, father. You may again leave
me, travel once more, perhaps go again to America. Having that
vision, I am not completely alone in the world.'
' In fine,' murmured the doctor, and pressing Sebastian to his
breast, ' till we meet again, my child,' said he, ' and then I hope we
shall no more leave each other : for should I again leave France, I
will at least endeavour to take you with me.'
' Was my mother beautiful ?' asked the child.
' Oh, yes, very beautiful !' replied the doctor, in a voice almost
choked by emotion.
' And did she love you as much as I love you ?'
' Sebastian ! Sebastian ! never speak to me of your mother !' cried
the doctor.
And pressing his lips for the last time to the forehead of the
youth, he rushed out of the garden.
Instead of following him, the child fell back, overcome by his
feelings, on the bench.
In the courtyard Gilbert found Billot and Pitou, completely in-
vigorated by the good cheer they had partaken of. They were re-
lating to the Abbd BeVardier all the circumstances regarding the
capture of the Bastile.
Gilbert again entered into conversation with the Abbd BeVardier,
in which he pointed out to him the line of conduct he should observe
with regard to Sebastian.
He then got into the hackney coach with his two companions.
(84 TAKING THE BASTILE
CHAPTER XXI.
MADAME DE STAEL.
WHEN Gilbert resumed his place in the hackney coach > by the side
of Billot, and opposite to Pitou, he was pale, and the perspiration
was standing in large drops on his forehead.
But it was not in the nature of this man to remain for any time
overwhelmed by any emotion whatsoever. He threw himself back
into the corner of the carriage, pressed both his hands to his fore-
head as if he wished to repress the boiling thoughts which raged
within it, and, after remaining a few moments motionless, he with-
drew his hands, and instead of an agitated countenance, he exhibited
features which were particularly calm.
' You told me, I think, my dear Monsieur Billot, that the king had
dismissed Monsieur de Necker?'
' Yes, indeed, Monsieur Gilbert.
' And that the commotions in Paris originated in some measure
from the disgrace of the minister ?
' Very much.'
' And you added that Monsieur de Necker had immediately left
Versailles.'
' He received the king's letter while at dinner. In an hour after-
wards he was on the road to Brussels.'
' To Brussels ?'
' Where he is now, or ought to be.'
' Did you not hear it said that he had stopped somewhere on the
road ?'
' Oh, yes ; he stopped at St. Ouen, in order to take leave of his
daughter, the Baroness de Stae'l.'
' Did Madame de Stael go with him ?'
' I have been told that he and his wife only oet out for Brussels. 1
' Coachman !' cried Gilbert, ' stop at the first tailor's shop you see.'
' You wish to change your coat ? said Billot.
' Yes. In good sooth, this one smells too much of its contact
with the walls of the Bastile ; and a man cannot in such a dress
discreetly pay a visit to the daughter of an ex-minister in disgrace.
Search your pockets, and see if you cannot find a few louis for me.'
'Ho, ho !' cried the farmer, ' it seems that you have left your
purse in the Bastile.'
' That is according to the regulations,' said Gilbert, smiling. 'All
articles of value are deposited in the registry office.'
' And they remain there,' said the farmer.
And opening his huge fist, which contained about twenty louis,
' Take these, doctor,' said he.
Gilbert took ten louis. Some minutes afterwards the hackney
coach stopped at the door of a ready-made clothes shop.
It was still the usage in those days.
MADAME DE STAEL. 185
Gilbert changed his coat, soiled by the walls of the Bastile, for a
very decent black one, such as was worn by the gentlemen of the
Tiers Etat in the National Assembly.
A hair-dresser in his shop, a Savoyard shoe-cleaner in his cellar,
completed the doctor's toilette.
The doctor then ordered the coachman to drive him to Saint
Ouen, by the exterior Boulevards, which they reached by going
behind the walls of the park at Monc,eaux.
Gilbert alighted at the gate of M. Keeker's house, at the moment
when the cathedral clock of Dagobert struck seven in the evening.
Around this house, which erewhile was so much sought, so much
frequented, reigned the most profound silence, disturbed only by the
arrival of Gilbert.
And yet there was none of that melancholy appearance which
generally surrounds abandoned country houses of that gloominess
even generally visible in a mansion, the master of which has been
disgraced.
The gates being closed, the garden-walks deserted, merely an-
nounced that the master was absent, but there was no trace of
misfortune or of precipitation.
Besides this, one whole portion of the chateau, the east wing, had
still it? window shutters open, and when Gilbert was advancing
towards this side, a servant, wearing the livery of M. de Necker.
approached the visitor.
The following dialogue then took place through the iron gratings
of the gate.
' Monsieur de Necker is not at home, my friend ?' said Gilbert.
' No ; the baron left Saint Ouen, last Saturday, for Brussels.'
' And her ladyship, the baroness ?'
'Went with monsieur.'
k But Madame de Stael ?'
' Madame de Stael has remained here ; but I do not know whether
madame will receive any one ; it is her hour for walking.'
' Please to point out to me where she is, and announce to her
Doctor Gilbert.'
' I will go and inquire whether madame is in the house or not.
Doubtless she will receive you, sir ; but, should she be taking a walk,
my orders are that she is not to be disturbed.'
'Very well ; go quickly, I beg of you.'
The servant opened the gate, and Gilbert entered the grounds.
While relocking the gate, the servant cast an inquisitorial glance
on the vehicle which had brought the doctor, and on the extra-
ordinary faces of his two travelling companions ; then he went off,
shaking his head, like a man who feels somewhat perplexed, but
who defies any other intellect to see clear into a matter where hi?
own had been altogether puzzled.
Gilbert remained alone, waiting his return.
186 TAKING THE BASTILE.
In about five minutes, the sefvant reappeared.
' The Baroness de Stae'l is taking- a walk,' said he, and ne bowed
in order to dismiss Gilbert.
But the doctor was not so easily to be got rid of.
'My friend,' said he, 'be pleased to make a slight infraction in
your orders, and tell the baroness, when you announce me to her,
that I am a friend of the Marquis de- Lafayette.'
A louis, slipped into the lackey's hands, completely removed the
scruples he had entertained, but which the name of the marquis had
nearly half dispelled.
' Come in, sir,' said the servant.
Gilbert followed him ; but instead of taking him into the house
he led him into the park.
' This is the favourite side of the baroness, said the lackey to
Gilbert, pointing out to him the entrance to a species of labyrinth ;
' will you remain here a moment ?'
Ten minutes afterwards he heard a rustling among the leaves,
and a woman between twenty-three and twenty-four years of age,
and of a figure rather noble than graceful, appeared to the eyes of
Gilbert.
She seemed surprised on finding a man who still appeared young,
when she had doubtless expected to meet one advanced in years.
Gilbert was a man of sufficiently remarkable appearance to strike
at first sight so able an observer as Madame de Stae'l.
The features of few men were formed with such pure lines, and
these lines had assumed, by the exercise of an all-powerful will, a
character of extraordinary inflexibility. His fine black eyes, which
were always so expressive, had become somewhat veiled by his
literary labours and the sufferings he had undergone, and had lost
a portion of that mobility which is one of the charms of youth.
A wrinkle, which was at once deep and graceful, hollowed out at
the corner of his thin lips, that mysterious cavity in which physi-
ognomists place the seat of circumspection. It appeared that time
alone, and a precocious old age, had given to Gilbert that quality
with which nature had neglected to endow him.
A wide and well-rounded forehead, slightly receding towards the
roots of his fine black hair, which for years powder had no longer
whitened, gave evidence at once of knowledge and of thought, of
study and imagination. With Gilbert, as with his master, Rousseau,
his prominent eye-brows threw a deep shade over his eyes, and
from this shade glanced forth the luminous point which revealed life.
Gilbert, notwithstanding his unassuming dress, presented himself
before the future authoress of ' Corinne ' with a remarkably dignified
and distinguished air ; an air, of which his well-shaped tapering
white hands, his small feet, and his finely formed and muscular legs,
completed the noble appearance.
Hadame de Stae'l devoted some moments to examining Gilbert
MADAME DE STAEL. 187
During this, Gilbert, on his side, had given a stiff sort of bow,
and which slightly recalled the modest civility of the American
Quakers, who grant to women only the fraternity which protects
instead of the respect which smiles.
Then, with a rapid glance, he, in his turn, analysed the person of
the already celebrated young woman, and whose intelligent and
expressive features were altogether devoid of beauty ; it was the head
of an insignificant and frivolous youth, rather than that of a woman,
but which surmounted a form of voluptuous luxuriance.
She held in her hand a twig from a pomegranate tree, from which,
from absence of mind, she was biting off" the blossoms.
' Is it you, sir,' inquired the baroness, ' who are Doctor Gilbert?'
' Yes, madame, my name is Gilbert.'
' You are very young, to have acquired so great a reputation, or
rather, does not that reputation appertain to your father, or to some
relation older than yourself?'
' I do not know any one of the name of Gilbert but myself,
madame. And, if indeed there is, as you say, some slight degree of
reputation attached to the name, I have a fair right to claim it.'
' You made use of the name of the Marquis de Lafayette, in
order to obtain this interview with me, sir ; and, in fact, the mar-
quis has spoken to us of you, of your inexhaustible knowledge '
Gilbert bowed.
' Aknowledge which is so much the more remarkable, and so much
the more replete with interest,' continued the baroness, ' since it
appears that you are not a mere ordinary chemist, a practitioner, like
so many others, but that you have sounded all the mysteries of the
science of life.'
' I clearly perceive, madame, that the Marquis de Lafayette must
have told you that I am somewhat of a sorcerer,' replied Gilbert,
smiling ; ' and if he has told you so, I know that he has talent enough
to prove it to you, had he wished to do so.'
' In fact, sir, he has spoken to us of the marvellous cures you often
performed, whether on the field of battle or in theAmerican hospitals,
upon patients whose lives were altogether despaired of ; you plunged
them, the general told us, into a factitious death, which so n uch
resembled death itself, that it was difficult to believe it was not
real.'
' That factitious death, madame, is the result of a science almost
still unknown, now confided only to the hards of some fe\v adepts,
but which will soon become common. 1
' It is mesmerism you are speaking of, is it not ? asked Madame de
Stael with a smile.
' Of mesmerism, yes, that is it.'
' Did you take lessons of the master himself?'
' Alas ! madame, Mesmer himself was only a scholar. Mesmerism,
or rather, magnetism, was an ancient science, known to the Egyptians
18* TAKING THE BAST1LE.
and the Greeks. It was lost in the ocean of the middle ages.
Shakspeare divined it in Macbeth. Urbain Grandier found it once
more, and died for having found it. But the great master my
master was the Count de Cagliostro.'
'That mountebank !' cried Madame de Stael.
' Madame, madame, beware of judging as do contemporaries, and
not as posterity will judge. To that mountebank I owe my know-
ledge, and perhaps the world will be indebted to him for its liberty.'
' Be it so,' replied Madame de Stael, aga : Ji smiling; ' I speak with-
out knowing you speak with full knowledge of the subject. It is
probable that you are right and that I am wrong. But let us return
to you. Why is it that you have so long kept yourself at so great
a distance from France ? Why have you not returned to take your
place, your proper station, among the great men of the age, such as
Lavoisier, Cabanis, Condorcet, Bailly, and Louis ?
At this last name Gilbert blushed, though almost imperceptibly.
' I have yet too much to study, madame, to rank myself all at once
among these great masters.'
4 But you have come at last, though at an unpropitious moment
for us ; my father, who would, I feel assured, have been happy to
be of service to you, has been disgraced, and left this three days
ago.'
Gilbert smiled.
' Baroness,' said he, bowing slightly, ' it is now only six days ago
that I was imprisoned in the Bastile, pursuant to an order from
Baron Necker.'
Madame de Stael blushed in her turn.
' Really, sir, you have just told me something that greatly sur-
prises me. You in the Bastile !'
' Myself, madame.'
'What had you done to occasion your imprisonment ?
' Those alone who threw me into prison can tell that.'
' But you are no longer in prison !'
' No, madame, because the Bastile no longer exists.'
'How can that be ? does the Bastile no longer exist?" cried
Madame de Stael, feigning astonishment.
' Did you not hear the firing of cannon ?
' Yes ; but cannons are only cannons, that is all.'
'Oh ! permit me to tell you, madame, that it is impossible that
Madame de Stael, the daughter of Monsieur de Necker, should not
know, at this present time, that the Bastile has been taken by the
people.'
' I assure you, sir,' replied the baroness, somewhat confused,
' that being unacquainted with any of the events which have taken
place since the departure of my father, I no longer occupy my time
but in deploring his absence.'
' Madame ! madame !' said Gilbert, shaking his head, ' the State
MADAME DE STAEL. 189
messengers are so familiar with the road that leads to the chateau
of St. Ouen, that at least one bearer of despatches must have ar-
rived during the four hours that have elapsed since the capitulation
of the Bastile.'
The baroness saw that it was impossible for her to deny it without
positively lying. She abhorred a falsehood ; she therefore changed
the subject of the conversation.
' And to what lucky event do I owe your visit, sir ? asked she.
' I wished to have the honour of speaking to Monsieur de Necker,
madame.'
' But do you know that he is no longer in France ?
' Madame, it appeared to me so extraordinary that Monsieur de
Necker should be absent, so impolitic that he should not have
watched the course of events '
1 That '
' That I relied upon you, I must confess, madame, to tell me where
I could find him.'
' You will find him at Brussels, sir.'
Gilbert fixed a scrutinizing gaze upon the baroness.
1 Thank you, madame,' said he, bowing ; ' I shall then set out for
Brussels, as I have matters of the highest importance to communi-
cate to him.'
Madame de Stael appeared to hesitate, then she rejoined :
' Fortunately I know you, sir,' said she, ' and that I know you to
be a man of serious character. 'Tis true, important things might
lose a great deal of their value by passing through other lips. But
what can there be of importance to my father, after his disgrace
after what has taken place ?'
' There is the future, madame. And perhaps I shall not be alto-
gether without influence over the future. But all these reflections
are to no purpose. The most important thing for me, and for him,
is, that I should see Monsieur de Necker. Thus, madame, you say
that he is at Brussels ?
' Yes, sir.'
' It will take me twenty hours to go there. Do you know what
twenty hours are during a revolution, and how many important
events may take place during twenty hours ? Oh ! how imprudent it
was for Monsieur de Necker, madame, to place twenty hours between
himself and any event which might take place between the hand
and the object it desires to reach.'
' In truth, sir, you frighten me,' said Madame de Stael, ' and I
begin to think that my father has really been imprudent.'
' But what would you have, madame ? Things are thus, are they
not ? I have, therefore, merely to make you a most humble apology
for the trouble that I have given you. Adieu, madame.'
But the baroness stopped him.
"I tell you, sir, that you alarm me,' she rejoined ; ' you owe me
190 TAKING THE BASTILE.
an explanation ot all this ; you must tell me something that win
reassure me.'
' Alas ! madame,' replied Gilbert, ' I have so many private interests
to watch over at this moment, that it is impossible for me to think
of those of others ; my life and honour are at stake, as would be
the life and honour of Monsieur de Necker, if he could take ad-
vantage of the words which I shall tell him in the course of twenty
hours.'
' Sir, allow me to remember something that I have too long for-
gotten : it is that grave subjects ought not to be discussed in the
open air, in a park, within the reach of every ear.'
'Madame,' said Gilbert, ' I am now at your house, and permit me
to observe, that consequently, it is you who have chosen the place
where we now are. What do you wish ? I am entirely at your
command.'
' I wish you to do me the favour to finish this conversation in my
cabinet.'
' Ah ! ah !' said Gilbert to himself, ' if I did not fear to confuse
her, I would ask her whether her cabinet is at Brussels.'
But without asking her anything more, he contented himself
with following the baroness, who began to walk quickly toward the
chateau.
The same servant who had admitted Gilbert was found standing
in front of the house. Madame de Stael made a sign to him, and
opening the doors herself, she led Gilbert into her cabinet, a charm-
ing retreat, more masculine, it is true, than feminine, of which the
second door and the two windows opened into a small garden, which
was not only inaccessible to others, but also beyond the reach of all
strange eyes.
When they had gone in, Madame de Stael closed the door, and
turning towards Gilbert
' Sir, in the name of humanity, I call upon you to tell me the
secret which is so important to my father, and which has brought
you to Saint Ouen.'
' Madame,' said Gilbert, ' if your father could now hear me, if
he could but know that I am the man who sent the king the secret
memoirs entitled, " Of the State of Ideas and of Progress," I am
sure the Baron de Necker would immediately appear, and say to
me, " Doctor Gilbert, what do you desire of me speak, I am
listening."'
Gilbert had hardly pronounced these words when a secret door,
which was concealed by a panel painted by Vanloo, was noise-
lessly slid aside, and the Baron de Necker, with a smiling counte-
nance, suddenly appeared, standing at the foot of a small, winding
staircase, at the top of which could be perceived the dim rays of a
lamp.
Then the Baroness de Stael curtseyed to Gilbert, and, kissing
MADAME DE STAEL. 191
her father's forehead, left the room by the same staircase which
her father had just descended, and, having closed the panel, she
disappeared.
Necker advanced towards Gilbert and gave him his hand, say-
ing
' Here I am, Monsieur Gilbert ; what do you desire of me ? speak,
I am listening.'
They both seated themselves.
' Monsieur le Baron,' said Gilbert, ' you have just heard a secret
which has revealed all my ideas to you. It was I who, four years
ago, sent an essay to the king on the general state of Europe ; it is
I who, since then, have sent him from the United States the various
works he has received on all the questions of conciliation and in-
ternal administration which have been discussed in France.'
'Works of which his majesty,' replied M. de Necker, bowing,
' has never spoken to me without expressing a deep admiration of
them, though at the same time a profound terror at their contents.'
' Yes, because they told the truth. Was it not because the truth
was then terrible to hear, and, having become a fact, it is still mere
terrible to witness ?'
' That is unquestionably true, sir,' said Necker.
' Did the king send these essays to you for perusal ? asked
Gilbert.
' Not all of them, sir ; only two: one on the subject of the finances
and you were of my opinion with a very few exceptions ; but I
nevertheless felt myself much honoured by it'
' But that is not all ; there was one in which I predicted all the
important events which have taken place.'
'Ah !'
' Yes.'
' And which of them, sir, I pray ?'
' There were two in particular ; one was that the king would find
himself some day compelled to dismiss you, in consequence of some
engagements he had previously entered into.'
' Did you predict my disgrace to him ?
1 Perfectly.'
' That was the first event : what was the second ?
' The taking of the Bastile.'
*' Did you predict the taking of the Bastile ?'
' Monsieur le Baron, the Bastile was more that a royal prison, it
was the symbol of tyranny. Liberty has commenced its career by
destroying the symbol ; the revolution will do the rest.'
' Have you duly considered the serious nature of the words you
have just uttered, sir ?'
' Undoubtedly I have.'
' And you are not afraid to express such a theory openly ?*
4 Afraid of what ?
i 9 2 TAKING THE BASTILE.
f Afraid lest some misfortune should befall you.'
' Monsieur de Necker,' said Gilbert, smiling, ' after once having
got out of the Bastile, a man has nothing more to fear.'
' Have you, then, come out of the Bastile ?
' I ought to ask you that question.'
' Ask me ?'
' You, undoubtedly.'
' And why should you ask me ?'
' Because it was you who caused my imprisonment there.'
' I had you thrown into the Bastile ?*
' Six days ago ; the date, as you see, is not so very remote thai
you should not be able to recollect it.'
' It is impossible.'
' Do you recognise your own signature r*
And Gilbert showed the ex-minister a leaf of the jail-book of the
Bastile, and the lettre-de- cachet which was annexed to it.
' Yes,' said Nscker, ' that is doubtless the lettrc-de-cachet. You
know that I signed as few as possible, and that the smallest num-
ber possible was still four thousand annually ; besides which, at the
moment of my departure, they made me sign several in blank.
Your warrant of imprisonment, sir, must have been one of the
latter.'
'Do you mean to imply by this, that I must in no way attribute
my imprisonment to you r*
' No, of course not.'
'But still, Monsieur le Baron,' said Gilbert, smiling, 'you under-
stand my motives for being so curious ; it is absolutely necessary
that I should know to whom I am indebted for my captivity. Be
good enough, therefore, to tell me.'
' Oh ! there is nothing easier. I have never left my letters at
the ministry, and every evening I brought them back here. Those
of this month are in the drawer B of this chiffonnier ; let us look for
the letter G in the bundle.'
Necker opened the drawer, and looked over an enormous file,
which might have contained some five or six hundred letters.
1 1 only keep those letters,' said the ex-minister, ' which are of such
a nature as to cover my responsibility. Every arrest that I order
ensures me another enemy. I must therefore have guarded myself
against such a contingency. The contrary would surprise me greatly.
Let us see G G, that is the one. Yes, Gilbert your arrest was
brought about by some one in the queen's household, my dear sir.
Ah ah ! in the queen's household yes, here is a request for a
warrant against a man named Gilbert. Profession not mentioned ;
black eyes, black hair. The description of your person follows.
Travelling from Havre to Paris. That is all. Then the Gilbert men-
tioned in the warrant must have been you.'
' It was myself. Can you trust me with that letter?'
1 No ; but I can tell you by whom it was signed.'
MADAME DE STAEL. 193
* Please to do so.'
' By the Countess de Charny.'
' The Countess de Charny,' repeated Gilbert. ' I do not know her.
1 have done nothing to displease her.'
And he raised his head gently, as if endeavouring to recall to mind
the name of the person in question.
' There is, moreover, a small postscript,' continued Necker, ' with-
out any signature, but written in a hand I know.'
Gilbert stooped down and read in the margin of the letter
' Do what the Countess de Charny demands immediately.'
' It is strange,' said Gilbert. ' I can readily conceive why the
queen should have signed it, for I mentioned both her and the
Polignacs in my essays. But Madame de Charny '
' Do you not know her ?'
' It must be an assumed name. Besides, it is not at all to be
wondered at that the notabilities of Versailles should be unknown
to me. I have been absent from France for fifteen years, during
which time I only came back twice ; and I returned after my second
visit to it, some four years ago. Who is this Countess de Charny ?'
' The friend, the bosom companion of the queen ; the much be-
loved wife of the Count de Charny ; a woman who is both beautiful
and virtuous a prodigy, in short.'
' Well, then, I do not know this prodigy.'
' If such be the case, doctor, be persuaded of this, that you are
the victim of some political intrigue. Have you never spoken of
Count Cagliostro ?
' Yes.'
' Were you acquainted with him ?'
' He was my friend. He was even more than my friendhe was
my master, my saviour.'
' Well, then, either Austria or the Holy See must have demanded
your incarceration. You have published some pamphlets, have
you not ?
' Alas ! yes.'
' That is it precisely. All their petty revenges point towards the
queen, like the magnetic needle which points towards the pole the
iron towards the loadstone. They have been conspiring against
you they have had you followed. The queen has ordered Madame
de Charny to sign the letter, in order to prevent any suspicion ; and
now all the mystery is cleared up.'
Gilbert reflected for a moment. This moment of reflection re-
minded him of the box which had been stolen from Billot's house;
and with which neither the queen, nor Austria, nor the Holy See
had any connection. This recollection led his mind to consider the
matter in its right point of view.
' No,' said he, ' it is not that ; it cannot be that. But it matters
pot Let us talk of something else.'
194 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
'Of what? 1
' Of you.'
' Of me ? What can you have to say of me ?
' Only what you know, as well as any one else. It is that, before
three days have elapsed, you will be reinstated in your ministerial
capacity ; and then you may govern France as despotically as you
please.'
' Do you think so ?' said Necker, smiling.
' And you think so too, "since you are not at Brussels.
' Well, then,' exclaimed Necker, ' what will be the result ? for it
is the result I wish to come to.'
' Here it is. You are beloved by the French. You will soon be
adored by them. The queen was already tired of seeing you beloved.
The king will grow tired of seeing you adored. They will acquire
popularity at your expense, and you will not suffer it. Then you will
become unpopular in vour turn. The people, my dear Monsieur de
Necker, is like a starving lion, which licks only the hand that sup-
plies it with food, be it whose hand it may.'
' After that ?'
' After that you will again be lost in oblivion.'
' I fall into oblivion ?'
' Alas ! yes.'
' And what will cause me to be forgotten ?*
' The events of the times.'
' My word of honour for it, you speak like a prophet.'
' It is my misfortune to be one to a certain extent.'
' Let us hear now what will happen ?'
' Oh ! it is not difficult to predict what will happen, for that which
is to happen is already in embyro in the Assembly. A party will
arise that is slumbering at this moment. I am mistaken, it is not
slumbering, but it hides itself. This party has for its chief a prin-
ciple, and its weapon is an idea.'
' I understand you you mean the Orleanist party ?'
' No. I should have said of that one that its chief was a man,
and its weapon popularity. I speak to you of a party whose name
has not even yet been pronounced. Of the republican party.'
* Of the republican party ? Ah ! that is too ridiculous.'
4 Do you not believe in its existence ?
' A chimera.'
' Yes, a chimera, with a mouth of fire that will devour you all.'
'Well, then, I shall become a republican. I am one already.'
' A republican from Geneva, certainly.'
' But it seems to me that a republican is a republican.'
' There is your mistake, my good baron. Our republicans do not
resemble the republicans of other countries. Our republicans will
first have to devour all privileges, then the nobility, and after that
the monarchy. You may start with our republicans, but they will
MADAME DE STAEL> 195
reach the goal without you, for you will not desire to follow them
so far. No, Monsieur de Necker, you are mistaken, you are not a
republican.'
' Oh, if you understand it in that sense, no ; I love the king.*
' And I too,' said Gilbert ; ' and everybody at this moment loves
him as we do. If I were to say this to a mind of less calibre than
yours, I should be hooted and laughed at ; but believe what I tell
you, Monsieur de Necker.'
' I would readily do so, indeed, if there were any probability of
such an event ; but '
' Do you know any of the secret societies ?
' I have heard them much spoken of.'
' Do you believe in their existence ?
' I believe in their existence, but I do not believe they are very
extensively disseminated.'
' Are you affiliated to any one of them ?'
'No.'
' Do you belong even to a masonic lodge ?'
'No.'
' Well, then, Monsieur de Necker, I am a member of them all.'
* Are you affiliated to some of these societies ?
1 Yes, to all of them. Beware, Monsieur de Necker ; they form
an immense net that surrounds every throne. It is an invisible
dagger that threatens every monarchy. We form a brotherhood of
about three millions of men, disseminated throughout all classes of
society. We have friends among the people, among the citizens,
among the nobility, among princes, among sovereigns themselves.
Take care, Monsieur de Necker ; the prince with whom you might
be irritated is perhaps an affiliated member. The valet who hum-
bles himself in your presence may be an affiliated member. Your
life is not yours your fortune is not your own your honour even
is not yours. All this is directed by an invisible power, which you
cannot combat, for you do not know it, and which may crush you,
because it knows you. Well, these three millions of men, do you
see, who have already made the American republic, these three
millions of men will try to form a French republic ; then they will
try to make a European republic.'
' But,' said Necker, ' their republic of the United States does not
alarm me much, and I willingly accept such a form of government.'
' Yes, but between America and ourselves there is a deep gulf.
America is a new country, without prejudices, without aristocratic
privileges, without monarchy. It has a fertile soil, productive land,
and virgin forests ; America, which is situated between a sea which
serves as an outlet for its commerce, and an immense solitude which
is a source of wealth to its population, while France ! just con-
sider how much it would be necessary to destroy in France before
France can resemble America.'
196 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' But, in fine, what do you intend to prove by this ?
' I mean to point out to you the path into which we are inevitably
forced. But I would endeavour to advance into it without causing
any shock, by placing the king at the head of the movement.'
' As a standard ?
' No, but as a shield.'
' A shield !' observed Necker, smiling. ' You know but little of
the king if you wish to make him play such a part.'
' Pardon me I know him well. Oh ! gracious heaven ! I know
full well he is a man similar to a thousand others whom I have seen
at the head of small districts in America ; he is a good man without
majesty, incapable of resistance, without originality of mind. But
what would you have ? Were it only for his sacred title, he would
still be a rampart against those men of whom I was speaking to
you a short time ago ; and however weak the rampart may be, we
like it better than no defence at all.
' I remember in our wars with the savage tribes of North America,'
continued Gilbert, ' I remember having passed whole nights behind
a clump of bulrushes, while the enemy was on the opposite bank of
the river, and was firing upon us.
' A bulrush is certainly no great defence. Still, I must frankly
acknowledge to you, Monsieur de Necker, that my heart beat more
freely behind those large green tubes, which were cut through by
the bullets as if they were thread papers, than it did in the open
field. Well, then, the king is my rush. It allows me to see the
enemy, and it prevents the enemy from seeing me. That is the
reason why I am a republican at New York or at Philadelphia, but
a royalist in France. There our dictator was named Washington.
Here, God knows what he will be named: either dagger or scaffold.'
' You seem to view things in colours of blood, doctor.'
' You would have seen them in the same light as myself, if you
had been, as I was, on the Place de Greve to-day.'
' Yes, that is true ; I was told that a massacre had taken place
there.'
' There is something magnificent, do you see, in the people but
it is when well disposed. Oh ! human tempests !' exclaimed Gilbert,
' how much do you surpass in fury all the tempests of the skies !'
Necker became thoughtful.
' Why can I not have you near me, doctor ?' said he ; ' you would
be a useful counsellor in time of need.'
' Near you, Monsieur de Necker ? I should not be so useful to
you, and so useful to France, as where I wish to go.'
' And where do you wish to go ?'
' Listen to me, sir ; near the throne itself there is a great enemy
of the throne ; near the king there is a great enemy of the king ; it
is the queen. Poor woman ! who forgets that she is the daughter
of Maria Theresa, or rather, who only remembers it in a vain-
glorious point of view : she thinks to save the king, and ruins more
MADAME DE STAEL. 19?
than the king, for she destroys the monarchy. Well, it is necessary
that we who love the king, we who love France, should unite
together to neutralise her power, and to annihilate her influence.'
' Well, then, do as I said, sir : remain with me, assist me/
' If I were to remain near you, we should have but one sphere for
action ; you would be me, and I should be you. We must separate
our forces, sir, and then they will acquire a double weight.'
' And, with all that, what can we accomplish ?'
' We may retard the catastrophe, perhaps, but certainly we cannot
prevent it, although I can answer for the assistance of a powerful
auxiliary, the Marquis de Lafayette. 1
' Is not Lafayette a republican ?'
' As far as a Lafayette can be a republican. If we are absolutely
to submit to the level of equality, believe me, we had better choose
the level of nobility. I like equality that elevates, and not that
which lowers mankind.'
'And you can answer for Lafayette ?
' Yes, so long as we shall require nothing of him but honour,
courage, and devotedness.'
' Well, then, speak ; tell me what is it you desire r*
' A letter of introduction to his majesty, Louis XVI.'
' A man of your worth does not need a letter of introduction ; he
may present himself without it.'
' No, it suits me that I should be your creature ; it is part of my
project to be presented by you.'
' And what is your ambition ?'
' To become one of the king's physicians in ordinary.'
' Oh, there is nothing more easy. But the queen ?'
' When I have once seen the king, that will be my own affair.'
' But if she should persecute you ?
'Then I will make the king assert his will.'
' The king assert his will ? You will be more than a man if you
accomplish that.'
' He who can control the physical part of a man, must be a great
simpleton indeed if he does not some day succeed in controlling
the mind.'
' But do you not think that having been imprisoned in the Bastile
is but a sorry recommendation for you, who wish to become the
king's physician ?'
' On the contrary, it is the very best. Have I not been, according
to you, persecuted for the crime of philosophy ?'
' I fear such is the case.'
' Then the king will vindicate his reputation the king will become
popular by taking as his physician a pupil of Rousseau a partizan
of the new doctrines a prisoner who has left the Bastile, in short.
The first time you see him, make him duly weigh the advantage of
such a course.'
198 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' You are always in the right ; but when once you are employed
by the king, can I rely upon you i"
' Entirely, so long as you shall follow the line of politics which
we shall adopt.'
' What will you promise me ?
' To warn you of the precise moment when you must retreat.'
Necker looked at Gilbert for a moment ; then, in a more
-thoughtful tone
' Indeed ; that is the greatest service which a devoted friend can
render to a minister, for it is the last one.'
And he seated himself at his table to write to the king.
While he was thus occupied, Gilbert was again examining the
letter demanding his arrest ; he several times repeated,
' The Countess de Charny ? who can she be ?'
' Here, sir,' said Necker, a few moments after, while he presented
Gilbert with the letter he had just written,
Gilbert took the letter and read it.
It contained the following lines :
' SIRE, Your majesty needs the services of a trustworthy person,
with whom he may converse upon his affairs. My last gift, my last
service in leaving the king, is the present I make him of Doctor
Gilbert.
' It will be sufficient for me to tell your majesty that Doctor Gilbert
is not only one of the most skilful physicians living, but also the
author of the works entitled " Administrations and Politics," which
made so lively an impression upon the mind of your majesty.
' At your majesty's feet,
'BARON DE NECKER.'
Necker did not date the letter, and gave it to Doctor Gilbert,
closed only with an ordinary seal.
' And now,' added he, ' I am again at Brussels, am I not ?'
' Yes, certainly, and more so than ever. To-morrow morning, at
all events, you shall hear from me.'
The baron struck against the panel in a peculiar manner.
Madame de Stael again appeared ; only this time, in addition to
her branch of pomegranate, she held one of Doctor Gilbert's
pamphlets in her hands.
She showed him the title of it with a sort of flattering coquetry.
Gilbert took leave of M. de Necker, and kissed the hand of the
oaroness, who accompanied him to the door of the cabinet.
And he returned to his coach, where he found Pitou and Billot
sleeping upon the front seat, the coachman sleeping on his box, and
the horses sleeping upon their exhausted limbs.
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 199
CHAPTER XXII.
THE KING LOUIS XVI.
THE interview between Gilbert, Madame de Stael,and M. de Necker
had lasted about an hour and a half. Gilbert re-entered Paris at a
quarter past nine o'clock, drove straight to the post-house, ordered
horses and a post-chaise ; and while Billot and Pitou were gone to
rest themselves, after their fatigue, in a small hotel in the Rue
Thiroux, where Billot generally put up when he came to Paris,
Gilbert set off at a gallop on the road to Versailles.
It was late, but that mattered little to Gilbert. To men of his
nature, activity is a necessity. Perhaps his journey might be a
fruitless one. But he even preferred a useless journey to remaining
motionless. For nervous temperaments, uncertainty is a greater tor-
ment than the most frightful reality.
He arrived at Versailles at half past ten ; in ordinary times,
every one would have been in bed and wrapped in the profoundest
slumber ; but that night no eye was closed at Versailles. They had
felt the counter-shock of the terrible concussion with which Paris
was still trembling.
The French Guards, the body-guards, the Swiss drawn up in
platoons, and grouped near the openings of all the principal streets,
were conversing among themselves, or with those of the citizens
whose fidelity to the monarchy inspired them with confidence.
For Versailles has, at all times, been a royalist city. Religious
respect for the monarchy, if not for the monarch, is engrafted in the
hearts of its inhabitants, as if it were a quality of its soil. Having
always lived near kings, andfosteredby their bounty, beneath the shade
of their wonders having always inhaled the intoxicating perfume of
ihefleurs de lys, and seen the brilliant gold of their garments, and the
smiles upon their august lips, the inhabitants of Versailles, for whom
kings have built a city of marble and porphyry, feel almost kings
themselves ; and even at the present day, even now, when moss is
growing round the marble, and grass is springing up between the
slabs of the pavement, now that gold has almost disappeared from
the wainscoting, and that the shady walks of the parks are more
solitary than a graveyard, Versailles must either belie its origin, or
must consider itself as a fragment of the fallen monarchy, and no
longer feeling the pride of power and wealth, must at least retain the
poetical associations of regret, and the sovereign charms of melan-
choly. Thus, as we have already stated, all Versailles, in the night
between the I4th and I5th July, 1789, was confusedly agitated,
anxious to ascertain how the King of France would reply to the
insult offered to the throne, and the deadly wound inflicted on his
power.
By his answer to M. de Dreux Bre'ze', Mirabeau had struck the
/ery face of royalty.
200 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
By the taking of the Bastile, the people had struck royalty to the
heart.
Still, to narrow-minded and short-sighted persons the question
seemed easy of solution. In the eyes of military men in particular,
who were accustomed to see nothing more than the triumph or de-
feat of brute-force in the result of events, it was merely necessary to
march upon Paris. Thirty thousand men and twenty pieces of
cannon would soon reduce to a nonentity the conceit and the vic-
torious fury of the Parisians.
Never had monarchy so great a number of advisers, for every-
body uttered his opinions loudly and publicly.
The most moderate said :
' It is a very simple matter.'
This form of language, it will be observed, is nearly always applied,
with us, to the most difficult circumstances.
f It is a very simple matter,' said they. ' Let them begin by obtain-
ing from the National Assembly a sanction which it will not refuse.
Its attitude has, for some time, been re-assuring to everyone ; it will
not countenance violence committed by the lower classes, any more
than abuses perpetrated by the upper.
' The Assembly will plainly declare that insurrection is a crime ;
that citizens who have representatives to explain their griefs to the
king, and a king to do them justice, are wrong to have recourse to
arms and to shed blood.
' Being once armed with this declaration, which could certainly be
obtained from the Assembly, the king could not avoid chastising
Paris, like a good parent, that is to say, severely.
' And then the tempest would be allayed, and the monarchy would
regain the first of its rights. The people would return to their duty,
which is obedience, and things would go on in the us'.ial way.'
It was thus that the people in general were settling this great
question, upon the squares and the Boulevards.
But before the Place d'Armes, and in the vicinity of the barracks,
they treated the subject very differently.
There could be seen men altogether unknown in the neighbour-
hood, men with intelligent countenances and sinister looks, dis-
seminating mysterious advice to all around them, exaggerating the
news which was already sufficiently serious, and propagating, almost
publicly, the seditious ideas which during two months had agitated
Paris and excited the suburbs. Round these men groups were form-
ing, some gloomy and hostile, some excited, composed of people
whom these orators were reminding of their misery, their sufferings,
the brutal disdain of the monarchy for the privations of the people.
An orator said to them :
' During eigh> centuries that the people have struggled, what have
they obtained : Nothing. No social rights ; no political rights.
What is their fate ? That of the farmer's cow, from whom its calf is
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 201
led to the shambles, its milk to be sold at the market, its meat to be
taken to the slaughter-house, its rkin to be dried at the tannery. In
short, pressed by want, the monarchy has yielded, it has made an
appeal to the States; but nowthat the States are assembled, what does
the monarchy ? Since the day of their convocation it weighs heavily
upon them. If the National Assembly is formed, it is against the
will of the monarchy. Well, then ! since our brethren of Paris have
just given us such vigorous assistance, let us urge the National
Assembly onward. Each step which it takes in the political arena
is a victory for us : it is the extension of our field, it is the increase
of our fortune, it is the consecration of our rights. Forward ! for-
ward, citizens ! The Bastile is but the outwork of tyranny ! The
Bastile is taken the citadel is before us !'
In remote corners other meetings were formed, and other words
pronounced. Those who pronounced them were men evidently be-
longing to a superior class, who had sought in the costume of the
vulgar a disguise with which their white hands and distinguished
accent contrasted strangely.
' People,' exclaimed these men, ' in truth, you are deceived on both
sides ! Some ask you to retrace your steps, while others urge you
onward. Some speak to you of political rights, of social rights ; but
are you happier for having been permitted to vote through the
medium of your delegates ? Are you any the richer since you have
been represented ? Have you been less hungry, now that the
National Assembly makes decrees ? No. Leave politics, then, to
those who can read. It is not a written phrase or maxim that you
need. It is bread, and again bread ; it is the well-being of your
children, the tranquillity and security of your wives. Who will give
you all that ? A king, firm in character, young in mind, and of a
generous heart. That king is not Louis XVI. Louis XVI. who is
ruled by his wife, the iron-hearted Austrian. It is search carefully
round the throne ; search there for him who can render France
happy, and whom the queen naturally detests, and that because he
throws a shadow over the picture, because he loves the French, and
is beloved by them.'
Thus did public opinion manifest itself at Versailles, thus was
civil war fomented everywhere.
Gilbert observed several of these groups, and then, -having per-
ceived the state of the public mind, he walked straight to the palace,
which was guarded by numerous military posts, to protect it against
whom no one knew.
Notwithstanding all these precautions, Gilbert, without the
slightest difficulty, crossed the first courtyard, and reached the ves-
tibule without having been asked by any one where he was going.
When he arrived at the Hall of the (Eil-de-Boeuf, he was stopped
by one of the body-guards. Gilbert drew from his pocket the letter
of Monsieur de Necker, whose signature he showed.
14
302 TAKING THE BASTILE.
The guard cast his eyes over it. The instructions he had received
were very strict ; and as the strictest instructions are precisely those
which most need to be interpreted, the guard said to Gilbert :
' The order, sir, to allow no one to visit the king is positive ; but
as the case of a person sent by Monsieur de Necker was evidently
not foreseen, and as, according to all probability, you are the bearer
of important information to his majesty, go in. J will take the
responsibility upon myself.'
Gilbert entered.
The king was not in his apartments, but in the council-room. He
was just receiving a deputation from the National Guard of Paris,
which had come to request the dismissal of the troops, the forma-
tion of a guard of citizens, and his presence in the capital.
Louis had listened coldly ; then he had replied that the situation
of affairs required investigation ; and that, moreover, he was about
to deliberate on the subject with his council.
And, accordingly, he deliberated.
During this time the deputies were waiting in the gallery ; and,
through the ground-glass windows of the doors they could observe
the shadows of the royal councillors and the threatening attitude
which they assumed.
By the study of this species of phantasmagoria, they could foresee
that the answer would be unfavourable.
In fact, the king contented himself with saying that he would
appoint some officers for the national militia, and would order the
troops at the Champ-de-Mars to fall back.
As to his presence in Paris, he would only show this favour when
the rebellious city had completely submitted.
The deputation begged, insisted, and conjured. The king replied
that his heart was grieved, but that he could do nothing more.
And satisfied with this momentary triumph and this manifestation
of a power which he no longer possessed, the king returned to his
apartment.
He there found Gilbert. The guard was standing near him.
' What is wanted of me ?' asked the king.
The body-guard approached him, and while he was apologising to
the king for having disobeyed his orders, Gilbert, who for many
years had not seen the king, was silently examining the man whom
God had given to France as her pilot during the most violent tem-
pest the country had ever experienced.
^ That stout, short body, in which there was neither elasticity nor
| majesty ; that inexpressive and low-formed brow ; that pallid youth-
jfulness contending against premature old age ; the unequal struggle
rbetween a powerful physical organisation and a mediocre intelli-
j gence, to which the haughtiness of rank alone gave a fitting impor-
l^tance all these to the physiognomist who had studied Lavater, to
the magnetiser who had read the future with Balsamo, to the
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 203
philosopher who had dreamed with Jean Jacques, to the traveller, in
short, who had passed all the human races in review all these im-
plied degeneracy, dwindling, impotence, and ruin.
Gilbert was therefore struck dumb, not from a feeling of respect,
but from grief, while contemplating this mournful spectacle.
The king advanced towards him.
' It is you,' said he, ' who bring me a letter from Monsieur de
Necker ?
1 Yes, sire.'
' Ah !' cried he, as if he had doubted it, ' give it to me quickly.'
And he pronounced these words in the tone of a drowning man
who cries out ' A rope !'
Gilbert presented the letter to the king.
Louis immediately grasped it, read it hurriedly, then, with a sign
\ which was not altogether wanting in a sort of nobleness of manner
' Leave us, Monsieur de Varicourt,' said he to the body-guard.
Gilbert remained alone with the king. The room was lighted but
by a single lamp. It might have been thought the king had dimi-
nished the quantity of light, in order that no one should perceive
on his wearied rather than careworn brow the anxious thoughts
which crowded there.
' Sir,' said he, fastening upon Gilbert a clearer and more pene-
trating gaze than the latter would have thought him capable of
' Sir, is it true that you are the author of the memoirs which have
so much struck me ?'
' Yes, sire.'
' What is your age ?'
' Thirty-two years, sire ; but study and misfortunes double age.
Treat me as if I were an old man.'
' Why did you omit so long to present yourself to me ?'
' Because, sire, I did not wish to tell your majesty aloud what I
could write to him more freely and more easily.'
Louis XVI. reflected.
' Had you no other reason ?' said he suspiciously.
' No, sire.'
' But still, either I am mistaken, or there were some peculiar cir-
cumstances which ought to have convinced you of my kindly feeling
towards you.' -
' Your majesty intends to speak of that sort of rendezvous which I
had the temerity to give the king, when, after my first memoir, I
begged him, five years ago, to place a light near his window, at eight
o'clock in the evening, to indicate that he had read my work.'
'And ?' said the king, with an air of satisfaction.
' And on the day and at the hour appointed the light was, in fact,
placed where I had asked you to place it.'
' And afterwards ?
1 Afterwards I saw it lifted up and set down again three times.'
204 TAKING THE BASTJLE.
' And then ?'
' After that I read the following words in the " Gazette :"
' " He whom the light has called three times may present himself
to him who has raised it three times, when he will be compensated."
' Those are, in fact, the very words of the advertisement,' said the
king.
' And there is the advertisement itself,' said Gilbert, drawing from
his pocket the number of the ' Gazette ' in which the advertisement
he had just alluded to had been published five years previously.
' Well very well,' said the king, ' I long expected you. You
arrive at a moment I had quite ceased to expect you. You are wel-
come ; for you come, like good soldiers, at the moment of the battle.'
Then, looking once more attentively at Gilbert
' Do you know, sir,' said he to him, ' that it is not an ordinary
thing for a king to await the arrival of a person to whom he has
said, " Come to receive your reward," and that that person should
abstain from coming.'
Gilbert smiled.
' Come, now, tell me,' said Louis XVI., ' why did you not come ?'
' Because I deserved no reward, sire.'
' For what reason ?'
Born a Frenchman, loving my country, anxious for its prosperity,
confounding my individuality with that of thirty millions of men,
my fellow-citizens, I laboured for myself while labouring for them.
A man is not worthy of reward when he labours for his own interest.
' That is a paradox, sir : you had another reason.'
Gilbert did not reply.
' Speak, sir, I desire it.'
' Perhaps, sire, you have guessed rightly.
' Is not that it ? asked the king in an anxious tone. l You found
the position a very serious one, and you abstained.'
' For fear of one still more serious. Yes, sire, your majesty has
divined the truth.'
' I like frankness,' said the king, who could not conceal his agita-
tion ; for he was of a timid nature and blushed easily.
'Then,' continued Louis XVI., 'you predicted the king's fall fro
him, and you feared to be placed too near the ruins.'
' No, sire, since it is just at the moment that danger is most im-
minent that I come to face the danger.'
' Yes, yes ; you have just left Necker, and you speak like him.
The danger ! the danger ! Without doubt, it is dangerous at this
moment to approach me. And where is Necker ?'
' Quite ready, I believe, to obey the orders of your majesty.'
' So much the better ; I shall want him,' said the king, with a
sigh. ' In politics we must not be headstrong. We think to do
good, and we do wrong. We even do good, and some capricious
event mars our projects ; and though the plans laid were in reality
good, we are accused of having been mistaken.'
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 205
The king sighed again. Gilbert came to his assistance.
' Sire,' said he, ' your majesty reasons admirably ; but what is
desirable at the present moment is, to see into the future more
clearly than has been done hitherto.'
The king raised his head, and his inexpressive eyebrows slightly
frowned.
' Sire, forgive me,' said Gilbert ; ' I am a physician. When the
danger is imminent I speak briefly.'
' Do you, then, attach much importance to the riot of to-day ?'
' Sire, it is not a riot it is a revolution.'
' And you wish me to make terms with rebels and assassins ? For,
in fine, they have taken the Bastile by force : it is an act of rebel-
lion ; they have killed Monsieur de Launay, Monsieur de Losme,
and Monsieur de Flesselles : it is murder.'
' I wish you to distinguish more correctly, sire. Those who took
the Bastile are heroes ; those who assassinated Messieurs de Fles-
selles, De Losme, and De Launay are murderers.'
The king coloured slightly, and almost immediately this colour
disappeared, his lips became pale, and a few drops of perspiration
trickled down his forehead.
' You are right, sir. You are a physician indeed, or a surgeon
rather, for you cut to the quick. But let us return to the object of
our interview. You are Dr. Gilbert, are you not ? or, at least, it is
with this name that your memoirs are signed.'
' Sire, it does me great honour that your majesty has so good a
memory, although, taking it all in all, I have no great reason to be
proud of my name,'
' How is that ?'
' My name must, indeed, have been pronounced before your
majesty, and that not long ago.'
' I do not understand you.'
' Six days ago I was arrested and thrown into the Bastile. Now
I have heard it said that no arrest of any importance was ever
made without the king being aware of the fact.'
' You in the Bastile !' said the king, opening his eyes widely.
' Here is the registration of my imprisonment, sire. Put in prison,
as I have the honour to tell your majesty, six days ago, by order of
the king, I came out of it at three o'clock to-day, by the grace of
the people.'
'To-day?'
' Yes, sire. Did your majesty hear the cannon ?'
' Most undoubtedly.'
' Well, then, the cannon opened the gates for me.'
'Ah !' murmured the king, ' I would willingly say that I am pleased
at this event, had not the cannon of this morning been fired at the
Bastile and the monarchy at the same time.'
' Oh ! sire, do not make a prison the symbol of a principle : say,
206 TAKING THE BASTILE.
on the contrary, sire, that you rejoice that the Bastile is taken : for,
henceforward, injustice will not be committed in the king's name
without his cognizance injustice similar to that of which I have
just been the victim.'
' But surely, sir, your arrest must have had a cause f
' None that I know of, sire ; I was arrested on my return to France,
and imprisoned, that is all.'
' Really, sir,' said Louis XVI., kindly, ' is there not some egotism
on your part, in speaking to me thus of yourself, when I so much
need to have my own position spoken of?
' Sire, all I require is, that your majesty will answer me one single
question.'
' What is it ?
' Was or was not your majesty concerned in my arrest ?
' I was not even aware of your return to France.'
' I rejoice at this answer, sire ; I shall then be enabled to declare
openly that when your majesty is supposed to do wrong, he is nearly
always calumniated ; and to those who doubt it, I can cite myself
as an example.'
The king smiled.
' As a physician,' said he, ' you pour balm into the wound.'
' Oh ! sire, I shall pour in the balm abundantly ; and, if you desire
it, I will cure the wound, that I will answer for/
' I most assuredly desire it.'
' You must desire it very firmly, sire.'
' I do desire it firmly.'
' Before going any farther, sire,' said Gilbert,' read that line written
in the margin of my jail-book entry.'
' What line ? asked the king in an anxious tone.
Gilbert presented the page to the king. The king read : ' By
request of the queen.'
The king frowned.
' Of the queen !' said he ; ' can you have incurred her displeasure ?'
' Sire, I am certain her majesty knows me still less than did your
majesty.'
' But still, you must have committed some fault ; a man is not
sent to the Bastile for nothing.'
' It would seem so, since I have just come out of it.'
' But Monsieur Necker has sent you to me, and the warrant of
imprisonment was signed by him.'
' It was so undoubtedly.'
' Then explain yourself more clearly. Review your past life. See
if you do not find some circumstance in it which you had yourself
forgotten.'
' Review my past life ! Yes, sire ; I shall do it, and aloud ; do
not fear, it will not occupy much time. I have laboured without
intermission since I attained the age of sixteen ; the pupil of Jean
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 207
Jacques, the companion of Balsamo, the friend of Lafayette and of
Washington,! have never had cause to reproach myself, since the day
that I left France, for a single fault, nor even an error. When acquired
science permitted me 10 attend the wounded or the sick, I always
thought myself responsible to God for every one of my thoughts,
and every action. Since God had given me the care of human
beings as a surgeon, I have shed blood for the sake of humanity,
while ready to give my own to soothe or to save my patient ; as a
physician, I have always been a consoler, and sometimes a bene-
factor. Fifteen years have thus passed away. God blessed my
efforts : I saw return to life the greater part of the afflicted, who
all kissed my hands. Those who died had been condemned by the
will of God. No, I repeat it, sire, since the day when I left France,
and that was fifteen years ago, I have done nothing with which I
can reproach myself.'
' You have associated with the innovators of America, and your
writings have propagated their principles.'
' Yes, sire ; and I forgot this claim to the gratitude of kings and
men.'
The king was silent.
' Sire,' continued Gilbert, ' now, my life is known to you ; I have
neither offended nor wounded any one neither a beggar nor a
queen and I come to ask your majesty why I have been punished.'
' I shall speak to the queen, Monsieur Gilbert ; but do you think
the lettre-de-cachet comes directly from the queen.'
' I do not say that, sire : I even think the queen merely recom-
mended it.'
' Ah ! you see,' cried Louis, quite joyfully.
' Yes ; but you are aware, sire, that what a queen recommends,
she commands.'
'At whose request was the lettre-de-cachet granted?
' Yes, sire,' said Gilbert. ' Look at it.'
And he presented him the entry in the gaol book,
' The Countess de Charny !' exclaimed the king. ' How, it is she
who caused your arrest ? But what can you have done to this poor
Charny ?*
' I did not even know that lady by name, this morning, sire.'
Louis passed his hand over his brow.
' Charny,' murmured he, ' Charny sweetness, virtue, chastity
itself.'
' You will see, sire,' said Gilbert, laughing, ' that I was imprisoned
in the Bastile at the request of the three theological virtues !'
' Oh ! I will clear this up at once,' said the king.
And he went to the fire-place and pulled the bell.
An usher appeared.
' Sec if the Countess de Charny is with the queen,' said Louis.
' Sire,' said the usher, ' the countess has just this instant crossed
the gallery ; she is about stepping into her coach.'
208 TAKING THE
' Run after her,' said Louis eagerly, ' and request her to come to
my cabinet on an affair of importance.'
Then, turning towards Gilbert :
' Ts that what you desire, sir ?' said he.
'Yes, sire,' answered Gilbert, 'and I return a thousand thanks to
your majesty.'
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE COUNTESS DE CHARNY.
GILBERT, on hearing the order to send for Madame de Charny, had
retired into the recess of a window.
As to the king, he was walking up and down in the room called the
CEil-de-Bceuf, pre-occupied at times with public affairs, at others with
the pertinacity of this Gilbert, by whom, in spite of himself, he felt
strangely influenced, and at a moment when nothing ought to have
interested him but the affairs of Paris.
Suddenly the door of the cabinet was thrown open, the usher
announced the Countess de Charny ; and Gilbert, through the closed
curtains, could perceive a woman, whose flowing and silken robes
grazed the half-opened door.
This lady was dressed, according to the fashion of the times, in
a de"shabille of grey silk, striped with a variety of colours, with a
petticoat of the same stuff, and a sort of shawl, which, after being
crossed over the chest, was fastened behind her waist, and showed
to great advantage the beauties of a full and well-developed bosom.
A small bonnet, coquettishly fixed on the summit of a high head-
dress, high-heeled shoes, which showed the exquisite shape of a
beautiful instep, a small cane twirled by the gloved fingers of a
slender and delicate hand, with tapering and perfectly aristocratic
fingers : such was the person so anxiously expected by Gilbert.
The king stepped forward to meet her.
' You were just going out, countess, I was told.'
' In truth, sire,' replied the countess, ' I was on the point of step-
ping into my carriage when I received your majesty's order.'
On hearing this firm-toned voice, the ears of Gilbert were suddenly
assailed as with a rushing sound. The blood instantly suffused his
cheeks, and a thousand shudders appeared to thrill through his
whole system.
Despite himself, he made a step from the curtain, behind which
he had secreted himself.
'She !' stammered he ; ' she Andre"e '
' Madame,' continued the king, who, as well as the countess, had
not observed the emotion of Gilbert, who was hidden in the shade,
' I requested you to visit me, for the purpose of obtaining some infor-
mation from you.'
THE KING LOUIS XVJ. aog
4 1 am ready to comply with your majesty's wishes.'
The king leaned in the direction of Gilbert, as if to warn him.
The latter, perceiving that the moment to show himself had not
yet arrived, gradually withdrew himself again behind the curtain.
' Madame,' said the king, ' it is now eight or ten days since a
warrant of imprisonment was requested of Monsieur de Necker '
Gilbert, through the almost imperceptible opening between the
curtains, fastened his gaze upon Andre'e. The young woman was
pale, feverish, and anxious, and appeared borne down by the weight
of a secret prepossession, for which even she herself could not
account.
' You hear me, do you not, countess ?' asked Louis XVI., seeing
that Madame de Charny hesitated before answering.
' Yes, sire.'
'Well, do you understand me, and can you answer my question ?'
' I am endeavouing to remember,' said Andre'e.
' Permit me to assist your memory countess. The warrant of
imprisonment was demanded by you, and the demand was counter-
signed by the queen,'
The countess, instead of answering, appeared to abandon herself
more and more to that feverish abstraction which seemed to lead
her beyond the limits of real life.
' But answer me, then, madame,' said the king, who began to grow
impatient.
' It is true,' said she, trembling, ' it is true. I wrote the letter,
and her majesty the queen countersigned it.'
' Then,,' asked Louis, ' tell me the crime which had been committed
by the person against whom such a document was required.'
' Sire,' said Andre'e, ' I cannot tell you what crime he had com-
mitted : but what I can tell you is, that the crime was great.'
' Oh ! can you not confide that even to me ?
' No, sire.'
' Not to the king ?
1 No. I hope your majesty will forgive me ; but I cannot.'
' Then you shall tell it to him in person, madame,' said the king ;
' for what you have refused to King Louis XVI., you cannot refuse
to Doctor Gilbert.'
' To Doctor Gilbert !' exclaimed Andre'e. ' Great God ! where is
he then ?
The king stepped aside to allow Gilbert to advance ; the curtains
v/ere thrown apart, and the doctor appeared, almost as pale as
Andre'e.
' Here he is, madame,' said he.
At the sight of Gilbert, the countess staggered. Her limbs shook
beneath her. She fell backwards, as does a person who is about to
faint, and only maintained a standing position with the assistance
of an arm-chair, on 'vbich she leaned in the sorrowful, motionless,
aio TAKING THE BAST1LE.
and almost unconscious attitude of Eurydice at the moment when
the serpent's venom reaches her heart.
' Madame,' said Gilbert, bowing to her with mock politeness, ' allow
me to repeat the question which has just been put to you by his
majesty.'
The lips of Andre*e could be seen to move, but no sound issued
from them.
' What offence had I committed, madame, that an order from you
should have caused me to be thrown into a loathsome dungeon ?'
On hearing this voice, Andre's bounded as if she had felt the tear-
ing asunder of the fibres of her heart.
Then, on a sudden, casting upon Gilbert an icy look, like that of
a serpent
' Me, sir ?' said she ; ' I do not know you.'
But while 3he pronounced these words, Gilbert, on his side, had
looked at her with such intentness, he had loaded the brightness of
his gaze with so much invincible audacity, that the countess cast
down her eyes, completely overpowered.
' Countess,' said the king, in a mild tone of reproach, ' see where
the abuse of a signature may lead you. Here is a gentleman whom
you do not know, and you yourself confess it : a man who is a great
practitioner, a profound physician, a man who can be reproached
for nothing.'
Andrde raised her head, and almost petrified Gilbert by her con-
temptuous look.
He, however, remained calm and proud.
' I say, then,' continued the king, 'that having no cause for com-
plaint against Monsieur Gilbert, by thus persecuting him instead
of another, it is on the head of an innocent man that punishment
has fallen. Countess, this is wrong.'
' Sire/ said Andrde.
'Ah !' interrupted the king, who already trembled for fear of dis-
obliging the favourite of his wife, ' I know that you are kind-hearted,
and that if you have punished some one through hatred, that person
must have deserved it ; but you see that it will be necessary, in
future, to avoid the recurrence of such mistakes.'
Then, turning towards Gilbert
' You see, doctor, it is the fault of the times rather than that of
men. We are born in corruption, and we die in it ; but we will
endeavour at least to ameliorate the condition of posterity, and
you will, I trust, assist me in this work, Doctor Gilbert.'
And Louis ceased speaking, thinking he had said enough to
satisfy both parties.
Poor king ! had he pronounced those words before the National
Assembly, not only would he have been applauded, but, moreover,
he would have seen them reproduced in all the court journals.
But the two unrelenting enemies present at this interview appre-
ciated but little his conciliating philosophy.
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 211
* With your majesty's permission,' said Gilbert, ' I will request the
Countess to repeat what she has already stated, namely, that she
does not know me.'
4 Countess,' said the king, ' will you do what the doctor requests
o^youj"
'I do not know Doctor Gilbert,' repeated Andre'e in a firm voice.
4 But you know another Gilbert, my namesake ; the Gilbert whose
crime has been visited on me.'
' Oh !' said Andre'e, ' I know that person, and I consider him an
infamous wretch.'
' Sire, it would not become me to interrogate the countess,' said
Gilbert ; ' but deign to ask her of what that infamous man has been
guilty.'
' Countess, you cannot refuse acceding to so just a request.'
4 What he has done ? said Andre'e. ' Doubtless the queen knew
of what crime he had been guilty, since with her own hand she
authorised the letter by means of which I applied for his arrest.'
' But,' said the king, ' it is not quite sufficient that the queen
should be convinced ; it is necessary that I too should be convinced.
The queen is the queen, but I am the king.'
,' Well then, sire, the Gilbert mentioned in the warrant is a man
who, sixteen years ago, committed a most fearful crime.'
' Will your majesty ask the countess how old that man is at the
present day ?'
The king repeated the question.
' From thirty to thirty-two,' said Andre'e.
4 Sire,' rejoined Gilbert, ' if the crime was committed sixteen years
ago, it was not committed by a man, but by a child ; and if, during
these sixteen years, the man has deplored the crime committed by
the child, does not that man deserve some little leniency ?'
4 But, sir,' asked the king, ' you then know the Gilbert in ques-
tion ?'
' I know him, sire,' said Gilbert.
4 And has he committed no other fault except this one of his early
youth ?
4 1 do not know that since the day on which he committed I will
not say that fault, sire, for I am less indulgent than you but that
crime, I do not know that any one in this world has aught to reproach
him with.'
' No, unless it is having dipped his pen in poison, and having
composed the most odious libels,' cried Andre'e.
' Sire, please to ask the countess,' said Gilbert, ' if the real object
of the arrest of this Gilbert was not to afford every facility to his
enemies, or rather to his enemy, to obtain possession of a certain
casket, containing certain papers, which might have compromised
a great lady, a lady of the court.'
Andre'e trembled from head to foot,
212 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
' Monsieur,' faltered she.
' Countess, what is this casket ? asked the king, who had per
ceived the trembling and the pallor of the countess.
'Ah ! madame,' cried Gilbert, feeling that he was gaining the
mastery, ' no tergiversation no subterfuge. There have been mis-
statements enough on both sides. I am the Gilbert who committed
the crime I am the Gilbert of the libels I am the Gilbert of the
casket. You you are the great lady the lady of the court. I
call upon the king to be our judge ; accept him, and we will tell to
this judge to the king to God we will tell all that has occurred
between us ; and the king shall decide while we await the judgment
of God.'
' Say what you will, sir,' rejoined the countess, ' but I can say
nothing ; I do not know you.'
' And you know nothing of this casket neither ?
The countess convulsively closed her hands, and bit her pale lips
till they bled.
' No,' said she, ' I know no more of it than I do of you.'
But the effort she made to pronounce these words was such, that
her body trembled as does a statue on its pedestal during an earth-
quake.
' Madame, beware,' said Gilbert. ' I am, as you can hardly have
forgotten, the pupil of a man called Joseph Balsamo. The power
which he possessed over you, he has transmitted to me. For the
last time, will you answer the question I put to you : My casket ?
' No,' cried the counte-?, a prey to the most indescribable agita-
tion, and making a movement to rush out of the room.
' Well then,' said Gilbert, in his turn becoming pale, and raising
his threatening arm ; ' well then ! thou iron nature, thou heart of
adamant, bend, burst and break beneath the irresistible pressure of
my will. Wilt thou not speak, Andre ?'
1 No, no,' cried the countess, ' help me, sire, help me !'
' Thou shalt speak,' cried Gilbert ; ' and no one, were he the
king, or even God himself, can withdraw thee from my power.
Thou shalt speak, then ; thou shalt reveal thy whole soul to the
witness of this solemn scene ; and all that is contained in the re-
cesses of thy conscience all that which God alone can read in the
depths of the deepest souls, you shall know, sire, from the lips of
her who refuses to reveal them. Sleep, madame the countess,
sleep and speak. I will it !'
Hardly were the words pronounced when the countess stopped
short in the midst of a suppressed cry, stretched forth her arms,
and seeking support for her trembling limbs, fell, as if imploring a
refuge, into the arms of the king, who, trembling himself, seated
her upon an arm-chair.
' Oh !' said Louis XVI., ' I have heard of things of this nature,
but I never before witnessed anything to equal it. Is it not to a
magnetic sleep that she has just succumbed, sir f
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 2\$
'Yes, sire ; take the hand of the countess, and ask her why she
caused me to be arrested,'' said Gilbert, as if the right to command
belonged to him alone.
Louis XVI., quite thunderstruck by this marvellous scene, took
two steps backwards to convince himself that he was not himself
asleep, and that what was taking place before him was not a dream ;
then, like a mathematician who is interested in seme new solution,
he approached nearer to the countess, whose hand he took in his.
' Let us see, countess,' said he ; 'it was then you who caused the
arrest of Doctor Gilbert ?'
Still, although asleep, the countess made one last effort, snatched
her hand from that of the king, and gathering up all her strength :
' No, 3 cried she, ' I will not speak.'
The king looked at Gilbert, as if to ask him which of the two would
overcome the other his will or that of Andre'e.
Gilbert smiled.
' You will not speak ?' said he.
And, his eyes fixed upon the sleeping Andre'e, he advanced a step
towards the arm-chair.
Andre'e shuddered.
' Will you not speak ?' added he, taking a second step, which
diminished the distance that separated him from the countess.
Every muscle of AndreVs frame became rigid in a supreme effort
of reaction.
' Ah ! you will not speak, then ?' said he, taking a third stride,
which placed him at the side of Andre'e, over whose head he placed
his outstretched hand ; ' ah ! you will not speak ?
Andre'e was writhing in the most fearful convulsions.
' But take care ! take care !' cried Louis XVI., 'you will kill her!'
' Fear nothing, sire ; it is with the soul alone that I have to con-
tend ; the soul is struggling, but it will yield.'
Then, lowering his hand
' Speak !' said he.
Andre'e extended her arms, and made an effort to breathe, as if
she had been under the pressure of a pneumatic machine.
* Speak !' repeated Gilbert, lowering his hand still more.
All the muscles of the young woman's body seemed about to burst.
A fringe of froth appeared upon her lips, and a commencement of
epilepsy convulsed her from head to foot.
' Doctor ! doctor !' said the king, ' take care !'
But he, without noticing the king, lowered his hand a third time,
and touching the top of the countess's head with the palm of that
hand
' Speak !' said he ; 'it is my will.'
Andre'e, on feeling the touch of that hand, heaved a sigh her
arms fell motionless to her side her head, which had been thrown
backwards, fell forward upon her breast and a copious flood of tears
oozed through her closed eyelids.
^14 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' My God ! my God ! my God !' faltered she.
' Invoke the Lord be it so ; he who operates in the name of God
does not fear God.'
' Oh ! ; said the countess, ' how I hate you !'
' Abhor me, if you will, but speak !'
' Sire, sire,' exclaimed Andre"e, ' tell him that he consumes me,
that he devours me, that he kills me !'
' Speak !' said Gilbert.
Then he made a sign to the king that he might interrogate her.
' So that, countess,' said the king, again taking her hand, ' he
whom you wished to arrest, and whom you caused to be arrested,
was really the doctor himself? 3
'Yes.'
'And there was no mistake, no misunderstanding?*
1 None.'
' And the casket ?' said the king.
' Well,' articulated the countess slowly, * could I allow that casket
to remain in his possession ?
Gilbert and the king exchanged glances.
' And did you take it from him ?' said Louis XVI.
' I had it taken from him.'
' Oh ! oh ! tell me how that was managed, countess, said the
king, forgetful of all ceremony, and kneeling down before Andre"e.
' You had it taken ?'
'Yes.'
' When, and by what means ?'
'I ascertained that this Gilbert, who during sixteen years has
already made two voyages to France, was about to make a third one,
and this last time with the intention of remaining here.'
' But the casket ? asked the king.
' I ascertained by means of the lieutenant of police, Monsieur de
Crosne, that during one of his journeys he had bought some lands
in the neighbourhood of Villers-Cottere"ts that the farmer who
tenanted his lands enjoyed his whole confidence ; I suspected that
the casket might be left at his residence.'
' What made you think so ?
' I went to see Mesmer. I made him put me to sleep, and I saw
the casket while in that state.'
' It was '
' In a large clothes-press on the ground- floor, hidden under some
linen.'
' This is wonderful !' said the king. ' After that, tell me what took
place.'
' I returned to the house of Monsieur de Crosne, who having been
recommended to do so by the queen, gave me one of his most skilful
agents.'
' What was the name of this agent ?* asked Gilbert
THE KING LOUIS XVI. 215
Andrea shuddered as if a hot iron had touched her.
' I ask you his name ?' repeated Gilbert.
Andre'e endeavoured to resist.
' His name ; I will know it !' said the doctor.
' Wolfsfoot,' she replied.
' After that ?' asked the king.
' Well, then, yesterday morning this man got possession of the
casket. That is all.'
' No, it is not all/ said Gilbert. ' You must now tell the king
where the casket is at this moment.'
' Oh !' said Louis XVI., ' you ask too much of her.'
' No, sire.'
' But by this Wolfsfoot, by means of Monsieur de Crosne, one
might ascertain '
' Oh ! we shall know everything quicker, and much better, through
the countess.'
Andre'e, by a convulsive movement, the object of which was doubt-
less to prevent the words from escaping her lips, clenched her teeth
with such violence as almost to break them.
The king pointed out this nervous convulsion to the doctor.
Gilbert smiled.
He touched with his thumb and forefinger the lower part of the
face of Andre'e, whose muscles were relaxed at the same moment.
' In the first place, countess, tell the king clearly that this casket
belonged to Doctor Gilbert.'
' Yes, yes, it belongs to him/ said the sleeping woman angrily.
' And where is it at this moment ? asked Gilbert ' Make haste!
the king has not time to wait.'
Andre'e hesitated for a moment.
' At Wolfsfoot's house/ said she.
Gilbert observed the hesitation, although it was scarcely percep-
tible.
1 You are telling a falsehood !' said he, ' or rather, you are endea-
vouring to tell one. Where is the casket ? I insist on knowing.'
'At my house at Versailles/ said Andre'e, bursting into tears, with
a nervous trembling which shook her whole frame, ' at my house,
where Wolfsfoot is waiting for me, as we had previously agreed to
meet at eleven o'clock to-night.'
Midnight was heard to strike.
' Is he still waiting there? 7
'Yes.'
' In which room is he ?'
' They have just shown him into the drawing-room.
'What place does he occupy in the drawing-room ?
' He is standing, and leaning against the chimney-piece.'
'And the casket?'
* It is on the table before him. Oh T
Zi6 TAXING THE BAST1LE.
' What is the matter ?
' Let us hasten to get him out of the house. Monsieur cte Charny,
who was not to return till to-morrow, will come back to-night, on
account of the events that have taken place. I see him ; he is at
Sevres. Make him go away, so that the count may not find him in
the house.'
' Your majesty hears that ; in what part of Versailles does Madame
de Charny reside ?
' Where do you reside, countess ?
* On the Boulevard de la Reine, sire.'
'Very well.'
' Sire, your majesty has heard everything. That casket belongs
to me. Does the king order it to be returned to me ?*
' Immediately, sir.'
And the king, having drawn a screen before Madame de Charny,
which prevented her from being seen, called the officer on duty, and
gave him an order in a low voice.
CHAPTER XXIV.
ROYAL PHILOSOPHY.
A STRANGE pre-occupation for a king whose subjects were under-
mining his throne. The inquisitiveness of the erudite man applied
to a physical phenomenon, while the most important political
phenomenon was taking place that France had ever known that is
to say, the transformation of a monarchy into a democracy. This
sight, we say, of a king forgetting himself during the most terrible
period of a tempest, would certainly have caused the great minds of
the time to smile, bent as they had been during three months on the
solution of their problem.
While riot was raging in all its fury without, Louis, forgetting the
terrible events of the day the taking of the Rastile, the assassina-
tion of Flesselles, De Launay, and De Losme, the disposition of the
Nati^.al Assembly to revolt against the king Louis was concen-
trating his mind on this examination of a theory ; and the revela-
tions of this strange scene absorbed him no less than the most vital
interests of his government.
And thus, as soon as he had given the order which we have men-
tioned to the captain of his guards, he returned to Gilbert, who was
removing from the countess the excess of fluid with which he had
charged her, in order that her slumber might be more tranquil than
under the effects of this convulsive somnambulism.
For an instant the respiration of the countess became calm and
easy as that of a sleeping child. Then Gilbert, with a single motion
of his hand, re-opened her eyes, and put her into a state of ecstasy.
It was then that one could see the extraordinary beauty of Andre"e,
in all its splendour. Being completely freed from all earthly agita-
ROYAL PHILOSOPHY. 217
tions, the blood, which had for an instant rushed to her face, and
which momentarily had coloured her cheeks, redescended to her
heart, whose pulsations had recovered their natural state. Her face
had again become pale, but of that beautiful pallor of the women of
the East ; her eyes, opened rather more than usual, were raised
towards heaven, and left the pupils floating, as it were, in the pearl-
like whiteness of their eye-balls ; the nose, slightly expanded, ap-
peared to inhale a purer atmosphere ; and her lips, which had pre-
served all their vermilion, although her cheeks had lost a little of
theirs, were slightly separated, and discovered a row of pearls of
which the sweet moistness increased the brilliancy.
The head was gently thrown backwards with an inexpressible
grace, almost angelic. It might have been said that this fixed look,
increasing its scope of vision by its intensity, penetrated to the foot
of the throne of God.
The king gazed at her as if dazzled. Gilbert turned away his head
and sighed. He could not resist the desire to give Andre"e this de-
gree of superhuman beauty ; and now, like Pygmalion more un-
happy even than Pygmalion, for he knew the insensibility of the
beautiful statue he trembled at the sight of his own production.
He made a sign without even turning his head towards Andre*e,
and her eyes closed instantly.
The king desired Gilbert to explain to him that marvellous state,
in which the soul separates itself from the body, and soars, free,
happy, and divine, above all terrestrial miseries.
Gilbert, like all men of truly superior genius, could pronounce
the words so much dreaded by mediocrity, ' I do not know.' He
confessed his ignorance to the king. He had produced a pheno-
menon which he could not explain. The fact itself existed, but the
explanation of the fact could not be given.
' Doctor/ said the king, on hearing this avowal of Gilbert, ' this
is another of those secrets which nature reserves for the learned
men of another generation, and which will be studied thoroughly,
like so many other mysteries which were thought insoluble. We
call them mysteries : our fathers would have called them sorcery or
witchcraft.'
' Yes, sire,' answered Gilbert, smiling, ' and I should have had
the honour to be burnt on the Place de Greve, for the greater glory
of a religion which was not understood, by wise men without
learning, and priests devoid of faith.'
' And under whom did you study this science ?' rejoined the king ;
' was it with Mesmer ?
1 Oh, sire !' said Gilbert, smiling, ' I had seen the most astonishing
phenomena of the science ten years before the name of Mesmer was
pronounced in France.'
' Tell me, now : this Mesmer, who has revolutionised all France,
was he, in your opinion, a charlatan ? It seems to me that you
2i8 TAKING THE BASTILE.
operate much more simply than he. I have heard his experiments
spoken of, and also those of Deslon and Puysegur. You know all
that has been said on the subject, whether idle stories or positive
truths.'
' I have carefully observed all these discussions, sire.'
' Well, then, what do you think of the famous vat or tub ?'
' I hope your majesty will excuse me if I answer doubtingly to
all you ask me with regard to the magnetic art. Magnetism has
not yet become an art.'
'Ah!'
' But it assuredly is a power, a terrific power, since it annihilates
the will, since it isolates the soul from the body, and places the
body of the somnambulist in the power of the magnetiser, while
the former does not retain the power, nor even the desire to defend
itself. As for me, sire, I have seen strange phenomena produced.
I have produced many myself. Well, I nevertheless still doubt.'
' How ! you still doubt ? You perform miracles, and yet you are
in doubt ?'
' No, I do not doubt I do not doubt. At this moment even, I
have a proof before my eyes of an extraordinary and incompre-
hensible power. But when that proof has disappeared, when I am
at home alone in my library, face to face with all that human
science has written during three thousand years ; when science says
no ; when the mind says no ; when reason says no, I doubt.'
' And did your master also doubt, doctor ?'
' Perhaps he did, but he was less sincere than I. He did not ex-
press his doubt.'
' Was it Deslon ? Was it Puysegur ?
' No, sire, no. My master was a man far superior to all the men
you have named. I have seen him perform the most marvellous
things, especially with regard to wounds. No science was unknown
to him. He had impregnated his mind with Egyptian theories.
He had penetrated the arcana of ancient Assyrian civilisation. He
was a profound scholar, a formidable philosopher, having a great
knowledge of human life, combined with a persevering will.'
' Have I ever known him ? asked the king.
Gilbert hesitated a moment.
' I ask you whether I ever knew him ?
1 Yes, sire.'
' And you call him ?
' Sire,' said Gilbert, ' to pronounce that name before the king
would perhaps render me liable to his displeasure. Now, especially
at this moment, when the majority of Frenchmen are depreciating
all royal authority, I would not throw a shade on the respect we all
owe your majesty.'
' Name that man boldly, Doctor Gilbert ; and be persuaded that
I too have my philosophy a philosophy of sufficiently good material
ROYAL PHILOSOPHY. 2'$
to enable me to smile at all the insults of the present, ana all the
threats of the future.'
Gilbert still continued to hesitate.
The king approached him.
Sir,' said he to Gilbert, laughing, ' call him Satan, if you will, I
shall still find a shield to protect me from him the one which your
dogmatisers do not possess one that they never will possess one
which I alone perhaps in this century possess, and bear without
feeling shame religion.'
'Your majesty believes as St. Louis did. It is true,' said Gilbert.
' And in that lies all my strength, I confess, doctor. I like science ;
I adore the results of materialism ; I am a mathematician, as you
well know ; you know that the sum total of an addition or an alge-
braical formula fills my heart with joy, but when I meet people who
carry algebra to atheism, I have in reserve my profound, inex-
haustible, and eternal faith a faith which places me a degree
above and a degree below them above them in good, and beneath
them in evil. You see, then, doctor, that I am a man to whom every-
thing may be said, a king who can hear anything.'
' Sire,' said Gilbert, with a sort of admiration, ' I thank your
majesty for what you have just said to me ; for you have almost
honoured me with the confidence of a friend.'
' Oh ! I wish,' the timid Louis hastened to exclaim, ' I wish all
Europe could hear me speak thus. If Frenchmen were to read in
my heart all the energy of feeling, the tenderness which it contains,
I think they would oppose me less.'
The last portion of the king's sentence, which showed that the
king was irritated by the attack the royal prerogative had been sub-
jected to, lowered Louis XVI. in the estimation of Gilbert.
He hastened to say, without attempting to spare the king's
feelings
' Sire, since you insist upon it, my master was the Count de
Cagliostro.'
' Oh !' cried Louis, colouring, ' that empiric !'
' That empiric ! yes, sire ! Your majesty is doubtless aware
that the word you have just pronounced is one of the noblest used
in science. Empiric means the man who attempts the practitioner,
the profound thinker the man, in short, who is incessantly at-
tempting after discoveries, does all that God permits men to do that
is glorious and beautiful. Let but a man attempt during his whole
life, and his life will be well occupied.'
' Ah, sir, this Cagliostro whom you defend was a great enemy of
kings !'
Gilbert recollected the affair of the necklace.
' Is it not rather the enemy of queens your majesty intended to
say?'
Louis shuddered at this sharp home-thrust.
220 TAKING THE BASTLIE.
' Yes,' said he, ' he conducted himself, in all the affair of Prince
Louis de Rohan, in a manner which was more than equivocal.'
' Sire, in that, as in other circumstances, Cagliostro carried out
the human mission : he sought his own ends. In science, in morals,
in politics, there is neither good nor evil ;. there are only stated
phenomena or accomplished facts. Nevertheless, I will not defend
him, sire. I repeat it, the man may often have merited blame ;
perhaps some day this very blame may be considered as praise :
posterity re-considers the judgments of men. But I did not study
under the man, sire, but under the philosopher, under the great
physician.'
' Well, well,' said the king, who still felt the double wound his
pride and heart had received, ' well ; but we are forgetting the
Countess de Charny, and perhaps she is suffering.'
' I will wake her up, sire, if your majesty desires it ; but I had
wished that the casket might arrive here during her sleep.'
' Why ?'
* To spare her a too harsh lesson.'
' Here is somebody coming at this moment,' said the king. ' Wait.'
In fact, the king's order had been punctually obeyed. The casket
found at the hotel of the Countess de Charny, in the possession of
the agent Wolfsfoot, was brought into the royal cabinet, under the
very eyes of the countess, who did not see it.
The king made a sign of satisfaction to the officer who brought
the casket. The officer then left the room.
' Well !' said Louis XVI.
' Well, then, sire, that is, in fact, the very casket which had been
taken away from me.'
' Open it,' said the king.
' Sire, I am willing to do so, if your majesty desires it ; but I have
only to forewarn your majesty of one thing.'
What is that ?
' Sire, as I told your majesty, this box contains only papers which
are easily read, and might be taken, and on which depends the
honour of a woman.'
' And that woman is the countess ?'
' Yes, sire. That honour will not be endangered while this matter
is confined to the knowledge of your majesty. Open it, sire,' said
Gilbert, approaching the casket, and presenting the key of it to the
king.
' Sir,' replied Louis XVI. coldly, 'take away this box ; it belongs
to you.'
' Thank you, sire, but what are we to do with the countess ?'
' Oh, do not, above all, wake her up here. I wish to avoid all
recriminations and painful scenes.'
' Sire,' said Gilbert, ' the countess will only awake in the plac**
where you wish her to be carried.'
ROYAL PHILOSOPHY. 221
' Well, let her be taken to the queen's apartment, then.'
Louis rang the bell. An officer entered the room.
' Captain,' said he, ' the Countess de Charny has just fainted here,
on hearing the news from Paris. Have her taken to the queen's
room.'
' How long will it take to carry her there?" asked Gilbert of the king.
' About ten minutes, 1 replied the latter.
Gilbert laid his hand on the countess.
' You will awake in three quarters of an hour,' said he.
Two soldiers entered the order having been given by the officer
who carried her away in an arm-chair.
' Now, Monsieur Gilbert, what more do you desire?' asked the king.
''Sire, I desire a favour which would draw me nearer to your
majesty, and procure me at the same time an opportunity to be useful
to you.'
The king endeavoured to divine what he could mean.
'Explain yourself,' said he.
' I should like to be one of the physicians in ordinary to the king,'
replied Gilbert ; ' I should be in the way of no one ; it is a post of
honour, but rather a confidential than a brilliant one.'
' Granted,' said the king. 'Adieu, Monsieur Gilbert. Ah! by-
the-bye, a thousand compliments to Necker. Adieu.'
Then, as he was leaving the room
' My supper !' cried Louis, whom no event, however important,
could induce to forget his supper
CHAPTER XXV.
IN THE QUEEN'S APARTMENTS.
WHILE the king was learning to oppose the revolution philosophi-
cally, by going through a course of occult sciences, the queen, who
was a much more substantial and profound philosopher, had gathered
around her in her large cabinet all those who were called her faithful
adherents, doubtless because there had been no opportunity afforded
to any one of them either to prove or to try his fidelity.
In the queen's circle, also, the events of that terrible day had been
related in all their details.
She had even been the first to be informed of them, for, knowing
her to be undaunted, they had not feared to inform her of the danger.
Around the queen were assembled generals, courtiers, priests, and
ladies. Near the doors and behind the tapestries which hung before
them, might be seen groups of young officers, full of courage and
ardour, who saw in all revolts a long desired opportunity to evince
their prowess in presence of the fair sex, as in a tournament.
All of these, whether intimately connected with the court, or de-
voted servants of the monarchy, had listened with attention to the
news from Paris, which had been related by Monsieur de Lambesq,
222 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
who, having been present during those events, had hastened to
Versailles with his regiment, still covered with the sand of the Tui-
leries, in order to state the real position of affairs to the affrighted
courtiers, and thus afford them consolation ; for many of them,
although the misfortune was sufficiently serious, had greatly exag-
gerated it in their apprehension.
/ The queen was seated at a table. It was no longer the gentle
and lovely bride, the guardian angel of France, whom we saw ap-
pear at the opening of this story, crossing the northern frontier, an
olive-branch in her hand. It was no longer even that gracious and
beautiful princess whom we saw one evening entering with the
Princess de Lamballe into the mysterious dwelling of Mesmer, and
seating herself, laughing and incredulous, near the symbolical vat,
of which she had come to ask a revelation of the future.
No ! it was the haughty and resolute queen, with frowning brow
and scornful lip : it was a woman whose heart had allowed a portion
of its love to escape from it, to harbour, instead of that sweet and
vivifying element, the first drops of gall, which, by constantly filter-
ing into it, was finally to reach her blood.
It was, in short, the woman represented by the third portrait in
the gallery of Versailles, that is to say, no longer Marie Antoinette,
no longer the Queen of France, but the woman who was now desig-
nated only by the name of the Austrian.
Behind her, in the shade, lay a motionless young woman, her
head reclining on the cushion of a sofa, and her hand upon her
forehead.
This was Madame de Polignac.
Perceiving Monsieur de Lambesq, the queen made one of those
gestures indicative of unbounded joy, which mean,
' At last we shall know all.'
Monsieur de Lambesq bowed, with a sign that asked pardon at
the same time for his soiled boots, his dusty coat, and his sword,
which, having been bent in his fall, could not be forced into its
scabbard.
'Well, Monsieur de Lambesq,' said the queen, 'have you just ar-
rived from Paris ?
' Yes, your majesty.'
' What are the people doing ?'
' They are killing and burning.'
'Through maddening rage or hatred ?
' No ; from sheer ferocity.'
The queen reflected, as if she had felt disposed to be of his opinion
with regard to the people. Then, shaking her head
'No, prince,' said she, 'the people are not ferocious; at least,
not without a reason. Do not conceal anything from me. Is it
madness ? is it hatred ?'
' Well, I think it is hatred carried to madness, madame.'
IN THE QUEEN'S APARTMENTS. 223
* Hatred of whom ? Ah ! I see you are hesitating again, pr-ince.
Take care ; if you relate events in that manner, instead of applying
to you as I do, I shall send one of my outriders to Paris ; he will
require one hour to go there, one to acquire information, one to
return ; and, in the course of three hours, this man will tell me
everything that has happened as accurately and as simply as one of
Homer's heralds.'
M. de Dreux Bre'ze' stepped forward, with a smile upon his lips.
' But, madame,' said he, 'of what consequence to you is the hatred
of the people ? That can in no way concern you. The people may
hate all, excepting you.'
The queen did not even rebuke this piece of flattery.
' Come, come, prince,' said she to M. de Lambesq, ' speak out.'
'Well, then, madame, it is true the people are acted upon by hatred.'
' Hatred of me ?
' Of everything that rules.'
'Well said! that is the truth ! I feel it,' exclaimed the queen,
resolutely.
' I am a soldier, your majesty,' said the prince.
' Well ! well ! speak to us then as a soldier. Let us see what
must be done.'
' Nothing, madame.'
' How nothing ? cried the queen, taking advantage of the mur-
murs occasioned by these words among the wearers of embroidered
coats and golden- sheathed swords of her company; 'nothing ! You,
a Prince of Lorraine you can speak thus to the Queen of France
at a moment when the people, according to your own confession,
are killing and burning, and you can coolly say there is nothing to
be done.'
A second murmur, but this time of approbation, followed the
words of Marie Antoinette.
She turned round, fixed her gaze on all the circle which environed
her, and among all those fiery eyes sought those which darted forth
the brightest flames, as if she could read a greater proof of fidelity
in them.
' Nothing !' continued the prince ; ' but allow the Parisian to
become calm and he will become so for he is only warlike
when he is exasperated. Why give him the honours of a struggle,
and risk the chances of a battle ? Let us keep quiet, and in three
days there will no longer be a question of a commotion in Paris.'
' But the Bastile, sir r*
' The Bastile ! Its doors will be closed, and those who took if
will be taken, that is all.'
Some laughter was heard among the before silent group.
The queen continued
'Take care, prince ; you are now reassuring me too much.' And
thoughtfully, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, she advanced
224 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
towards Madame de Polignac, who, pale and sad, seemed absorbed
in thought.
The countess had listened to all the news with visible fear ; she
only smiled when the queen stopped opposite to her and smiled ;
although this smile was pale and colourless as a fading flower.
' Well, countess,' said the queen, ' what do you say to all this r"
' Alas ! nothing,' she replied.
' How, nothing !'
'No.'
And she shook her head with an indescribable sign of despair.
' Come, come,' said the queen in a very low voice, and stooping
to the ear of the countess, ' our friend Diana is terrified.'
Then she said aloud
' But where is Madame de Charny, the intrepid woman ? We need
her assistance to reassure us, I think'
' The countess was about to go out, when she was summoned to
the king's apartments.'
'Ah ! the king's,' absently answered Marie Antoinette.
And only then did the queen perceive the strange silence which
pervaded all around her.
The truth was, these wonderful and incredible events, accounts
of which had successively reached Versailles like repeated shocks,
had prostrated the firmest hearts, perhaps more by astonishment
than fear.
The queen understood that it was necessary to revive all these
drooping spirits.
' Can no one advise me ? said she. ' Be it so ; I will advise
myself.'
They all drew nearer to Marie Antoinette.
' The people,' said she, ' are not bad at heart, they are only misled.
They hate us because we are unknown to them ; let us become better
friends.'
' To punish them, then,' said a voice, ' for they have doubted
their masters, and that is a crime. 1
The queen looked in the direction from which the voice proceeded,
and recognised M. de Bezenval.
' Oh ! it is you, Monsieur le Baron,' said she ; ' do you come to
give us your good counsel ?
'The advice is already given,' said Bezenval, bowing.
1 Be it so,' said the queen, 'the king will punish only as a tender
father.'
' Who loves well chastises well/ said the baron.
Then turning towards M. de Lambesq
' Are you not of my opinion, prince ? The people have committed
several murders '
' Which they unfortunately call retaliation,' said a sweet voice, at
the sound of which the queen turned in her seat.
IN THE QUEEN'S APARTMENTS, 22$
' You are right, princess ; but it is precisely in that that their
error consists, my dear Lamballe ; we shall be indulgent'
' But,' replied the princess, in her mild manner, ' before asking
whether we must punish, I think we ought to ask whether we can
conquer.'
A general cry burst forth from those who were present, a cry of
protestation against the truth which had just been spoken by those
noble lips.
' Conquer ! and where are the Swiss ?' said one.
' And the Germans ?' said another.
' And the body-guards ?' said a third.
' Can doubts be entertained about the army and the nobility ?' ex-
claimed a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant in the
Hussars of Berchigny. ' Have we then deserved such a reproach ?
Do but consider, madame, that no later than to-morrow, if he chose,
the king could assemble forty thousand men, throw these forty
thousand men into Paris, and destroy the city. Remember that
forty thousand faithful troops are worth half a million of revolted
Parisians.'
The young man who had just spoken these words had, without
doubt, a good many other similar reasons to advance, but he stopped
short on seeing the eyes of the queen fixed upon him. He had
spoken from the centre of a group of officers, and his zeal had car-
ried him farther than was consistent with etiquette and his rank.
He checked himself, accordingly, as we have already said, feeling
quite ashamed at the impression his words had made.
But it was too late ; the queen had already been struck with his
enthusiastic manner.
' You understand the present condition of affairs, sir ?' said she,
kindly.
' Yes, your majesty,' said the young man, blushing, ' I was at th
Champs Elyse*es.'
' Then, do not fear to speak come nearer, sir.'
The young man stepped forward, blushing, from the group which
opened to let him pass, and advanced towards the queen.
At the same moment, the Prince de Lambesq and M. de Be"zen-
val retired a step or two, as if they considered it beneath their dig-
nity to attend this sort of council.
The queen did not pay, or did not appear to pay, any attention to
this movement.
'You say, then, sir, that the king has forty thousand men tasked she.
' Yes, your majesty.'
' In the environs of Paris ?
' At Saint Denis, at Saint Mande", and at Crenelle.'
' Give me some details, sir some details,' exclaimed the queen.
' Madame, the Prince de Lambesq and Monsieur de Be'zenval can
give you them with infinitely more accuracy than myself.'
226 TAKING THR BASTILE.
' Go on, sir. It pleases me to hear these details from your lips.
Under whose orders are these forty thousand men ?'
' In the first place, under the orders of Monsieur de Bdzenval and
Monsieur de Lambesq ; then under those of the Prince de Conde",
of Monsieur de Narbonne, Fritzlar, and Monsieur de Salkenaym.'
' Is this true, prince?' asked the queen, turning towards Monsieur
de Lambesq.
' Yes, your majesty,' answered the prince, bowing.
' On the heights of Montmartre,' said the young man, 'there is a
complete park of artillery ; in six hours the whole quarter of the
town within the range of Montmartre could be laid in ashes. Let
Montmartre give the signal to commence the fire ; let it be answered
by Vincennes ; let ten thousand men debouch by the Champs
Elyse'es, ten thousand more by the Barriere d'Enfer, ten thousand
more by the Rue Saint Martin, ten thousand more by the Bastile ;
make Paris hear our cannonading from the four cardinal points,
and she cannot hold her ground for twenty-four hours.'
' Ah ! here is a man who at all events explains his views frankly;
here is at least a clear and regular plan. What do you think of it,
Monsieur de Lambesq ?
' I think,' answered the prince, disdainfully, ' that the lieutenant
of hussars is a perfect general.'
' He is, at least,' said the queen, who saw the young officer turn
pale with anger, ' he is, at least, a soldier who does not despair.'
' I thank you, madame,' said the young man, bowing. ' I do not
know what your majesty's decision will be, but I beg you to consider
me among those who are ready to die for you ; and in so doing, I
should only do that, I beg your majesty to believe, which forty thou-
sand soldiers are ready to do, as well as all our chiefs.'
And having said these words, the young man saluted the prince
courteously, who had almost insulted him.
This act of courtesy struck the queen still more than the protesta-
tions of fidelity which had preceded it.
' What is your name, sir ? asked she of the young officer.
' I am the Baron de Charny, madame,' replied he, bowing.
' De Charny !' exclaimed Marie Antoinette, blushing in spite of
herself ; ' are you then a relation of the Count de Charny ?
1 1 am his brother, madame.'
And the young man bowed gracefully, even lower than he had
done before.
' I ought,' said the queen, recovering from her confusion, and
casting a firm look around her, ' I ought to have recognised you,
from hearing your first words, as one of my most faithful servant. -.
Thank you, baron. How is it that I now see you at court for the
first time ?
' Madame, my elder brother, who is taking the place of my father,
has ordered me to remain with the regiment, and during the seven
IN THE QUEEN'S APARTMENTS. 2*7
years that I have had the honour 'of serving in the army of the king)'
I have only twice been at Versailles.'
The queen looked for a considerable time at the young man's face.
'You resemble your brother,' said she. 'I shall reprimand him
for having so long omitted to present you, and left you to present
yourself at court.'
And the queen tufned in the direction of her friend the countess,
who, during all this scene, had remained motionless and mute upon
the sofa.
But it was not thus with the remainder of 'those present. The
officers, electrified by the reception the queen had given to the young
man, were exaggerating to the utmost among themselves their
enthusiasm for the royal cause, and from' every group expressions
burst forth, evincing a heroism capable of subjugating the whole of
France.
Marie Antoinette made the most of these manifestations, which
evidently flattered her secret wishes.
She preferred to struggle rather than to suffer, to die rather than
to yield. With this view, as soon as the first news had reached her
from Paris, she had determined upon a stubborn resistance to the
rebellious spirit which threatened to swallow up all the prerogatives
of the French monarchy.
If there is a blind and senseless degree of strength, it is that
stimulated by figures and vain hopes.
A figure, followed by an agglomeration of zeros, will soon exceed
all the resources of the universe.
The same may be said of the plans of a conspirator or a despot.
On enthusiasm, which itself is based on imperceptible hope, gigantic
conceptions are built, which evaporate before the first breath of
wind, in less time than was required to condense them into a mist.
After hearing these few words pronounced by the Baron de
Charny, after the enthusiastic hurrahs of the by-standers, Marie
Antoinette could almost imagine herself at the head of a powerful
army ; she could hear the rolling of her harmless artillery, and she
rejoiced at the fear which they would doubtless occasion among
the Parisians, and had already gained a victory which she thought
decisive.
Around her, men and women, beaming with youth, with confidence
and love, were reckoning the number of those brilliant hussars, those
heavy dragoons, those terrible Swiss, those well-equipped artillery-
men, and laughed at the vulgar pikes and their coarse wooden
handles, little thinking that on the points of these vile weapons
were to be borne the noblest heads of France.
' As for me,' murmured the Princess de Lamballe, ' I am more
afraid of a pike than of a gun.'
' Because it is much uglier, my dear The"rese,' replied the queen,
smiling. ' But, at all events, compose yourself. Our Parisian pike-
228 TAKING THE BASTILE.
men are not a match for the famous Swiss pikeuien of Moral ; and
the Swiss of the present day have something more than pikes ; they
have good muskets, with which they take good aim, thank heaven !'
' Oh ! as to that, I will answer for it,' said M. de Be"zenval.
The queen turned round once more towards Madame de Polignac
to see if all these assurances had restored her wonted tranquillity ;
but the countess appeared still paler and more trembling than
before.
The queen, whose extreme tenderness of feeling often caused her
to sacrifice her royal dignity for the sake of this friend, in vain
seemed to solicit her to look more cheerful.
The young woman still continued gloomy, and appeared absorbed
in the saddest thoughts. But this despondency only served to increase
the queen's sorrow. The enthusiasm among the young officers main-
tained itself at the same pitch, and all of them, with the exception
of the superior officers, were gathered round the Baron de Charny,
and drawing up their plans for battle.
In the midst of this febrile excitement the king entered alone,
unaccompanied by an usher, and with a smile upon his lips.
The queen, still greatly excited by the warlike emotions which
she had aroused, rushed forward to meet him.
At the sight of the king all conversation had ceased, and was
followed by the most perfect silence ; every one expected a kingly
word one of those words which electrify and subjugate.
When clouds are sufficiently loaded with electricity, the least
shock, as is well known, is sufficient to produce a flash.
To the eyes of the courtiers, the king and queen advancing to
meet each other, appeared like two electric bodies, from which the
thunder must proceed.
They listened, and trembled, and eagerly waited to catch the
first words which were to proceed from the royal lips.
' Madame,' said Louis XVI., ' amid all these events, they have
forgotten to serve up my supper in my own apartment ; be so kind
as to have it brought here.'
' Here ? exclaimed the queen, with an air of stupefaction.
' If you will permit it.'
' But sire '
' You were conversing, it is true ; but, while at supper I shall
converse also.'
The mere word supper had chilled the enthusiasm of every one
present. But on hearing the king's last words ' at supper I shall
converse also,' the young queen herself could hardly help thinking
that so much calmness concealed some heroism.
The king doubtless thought by his tranquillity to overcome all the
terror occasioned by the events that had taken place.
Undoubtedly the daughter of Marie The'rese could not conceive
that at so critical a moment the son of St. Louis could still remain
subject to the material wants of ordinary life.
THE KINGS SUPPER. 229
Marie Antoinette was mistaken ; the king was hungry, that was
all.
CHAPTER XXVI.
HOW THE KING SUPPED ON THE I4TH OF JULY, 1789.
ON a word from Marie Antoinette, the king's supper was served on
a small table in the queen's own cabinet.
But the contrary of what the princess had hoped soon happened.
Louis XVI. ordered every one to be silent, but it was only that he
might not be disturbed while at supper.
f While Marie Antoinette was endeavouring to revive enthusiasm,
\ the king was devouring a PeVigord pie.
The officers did not think this gastronomical performance worthy
of a descendant of St. Louis, and formed themselves into small
groups, whose observations were not perhaps as respectful as circum-
stances ought to have demanded.
The queen blushed, and her impatience betrayed itself in all l.er
movements. Her delicate, aristocratic, and nervous nature could
not comprehend this domination of matter over mind.
She drew nearer to the king, with a view to bring those nearer to
the table who had retired to a more distant part of the room.
' Sire,' said she, ' have you no orders to give ?'
' Ah ! ah !' said the king, his mouth full, ' what orders, madame ?
Let us see ; will you be our Egeria in this difficult moment ?'
And while saying these words he bravely attacked a partridge
stuffed with truffles.
' Sire,' said the queen, ' Numa was a pacific king. Now it is
generally thought that what we need at present is a warlike king ;
and if your majesty is to take antiquity for his model, as you cannot
become a Tarquin, you must be a Romulus.'
The king smiled with a tranquillity which almost seemed holy.
' Are these gentlemen warlike also ?' asked he.
And he turned towards the group of officers ; and his eyes being
animated by the cheering influence of his meal, appeared to all
present to sparkle with courage.
' Yes, sire/ they all cried with one voice, ' war ! we only ask for
war !'
' Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said the king, ' you do me in truth the
greatest pleasure, by proving to me that when occasion may require
it I may rely upon you. But 1 have for the moment not only a
council, but also a stomach ; the former will advise me what I ought
to do, the second advises me to do what I am now doing.'
And he laughed loudly, and handed his plate, full of fragments, to
the officer who was in waiting, in exchange for a clean one.
A murmur of stupefaction and of rage passed like a shudder
through the group of gentlemen, who only required a signal from
the king to shed all their blood.
230 TAKING THE BAS7ILE.
The queen turned round and stamped her foot.
The Prince de Lambesq immediately came to her.
' You see, madame,' said he, ' his majesty no doubt thinks, as I
do, that it is better to wait. It is prudence and although it is not
one of mine, unfortunately, prudence is a necessary virtue in the
times we live in.'
' Yes, sir, yes ; it is a very necessary virtue,' said the queen, biting
her lips till they bled.
With a death-like sadness she reclined against the chimney-piece,
her eye lost in darkness, and her soul overcome by despair.
/" The singular contrast between the disposition of the king and that
of the queen struck every one with astonishment. The queen could
"hardly restrain her tears, while the king continued his supper with the
proverbial appetite of the Bourbon family.
The room gradually became empty ; the various groups melted
away as does the snow in a garden before the rays of the sun the
snow, beneath which the black and desolate earth soon makes its
appearance here and there.
The queen, seeing this warlike group, upon which she relied so
much, gradually disappear, imagined that all her power was vanish-
ing ; as in former times the breath of the Lord had melted those
vast armies of Assyrians or Amalekites, which one single mist sufficed
to swallow up in its darkness.
She was aroused from this species of torpor by the sweet voice
of the Countess Jules, who approached her with Madame Diana de
Polignac, her sister-in-law.
At the sound of this voice, the sweet future, with its flowers and
palm leaves, returned to the mind of this haughty woman. A sincere
and devoted friend was to her of more value than ten kingdoms.
' Oh ! thou, thou,' murmured she, clasping the Countess Jules in
her arms ; ' I have then one friend left.'
And the tears, which for so long a time had been restrained, burst
forth from her eyelids, trickled down her cheeks and inundated her
bosom; but instead of being bitter, these tears were sweet instead
of oppressing her, they disburdened her heart.
They both remained silent for a few moments, during which the
queen continued to hold the countess in her arms.
It was the duchess who first broke this silence, while still holding
her sister-in-law by the hand.
' Madame,' said she, with a voice so timid that she almost appeared
ashamed, ' I do not think your majesty will disapprove the project
which I am about to submit to your notice.'
1 What project ?' asked the queen attentively ; ' speak, duchess,
speak ?'
And while preparing to listen to the Duchess Diana, the queen
leaned upon the shoulder of her favourite, the countess.
' Madame,' continued the duchess, ' the opinion which I am about
THE KING'S SUPPER. 231
to pronounce comes from a person whose authority will not be
doubted by your majesty ; it comes from her Royal Highness,
Madame Adelaide, the queen's aunt.'
' What a singular preamble, dear duchess,' said the queen, gaily ;
' come, let us hear this opinion.'
' Madame, circumstances are disheartening; the favours which our
family enjoy from your majesty have been much exaggerated ;
calumny stains the august friendship which you deign to grant us,
in exchange for our respectful devotion.'
' Well, then, duchess,' said the queen, with a commencement of
astonishment, 'do you not think I have evinced sufficient courage?
Have I not valiantfy sustained my friends against public opinion,
against the court, against the people, against the king himself?'
' Oh, madame, on the contrary ! and your majesty has so nobly
sustained her friends, that she has opposed her breast to every blow,
so that to-day that the danger has become great, terrible even, the
friends so nobly defended by your majesty would be cowardly and
unfaithful servants, if they did not prove themselves deserving of
your favour.'
'Ah, this is well, this is beautiful !' said Marie Antoinette, with
enthusiasm, embracing the countess, whom she still pressed
against her bosom, while holding the hand of Madame de Polignac
in hers.
But both of them turned pale, instead of proudly raising their
heads, after they had been thus caressed by their sovereign.
Madame Jules de Polignac made a movement to disengage her-
self from the arms of the queen ; but the latter still pressed her to
her heart, despite her efforts to disengage herself.
'But,' stammered Madame Diana de Polignac, 'your majesty
does not perhaps well understand what we have the honour to make
known to you, in order to enable you to ward off the blows which
threaten your throne, your person, perhaps, on account of the very
friendship with which you honour us. There is a painful means, a
bitter sacrifice to our hearts, but we must endure it ; necessity com-
mands it.'
At these words, it was the queen's turn to become pale, for she
no longer perceived courageous and faithful friendship, but fear,
beneath this exordium, and under the veil of this reserve.
' Let us see,' said she ; ' speak, speak, duchess ; what is this
sacrifice ?
' Oh, the sacrifice is entirely on our side, madame !' replied the
latter. ' We are, God knows for what reason, execrated in France ;
by disencumbering your throne, we shall restore all its splendour, all
the warmth of the popular love, a love either extinguished or inter-
cepted by our presence.'
' You would leave me !' cried the queen, vehemently. ' Who has
said that ? who has asked for that ?'
232 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
And she cast a despairing look on the Countess Jules de Polignac,
gently pushing her from her ; the latter held down her head in great
confusion.
' Not I,' said the Countess Jules ; ' I, on the contrary, ask but to
remain.'
But these words were uttered in such a tone, that they implied,
' Order me to leave you, madam e, and I will leave you.'
Oh, holy friendship, thou sacred chain which can link together
the hearts of even a sovereign and her subject in indissoluble bonds !
oh, holy friendship, thou engenderest more heroism than even love
or ambition, those two noble maladies of the human heart ! But thou
canst not brook deceit. The queen at once shattered to atoms the
adored altar she had raised to thee in her heart ; she required but a
look, one only look, to reveal to her that which during ten years she
had not perceived, she had not even surmised coldness and in-
terested calculation excusable, justifiable, legitimate, perhaps ; but
what can excuse, justify, or legitimise, in the eyes of one who still
fondly loves, the abandonment of the one who has ceased to love ?
Marie Antoinette's only revenge for the pain which was thus in-
flicted on her, was the ice-like coldness with which she gazed upon
her friend.
'Ah, Duchess Diana! this, then, is your opinion ? cried she,
compressing with her feverish hand the agitated pulsation of her
heart.
' Alas, madame,' answered the latter, ' it is not my choice, it is not
my will which dictates to me what I am to do : it is the law of
destiny !'
' Yes, duchess,' said Marie Antoinette. And, turning again to-
words the Countess Jules : ' And you, countess : what say you to
this?
The countess replied by a burning tear, as if from a remorseful
pang ; but she had exhausted all her strength in the effort she had
made.
' Well,' said the queen, ' well, it is gratifying to my feelings to see
how much I am beloved. Thank you, my dear countess ; yes, you
incur great danger here ; the anger of the people no longer knows
any bounds ; yes, you are all in the right, and I alone was foolish.
You ask to remain that is pure devotedness ; but I cannot accept
such a sacrifice.'
The Countess Jules raised her beautiful eyes and looked at the
queen. But the queen, instead of reading the devotedness of a friend
in them, could only perceive the weakness of the woman.
' Thus, duchess,' replied the queen, 'you are resolved to leave me.'
And she emphasized the word you.'
' Yes, your majesty.'
' Doubtless for some one of your estates a distant a very dis-
tant one ?'
THE KING'S SUPPER. 233
' Madame, in going away, in leaving you, it would be as painful to
travel fifty leagues as one hundred and fifty.'
'But do you, then, intend to go into some foreign country ?'
'Alas, yes, madame !'
A suppressed sigh tore the very depths of the queen's heart, but
it did not escape her lips.
' And where are you going ?'
' To reside on the banks of the Rhine, madame.'
' Well, you speak German, duchess,' said the queen, with a look
of indescribable sadness, ' and it was I who taught it you. The
friendship of your queen will at least have been useful to you to that
extent, and I rejoice at it.'
Then, turning to the Countess Jules :
' I do not wish to separate you, my dear countess,' said she. ' You
desire to remain here, and I deeply appreciate that desire. But I
I, who fear for you I insist on your departure I order you to
leave me.'
And having said these words, she suddenly stopped, choked by
emotions which, in spite of her heroism, she would perhaps not have
had the power to control, had not she heard at that moment the
voice of the king, who had taken no part whatever in what we have
just been relating.
The king was at his dessert.
' Madame,' said the king, ' there is somebody in your apartment ;
they are seeking you.'
' But, sire,' exclaimed the queen, throwing aside every other feel-
ing but that of royal dignity, ' in the first place, you have orders to
give ! Let us see ; only three persons remain here ; but they are
those with whom you have to deal : Monsieur de Lambesq, Mon-
sieur de Be'zenval, and Monsieur de Broglie. Give your orders, sire ;
give your orders.'
The king raised his heavy eyes, and appeared to hesitate.
' What do you think of all this, Monsieur de Broglie ?* said he.
'Sire,' replied the old marshal, ' if you withdraw your army from
the sight of the Parisians, it will be said that it was beaten by them.
If you leave it in their presence, your army must beat them.'
'Well said !' exclaimed the queen, grasping the marshal's hand.
' Well said !' cried M. de Be'zenval.
The Prince de Lambesq was the only person present who shook
his head.
' Well ! and after that? said the king.
' Command : march !' cried the old marshal.
' Yes march !' cried the queen.
' Well, then, since you all wish it, march !' said the king.
At that moment a note was handed to the queen ; its contents
were as follows :
' In the name of heaven, madame, no rashness ! I await an audience
of your majesty.'
234 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' His writing !' murmured the queen.
Then, turning round, she said in a low tone to the woman wlio
had brought the note :
' Is Monsieur de Charny in my room ?
' He has just arrived, completely covered with dust, and I ever
think with blood,' answered the confidant.
' One moment, gentlemen !' exclaimed the queen, to M.deBe'zenvaJ
and M. de Broglie ; ' wait for me here, I shall return !'
And she passed into her own apartment in great haste.
The kin? did not even move his head.
CHAPTER XXVII.
OLIVIER DE CHARNY.
ON entering her dressing-room, the queen found the person there
who had written the note brought by her waiting-woman.
He was a man thirty-five years of age, of lofty stature, with a
countenance which indicated strength and resolution ; his greyish-
blue eye, sharp and piercing as that of the eagle, his straight nose,
his prominent chin, gave a martial character to his physiognomy,
which was enhanced by the elegance with which he wore the uni-
form of a lieutenant in the body-guards.
His hands were still trembling under his torn and ruffled cambric
cuffs.
His sword had been bent, and could hardly be replaced in the
scabbard.
On the arrival of the queen, he was pacing hurriedly up and down
the dressing-room, absorbed by a thousand feverish and agitated
thoughts.
Marie Antoinette walked straight to him.
' Monsieur de Charny !' she exclaimed, ' Monsieur de Charny, you
here ?'
And seeing that the person whom she was addressing bowed re-
spectfully, according to etiquette, she made a sign to her waiting-
woman, who withdrew, and closed the doors.
The queen scarcely waited for the door to be closed, when, seizing
the hand of M. de Charny with vehemence,
' Count,' cried she, ' why are you here ?
1 Because I considered it my duty to come, madame,' said the
count.
1 No ; your duty was to fly Versailles ; it was to do what we had
agreed, to obey me ; it is, in fact, to do as all my friends are doing
who fear to share my fate. Your duty is to sacrifice nothing to my
destiny ; your duty is to separate yourself from me !'
' To separate myself from you ?* said he.
4 Yes ; to fly from me.'
OLIVIER DE CHARNY. 235
* And who, then, flies from you, madame ?'
' Those who are prudent.'
' \ think myself very prudent, madame, and that is why I now
coins to Versailles.'
' And from where do you come ?'
' From Paris.'
' From revolted Paris ?'
* From boiling, intoxicated, and ensanguined Paris.'
The queen covered her face with both her hands.
' Oh !' said she, ' no one, not even you, will then come to bring
.ne some good news.'
' Madame, in the present circumstances, ask your messengers to
tell you but one thing the truth.'
'And is it the truth you have just been telling me ?'
'As I do always, madame.'
' You have an honest soul, sir, and a stout heart.'
' I am a faithful subject, madame, that is all'
' Well, then, spare me for the moment, my friend ; do not tell me
a single word. You have arrived at a moment when my heart was
breaking. My friends, to-day, for the first time overwhelm me with
that truth which you have always told me. Oh ! it was this truth,
count, it was impossible for them to withhold it from me any longer.
It bursts forth everywhere : in the heavens, which are red ; in the
air, which is filled with sinister noises : in the physiognomy of the
courtiers, who are pale and serious. No, no, count, for the first time
in your lite, tell me not the truth.'
The count looked at the queen with amazement.
' Yes, yes,' said she ; ' you who know me to be courageous, you
are astonished, are you not ? Oh i you are not yet at the end of
your astonishment.'
M. de Charny allowed an inquiring gesture to escape him.
1 You will see by-and-by,' said the queen, with a nervous laugh.
' Does your majesty suffer ?' asked the count.
' No, no, sir. Come and sit down near me ; and not a word
more about those dreadful politics. Try to make me forget them.'
The count obeyed with a sad smile. Marie Antoinette placed her
hand upon his forehead.
'Your forehead burns,' said she.
' Yes, I have a volcano in my head.'
' Your hand is icy cold.'
And she pressed the count's hand between both hers.
' My heart is affected with a deathlike coldness,' said he.
' Poor Olivier ! I had told you so. Let us forget it. I am no
longer queen : I am no longer threatened : I am no longer hated.
No, I am no longer a queen. I am a woman, that is all. What is
the whole universe to me ? One heart that loves me would suffice
for me.'
236 TAKING THE BASTILE.
The count fell on his knees before the queen, and kissed her feet
with the respect the Egyptians had for the goddess I sis.
' Oh, count, my only friend !' said the queen, trying to raise him
up, ' do you know what the Duchess Diana is about to do P
' She is going to emigrate,' answered Charny, without hesitating.
' He has guessed the truth,' exclaimed Marie Antoinette. * He
has guessed it Alas ! was it then possible to guess it ?
' Oh, certainly, midame,' answered the count ; ' one can imagine
anything at such a moment as this.'
' But you and your friends,' exclaimed the queen, 'why do you
not emigrate, if you consider it so natural a step ?
' In the first place, madame, I do not emigrate because I am pro-
foundly devoted to your majesty, and because I have promised, not
to you, but to myself, that I will not quit you for a single instant
during the impending storm. My brothers will not emigrate, because
my conduct will be the model on which they will regulate theirs. In
fine, Madame de Charny will not emigrate, because she loves your
majesty sincerely, at least, so I believe.'
' Yes, Andre*e has a very noble heart,' said the queen, with per-
ceptible coldness.
' That is the reason why she will not leave Versailles,' answered
De Charny.
' Then I shall always have you near me,' said the queen, in the
same icy tone, which she varied so as to express either her jealousy
or her disdain.
' Your majesty has done me the honour to make me lieutenant of
the guards,' said the Count de Charny ; ' my post is at Versailles.
I should not have left my post if your majesty had not entrusted
me with the care of the Tuileries. " It is a necessary exile," said
the queen to me, and I accepted that exile. Now, in all this, your
majesty well knows the Countess de Charny has neither reproved
the step, nor was she consulted with regard to it.'
' It is true,' replied the queen, in the same freezing tone.
' To-day,' continued the count, with intrepidity, ' I think my post
is no longer at the Tuileries, but at Versailles. Well, may it not
displease the queen, I have violated my orders, thus selecting the
service I prefer ; and here I am. Whether Madame de Charny be
alarmed or not at the complexion of events whether it be her de-
sire to emigrate or not I will remain near the queen, unless, indeed,
the queen breaks my sword ; in which case, having no longer the
right to fight and to die for her on the floor of Versailles, I shall
still have that of sacrificing it on its threshold, on the pavement.'
The young man pronounced these simple words so valiantly and
so loyally, they emanated so evidently from the depths of his heart,
that the queen appeared suddenly to lose her haughtiness, a retreat
behind which she had just concealed feelings more human than
royal
OLIVIER DE CHARNY. 237
' Count,' said she, ' never pronounce that word again. Do not
say that you will die for me, for in truth I know that you would do
as you say.'
' Oh, I shall always say it ! on the contrary,' exclaimed M. de
Charny. ' I shall say it to every one, and in every place. I shall
say it, and I shall do it, because the time has come, I fear, when all
who have been attached to the kings of this earth must die.'
' Count ! count ! what is it gives you this fatal forewarning ?'
' Alas ! madame,' replied De Charny, shaking his head, ' and 1
too, during that fatal American war, I too was affected like the rest
with that fever of independence which pervaded all society. I too
wished to take an active part in the emancipation of the slaves, as
it was customary to say in those days ; and 1 was initiated into the
secrets of masonry. I became affiliated with a secret society, with
the Lafayettes and the Lamoths. Do you know what the object of
this society was, madame ? The destruction of thrones. Do you
know what it had for its motto ? Three letters L.P.D.'
' And what did these letters signify ?
' Lilia pedibus destrue ! Trample the lilies underfoot !'
' Then, what did you do ?'
' I withdrew with honour. But for one who withdrew from the
society, there were twenty who applied to be admitted into it. Well,
then, what is happening to-day, madame, is the prologue to the grand
drama which has been preparing in silence and in darkness for
twenty years. At the head of the men who are stimulating Paris
to resistance, who govern the Hotel de Ville, who occupy the
Palais-Royal, and who took the Bastile, I recognised the coun-
tenances of my former affiliated brethren. Do not deceive your-
self, madame ; all the events which have just taken place are not
the results of chance ; they are outbreaks which had been planned
for years.'
' Oh, you think so ! you think so, my friend !' exclaimed the
queen, bursting into tears.
' Do not weep, madame, but endeavour to comprehend the pre-
sent crisis,' said the count.
'You wish me to comprehend it !' continued Marie Antoinette.
' I, the queen I, who was born the sovereign of twenty-five millions
of men you wish me to understand how these twenty-five millions
of subjects, born to obey me, should revolt and murder my friends ,'
No that I shall never comprehend.'
'And yet it is absolutely necessary for you to understand it,
madame ; for the moment this obedience becomes a burden to these
subjects, to these men born to obey you, you become their enemy ;
and until they have the strength to devour you, to do which they
are sharpening their famished teeth, they will devour your friends,
still more detested than you are.'
' And, perhaps, you will next tell me that they are right, most sage
J3 TAKING THE BASTILE.
philosopher,' exclaimed the queen, imperiously, her eyes dilated,
and her nostrils quivering with anger.
' Alas ! yes, madame, they are right,' said the count, in his gentle
and affectionate voice ; 'for when I drive along the Boulevards,
with my beautiful English horses, my coat glittering with gold, and
my attendants covered with more silver than would be necessary to
feed three families, your people, that is to say, those twenty-five
millions of starving men, ask themselves of what use I am to them
I, who am only a man like themselves.'
' You serve them with this, marquis,' exclaimed the queen, seizing
the hilt cf the count's sword ; ' you serve them with the sword that
your father wielded so heroically at Fontenoy, your grandfather at
Steinkirk, your great-grandfather at Lens and at Rocroi, your an-
cestors at Ivry, at Marignan, and at Agincourt. The nobility serves
the French nation by waging war. By war, the nobility has earned,
at the price of its blood, the gold which decks its garments, the
silver which covers its liveries. Do not, therefore, ask yourself,
Olivier, how you serve the people, you who wield in your turn,
and bravely too, the sword which has descended to you from your
forefathers.'
' Madame ! madame !' said the count, shaking his head, 'do not
speak so much of the blood of the nobility : the people, too, have
blood in their veins ; go and see it running in streams on the Place
de la Bastile ; go and count their dead, stretched out on the crim-
soned pavement, and consider that their hearts, which now no
longer beat, throbbed with as much feeling as that of a knight, on
the day when your cannon were thundering against them ; on the
day when, seizing a new weapon in their unskilful hands, they sang-
in the midst of grape-shot a thing which even our bravest grena-
diers do not always. Ah ! madame my sovereign, look not on me,
I entreat you, with that frowning eye. What is a grenadier ? It is
a gilt blue coat, covering the heart of which I was speaking to you
a moment since. Of what importance is it to the bullet which
pierces and kills, that the heart be covered with blue cloth or with a
linen rag ? Of what importance is it to the heart which is pierced
through, whether the cuirass which protected it was cloth or canvas ?
The time is come to think of all that, madame. You have no longer
twenty-five millions of subjects ; you have no longer even twenty-
five millions of men. You have twenty-five millions of soldiers.'
' Who will fight against me, count ?'
* Yes, against you ; for they are fighting fot liberty, and you stand
between them and liberty.'
A long silence followed the words of the count The queen was
the first to break it.
' In fine.' said she, ' you have told me this truth, which I had
begged you not to tell me.'
' Alas, madame,' replied Charny, ' under whatever form my devo-
OLIVIER DE CHAR NY. 239
tion may conceal it, under whatever veil my respect disguises it, in
spite of me, in spite of yourself, examine it, listen to it, think of it.
The truth is there, madame, is there for ever, and you can no longer
banish it from your mind, whatever may be your efforts to the con-
trary. Sleep ! sleep, to forget it, and it will haunt your pillow, will
become the phantom of your dreams, a reality at your awakening.'
' Oh ! count,' said the queen, proudly, ' I know a sleep which it
cannot disturb !'
' As for that sleep, madame, I do not fear it more than does your
majesty, and perhaps I desire it quite as much.'
' Oh !' exclaimed the queen, in despair, ' according to you, it is,
then, our sole refuge ?'
' Yes ; but let us do nothing rashly, madame. Let us go no faster
than our enemies, and we shall go straight to that sleep by the
fatigues which we shall have to endure during so many stormy days.'
And a new silence, still more gloomy than the first, appeared to
weigh down the spirits of the two speakers.
They were seated, he near her, and she near him. They touched
each other, and yet between them there was an immense abyss, for
their minds viewed the future in a different light.
The queen was the first to return to the subject of their conversa-
tion, but indirectly. She looked fixedly at the count. Then
' Let us see, sir,' said she. ' One word as to ourselves, and you
will tell me all all all. You understand me ?'
' I am ready to answer you, madame.'
' Can you swear to me that you came here only tor my sake ?
' Oh ! do you doubt it ?'
' Will you swear to me that Madame de Charny had not written
to you ?'
'She? 5
' Listen to me. I know that she was going out. I know that she
had some plan in her mind. Swear to me, count, that it was not on
her account that you returned !'
At this moment a knock, or rather a scratch, at the door was heard.
' Come in,' said the queen.
The waiting-woman again appeared.
' Madame,' said she, ' the king has just finished his supper.'
The count looked at Marie Antoinette with astonishment.
'Well,' said she, shrugging her shoulders, 'what is there astonish-
ing in that ? Must the king not take his supper ?'
Olivier frowned.
' Tell the king,' replied the queen, without at all disturbing herself,
' that I am just receiving news from Paris, and that I shall commu-
nicate them to him when I have received them.'
Then, turning towards Charny
' Go on,' said she ; ' now that the king has supped, it is but natural
that he should digest his food.'
240 TAKING THE BASTILE.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
OLIVIER DE CHARNY.
THIS interruption had only caused a momentary suspension in the
conversation, but had changed in nothing the two-fold sentiment of
jealousy which animated the queen at this moment jealousy of love
as a woman jealousy of power as a queen.
Hence it resulted that the conversation, which seemed exhausted
during its first period,had,on the contrary,only been slightly glanced
at, and was about to be revived more sharply than ever ; as in a
battle, where, after the cessation of the first fire, which had com-
menced the action on a few points, the fire which decides the victory
soon becomes general all along the line.
The count, moreover, as things had arrived at this point, seemed
as anxious as the queen to come to an explanation ; for which reason,
the door being closed again, he was the first to resume the conver-
sation.
' You asked me if it was for Madame de Charny that I had come
back,' said he. ' Has your majesty then forgotten that engagements
were entered into between us, and that I am a man of honour ?*
' Yes,' said the queen, holding down her head, ' yes, we have made
engagements ; yes, you are a man of honour ; yes, you have sworn
to sacrifice yourself to my happiness, and it is that oath which most
tortures me, for in sacrificing yourself to my happiness, you immo-
lated at the same time a beautiful woman and a noble character-
another crime !'
' Oh ! madame, now you are exaggerating the accusation. I only
wish you to confess that I have kept my word as a gentleman.'
' It is true ; I am insensate forgive me '
' Do not call a crime that which originated in chance and neces-
sity. We have both deplored this marriage, which alone could
shield the honour of the q^ueen. As for this marriage, there only
remains for me to endure it, as I have done for many years.'
' Yes !' exclaimed the queen. ' But do you think that I do not
perceive your grief, that I do not understand your sorrow, which
evince themselves in the shape of the highest respect ? Do you
think that I do not see all this ?
' Do me the favour, madame,' said the count, bowing, ' to com-
municate to me what you see, in order that if I have not suffered
enough myself, and made others suffer enough, I may double the
amount of suffering for myself, and for all those who surround me,
as I feel certain of ever falling short of what I owe you.'
The queen held out her hand to the count. The words of the
young man had an irresistible power, like everything that emanates
from a sincere and impassioned heart.
' Command me, then, madame,' rejoine-I he ; ' I entreat you, do
not fear to lay your commands upon me.'
OLIVIER DE CHARNY. 241
' Oh ! yes, yes, I know it well. I am wrong ; yes, forgive me ;
yes, it is true. But if you have anywhere some hidden idol, to whom
you offer up mysterious incense if for you there is in some corner
of the world an adored woman Oh ! I no longer dare to pronounce
that word it strikes me with terror ; and I fear that the syllables
which compose it should strike the air and vibrate in my ear. Well,
then, if such a woman does exist, concealed from every one, do not
forget that you have publicly, in the eyes of others as in your own,
a young and beautiful wife, whom you surround with care and at-
tentions, a wife who leans upon your arm, and who, while leaning
on your arm, leans at the same time on your heart.'
Olivier knit his brow, and the delicate lines of his face assumed
for a momeat a severe aspect.
' What do you ask, madame ?' said he ; ' do I separate myself
from the Countess de Charny ? You remain silent ; is that the
reason, then ? Well, then, I am ready to obey this order, even
but you know that she is alone in the world she is an orphan. Her
father, the Baron de Taverney, died last year, like a worthy knight
of the olden time, who wishes not to see that which is about to take
place in ours. Her brother you know that her brother, Maison-
Rouge, makes his appearance once a year, at most comes to em-
brace his sister, to pay his respects to your majesty, and then goes
away, without any one knowing what becomes of him.'
' Yes, I know all that.'
' Consider, madame, that this Countess de Charny, were God to
remove me from this world, could resume her maiden name, and the
purest angel in heaven could not detect in her dreams, in her
thoughts, a single unholy word or thought.'
' Oh ! yes, yes,' said the queen. ' I know that your Andrde is an
angel upon earth ; I know that she deserves to be loved. That is
the reason why I think she has a brilliant future before her, while
mine is hopeless ! Oh ! no, no ! Come, count, I beg of you, say
not another word ; I no longer speak to you as a queen forgive
me, I forget myself ; but what would you have ? there is in my soul
a voice which always sings happiness, joy, and love, although it is
too often assailed by those sinister voices which speak of nothing
but misfortune, war, and death. It is the voice of my youth, which
1 have survived. Charny, forgive me, I shall no longer be young,
I shall no longer smile, 1 shall no longer love !'
And the unhappy woman covered her burning eyes with her thin
and delicate hands, and the tear of a queen filtered, brilliant as a
diamond, between each one of her ringers.
The count once more fell on his knees before her.
' Madame, in the name of heaven !' said he, ' order me to leave
you, to fly from you, to die for you, but do not let me see you weep !'
And the count himself could hardly refrain from sobbing as he
spoke.
242 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' It is all over,' said Marie Antoinette, raising her head, and
speaking gently, with a smile replete with grace.
And, with a beautiful movement, she thr?w back her thick pow-
dered hair, which had fallen on her neck, white as the driven snow.
' Yes, yes ! it is over,' continued the queen ; ' I shall not afflict
you any more ; let us throw aside all these follies. Great God ! it
is strange that the woman should be so weak, when the queen so
much needs to be firm. You come from Paris, do you not ? Let us
converse about it. You told me some things that I have forgotten ;
and yet they were very serious, were they not, Monsieur de Charny ?'
' Be it so, madame ; let us return to that fatal subject : for, as
you observe, what I have to tell you is very serious. Yes, I have
just arrived from Paris, and I was present at the downfall of the
monarchy.'
' I was right to request you to return to serious matters, and most
assuredly, count, you make them more than sufficiently gloomy. A
successful insurrection, do you call that the downfall of the
monarchy ? What ! is it because the Bastile has been taken,
Monsieur de Charny, that you say the monarchy is abolished ? Oh !
you do not reflect that the Bastile was founded in France only in
the fourteenth century, while monarchy has been taking root in the
world during the last six thousand years.'
' I should be well pleased to deceive myself in this matter,
madame,' replied the count, ' and then, instead of afflicting your
majesty's mind, I should bring to you the most consoling news.
Unfortunately, the instrument will not produce any other sounds
but those for which it was intended.'
' Let us see, let us see, I will sustain you, I who am but a woman ;
I will put you on the right path.'
' Alas ! I ask for nothing better.'
' The Parisians have revolted, have they not ?
1 Yes.'
' In what proportion ?
( In the proportion of twelve to fifteen.'
' How do you arrive at this calculation ?'
' Oh ! very easily : the people form twelve -fifteenths of the body
of the nation ; there remain two-fifteenths for the nobility and one
for the clergy.'
' Your calculations are exact, count, and you have them at your
fingers' ends. Have you read the works of Monsieur and Madame
de Necker ?
'Those of Monsieur Necker? Yes, madame.'
' Well, the proverb holds good,' said the queen gaily : ' we are
never betrayed but by our own friends. Well, then ! here is my
own calculation will you listen to it ?
' With all respect.'
' Among these twelve-fifteenths there are six ot women, are there
not?"
OLIVIER DE CHARNY. 243
' Yes, your majesty. But-
' Do not interrupt me. We said there were six-fifteenths of
women, so let us say six ; two of indifferent or incapable old men
is that too much ?
'No.'
1 There still remain four-fifteenths, of which you will allow that
at least two are cowards or lukewarm individuals I flatter the
French nation. But finally, there remain two-fifteenths ; I will
grant yoa that they are furious, robust, brave, and warlike. These
two-fifths, let us consider them as belonging to Paris only, for it is
needless to speak of the provinces, is it not ? It is only Paris that
requires to be retaken ?'
' Yes, madame. But '
' Always but : wait a moment. You can reply when I have
concluded.'
M. de Charny bowed.
' I therefore estimate,' continued the queen, ' the two-fifteenths of
Paris at one hundred thousand men is that sufficient ?'
This time the count did not answer. The queen rejoined
' Well, then ! to these hundred thousand men, badly armed, badly
disciplined, and but little accustomed to battle, hesitating, because
they know they are doing wrong, I can oppose fifty thousand men,
known throughout Europe for their bravery, with officers like you,
Monsieur de Charny ; besides that sacred cause which is deno-
minated divine right, and in addition to all this, my own firm soul,
which it is easy to move, but difficult to break.'
The count still remained silent.
' Do you think,' continued the queen, ' that in a battle fought in
such a cause, two men of the people are worth more than one of
my soldiers ?'
Charny said nothing.
' Speak answer me ! Do you think so ?' exclaimed the queen,
growing impatient.
' Madame,' answered the count, at last, throwing aside, on this
order from the queen, the respectful reserve which he had so long
maintained, ' on a field of battle, where these hundred thousand men
would be isolated, undisciplined and badly armed as they are, your
fifty thousand soldiers would defeat them in half an hour.'
' Ah !' said the queen, ' I was then right.'
'Wait a moment. But it is not as you imagine. And, in the
first place, your hundred thousand insurgents, in Paris, are five
hundred thousand.'
' Five hundred thousand ?'
' Quite as many. You had omitted the women and children in
your calculation. Oh ! queen of France ! oh ! proud and courageous
woman, consider them as so many men, these women of Paris ; the
244 TAKING THE BASTILE.
day will perhaps come when they will compel you to consider them
as so many demons.'
' What can you mean, count ?
1 Madame, do you know what part a woman plays in a civil war ?
No, you do not. Well ! I will tell you ; and you will see that two
soldiers against each woman would not be too many.'
' Count, have you lost your senses ?
Charny smiled sadly.
' Did you see them at the Bastile r" asked he, in the midst of the
fire, in the midst of the shot, crying to arms, threatening with their
fists your redoubtable Swiss soldiers, fully armed and equipped,
uttering maledictions over the bodies of the slain, with that voice
that excites the hearts of the living. Have we not seen them boiling
the pitch, dragging cannon along the streets, giving cartridges to
those who were eager for the combat, and to the timid combatants a
cartridge and a kiss. Do you know that as many women as men
trod the drawbridge of the Bastile, and that at this moment, if the
stones of the Bastile are falling, it is by pickaxes wielded by women's
hands ! Ah ! madame, do not overlook the women of Paris, take
them into consideration ; think also of the children who cast bullets,
who sharpen swords, who throw paving-stones from a sixth story ;
think of them, for the bullet which was cast by a child may kill your
best general from afar off, for the sword which it has sharpened will
cut the hamstrings of your war horses, for the clouds of stones which
fall as from the skies will crush your dragoons and your guards ;
consider the old men, madame, for if they have no longer the strength
to raise a sword, they have still enough to serve as shields. At the
taking of the Bastile, madame, there were old men ; do you know
what they did, those aged men whom you affect to despise ? They
placed themselves before the young men, who steadied their muskets
on their shoulders, that they might take sure aim, so that the balls
of your Swiss killed the helpless aged man, whose body served as a
rampart to the vigorous youth. Include the aged men, for it is they
who for the last three hundred years have related to succeeding
generations the insults suffered by their mothers the barrenness of
their fields, caused by the devouring of their crops by the noble-
men's game the odium attached to their caste, crushed down by
feudal privileges and then the sons seize a hatchet, a club, a gun
in short, any weapon within their reach, and sally out to kill, fully
charged with the curses of the aged against all this tyranny, as the
cannon is loaded with powder and iron at Paris, at this moment.
Men, women, old men, and children, are all crying, " Liberty, de-
liverance !" Count everything that has a voice, madame, and you
may estimate the number of combatants in Paris at eight hundred
thousand souls.'
' Three hundred Spartans defeated the army of Xerxes, Monsieur
de Charny.'
OLIVIER DE CHARNY. 245
* Yes ; but to-day your three hundred Spartans have increased to
eight hundred thousand, and your fifty thousand soldiers compose
the army of Xerxes.'
The queen raised her head, her hands convulsively clenched, and
her face burning with shame and anger.
' Oh ! let me fall from my throne,' said she, ' let me be torn to
pieces by your five hundred thousand Parisians, but do not suffer
me to hear a Charny, a man devoted to me, speak to me thus.'
' If "he speaks to you thus, madame, it is because it is necessary :
for this Charny has not in his veins a single drop of blood that is
unworthy of his ancestors, or that is not all your own.'
' Then let him march upon Paris with me, and there we will die
together.'
' Ignominiously,' said the count, ' without the possibility of a
struggle. We shall not even fight ; we shall disappear like the
Philistines or the Amalekites. March upon Paris ! but you seem
to be ignorant of a very important thing it is at the moment we
shall enter Paris, the houses will fall upon us as did the waves of
the Red Sea upon Pharaoh ; and you will leave in France a name
which will be accursed, and your children will be killed like the
cubs of a wolf.'
' How then should I fall, count ? said the queen, with haughti-
ness ; ' teach me, I entreat you.'
' As a victim, madame,' respectfully replied M. de Charny ; ' as
a queen, smiling and forgiving those who strike the fatal blow. Ah!
if you had five hundred thousand men like me, I should say : " Let
us set out on our march ! let us march to-night ! let us march this
very instant !" And to-morrow you would reign at the Tuileries
to-morrow you would have reconquered your throne.'
' Oh !' exclaimed the queen, ' even you have given way to despair
you, in whom I had founded all my hopes.'
' Yes, I have despaired, madame ; because all France thinks as
Paris does ; because your army, if it were victorious in Paris, would
be swallowed up by Lyons, Rouen, Lisle, Strasburg, Nantes, and a
hundred other devouring cities. Come, come, take courage, madame;
return your sword into its scabbard.'
' Ah ! was it for this,' cried the queen, ' that I have gathered round
me so many brave men ? was it for this that I have inspired them
with so much courage ?'
' If that is not your opinion, madame, give your orders, and we
will march upon Paris this very night. Say, what is your pleasure ?'
There was so much devotion in this offer of the count, that it in-
timidated the queen more than a refusal would have done. She
threw herself, in despair, on a sofa, where she struggled for a con-
siderable time with her haughty sc*i
At length, raising her head
' Count,' said she, ' do you desk jne to remain inactive ?'
246 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
' I have the honour to advise your majesty to remain so.'
* It shall be so come back.'
' Alas ! madame, have I offended you ?* said the count, looking
at the queen with a sorrowful expression, but in which beamed in-
describable love.
' No your hand.'
The count bowed gracefully, and gave his hand to the queen.
' I must scold you,' said Marie Antoinette, endeavouring to smile.
' For what reason, madame ?'
' How ! you have a brother in the army, and I have only been
accidentally informed of it.'
' I do not comprehend '
' This evening, a young officer of the Hussars of Berchigny '
' Ah ! my brother George !'
* Why have you never spoken to me of this young man ? Why
has he not a high rank in a regiment ?
' Because he is yet quite young and inexperienced ; because he is
not worthy of command as a chief officer ; because, in fine, if your
majesty has condescended to look so low as upon me who am called
Charny, to honour me with your friendship, it is not a reason that
my relations should be advanced to the prejudice of a crowd of
brave noblemen, more deserving than my brothers.'
' Have you then still another brother ?
' Yes, madame ; and one who is as ready to die for your majesty
as the two others.'
' Does he not need anything ?
' Nothing, madame. We have the happiness to have not only our
lives, but also a fortune to lay at the feet of your majesty.'
While he was pronouncing these last words, the queen, who was
much moved by a trait of such delicate probity, and he himself pal-
pitating with affection caused by the gracious kindness of her majesty,
they were suddenly disturbed in their conversation by a groan from
the adjoining room.
The queen rose from her seat, went to the door, and screamed
aloud. She had just perceived a woman who was writhing on the
carpet, and suffering the most horrible convulsions.
' Oh ! the countess,' said she in a whisper to M. de Charny ; 'she
has overheard our conversation ?
'No, madame,' answered he, 'otherwise she would have warned
your majesty that we could be overheard.'
And he sprang towards Andre'e and raised her in his arms.
The queen remained standing at two steps from her, cold, pale,
and trembling with anxiety.
A TRIO. 247
CHAPTER XXIX.
A TRIO.
ANDREE was gradually recovering her senses, without knowing
from whom assistance came, but she seemed instinctively to under-
stand that some one had come to her assistance.
She raised her head, and her hands grasped the unhoped-for
succour that was offered her.
But her mind did not recover as soon as her body ; it still re-
mained vacillating, stupefied, somnolent, during a few minutes.
After having succeeded in recalling her to physical life, M. de
Charny attempted to restore her moral senses. But he was strug-
gling against a terrible and concentrated unconsciousness.
Finally, she fastened her open, but haggard eyes upon him, and
with her still remaining delirium, without recognising the person
who was supporting her, she gave a loud shriek, and abruptly pushed
him from her.
During all this time, the queen turned her eyes in another direr
tion ; she, a woman ; she, whose mission it was to console, to
strengthen this afflicted friend, she abandoned her.
Charny raised Andre"e in his powerful arms, notwithstanding the
resistance she attemped to make, and turning round to the queen,
who was still standing, pale and motionless
' Pardon me, madame,' said he ; ' something extraordinary must
doubtless have happened. Madame de Charny is not subject to
fainting, and this is the first time I have ever seen her in this state.'
' She must then be suffering greatly/ said the queen, who still re-
verted to the idea that Andree had overheard their conversation.
'Yes, without doubt she is suffering,' answered the count, ' and it
is for that reason that I shall ask your majesty the permission to
have her carried to her own apartment. She needs the assistance
of her attendants.'
' Do so,' said the queen, raising her hand to the bell.
But scarcely had Andre"e heard the ringing of the bell, when she
wrestled fearfully, and cried out in her delirium
' Oh ! Gilbert ! that Gilbert !'
The queen trembled at the sound of this name, and the as-
tonished count placed his wife upon a sofa.
At this moment, a servant appeared to answer the bell.
' It is nothing,' said the queen, making a sign to him with her
hand to leave the room.
Then, being once more left to themselves, the count and the queen
looked at each other. Andree had again closed her eves, and seemed
to suffer from a second attack.
M. de Charny, who was kneeling near the sofa, prevented her
from falling off it.
' Gilbert,' repeated the qneen, ' what name is that ?
248 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
1 We must inquire.'
' I think I know it,' said Marie Antoinette ; ' I think it is not the
first time I have heard the countess pronounce that name.'
But as if she had been threatened by this recollection of the
queen, and that this threat had surprised her in the midst of her
convulsions, Andre"e opened her eyes, stretched out her arms to
heaven, and, making a great effort, stood upright.
Her first look, an intelligent look, was this time directed at M. de
Charny, whom she recognised, and greeted with caressing smiles.
Then, as if this involuntary manifestation of her thought had been
unworthy of her Spartan soul, Andr^e turned her eyes in another
direction, and perceived the queen. She immediately made a pro-
found inclination.
' Ah ! good heaven, what then is the matter with you, madame ?'
said M. de Charny ; ' you have alarmed me you, who are usually
so strong and so courageous, to have suffered from a swoon r 1
' Sir,' said she, ' such fearful events have taken place at Paris,
that when men are trembling, it is by no means strange that women
should faint. Have you then left Paris ? oh ! you have done rightly.'
' Good God ! countess,' said Charny, in a doubting tone, ' was it
then on my account that you underwent all this suffering ?
Andr^e again looked at her husband and the queen, but did not
answer.
' Why, certainly that is the reason, count, why should you
doubt it ?' answered Marie Antoinette. ' The Countess de Charny
is not a queen ; she has the right to be alarmed for her husband's
safety.'
Charny could detect jealousy in the queen's language.
Oh ! madame,' said he, ' I am quite certain that the countess
fears still more for her sovereign's safety than for mine.'
' But in fine,' asked Marie Antoinette, ' why and how is it that we
found you in a swoon in this room, countess ?
' Oh ! it would be impossible for me to tell you that, madame ; I
cannot myself account for it ; but in this life of fatigue, of terror,
and painful emotions, which we have led for the last three days,
nothing can be more natural, it seems to me, than the fainting of a
woman.'
' This is true,' murmured the queen, who perceived that Andre
did not wish to be compelled to speak out.
' But,' rejoined Andre"e, in her turn, with that extraordinary degree
of calmness which never abandoned her after she had once become
the mistress of her will, and which was so much the more embar-
rassing in difficult circumstances, that it could easily be discerned
to be mere affectation, and concealed feelings altogether human ;
' but even your majesty's eyes are at this moment humid.'
And the count thought he could perceive in the words of his wife
that ironical accent he had remarked but a few moments previously
in the lansuasce of the queen.
A TRIO. 249
' Madame, 3 said he to Andre"e, with a degree of severity to which
his voice was evidently not accustomed, ' it is not astonishing that
the queen's eyes should be suffused with tears, for the queen loves
her people, and the blood of the people has been shed.'
' Fortunately, God has spared yours, sir,' said Andrde, who was
still no less cold and impenetrable.
' Yes ; but it is not of her majesty that we are speaking, madame,
but of you ; let us then return to our subject ; the queen permits us
to do so.'
Marie Antoinette made an affirmative gesture with her head,
' You were alarmed, then, were you not ?'
' Who, I ?'
' You have been suffering ; do not deny it ; some accident has
happened to you what was it ? I know not what it can have been,
but you will tell us.'
' You are mistaken, sir.'
' Have you had any reason to complain of any one of a man ?'
Andre"e turned pale.
' I have had no reason to complain of any one, sir ; I have just
come from the king's apartment/
' Did you come direct from there ?'
' Yes, direct. Her majesty can easily ascertain that fact.'
' If such be the case,' said Marie Antoinette, ' the countess must
be right. The king loves her too well, and knows that my own
affection for her is too strong, for him to disoblige her in any way
whatever.'
' But you mentioned a name,' said Charny, still persisting.
' A name ?'
' Yes ; when you were recovering your senses.'
Andre"e looked at the queen as if to ask her for assistance ; but,
either because the queen did not understand her, or did not wish to
do so
' Yes,' said she, ' you pronounced the name Gilbert.' ,
' Gilbert ! did I pronounce the name of Gilbert ?' exclaimed
Andre"e, in a tone so full of terror, that the count was more affected
by this cry than he had been by her fainting.
' Yes !' exclaimed he, ' you pronounced that name.'
' Ah ! indeed !' said Andre"e, ' that is singular.'
And, by degrees, as the clouds close again, after having been rent
asunder by the lightning, the countenance of the young woman, so
violently agitated at the sound of that fatal name, recovered its
serenity, and but a few muscles of her lovely face continued to
tremble almost imperceptibly, like the last flashes of the tempest
which vanish in the horizon.
' Gilbert,' she repeated, ' I do not know that name.'
' Yes, Gilbert,' repeated the queen ; ' come, try to recollect, my
dear Andre"e.'
17
250 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' But, madame,' said the count to Marie Antoinette, ' perhaps it
is mere chance, and this name may be unknown to the countess.'
' No,' said Andre"e, 'no ; it is not unknown to me. It is that of
a learned man, of a skilful physician who has just arrived from
America, I believe, and who became intimate while there with
Monsieur de Lafayette.'
' Well, then ?' asked the count.
' Well, then !' repeated Andre, with the greatest presence of
mind, ' I do not know him personally, but he is said to be a very
honourable man.'
' Then why all this emotion, my dear countess ? observed the
queen.
' This emotion ! Have I then been excited ?
' Yes ; one would have said that when you pronounced the name
Gilbert, you felt as if undergoing torture.'
' It is possible : I will tell you how it happened. I met a person
in the king's cabinet, who was dressed in black, a man of austere
countenance, who spoke of gloomy and horrible subjects ; he related
with the most frightful reality the assassination of Monsieur de
Launay and Monsieur de Flesselles. I became terrified on hearing
this intelligence, and I fell into the swoon in which you saw me. It
may be that I spoke at that time ; perhaps I then pronounced the
name of Monsieur Gilbert.'
' It is possible,' repeated M. de Charny, who was evidently not
disposed to push the questioning any farther. ' But now you feel
more reassured, do you not, madame ?
1 Completely.'
' I will then beg of you to do one thing, Monsieur de Charny,'
said the queen.
' I am at the disposal of your majesty.'
' Go and find out Messieurs De Be'zenval, De Broglie, and De
Lambesq. Tell them to quarter their troops where they now are.
The king will decide to-morrow in council what must then be done.'
The count bowed ; but before leaving the room, he cast a last
look at Andre"e.
That look was full of affectionate anxiety.
. It did not escape the queen.
' Countess,' said she, ' will you not return to the king's apartment
with me ?
' No, madame, no,' replied Andre'e, quickly.
' And why not ?
' I ask your majesty's permission to withdraw to my own apart-
ment. The emotions I have undergone make me feel the want of
rest.'
' Come now, countess, speak frankly,' said the queen. ' Have you
had any disagreement with his majesty ?'
' Oh, by no means, madame ! absolutely nothing.'
A TRIO. 251
' Oh, tell me if anything has happened ! The king does not always
spare my friends/
' The king is, as usual, full of kindness to me, but '
' But you have no great wish to see him. Is it not so? There
must positively be something at the bottom of all this, count/ said
the queen, with affected gaiety. ^
At this moment Andre'e directed so expressive, so supplicating a
look at the queen a look so full of revelations, that the latter under-
stood it was time to put an end to this minor war.
' In fact, countess,' said she, ' we will leave Monsieur de Charny
to execute the commission I entrusted to him, and you can retire or
remain here, according to your choice.'
' Thank you, madame,' said Andre'e.
* Go, then, Monsieur de Charny,' continued Marie Antoinette,
while she noticed the expression of gratitude which was visible on
the features of Andre'e.
Either the count did not perceive, or did not wish to perceive it.
He took the hand of his wife, and complimented her on the return
of her strength and colour.
Then, making a most respectful bow to the queen, he left the
room.
But while leaving the room he exchanged a last look with Marie
Antoinette.
The queen's look meant to say, ' R.eturn quickly.' That of the
count replied, ' As soon as possible.'
As to Andre'e she followed with her eyes every one of her hus-
band's movements, her bosom palpitating, and almost breathless.
She seemed to accelerate with her wishes the slow and noble step
with which he approached the door. She, as it were, pushed him
out of the room with the whole power of her will.
Therefore was it that, as soon as he had closed the door, as soon
as he had disappeared, all the strength that Andre'e had summoned
to assist her in surmounting the difficulties of her position aban-
doned her ; her face became pale, her limbs failed beneath her, and
she fell into an arm-chair which was within her reach, while she
endeavoured to apologise to the queen for her involuntary breach
of etiquette.
The queen ran to the chimney-piece, took a smelling-bottle of
salts, and making Andre'e inhale them, she was soon restored to her
senses, but more by the power of her own will than by the efficacy
of the attentions she received at the royal hands.
In fact, there was something strange in the conduct of these two
women. The queen seemed to love Andre'e ; Andre'e respected the
queen greatly, and, nevertheless, at certain moments they did not
appear to be, the one an affectionate queen, the other a devoted
subject, but two determined enemies.
As we have already said, the potent will of Andre'e soon restored
252 TAKING THE BASTILE,
her strength. She rose up, gently removed the queen's hand, and,
curtseying to her
' Your majesty,' said she, ' has given me permission to retire to
my own room.'
' Yes, undoubtedly ; and you are always free, dear countess, and
this you know full well. Etiquette is not intended for you. But
before you retire, have you nothing to tell me ?'
' I, madame ?' asked Andre*e.
' Yes, you, without doubt.'
' No : what should I have to tell you ?'
' In regard to this Monsieur Gilbert, the sight of whom has made
so strong an impression upon you.'
Andre"e trembled ; but she merely made a sign of denial.
'In that case, I will not detain you any longer, dearAndre'e;
you may go.'
And the queen took a step towards the door of the dressing-
room, which communicated with her bed-room.
Andre*e, on her side, having made her obeisance to the queen, in
the most irreproachable manner, was going towards the door.
But at the very moment she was about to open it, steps were
heard in the corridor, and a hand was placed on the external handle
of the door.
At the same time the voice of Louis XVI. was heard, giving orders
for the night to his valet.
' The king, madame !' said Andre"e, retreating several steps ; ' the
king !'
'And what of that? Yes, it is the king,' said Marie Antoinette.
' Does he terrify you to such a degree as this ?'
' Madame, in the name of heaven/ cried Andre*e, ' let me not see
the king ! Let me not meet the king face to face, at all events this
evening. I should die of shame.'
' But, finally you will tell me '
' Everything yes, everything if your majesty requires it. But
hide me !'
' Go into my boudoir,' said Marie Antoinette. ' You can leave it
as soon as the king himself retires. Rest assured your captivity
will not be of long duration. The king never remains here long.'
' Oh, thanks ! thanks !' exclaimed the countess.
And rushing into the boudoir she disappeared, at the very moment
that the king, having opened the door, appeared upon the threshold
of the chamber.
The king entered
THE QUEEN'S THOUGHTS. 253
CHAPTER XXX.
WHAT THE QUEEN'S THOUGHTS WERE, DURING THE NIGHT
FROM JULY 14 TO JULY 15, 1789.
How long the interview between Andr^e and the queen lasted, it
would be impossible for us to say ; but it was certainly of consider-
able duration, for at about half-past twelve o'clock that night, the
door of the queen's boudoir was seen to open, and on the threshold
Andre"e, almost on her knees, kissing the hand of Marie Antoinette.
After which, having raised herself up, the young woman dried her
eyes, red with weeping, while the queen, on her side, re-entered her
room.
Andre"e, on the contrary, walked away rapidly, as if she desired
to escape from her own thoughts.
After this, the queen was alone. When the lady of the bed-
chamber entered the room, to assist her in undressing, she found
her pacing the room with rapid strides, and her eyes flashing with
excitement. She made a quick movement with her hand, which
meant to say, ' Leave me.'
The lady of the bedchamber left the room, without offering an
observation.
The queen again found herself alone. She had given orders that
no one should disturb her, unless it was to announce the arrival of
important news from Paris.
Andre"e did not appear again.
As for the king, after he had conversed with M. de la Rpchefou-
cault, who endeavoured to make him comprehend the difference
there was between a riot and a revolution he declared himself
fatigued, went to bed, and slept as quietly as if he had returned
from a hunt, and the stag (a well-trained courtier) had suffered him-
self to be taken in the grand basin of the fountain called the Swiss.
The queen, however, wrote several letters, went into an adjoining
room, where her two children slept under the care of Madame de
Tourzel, and then went to bed, not for the sake of sleeping, like the
king, but merely to meditate more at ease.
But soon after, when silence reigned around Versailles, when the
immense palace became plunged in darkness, when there could no
longer be heard in the gardens aught but the tramp of the patrols
upon the gravel walks, and in the long passages nothing but the
ringing of muskets on the marble pavement, Marie Antoinette, tired
of repose, felt the want of air, got out of bed, and putting on her
velvet slippers and a long white dressing-gown, went to the window
to inhale the ascending freshness of the cascades, and to seize in
their flight those counsels which the night winds murmur to heated
minds and oppressed hearts.
Then she reviewed in her mind all the astounding events which
this strn.nfje day had produced.
254 TAKING THE BASTILE.
The fall of the Bastile, that visible emblem of royal power ; the
uncertainties of Charny, her devoted friend ; that impassioned cap-
tive who for so many years had been subjected to her yoke, and
who during all those years had never breathed anything but love,
now seemed for the first time to sigh from regret and feelings of
remorse.
With that synthetic habit with which the knowledge of men and
events endows great minds, Marie Antoinette immediately divided
the agitation which oppressed her into two portions, the one being
her political misfortunes, the other the sorrows of her heart.
The political misfortune was that great event, the news of which
had left Paris at three o'clock in the afternoon, and was then
spreading itself over the whole world, and weakening in every mind
that sacred reverence which until then had always been accorded to
kings, God's mandatories upon earth.
The sorrow of her heart was the gloomy resistance of Charny to
the omnipotence of his well-beloved sovereign. It appeared to her
like a presentiment, that without ceasing to be faithful and devoted,
his love would cease to be blind, and might begin to argue with
itself on its fidelity and its devotedness.
This thought grieved the queen's heart poignantly, and filled it
with that bitter gall which is called jealousy, an acrid poison which
ulcerates at the same instant a thousand little wounds in a wounded
soul.
Nevertheless, grief in the presence of misfortune was logically an
inferiority.
Thus, rather from reasoning than from conscientious motives,
rather from necessity than from instinct, Marie Antoinette first
allowed her mind to enter into the grave reflections connected with
the dangerous state of political affairs.
In which direction could she turn ? Before her lay hatred and
ambition weakness and indifference at her side.
For enemies, she had people who, having commenced with
calumny, were now organising a rebellion.
People whom, consequently, no consideration would induce to re-
treat.
For defenders we speak of the greater portion at least of those
men who, little by little, had accustomed themselves to endure
everything, and who, in consequence, no longer felt the depth of
their wounds, their degradation people who would hesitate to de-
fend themselves, for fear of attracting attention.
It was, therefore, necessary to bury everything in oblivion to
appear to forget, and yet to remember to feign to forgive, and yet
not pardon.
This would be conduct unworthy of a Queen of France : it was
especially unworthy of the daughter of Marie The*rese that high-
minded woman.
THE QUEER'S THOUGHTS. 255
To resist ! to resist ! that was what offended royal pride most
strenuously counselled. But was it prudent to resist ? Could hatred
be calmed down by shedding blood ? Was it not terrible to be sur-
nanied ' The Austrian ? Was it necessary, in order to consecrate
that name, as Isabeau and Catherine de Medici had consecrated
theirs, to give it the baptism of a universal massacre ?
And then, if what Charny had said was true, success was doubtful.
To combat and to be defeated !
Such were the political sorrows of the queen, who during certain
phases of her meditation felt a sensation like that which we experi-
ence on seeing a serpent glide from beneath the brambles, awakened
by our advancing steps. She felt, on emerging from the depths of
her sufferings as a queen, the despair of the woman who thinks her-
self but little loved, when in reality she had been loved too much.
Charny had said what we have already heard him say, not from
conviction, but from lassitude. He had, like many others, drank
calumny from the same cup that she had. Charny, for the first
time, had spoken in such affectionate terms of his wife, Andre"e
being until then almost forgotten by her husband. Had Charny
then perceived that his young wife was still beautiful ? And at this
single idea, which stung her like the envenomed bite of the asp,
Marie Antoinette was astounded to find that misfortune was nothing
in comparison with sorrow.
For what misfortune had failed to do, grief was gradually effect-
ing within her soul. The woman sprang furiously from the chair in
which the queen had calmly contemplated danger.
The whole destiny of this privileged child of suffering revealed
itself in the condition of her mind during that night.
For, how was it possible to escape misfortune and grief at the
same time? she would ask herself, with'constantly renewing'auguish.
Was it necessary to determine on abandoning a life of royalty, and
could she live happily in a state of mediocrity ? was it necessary to
return to her own Trianon, and to her Swiss cottage, to the quiet
shores of the lake and the humble amusements of the dairy ? was
it necessary to allow the people to divide among them the shreds
of monarchy, excepting some few fragments which the woman could
appropriate to herself from the contested revenues of a few faithful
servants, who would still persist in considering themselves her
vassals ?
Alas ! it was now that the serpent of jealousy began to sting still
deeper.
Happy ! Could she be happy with the humiliation of despised
love?
Happy ! Could she be happy by the side of the king that vulgar
husband, in whom everything was deficient to form the hero ?
Happy ! Could she be happy with M. de Charny, who might be
so with some woman whom he loved by the side of his own wife,
perhaps ?
256 TAKING THE BASTILE.
And this thought kindled in the poor queen's breast all those
flaming torches which consumed Dido even more than her funeral
pile.
But in the midst of this feverish torture, she saw a ray of hope :
in the midst of this shuddering anguish, she felt a sensation of joy.
God, in his infinite mercy, has he not created evil to make us appre-
ciate good ?
Andre'e had entrusted the queen with all her secrets ; she had un-
veiled the one shame of her life to her rival. Andre'e, her eyes full
of tears, her head bowed down to the ground, had confessed to the
queen that she vvas no longer worthy of the love and the respect of
an honourable man : therefore Charny could never love Andre'e.
But Charny is ignorant of this. Charny will ever be ignorant of
that catastrophe at Trianon, and its consequences. Therefore, to
Charny it is as if the catastrophe had never taken place.
And while making these reflections the queen examined her
fading beauty in the mirror of her mind, and deplored the loss of
her gaiety, the freshness of her youth.
Then she thought of Andre'e, of the strange and almost incredible
adventures which she had just related to her.
She wondered at the magical working of blind fortune, which had
brought to Trianon, from the shade of a hut and the muddy furrows
of a farm, a little gardener's boy, to associate his destinies with
those of a highly-born young lady, who was herself associated with
the destinies of a queen.
' Thus,' said she to herself, ' the atom which was thus lost in the
lowest regions, has come, by a freak of superior attraction, to unite
itself, like a fragment of a diamond, with the heavenly light of the
stars.'
This gardener's boy, this Gilbert, was he not a living symbol of
that which was occurring at that moment a man of the people,
rising from the lowness of his birth to busy himself with the politics
of a great kingdom ; a strange comedian, in whom were personified,
by a privilege granted to him by the evil spirit who was then hover-
ing over France, not only the insult offered to the nobility, but also
the attack made upon the monarchy by a plebeian mob ?
This Gilbert, now become a learned man this Gilbert, dressed
in the black coat of the Tiers Etat, the counsellor of M. de Necker,
the confidant of the King of France, would now find himself, thanks
to the revolution, on an equal footing with the woman whose
honour, like a thief, he had stolen in the night.
The queen had again become a woman, and, shuddering in spite
of herself at the sad story related by Andre'e, she was endeavouring
to study the character of this Gilbert, and to learn by herself to read
in human features what God has placed there to indicate so strange
a character ; and, notwithstanding the pleasure she had experienced
on seeing the humiliation of her rival, she still felt a lingering desire
THE QUEEN'S THOUGHTS. 25?
to attack the man who had caused a woman such intensity of
suffering.
Moreover, notwithstanding the terror generally inspired by the
sight of monsters, she feu * desire to look at, and perhaps even to
admire, this extraordinary man, who by a crime had infused his vile
blood into the most aristocratic veins in France ; this man who
appeared to have organised the revolution, in order that it should
open the gates of the Bastile for him, in which, but for that revolu-
tion, he would have remained immured for ever, to teach him that
a plebeian must remember nothing.
In consequence of this connecting link in her ideas the queen
reverted to her political vexations, and saw the responsibility of all
she had suffered accumulate upon one single head.
Thus the author of the popular rebellion that had just shaken the
royal power by levelling the Bastile was Gilbert ; he whose prin-
ciples had placed weapons in the hands of the Billots, the Maillards,
the Elies, and the Hullins.
Gilbert was therefore both a venomous and a terrible being
venomous, because he had caused the loss of Andre"e as a lover :
terrible, because he had just assisted in overthrowing the Bastile as
an enemy.
It was therefore necessary to know, in order to avoid him ; or
rather, to know him, in order to make use of him.
It was necessary, at any cost, to converse with this man, to
examine him closely, and to judge him personally.
Two-thirds of the night had already flown away, three o'clock
was striking, and the first rays of the rising sun gilded the high
tops of the trees in the park, and the summits of the statues of Ver-
sailles.
The queen had passed the whole night without sleeping; her
dimmed vision lost itself in the shaded streaks of the mild light.
A heavy and burning slumber gradually seized the unfortunate
woman.
She fell back, with her neck overhanging the back of the arm-
chair, near the open window.
She dreamed that she was walking in Trianon, and that there
appeared to her eyes, at the extremity of a flower-bed, a grinning
gnome, similar to those we read of in German ballads ; that this
sardonic monster was Gilbert, who extended his hooked fingers to-
wards her.
She screamed aloud.
Another cry answered hers.
That cry roused her from her slumber.
It was Madame de Tourzel who had uttered it. She had just
entered the queen's apartment, and seeing her exhausted and gasp-
ing in an arm-chair, she could not avoid giving utterance to her
grief and surprise.
258 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' The queen is indisposed !' she exclaimed. ' The queen is suffer-
ing : shall I send for a physician ?
The queen opened her eyes. This question of Madame de
Tourzel coincided with the demands of her own curiosity.
' Yes, a physician !' she replied ; ' Doctor Gilbert ! send for
Doctor Gilbert !'
' Who is Doctor Gilbert ? asked Madame de Tourzel.
' A new physician, appointed by the king only yesterday, I believe,
and just arrived from America.'
' I know who her majesty means,' said one of the queen's ladies-
in-waiting, who had rushed into the room on hearing Madame de
Tourzel scream.
' Well r" said the queen, inquiringly.
' Well, madame, the doctor is in the king's ante-chamber.'
' Do you know him, then ?
' Yes, your majesty,' stammered the woman.
' But how can you know him ? He arrived here from America
some eight or ten days ago, and only came out of the Bastile
yesterday.'
' I know him.'
' Answer me distinctly. Where did you know him ? asked the
queen, in an imperious tone.
The lady cast down her eyes.
' Come, will you make up your mind to tell me how it happens
that you know this man r"
' Madame, I have read his works ; and his works having given
me a desire to see the author, I had him pointed out to me.'
'Ah !' exclaimed the queen, with an indescribable look of
haughtiness and reserve ' ah ! it is well. Since you know him, go
and tell him that I am suffering, and that I wish to see him.'
While waiting for the doctor's arrival, the queen made her ladies
in attendance enter the room ; after which she put on a dressing-
gown and adjusted her hair.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE KING'S PHYSICIAN.
A FEW moments after the queen had expressed the above desire, a
desire which the person to whom it had been mentioned had com-
plied with, Gilbert, who felt astonished, slightly anxious, and pro-
foundly agitated, but still without showing any external marks of it,
presented himself to Marie Antoinette.
The firm and noble carriage, the delicate pallor of the man of
science and of thought, to whom study had given a second nature
a pallor still more enhanced by the black dress which was not
only worn by all the deputies of the Tiers Etat, but also by those
who had adopted the principles of the revolution ; the delicate
white hand of the surgical operator, surrounded by a plain muslin
THE KING'S PHYSICIAN 259
wristband ; his slender though well-formed limbs, which none of
those at court could surpass in symmetry, even in the estimation of
the connoisseurs of the (Eil-de-Bceuf ; combined with all these,
there was a mixture of respectful timidity towards the woman, and
of calm courage towards the patient, but no signs of servility to-
wards her as a queen ; such were the plainly-written signs that
Marie Antoinette, with her aristocratic intelligence, could perceive
in the countenance of Gilbert, at the moment when the door opened
to admit him into her bed-chamber.
But the less Gilbert was provoking in his demeanour, the more
did the queen feel her anger increase. She had figured him to her-
self as a type of an odious class of men ; she had considered him
instinctively, though almost involuntarily, as one of those impudent
heroes of which she had so many around her. The author of the
sufferings of Andre'e, the bastard pupil of Rousseau, that miserable
abortion who had grown up to manhood, that pruner of trees who
had become a philosopher and a subduer of souls Marie Antoi-
nette, in spite of herself, depicted him in her mind as having the
features of Mirabeau that is to say, of the man she most hated,
after the Cardinal de Rohan and Lafayette.
It had seemed to her, before she saw Gilbert, that it required a
gigantic physical development to contain so colossal a mind.
But when she saw a young, upright, and slender man, of elegant
and graceful form, of sweet and amiable countenance, he appeared
to her as having committed the new crime of belying himself by
his exterior. Gilbert, a man of the people, of obscure and unknown
birth ! Gilbert, the peasant, the clown, and the serf! Gilbert was
guilty, in the eyes of the queen, of having usurped the external ap-
pearance of a gentleman and a man of honour. The proud Austrian,
the sworn enemy of lying and deception in others, became indig-
nant, and immediately conceived a violent hatred for the unfortu-
nate atom whom so many different motives combined to induce her
to abhor.
For those who were intimate with her nature, for those who were
accustomed to read in her eyes either serenity of temper or indica-
tions of an approaching storm, it was easy to discern that a tempest,
full of thunder-claps and flashes of lightning, was raging in the
depths of her heart.
But how was it possible for a human being, even a woman, to
follow, in the midst of this hurricane of passions and anger, the suc-
cession of strange and contrasting feelings which clashed together
in the queen's brain, and filled her breast with all the mortal poisons
described by Homer !
The queen with a single look dismissed all her attendants, even
Madame de Misery.
They immediately left the room.
The queen waited till the door had been closed on the last per-
260 TAKING THE BASTILE.
son. Then, casting her eyes upon Gilbert, she perceived that he had
not ceased to gaze at her.
So much audacity offended her. The doctor's look was apparently
inoffensive ; but as it was continual, and seemed full of design, it
weighed heavily upon her.
Marie Antoinette felt compelled to repress its importunity.
'Well, then, sir,' said she, with the abruptness of a pistol-shot,
' what are you doing there, standing before me and gazing at me,
instead of telling me with what complaint I am suffering?'
This furious apostrophe, rendered more forcible by the flashing
of her eyes, would have annihilated any of the queen's courtiers
it would even have compelled a marshal of France, a hero, or a
demi-god, to fall on his knees before her.
But Gilbert tranquilly replied
' It is by means of the eyes, madame, that the physician must first
examine his patient. By looking at your majesty, who sent for me,
I do not satisfy an idle curiosity I exercise my profession I obey
your orders.'
' Then you must have studied me sufficiently.'
'As much as lay in my power, madame.'
'Am I ill?
' Not in the strict sense of the word. But your majesty is suffer-
ing from great over-excitement.'
' Ah ! ah !' said Marie Antoinette, ironically, ' why do you not say
at once that I am in a passion ?'
' Let your majesty allow me, since you have ordered the attend-
ance of a physician, to express myself in medical terms.'
' Be it so. But what is the cause of my over-excitement ?
' Your majesty has too much knowledge not to be aware that the
physician discovers the sufferings of the body, thanks to his experi-
ence and the traditions of his studies ; but he is not a sorcerer, who
can discover at first sight the depths of the human soul.'
' By this you mean to imply, that the second or third time you
could tell me not only from what I am suffering, but also what are
my thoughts ?'
' Perhaps so, madame,' coldly replied Gilbert.
The queen appeared to tremble with anger : her words seemed
to be hanging on her lips, ready to burst forth in burning torrents.
She, however, restrained herself.
' I must believe you,' said she, ' you who are a learned man.'
And she emphasized these last words with so much contempt,
that the eye of Gilbert appeared to kindle, in its turn, with the fire
of anger.
But a struggle of a few seconds' duration sufficed to this man to
give him a complete victory.
Accordingly, with a calm brow, and unembarrassed expression
he almost immediately rejoined .
THE KING'S PHYSICIAN. 261
' It is too ki-nd of your majesty to give me the title of a learned
man, without having received any proofs of my knowledge.'
The queen bit her lip.
' You must understand that I do not know if you are a scientific
man/ she replied ; 'but I have heard it said, and I repeat what
everybody says.'
'Well, then,' said Gilbert, respectfully, and bowing still lower
than he had done hitherto, ' a superior mind, like that of your ma-
jesty, must not blindly repeat what is said by the vulgar.'
'Do you mean the people ?' said the queen insolently.
' The vulgar, madame,' repeated Gilbert, with a firmness which
made the blood thrill in the queen's veins, and gave rise to emotions
which were as painful to her as they had hitherto been unknown.
'In fine,' answered she, 'let us not discuss that point. You are
said to be learned, that is all that is essential. Where have you
studied?'
' Everywhere, madame.'
' That is not an answer.'
' Nowhere, then.'
I prefer that answer. Have you studied nowhere ?
'As it may please you, madame,' replied the doctor, bowing,
' and yet it is less exact than to say everywhere.'
' Come, answer me, then !' exclaimed the queen, becoming ex-
asperated ; ' and above all, for heaven's sake, Monsieur Gilbert,
spare me such phrases.'
Then, as if speaking to herself :
' Everywhere ! everywhere ! what does that mean ? It is the
language of a charlatan, a quack, of a physician who practises in
the public squares ! Do you mean to overawe me by your sonorous
syllables ?'
She stepped forward, with ardent eyes and quivering lips.
' Everywhere ! Mention some place ; come, explain your mean-
ing, Monsieur Gilbert.'
'I said every where,' answered Gilbert, coldly, 'because in fact I
have studied everywhere, madame ; in the hut and in the palace, in
cities and in the desert ; upon our own species and upon animals,
upon myself and upon others, in a manner suitable to one who loves
knowledge, and studies it where it is to be found, that is to say,
everywhere.'
The queen, overcome, cast a terrible glance at Gilbert, while he, on
his part, was eyeing her with terrible perseverance. She became
convulsively agitated, and, turning round, upset a small stand, upon
which her chocolate had been served up in a cup of Sevres porce-
lain. Gilbert saw the table fall, saw the broken cup, but did not
move a finger.
The colour mounted to the cheeks of Marie Antoinette ; she raised
her cold, moist hand to her burning temples, but did not dare to
raise her eyes again to look at Gilbert.
262 TAKING THE B A STILE.
But her features assumed a more contemptuous, more insolent
expression than before.
Then, under what great master did you study? continued the
queen, again taking up the conversation at the point where she had
left it off.
' I hardly know how to answer your majesty, without running the
risk of again wounding your majesty.'
The queen perceived the advantage that Gilbert had given her,
and threw herself upon it like a lioness upon her prey.
' Wound me you wound me you !' exclaimed she. ' Oh ! sir,
what are you saying there ? You wound a queen ! You are mis-
taken, sir, I can affirm to you. Ah, Dr. Gilbert, you have not
studied the French language in as good schools as you have studied
medicine ! People of my station are not to be wounded, Dr. Gil-
bert. You may weary them ; that is all.'
Gilbert bowed, and made a step towards the door ; but it was not
possible for the queen to discover in his countenance the least show
of anger, the least sign of impatience.
The queen, on the contrary, was stamping her feet with rage ;
she sprang towards Gilbert, as if to prevent him from leaving the
room.
He understood her.
' Pardon me, madame,' said he. ' It is true I committed the unpar-
donable error to forget that, as a physician, I was called to see a
patient. Forgive me, madame ; hereafter I shall remember it.' And
he came back.
' Your majesty/ continued he, 'is rapidly approaching a nervous
crisis. I will venture to ask you not to give way to it ; for in a short
time it would be beyond your power to control it. At this moment
your pulse must be imperceptible, the blood is rushing to the heart ;
your majesty is suffering, your majesty is almost suffocating, and
perhaps it would be prudent for you to summon one of your ladies-
in-waiting.'
The queen took a turn round the room and, seating herself!
' Is your name Gilbert ? asked she.
' Yes, Gilbert, madame.'
' Strange ! I remember an incident of my youth, the strange
nature of which would doubtless -wound you much, were I to relate
it to you. But it matters not : for, if hurt, you will soon cure your-
selfyou, who are no less a philosopher than a learned physician.'
And the queen smiled ironically.
' Precisely so, madame,' said Gilbert ; ' you may smile, and, little by
little, subdue your nervousness by irony. It is one of the most beau-
tiful prerogatives of the intelligent will to be able thus to control
itself. Subdue it, madame, subdue it ; but, however, without making
a too violent effort.'
This prescription of the physician was given with so much suavity
THE KING'S PHYSIC TAN. 263
and such natural good humour, that the queen, while feeling the
bitter irony contained in his words, could not take offence at what
Gilbert had said to her.
She merely returned to the charge, recommencing her attacks
where she had discontinued them.
' This incident of which I spoke,' continued she, ' is the following.'
Gilbert bowed, as a sign that he was listening.
The queen made an effort, and fixed her gaze upon him.
' I was the dauphiness at that time, and I inhabited Trianon.
There was in the gardens a little dark-looking, dirty boy, covered
with mud, a crabbed boy, a sort of sour Jean Jacques, who weeded,
dug, and picked off the caterpillars with his little crooked fingers.
His name was Gilbert.'
' It was myself, madame,' said Gilbert, plegmatically.
' You !' said Marie Antoinette, with an expression of hatred. ' I
was. then, right ! but you are not, then, a learned man ?'
' I think that, as your majesty's memory is so good, you must also
remember dates,' rejoined Gilbert. ' It was in 1772, if I am not
mistaken, that the little gardener's boy, of whom your majesty
speaks, weeded the flower-beds of Trianon to earn his bread. We
are now in 1789. It is therefore seventeen years, madame, since the
events to which you allude took place. It is more time than is
necessary to metamorphose a savage into a learned man ; the soul
and the mind operate quickly in certain positions, like plants and
flowers, which grow rapidly in hothouses. Revolutions, madame,
are the hotbeds of the mind. Your majesty looks at me, and, not-
withstanding the perspicacity of your scrutiny, you do not perceive
that the boy of sixteen has become a man of thirty-three ; you are
therefore wrong to wonder that the ignorant, the ingenuous little
Gilbert, should, after having witnessed these revolutions, have be-'
come a learned man and a philosopher.'
' Ignorant ! be it so ; but ingenuous ingenuous, did you say ?'
furiously cried the queen. ' I think you called that little Gilbert
ingenuous.'
' If I am mistaken, madame, or if I praised this little boy for a
quality which he did not possess, I do not know how your majesty
can have ascertained more correctly than myself that he had the
opposite defect.'
' Oh, that is quite another matter !' said the queen, gloomily ;
perhaps we shall speak of that some other time ; but, in the mean-
time, let me speak of the learned man, of the man brought to per-
fection, of the perfect man I see before me.'
Gilbert did not take up the word perfect. He understood but too
well that it was a new insult.
' Let us return to our subject, madame,' replied Gilbert. ' Tell me
for what purpose did your majesty order me to come to her apart-
ment ?'
264 TAKING THE BASTILE.
1 You propose to become the king's physician,' said she. ' Now
you must understand, sir, that I attach too much importance to the
health of my husband to trust it in the hands of a man whom I do
not know perfectly.'
' I offered myself to the king, madame,' said Gilbert, ' and I was
accepted without your majesty having any just cause to conceive the
least suspicion as to my capacity or want of zeal. I am, above al!,
a political physician, madame, recommended by Monsieur Necker.
As for the rest, if the king is ever in want of my science, I shall prove
myself a good physical doctor, so far as human science can be of use
to the Creator's works. But what 1 shall be to the king, more par-
ticularly, besides being a good adviser, and a good physician, is a
good friend.'
' A good friend !' exclaimed the queen, with a fresh outburst o^
contempt. ' You, sir, a friend of the king !'
' Certainly,' replied Gilbert, quietly ; ' why not, madame ?*
' Oh yes ! all in virtue of your secret power, by the assistance of
your occult science,' murmured she ; ' who can tell ? We have
already seen the Jacqueses and the Maillotins ; perhaps we shall go
back to the dark ages ! You have resuscitated philters and charms.
You will soon govern France by magic : you will be a Faust or a
Nicholas Flamel !'
' I have no such pretensions, madame.'
' And why have you not, sir ? How many monsters more cruel
than those of the gardens of Armida, more cruel than Cerberus him-
self, would you not put to sleep on the threshold of our hell !'
When she had pronounced the words, ' would you not put to
sleep,' the queen cast a scrutinising look on the doctor.
This time Gilbert blushed, in spite of himself.
It was a source of indescribable joy to Marie Antoinette ;she felt
that, this time, the blow she had struck had inflicted a real wound.
' For you have the power of causing sleep ; you, who have studied
everything and everywhere, you doubtless have studied magnetic
science with the magnetisers of our century, who make sleep a treach-
erous instrument, and who read their seer -ts in the sleep of others.'
' In fact, madame, I have often, and fora long time, studied under
the learned Cagliostro.'
' Yes ; he who practised and made his followers practise that
moral theft of which I was just speaking ; the same who, by the aid
of that magic sleep which I call infamous, robbed some of their
souls, and others of their bodies !'
Gilbert again understood her meaning, but this time he turned
pale, instead of reddening. The queen trembled with joy, to the
very depths of her heart.
' Ah, wretch !' murmured she to herself : ' I have wounded you,
and I can see the blood.'
But the profoundest emotions were never visible for any length
THE KING 'S PHYSICIAN 265
af time on the countenance of Gilbert. Approaching the queen,
therefore, who, quite joyful on account of her victory, was impru-
dently looking at him :
'Madame,' said he, 'your majesty would be wrong to deny the
learned men of whom you have been speaking the most beautiful
appendage to their science, which is the power of throwing, not
victims, but subjects, into a magnetic sleep ; you would be wrong,
in particular, to contest the right they have to follow up, by all pos-
sible means, a discovery of which the laws, once recognised and
regulated, are perhaps intended to revolutionise the world.'
And while approaching the queen, Gilbert had looked at her, in
his turn, with that power of will to v^hich the nervous Andre"e had
succumbed.
The queen felt a chill run through her veins as he drew nearer to
her.
' Infamy,' said she, ' be the rewa r d of those men who make an
abuse of certain dark and mysterious arts to ruin both the soul and
body. May infamy rest upon the head of Cagliostro !'
'Ah!' replied Gilbert, with the accent of conviction, 'beware,
madame, of judging the faults committed by human beings with so
much severity.'
' Sir '
' Every one is liable to err, madame ; all human beings commit
injuries on their fellow-creatures, and were it not for individual
egotism, which is the foundation of general safety, the world would
become but one great battle-field. Those are the best who are good,
that is all. Others will tell you that those are best who are the least
faulty. Indulgence must be the greater, madame, in proportion to
the elevated rank of the judge. Seated as you are on so exalted a
throne, you have less right than any other person to be severe
towards the faults of others. On your worldly throne, you should
be supremely indulgent, like God, who upon His heavenly throne is
supremely merciful.'
' Sir,' said the queen, ' I view my rights in a different light from
you, and especially my duties. I am on the throne to punish or
reward.'
' I do not think so, madame. In my opinion, on the contrary, you
are seated on the throne, you, a woman and a queen, to conciliate
and to forgive.'
' I suppose you are not moralising, sir.'
' You are right, madame, and I was only replying to your majesty.
This Cagliostro, for instance, madame, of whom you were speaking
a few moments since and whose science you were contesting I
remember and this is a remembrance of something anterior to your
recollections of Trianon I remember that in the gardens of the
Chateau de Taverney, he had occasion to give the dauphiness of
France a proof of his science I know not what it was, m*dame
18
266 TAKING THE BASTILB.
but you must recollect it well : for that proof made a profound im-
pression upon her. even so much as to cause her to faint.'
Gilbert was now striking blows in his turn ; it is true that he was
dealing them at random, but he was favoured by chance, and they
hit the mark so truly, that the queen became pale.
' Yes,' said she, in a hoarse voice, ' yes, he made me see, as in a
dream, a hideous machine ; but I know not that, up to the present
t ; me, such a machine has ever really existed.'
' I know not what he made you see, madame,' rejoined Gilbert,
who felt satisfied with the effect he had produced, ' but I do know
that it is impossible to dispute the appellation of learned to a man
who wields such a power as that over his fellow-creatures.'
' His fellow-creatures,' murmured the queen, disdainfully.
' Be it so I am mistaken,' replied Gilbert ; ' and his power is
so much the more wonderful, that it reduces to a level with him-
self, under the yoke of fear, the heads of monarchs and princes of
the earth.'
' Infamy ! infamy ! I say again, upon those who take advantage
of the weakness or the credulity of others.'
' Infamous ! did you call infamous those who make use of science ?'
'Their science is nothing but chimeras, lies, and cowardice.'
' What mean you by that, madame ?* asked Gilbert, calmly.
' My meaning is, that this Cagliostro is a cowardly mountebank,
and that his pretended magnetic sleep is a crime.'
'A crime !'
' Yes, a crime,' continued the queen ; ' for it is the result of some
potion, some philter, some poison and human justice, which I
represent, will be able to discover the mystery, and punish the in-
ventor.'
' Madame, madame,' rejoined Gilbert, with the same patience as
before, ' a little indulgence, I beg, for those who have erred.'
' Ah ! you confess their guilt, then ?'
The queen was mistaken, and thought from the mild tone of Gil-
bert's voice, that he was supplicating pardon for himself.
She was in error, and Gilbert did not allow the advantage she
had thus given him to escape.
' What ?' said he, dilating his flashing eyes, before the gaze of
which Marie Antoinette was compelled to lower hers, as if suddenly
dazzled by the rays of the sun.
The queen remained confounded for a moment, and then, making
an effort to speak
' A queen can no more be questioned than she can be wounded,'
said she : 'learn to know that also, you who have but so newly arrived
at court. But you were speaking, it seems to me, of those who have
erred, and you asked me to be indulgent towards them.'
' Alas ! madame,' said Gilbert, ' where is the human creature who
is not liable to reproach ? Is it he who has ensconced himself so
THE KING'S PHYSICIAN. 267
closely within the deep shell of his conscience that the look of others
cannot penetrate it ? It is this which is often denominated virtue.
Be indulgent, madame.'
' But according to this opinion, then,' replied the queen, impru-
dently, ' there is no virtuous being in your estimation, sir ; you, who
are the pupil of those men whose prying eyes seek the truth, even
in the deepest recesses of the human conscience.'
' It is true, madame.'
She laughed, and without seeking to conceal the contempt which
her laughter expressed.
' Oh ! pray, sir,' exclaimed she, ' do remember that you are not
now speaking on a public square, to idiots, to peasants, or to patriots.'
' I am aware to whom I am speaking, madame ; of this you may
be fully persuaded,' replied Gilbert.
' Show more respect then, sir, or more adroitness ; consider your
past life search the depths of that conscience which men who have
studied everywhere must possess in common with the rest of man-
kind, notwithstanding their genius and their wisdom recall to your
mind all that you may have conceived that was vile, hurtful, and
criminal all the cruelties, the deeds, the crimes even, you have
committed. Do not interrupt me ; and when you have summed up
all your misdeeds, learned doctor, you will bow down your head, and
become more humble. Do not approach the dwelling of kings with
such insolent pride, who, until there is a new order of things, were
established by heaven to penetrate the souls of criminals, to examine
the folds of the human conscience, and to inflict chastisement upon
the guilty, without pity and without appeal.
' That, sir,' continued the queen, ' is what you ought to do. You
will be thought the better of, on account of your repentance. Believe
me, the best mode of healing a soul so diseased as yours, would be
to live in solitude, far from the grandeurs which give men false
ideas of their own worth. I would advise you, therefore, not to
approach the court, and to abandon the idea of attending the king
during sickness. You have a cure to accomplish, for which God will
esteem you more than for any other the cure of yourself. Antiquity
had a proverb which expressed the following maxim, sir : " Ifise euro,
medici." '
Gilbert, instead of being irritated at this proposal, which the queen
considered as the most disagreeable of conclusions, replied with
gentleness
; Madame, I have already done all that your majesty advises.'
' And what have you done, sir ?'
' I have meditated.'
' Upon yourself?'
'Yes, upon myself, madame.'
' And in regard to your conscience ?
' Especially on the subject of my consciences madame.
268 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Do you think, then, I am sufficiently well informed of what you
saw in it ?
' I do not know what your majesty means by those words, but 1
think I can discover their meaning, which is, " how many times a
man of my age must have offended God ?" '
' Really you speak of God ?'
' Yes.'
'You?
Why not ? ;
' A philosopher ? ao philosophers believe in the existence of a
God? 5
' I speak of God, and I believe in him.'
' And you are still determined not to withdraw from court ?
' No, madame, I remain.'
And the queen's countenance assumed a threatening expression,
which it would be impossible to describe.
' Oh ! I have reflected much upon the subject, madame, and my
reflections have led me to know that I am not less worthy than
another ; everyone has his faults. I learned this axiom not by pon-
dering over books, but by searching the consciences of others.'
' You are universal and infallible, are you not ?' said the queen,
ironically.
' Alas ! madame, if I am not universal, if I am not infallible, I
am nevertheless very learned in human misery, well versed in the
greatest sorrows of the mind. And this is so true, that I could tell,
by merely seeing the livid circle round your wearied eyes, by merely
seeing the line which extends from one eyebrow to the other, by
merely seeing at the corners of your mouth a contraction which is
called by the prosaic name of wrinkle, I can tell you, madame,
how many severe trials you have undergone, how many times your
heart has palpitated with anguish, to how many secret dreams of joy
your heart has abandoned itself, to discover its terror on awaking.
' I will tell you all that, madame, when you shall desire it ; I will
tell it you, for I am sure of not being contradicted. I will tell it you,
by merely fastening upon you a gaze which can read and wishes to
read your mind ; and when you have felt the power of that gaze,
when you have felt the weight of this curiosity sounding to your in-
most soul, like the sea that feels the weight of the lead that plunges
into its depths, then you will understand that I am able to do much,
madame, and that if I pause awhile, you should be grateful to me
for it, instead of provoking me on to war.'
This language, supported by a terrible fixity of the will of provo-
cation, exercised by man upon the woman this contempt for all
etiquette in presence of the queen, produced an unspeakable effect
upon Marie Antoinette.
She felt as if a mist were overshadowing her brow, and sending
an icy chill through her ideas ; she felt her hatred turning into fear;
THE KING'S PHYSICIAN. 269
and letting her hands fall heavily by her side, retreated a step to
avoid the approach of the unknown danger.
' And now, madame,' said Gilbert, who clearly perceived all that
was passing in her mind, ' do you understand that it would be very
easy for me to discover that which you conceal from everybody, and
that which you conceal even from yourself; do you understand that
it would be easy for me to stretch you on that chair, which your
ringers are now instinctively seeking as a support ?'
' Ah !' exclaimed the queen, who was terrified, for she felt an un-
known chill invading even her heart.
' Were 1 but to utter to myself a word which I will not utter,'
continued Gilbert, were I but to summon up my will, which I re-
nounce, you would fall as if thunder-stricken into my power. You
doubt what I am telling you, madame. Oh ! do not doubt it ; you
might perhaps tempt me once and if once you tempted me ! But
no, you do not doubt it, do you ?'
The queen, almost on the point of falling, exhausted, oppressed,
and completely lost, grasped the back of her arm-chair with all the
energy of despair, and the rage of useless resistance.
' Oh !' continued Gilbert, 'mark this well, madame : it is that if I
were not the most respectful, the most devoted, the most humble of
your subjects, I should convince you by a terrible experiment. Oh !
you need fear nothing. I prostrate myself humbly before the woman
rather than before the queen. I tremble at the idea of entertaining
any project which might, even in the slightest way, inquire into your
thoughts ; I would rather kill myself than disturb your soul.'
' Sir ! sir !' exclaimed the queen, striking the air with her arms,
as if to repel Gilbert wh.Q was standing more than three paces from
her.
' And still,' continued Gilbert, ' you caused me to be thrown into
the Bastile. You only regret that it is taken, because the people,
by taking it, re-opened its gates for me. There is hatred visible in
your eyes towards a man against whom personally you can have no
cause of reproach. And see, now, I feel that since I have lessened
the influence by means of which I have controlled you, you are
perhaps resuming your doubts with your returning respiration.'
In fact, since Gilbert had ceased to control her with his eyes and
gestures, Marie Antoinette had reassumed her threatening attitude,
like the bird which, being freed from the suffocating influence of the
air-pump, endeavours to regain its song and its power of wing.
' Ah ! you still doubt ; you are ironical ; you despise my warnings.
Well, then, do you wish me to tell you, madame, a terrible idea that
has just crossed my mind ? This is what I was on the point of
doing. Madame, I was just about to compel you to reveal to me
your most intimate troubles, your most hidden secrets. I thought
of compelling you to write them down on the table which you touch
at this moment, and afterwards, when you had awakened and come
J70 TAKING THE BASTILE.
to your senses again, I should have convinced you by your own
writing of the existence of that power which you seem to contest ;
and also how real is the forbearance, and, shall I say it yes, I will
say it the generosity of the man whom you have just insulted,
whom you have insulted for a whole hour, without his having for a
single instant given you either a reason or a pretext for so doing.'
' Compel me to sleep ! compel me to speak in my sleep ! Me !
me !' exclaimed the queen, turning quite pale : ' would you have
dared to do it, sir ? But do you know what that is ? Do you know
the grave nature of the threat you make ? Why, it is the crime of
high treason, sir. Consider it well. It is a crime which, af'ei
awakening from my sleep, I should have punished with death.'
' Madame,' said Gilbert, watching the feverish emotions of ';he
queen, ' be not so hasty in accusing, and especially in threatening.
Certainly I should have possessed myself of all your secrets ; but
be convinced that it would not have been on an occasion like this ;
it would not have been during an interview between the queen and
her subject, between a woman and a stranger. No : I should have
put the queen to sleep, it is true and nothing would have been
easier but I should not have ventured to put her to sleep, I should
not have allowed myself to speak to her, without having a witness.'
' A witness ?
' Yes, madame, a witness who would faithfully note all your words,
all your gestures, all the details, in short, of the scene which I should
have brought about, in order that, after its termination, you could
not doubt for a single moment longer.'
'A witness, sir !' repeated the queen, terrified : 'and who would
that witness have been ? But consider it maturely, sir, your crime
would then have been doubled, for in that case you would have had
an accomplice.'
' And if this accomplice, madame, had been none other than the
king ? said Gilbert.
' The king !' exclaimed Marie Antoinette, with an expression of
fear that betrayed the wife more energetically than the confession
of the somnambulist could have done. ' Oh, Monsieur Gilbert !
Monsieur Gilbert !'
' The king,' continued Gilbert, calmly ' the king is your husband,
your supporter, your natural defender. The king would have re T
lated to you, when you were awakened from your slumber, how re-
spectful and proud I was in being able to prove my science to the
roost revered of sovereigns.'
And after having spoken these words, Gilbert allowed the queen
sufficient time to meditate upon their importance.
The queen remained silent for several minutes, during which
nothing was heard but the noise of her agitated breathing.
' Sir,' replied she, after this pause, ' from all that you have now
told me, you must be a mortal enemy '
THE KING'S PHYSICIAN. 271
' Or a devoted friend, madame ?'
' It is impossible, sir : friendship cannot exist in unison with fear
or mistrust.'
* The friendship, madame, that exists between a subject and a
queen cannot subsist except by the confidence which the subject
may inspire her with. You will already have said to yourself that
he is not an enemy whom, after the first word, we can deprive of
the means of doing harm, especially when he is the first to denounce
the use of his weapons.'
' May I believe, sir, what you have been saying?* said the queen,
looking thoughtfully at Gilbert.
' Why should you not believe me, madame, when you have every
proof of my sincerity ?
( Men change, sir men change.'
' Madame, I have made the same vow that certain illustrious war-
riors made before starting on an expedition, as to the use of certain
weapons in which they were skilled. I shall never make use of my
advantages but to repel the wrong that others may attempt to do
me. Not for offence, but for defence. That is my motto.'
' Alas !' said the queen, feeling humbled.
' I understand you, madame. You suffer because you see your
soul in the hands of a physician you who rebelled at times against
the idea of abandoning the care of your body to him. Take courage ;
be confident. He wishes to advise you well who has this day given
you proof of such forbearance as that you have received from me.
I desire to love you, madame ; I desire that you should be beloved
by all. The ideas I have already submitted to the king I will dis-
cuss with you.'
' Doctor, take care !' exclaimed the queen, gravely. ' You caught
me in your snare : after having terrified the woman, you think to
control the queen.
' No, madame,' answered Gilbert, ' I am not a contemptible specu-
lator. I have ideas of my own ; and I can conceive that you have
yours. I must from this very moment repel this accusation one
that you would for ever make against me that I had intimidated
you in order to subjugate your reason. I will say more, that you
are the first woman in whom I have found united all the passions
of a woman and all the commanding qualities of a man. You may
be at the same time a woman and a friend. All humanity might
be concentred in you, were it necessary. I admire you, and I
will serve you. I will serve you without any remuneration from
you, merely for the sake of studying you, madame. I will do still
more for your service. In case I should seem to be a too incon-
venient piece of palace furniture, or if the impression made by the
scene of to-day should not be effaced from your memory, I shall
ask you, I shall pray you to dismiss me.'
' Dismiss you !' exclaimed the queen, with a. joyful air that did
not escape Gilbert.
72 TAKTVG THE BASTILE?.
' Well, then, it is agreed, madame,' replied he, with admirable
presence of mind. ' I shall not even tell the king what I had in-
tended, and I shall depart. Must I go to a great distance to reas-
sure you, madame ?'
She looked at him, and appeared surprised at so much self-denial.
' I perceive,' said he, ' what your majesty thinks. Your majesty,
who is better acquainted than is generally thought with the mysteries
of the magnetic influence which so much alarmed you a few minutes
since your majesty says to herself, that at a distance from her I
shall be no less dangerous and troublesome.'
' How is that ?' exclaimed the queen.
' Yes, I repeat it, madame. He who would be hurtful to any one
by the means you have reproached my masters and myself for em-
ploying, could practise his hurtful power equally well were the dis-
tance a hundred leagues, as at three paces. Fear nothing, madame.
I shall not attempt it.'
The queen remained thoughtful for a moment, not knowing how
to answer this extraordinary man, who made her waver even after
she had formed the firmest resolutions.
On a sudden, the noise of steps heard from the end of the
gallery made Marie Antoinette raise her head.
' The king,' said she, ' the king is coming.'
' In that case, madame, answer me, I pray you shall I remain
here, or shall I leave you ?
' But '
' Make baste, madame. I can avoid seeing the king, if you desire
it Your majesty may show me a door by which I can withdraw.'
' Remain !' said the queen to him.
Gilbert bowed courteously ; while Marie Antoinette endeavoured
to read in his features to what extent triumph would reveal more
than either anger or anxiety.
Gilbert remained perfectly impassible.
' At least,' said the queen to herself, ' he ought to have manifested
some slight satisfaction.'
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE COUNCIL.
THE king entered the room quickly and heavily, as was his custom.
He had a busy, inquisitive air, that contrasted strangely with the
icy rigidity of the queen's demeanour.
The fresh complexion of the kin had not abandoned him. Having
risen early, and feeling quite proud of the sound health he enjoyed
by inhaling the morning air, he was breathing noisily, and stepped
out vigorously on the floor.
' The doctor,' said he ' what has become of the doctor ?'
'Good-morning, sire. How do you do this morning? Do you
feel much fatigued;"
THE COUNCIL. 273
* I have slept six hours : that is my allowance. I am very well.
My mind is clear. You look rather pale, madame. I was told that
you had sent for the doctor.'
' Here is Doctor Gilbert,' said the queen, stepping from before
the recess of a window, in which the doctor had concealed himself
till that moment.
The king's brow at once cleared up. Then
'Ah ! I forgot,' said he. 'You sent for the doctor. Have you
been unwell ?'
The queen blushed.
' You blush !' exclaimed Louis XVI.
She turned crimson.
' Another secret,' said the king.
' What secret, sire ?' exclaimed the queen haughtily.
' You do not understand me. I tell you that you, who have your
own favourite physicians, you would not have sent for Doctor Gil-
bert, unless you felt the desire, which I know '
' What desire ?'
'You always have to conceal your sufferings from me.'
' Ah !' exclaimed the queen, regaining courage.
'Yes,' continued Louis XVI., 'but take good care. Monsieur Gil-
bert is one of my confidential friends ; and if you tell him anything
he will be sure to tell it me.'
Gilbert smiled.
' As for that, no, sire,' said he.
' Well, then, the queen is corrupting my people !'
Marie Antoinette gave one of those little stifled laughs which
imply merely a wish to interrupt a conversation, or that the conver-
sation is very tedious.
Gilbert understood her ; but the king did no
' Let us see, doctor,' said he ; 'as it seems to amuse the queen
tell me what she has been saying to you.'
' I was asking the doctor,' said Marie Antoinette, in her turn,
' why you had sent for him so early. I must, indeed, confess that
his presence at Versailles at so unusual an hour perplexes me and
makes me uneasy.'
' I was waiting for the doctor,' replied the king, looking gloomy,
' to speak on politics with him.'
' Ah ! very well,' said the queen.
And she seated herself as if to listen.
' Come, doctor.' rejoined the king, taking a step towards the door.
Gilbert made a profound bow to the queen, and was about to
follow Louis XVI.
' Where are you going ?' exclaimed the queen. ' What ! are you
going to leave me ?'
' We are not going to talk on gay subjects, madame. It would
be as well for us to spare you so much care.'
274 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' Do you call my sorrow care ?' exclaimed the queen, majestically.
' A still better reason for doing so, my dear.'
' Remain here ; I wish it,' said she. ' Monsieur Gilbert, I ima-
gine you will not disobey me.'
' Monsieur Gilbert ! Monsieur Gilbert !' exclaimed the king, much
vexed.
' Well, then, what is the matter ?
1 Why, Monsieur Gilbert, who was to give me some advice, who
was to talk freely to me according to his conscience, Monsieur
Gilbert will now no longer do so.'
' And why not ?' exclaimed the queen.
4 Because you will be present, madame.'
Gilbert made a sort of gesture, to which the queen immediately
attributed some important meaning.
' In what manner,' said she, to second it, ' will Monsieur Gilbert
risk displeasing me, if he speaks according to his conscience ?'
' It is easily understood, madame,' said the king. ' You have a
political system of your own. It is not always ours ; so that '
' So that Monsieur Gilbert, you clearly say, differs essentially from
me in my line of politics.'
' That must be the case, madame,' replied Gilbert, 'judging from
the ideas which your majesty knows me to entertain. Only your
majesty may rest assured that I shall tell the truth as freely in
your presence as to the king alone.'
'Ah ! that is already something,' exclaimed Marie Antoinette.
' The truth is not always agreeable,' hastily murmured Louis XVI
' But if it is useful ? observed Gilbert.
Or even uttered with good intention,' added the queen.
' In that view of the case, I agree with you,' interposed Louis XVI.
4 But, if you were wise, madame, you would leave the doctor entire
freedom of speech, and which I need '
' Sire,' replied Gilbert, ' since the queen herself calls for the truth,
and as I know her majesty's mind is sufficiently noble and powerful
not to fear it, I prefer to speak in presence of both my sovereigns.'
' Sire,' said the queen, ' I request it.'
4 1 have full faith in your majesty's good sense,' said Gilbert,
bowing to the queen. ' The subject is the happiness and glory of
his majesty the king.'
' You are right to put faith in me,' said the queen. ' Begin, sir.'
' All this is very well,' continued the king, who was growing ob-
stinate, according to his custom ; ' but, in short, the question is a
delicate one ; and I know well that, as to myself, you will greatly
embarrass me by being present.'
The queen could not withhold a gesture of impatience. She rose,
then seated herself again, and darted a penetrating and cold look at
the doctor, as if to divine his thoughts.
Louis XVI., seeing that there was no longer any means of escaping
THE COUNCIL. 375
the ordinary and extraordinary inquisitorial race, seated himself in
his arm-chair, opposite Gilbert, and heaved a deep sigh.
' What is the point in question ?' asked the queen, as soon as this
singular species of council had been thus constituted and installed.
Gilbert looked at the king once more, as if to ask him for his autho-
rity to speak openly.
' Speak ! good heaven, go on, sir, since the queen desires it.'
' Well, then, madame,' said the doctor, ' I will inform your majesty
in a few words of the object of my early visit to Versailles. I came
to advise his majesty to proceed to Paris.'
Had a spark fallen among the eight thousand pounds of gun-
powder at the Hotel de Ville, it could not have produced the explo-
sion which those words caused in the queen's heart.
' The king proceed to Paris ! The king ! ah !' and she uttered
a cry of horror that made Louis XVI. tremble.
' There !' exclaimed the king, looking at Gilbert, ' what did I tell
you, doctor ?'
'The king !' ntinued the queen ; 'the king in the midst of a
revolted city ! e king amidst pitchforks and scythes ! the king
among the men vho massacred the Swiss, and who assassinated
Monsieur de Lauray and Monsieur de Flesselles ! the king cross-
ing the square of the Hotel de Ville, and treading in the blood of
his defenders ! You must be deprived of your senses, sir, to speak
thus. Oh ! I repeat it ; you are mad !'
Gilbert lowered his eyes like a man who is restrained by feelings
of respect ; but he did not answer a single word.
The king, who felt agitated to the bottom of his soul, turned about
in his seat like a man undergoing torture on the gridiron of the in-
quisition.
' Is it possible,' continued the queen, ' that such an idea should
have found a place in an intelligent mind in a French he^rt ? What,
sir ! Do you not, then, know that you are speaking to the successor
of St. Louis to the great-grandson of Louis XIV. ?'
The king was beating the carpet with his feet.
' I do not suppose, however,' continued the queen, ' that you desire
to deprive the king of the assistance of his guards and his army, or
that you are seeking to draw him out of his palace, which is a for-
tress, to expose him alone and defenceless to the blows of his in-
furiated enemies ; you do not wish to see the king assassinated, I
suppose, Monsieur Gilbert ?
' If I thought that your majesty for a single moment entertained
an idea that I am capable of such treachery, I should not be merely
a madman, but should look upon myself as a wretch. But heaven
be thanked, madame ! you do not believe it any more than I do. No ;
I came to give my king this counsel, because I think the counsel
good, and even superior to any other.'
Vjb TAKING THE BASTILE.
The queen clenched her hand upon her breast with so much vio-
lence as to make the cambric crack beneath its pressure.
The king shrugged up his shoulders, with a slight movement oi
impatience.
' But, for heaven's sake !' cried he, ' listen to him, madame ; there
will be time enough to say no when you have heard him.'
' The king is right, madame,' said Gilbert, ' for you do not know
what I have to tell your majesties. You think yourself surrounded
by an army which is firm, devoted to your cause, and ready to die
for you ; it is an error. Of the French regiments, one half are con-
spiring with the regenerators to carry out their revolutionary ideas.'
' Sir,' exclaimed the queen, ' beware ! You are insulting the army!'
' On the contrary, madame,' said Gilbert, ' I am its greatest eulo-
gist. We may respect our queen and be devoted to the king, and
still love our country, and devote ourselves to liberty.'
The queen cast a flaming look, like a flash of lightning, at Gilbert.
' Sir !' said she to him, ' this language '
' Yes, this language offends you, madame. I can readily under-
stand that ; for, according to all probability, your majesty hears it
now for the first time.'
' We must, nevertheless, accustom ourselves to it,' muttered
Louis XVI., with the submissive good sense that constituted his
chief strength.
' Never !' exclaimed Marie Antoinette, ' never !'
' Let us see ; listen ! listen ! I think what the doctor says is full
of reason.'
The queen sat down, trembling with rage.
Gilbert continued :
' I was going to say, madame, that I have seen Paris, ay, and
that you have not even seen Versailles. Do you know what Paris
wishes to do at this moment ?
' No,' said the king, anxiously.
' Perhaps it does not wish to take the Bastile a second time !' said
the queen, contemptuously.
' Assuredly not, madame,' continued Gilbert ; ' but Paris knows
that there is another fortress between the people and their sovereign.
Paris proposes to assemble the deputies of the forty-eight districts
of which it is composed, and send them to Versailles.'
' Let them come ! let them come !' exclaimed the queen, in a tone
of ferocious joy. ' Oh ! they will be well received here !'
' Wait, madame,' replied Gilbert, ' and beware ; these deputies
will not come alone.'
' And with whom will they come ?
' They will come supported by twenty thousand National Guards.'
' National Guards !' said the queen ; ' what are they ?
' Ah ! madame, do not speak lightly of that body ; it will some
day become a power it will bind and loosen.'
'Twenty thousand men !' exclaimed the king.
fffE COUNCIL. 277
'Well, sir,' replied the queen, in her turn, ' you have here ten thou-
sand men that are worth a hundred thousand rebels ; call them,
call them, I tell you ; the twenty thousand wretches will here find
their punishment, and the example needed by all this revolutionary
slime which I would sweep away, ay, in a week, were I but listened
to for an hour.'
Gilbert shook his head sorrowfully.
' Oh ! madame,' said he, ' how you deceive yourself, or rather
how you have been deceived. Alas ! alas ! Have you reflected on
it ? a civil war, provoked by a queen ; one only has done this, and
she carried with her to the tomb a terrible epithet : she was called
the foreigner. 1
1 Provoked by me, sir ! How do you understand that ? Was it I
who fired upon the Bastile without provocation ?'
'Ah! madame,' cried the king, 'instead of advocating violent
measures, listen to reason.'
* To weakness !'
' Come, now, Antoinette, listen to the doctor,' said the king,
austerely. ' The arrival of twenty thousand men is not a trifling
matter, particularly if we should have to fire grape-shot upon them.'
Then, turning towards Gilbert :
' Go on, sir,' said he ; ' go on.'
' All these hatreds, which become more inveterate from estrange-
ment all these boastings, which become courage when opportunity
is afforded for their realisation all the confusion of a battle, of
which the issue is uncertain oh ! spare the king, spare yourself,
madame, the grief of witnessing them,' said the doctor ; ' you can
perhaps by gentleness disperse the crowd which is advancing. The
crowd wishes to come to the king let us forestall it ; let the king
go to the crowd ; let him, though now surrounded by his army,
give proof to-morrow of audacity and political genius. Those
twenty thousand men of whom we are speaking might, perhaps,
conquer the king and his army. Let the king go alone and conquer
these twenty thousand men, madame ; they are the people.'
The king could not refrain from giving a gesture of assent, which
Marie Antoinette at once observed.
'Wretched man!' cried she to Gilbert; 'but you do not then
perceive the effect which the king's presence in Paris would produce,
under the conditions you require ?'
' Speak, madame.'
' It would be saying, " I approve ;" it would be saying, " You did
right to kill my Swiss ;" it would be saying," You have acted rightly
in murdering my officers, in setting fire to and making my capital
stream with blood ; you have done rightly in dethroning me. I
thank you, gentlemen, I thank you !" '
And a disdainful smile rose to the lips of Marie Antoinette.
' No, madame, your majesty is mistaken.'
' Sir !'
278 TAKING THE BASTILE.
It would be saying, " There has been some justice in the grief of
the people. I am come to pardon. It is I who am the chief of the
nation, and the king. It is I who am at the head of the French
revolution, as in former days Henry III. placed himself at the head
of the League. Your generals are my officers, your national guards
my soldiers, your magistrates are my men of business. Instead of
urging me onward, follow me if you are able to do so. The great-
ness of my stride will prove to you once more that I am the king
of France, the successor of Charlemagne." '
' He is right,' said the king, in a sorrowful tone.
' Oh !' exclaimed the queen, ' for mercy's sake listen not to this
man ! this man is your enemy.'
' Madame,' said Gilbert, ' his majesty himself is abou: to tell you
what he thinks of the words I have spoken.'
' I think, sir, that you are the first who up to this moment has
dared to speak the truth to me.'
' The truth !' cried the queen. ' Gracious heaven ! what is it you
are saying ?
' Yes, madame,' rejoined Gilbert, ' and impress yourself fully with
this fact, that Truth is the only torch which can point out and save
royalty from the dark abyss into which it is now being hurried.'
And while uttering these words, Gilbert bowed humbly, as low
as even to the knees of Marie Antoinette.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
DECISION.
FOR the first time, the queen appeared deeply moved. Was it from
the reasoning or from the humility, of the doctor ?
Moreover, the king had risen from his seat with a determined
air ; he was thinking of the execution of Gilbert's project.
However, from the habit which he had acquired of doing nothing
without consulting the queen
' Madame,' said he to her, ' do you approve it ?
' It appears it must be so,' replied the queen.
' I do not ask you for any abnegation,' said the king.
' What is it, then, you ask ?
1 1 ask you for the expression of a conviction which will strengthen
mine.'
' You ask of ms a conviction ?'
'Yes.'
' Oh ! if it be only that I am convinced, sir.'
' Of what ?
1 That the moment has arrived which will render monarchy the
most deplorable and the most degrading position which exists in
the whole world.'
' Oh !' said the king, ' you exaggerate ; deplorable, I will admit,
but degrading, that is impossible.'
DECISION. 279
' Sir, the kings, your forefathers, have bequeathed to you a very
mournful inheritance,' said the queen sorrowfully.
' Yes,' said Louis XVI., 'an inheritance which I have the grief to
make you share, madame.'
' Be pleased to allow me, sire,' said Gilbert, who truly com-
passionated the great misfortunes of his fallen sovereigns ; ' I do
not believe that there is any reason for your majesty to view the
future in such terrific colours as you have depicted it. A despotic
monarchy has ceased to exist, a constitutional empire commences.'
' Ah ! sir,' said the king, ' and am I a man capable of founding
such an empire in France ?
'And why not, sire?' cried the queen, somewhat comforted by the
last words of Gilbert.
' Madame/ replied the king, ' I am a man of good sense and a
learned man. 1 see clearly, instead of endeavouring to see con-
fusedly into things, and I know precisely all that is necessary for me
to know, to administer the government of this country. From the
day on which I shall be precipitated from the height of the inviola-
bility of an absolute prince from the day on which it shall be
allowed to be discovered that I am a mere plain man I lose all
the factitious strength which alone was necessary to govern France,
since, to speak truly, Louis XIII., Louis XIV., and Louis XV.
sustained themselves completely, thanks to this factitious strength.
What do the French now require ? A master. I feel that I am
only capable of being a father. What do the revolutionists require ?
A sword. I do not feel that I have strength enough to strike.'
' You do not feel that you have strength to strike !' exclaimed the
queen, ' to strike people who are destroying the property of your
children, and who would carry off, even from your own brow, one
after the other, every gem that adorns the crown of France.'
' What answer can I make to this ?' calmly said Louis XVI. ;
' would you have me reply NO ? By doing so I should raise up in
your mind one of those storms which are the discomfort of my life.
You know how to hate. Oh ! so much the better for you. You
know how to be unjust, and I do not reproach you with it. It is a
great quality in those who have to govern.'
' Do you, perchance, consider me unjust towards the revolution ?
Now tell me that ?'
' In good faith, yes.'
' You say yes, sire ? you say yes ?'
' If you were the wife of a plain citizen, my dear Antoinette, you
would not speak as you do.'
' I am not one.'
' And that is the reason for my excusing you, but that does not
mean that I approve your course. No, madame, no, you must be
resigned ; we succeeded to the throne of France at a period of
storm and tempest. We ought to have strength enough to push on
28o TAKING THE BASTILE.
before us that car armed with scythes, and which is called Revolu-
tion, but our strength is insufficient.'
So much the worse,' said Marie Antoinette, ' for it is over our
children that it will be driven.'
' Alas ! that I know ; but at all events we shall not urge it forward.'
' We will make it retrograde, sire !'
' Oh !' cried Gilbert, with a prophetic accent, ' beware, madame ;
in retrograding, it will crush you.'
' Sir, 5 said the queen impatiently, ' I observe that you carry the
frankness of your counsels very far.'
' I will be silent, madame.'
' Oh ! good heaven ! let him speak on,' said the king ; ' what he
has now announced to you, if he has not read it in twenty news-
papers during the last eight days, it is because he has not chosen
to read them. You should, at least, be thankful to him that he does
not convey the truths he utters in a bitter spirit.'
Marie Antoinette remained silent for a moment ; then, with a
deep drawn sigh :
' I will sum up,' she said, ' or rather, I will repeat my arguments.
By going to Paris voluntarily, it will be sanctioning all that has been
done there.'
' Yes,' replied the king, ' I know that full well.'
'Yes, it would be humiliating disowning your army, which is
preparing to defend you.'
1 It is to spare the effusion of French blood,' said the doctor.
' It is to declare that henceforward tumultuous risings and violence
may oppose such a direction to the will of the king as may best suit
the views of insurgents and traitors.'
' Madame, I believe,' said Gilbert, ' that you had just now the
goodness to acknowledge that I had had the good fortune to con-
vince you.'
'Yes, I just now did acknowledge it ; one corner of the veil had
been raised up before me. But now, sir oh ! now that I am again
becoming blind, as you have termed it, and I prefer looking into
my own mind, to see reflected there those splendours to which edu-
cation, tradition, and history have accustomed me, I prefer con-
sidering myself still a queen, than to feel myself a bad mother to
this people, who insult and hate me.'
'Antoinette! Antoinette!' cried Louis XVI., terrified at the
sudden paleness which pervaded the queen's face, and which was
nothing more than the precursor of a terrible storm of anger.
Oh ! no, no, sire, I will speak,' replied the queen.
' Beware, madame,' said he.
And with a glance the king directed the attention of Marie
Antoinette to the presence of the doctor.
' Oh ! this gentleman knows all that I was about to say ; he knows
even everything I think,' said the queen, with a bitter smile at the
recollection of the scene which had just before occurred between
DECISION. 281
her and trie doctor. 'And, therefore, why should I restrain myself?
This gentleman, moreover, has been taken by us for our confidant,
and I know not why I should have any fear of speaking. I know
that you are carried, dragged away, like the unhappy prince in my
dear old German ballads. Whither are you going? Of that I
know nothing ; but you are going whence you will never return.'
' Why, no, madame ; I am going simply and plainly to Paris,'
replied Louis XVI.
Marie Antoinette raised her shoulders.
' Do you believe me to be insane ?' said she, in a voice of deep
irritation. 'You are going to Paris? Tis well. Who tells you
that Paris is not an abyss which I see not, but which I can divine ?
Who can say whether, in the tumultuous crowd by which you will
necessarily be surrounded, you will not be killed ? Who knows
from whence a chance shot may proceed ? Who knows, amid a
hundred thousand upraised and threatening hands, which it is that
has directed the murderous knife ?'
' Oh ! on that head you need not have the slightest apprehension.
They love me !' exclaimed the king.
' Oh, say not that, sire, or you will make me pity you. They love
you, and they kill, they assassinate, they massacre those who re-
present you on the earth ; you, a king you, the image of God.
Well, the governor of the Bastile was your representative ; he was
the image of the king. Be well assured of this, and I shall not be
accused of exaggeration when I say it. If they have killed De
Launay, that brave and faithful servant, they would have killed you,
sire, had you been in his place, and much more easily than they
killed him ; for they know you, and know that instead of defending
yourself, you would have bared your breast to them-'
' Conclude,' said the king.
' But I had thought that I had concluded, sire.'
' They will kill me ?
' Yes, sire.
' Well ?
' And my children !' exclaimed the queen.
Gilbert thought it time that he should interfere.
'Madame,' said he, 'the king will be so much respected at Paris,
and his presence will cause such transports, that if I have a fear,
it is not for the king, but for those fanatics who will throw them-
selves to be crushed beneath his horse's feet, like the Indian Fakirs
beneath the car of their idol.'
' Oh, sir, sir !' cried Marie Antoinette.
'This march to Paris will be a triumph, madame.'
' But, sire, you do not reply.'
' It is because I agree somewhat with the doctor, madame.
' And you are impatient, are you not, to enjoy this great triumph ?
'And the king, in this case, would be right,' said Gilbert, 'for this
19
2 g 2 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
impatience would be a further proof of the profoundly just discrimi-
nation with which his majesty iudges men and things. The more
his majesty shall hasten to accomplish this, the greater will his
triumph be.'
' Yes, you believe that, sir ?
1 1 am positive it will be so. For the king, by delaying it, would
lose all the advantage to be derived from its spontaneousness. But
reflect, madame, reflect, that the initiative of this measure may
proceed from another quarter, and such a request would change, in
the eyes of the Parisians, the position of his majesty, and would
give him, in some measure, the appearance of acceding to an order.'
' There, hear you that ?' exclaimed the queen. ' The doctor
acknowledges it they would order you. Oh, sire, think of that.'
' The doctor does not say that they have ordered, madame.'
' Patience patience ! only delay a little, sire, and the request, or
rather the order, will arrive.'
Gilbert slightly compressed his lips with a feeling of vexation,
which the queen instantly caught, although it was almost as evane-
scent as the lightning.
' What have I said ?' murmured she. ' Poor simpleton ! I have
been arguing against myself.'
' And in what, madame ? inquired the king.
' In this that by a delay I should make you lose the advantage
of your initiative ; and, nevertheless, I have to ask for a delay.'
' Ah, madame, ask everything, exact anything, excepting that.'
' Antoinette,' said the king, taking her hand, ' you have sworn to
ruin me.'
' Oh, sire !' exclaimed the queen, in a tone of reproach, which
revealed all the anguish of her heart. ' And can you speak thus to
me ?'
' Why, then, do you attempt to delay this journey ?' asked the
king.
' Consider truly, madame, that under such circumstances, the fitting
moment is everything reflect on the importance of the hours which
are flying past us at such a period, when an enraged and furious
people are counting them anxiously as they strike.'
' Not to-day, Monsieur Gilbert : to-morrow, sire, oh, to-morrow !
grant me till to-morrow, and I swear to you I will no longer oppose
this journey.'
' A day lost,' murmured the king.
' Twenty-four long hours,' said Gilbert ; ' reflect on that,
madame.'
' Sire, it must be so,' rejoined the queen, in a supplicating tone.
' A reason a reason !' cried the king.
' None, but my despair, sire none, but my tears none, but my
entreaties .'
' But between this and to-morrow what may happen ? Who can
DECISION. 2*2
tell this ? said the king, completely overcome by seeing the queen's
despair.
'And what is there that could happen ? said the queen, at the
same time looking at Gilbert with an air of entreaty.
' Oh,' said Gilbert, 'out yonder nothing yet. A hope, were it
even as vague as a cloud, would suffice to make them wait patiently
till to-morrow : but '
' But it is here, is it not ?' said the king.
' Yes, sire, it is here that we have to apprehend.'
' It is the Assembly ?'
Gilbert gave an affirmative nod.
'The Assembly,' continued the king, ' with such men as Monsieur
Monnier, Monsieur Mirabeau, and Monsieur Sieyes, is capable of
sending me some address which would deprive me of all the ad-
vantage of my good intentions.'
' Well, then,' exclaimed the queen, with gloomy fury, ' so much
the better, because you would then refuse because then you would
maintain your dignity as a king because then you would not
go to Paris, and if we must here sustain a war, well, here will
we sustain it because, if we must die, we will die here, but as
illustrious and unshrinking monarchs which we are as kings, as
masters, as Christians who put their trust in God, from whom we
hold the crown.'
On perceiving this feverish excitement of the queen, Louis XVI.
saw that there was nothing to be done but to yield to it.
He made a sign to Gilbert, and advancing to Marie Antoinette,
whose hand he took :
' Tranquillise yourself, madame,' said he to her ; ' all shall be
done as you desire. You know, my dear wife, that I would not do
anything which would be displeasing to you, for I haive the most
unbounded affection for a woman of your merit, and above all, of
your virtue.'
And Louis XVI. accentuated these last words with inexpressible
nobleness ; thus exalting with all his power the so-much calumni-
ated queen, and that in the presence of a witness capable, should it
be requisite, of properly reporting all he had heard and seen.
This delicacy profoundly moved Marie Antoinette, who, grasping
with both hands the hand which the king held out to her :
' Well, then, only till to-morrow, sire no later ; that shall be the
last delay ; but I ask you that as a favour on my knees. To-morrow
at the hour which may please you, I swear to you, you shall set out
for Paris.'
'Take care, madame, the doctor is a witness,' said the king
smiling.
' Sire, you have never known me to forfeit my word,' replied the
queen.
' No, but there is only one thing I acknowledge '
284 TAKING THE BASTILE.
What is that ?
1 It is, that I am anxious, resigned as you appear to be, to know
why you have asked me for this delay of twenty-four hours. Do
you expect some news from Paris ? some intelligence from Ger-
many ? Is there anything '
' Do not question me, sire.'
The king was as inquisitive as Figaro was lazy ; anything that
excited his curiosity delighted him.
' Is there any question as to the arrival of troops of a reinforce-
ment of any political combination !'
' Sire, sire !' murmured the queen, in a reproachful tone.
' Is it a question of '
' There is no question in the matter,' replied the queen.
' Then it is a secret ?
'Well, then, yes ! the secret of an anxious woman, that is all.'
'A caprice, is it not?"
' Caprice, if you will.'
' The supreme law.'
'That is true. Why does it not exist in politics as in philosophy?
Why are kings not permitted to make their political caprices su-
preme laws ?'
' It will come to that, you may rest assured. As to myself, it is
already done,' said the king, in a jocose tone. ' Therefore, till to-
morrow.'
' Till to-morrow !' sorrowfully rejoined the queen.
' Do you keep the doctor with you ? asked the king.
' Oh, no, no !' cried the queen, with a sort of eagerness which
made Gilbert smile.
' I will take him with me, then.'
Gilbert bowed a third time to the Queen Marie Antoinette, who,
this time, returned his salutation more as a woman than a queen.
Then, as the king was going towards the door, he followed the
king.
' It appears to me,' said the king, as they proceeded along the
gallery, ' that you are on gocJ terms with the queen, Monsieur
Gilbert.'
' Sire,' replied the doctor, ' it is a favour for which I am indebted
to your majesty.'
' Long live the king !' cried the courtiers, who already thronged
the antechambers.
' Long live the king !' repeated a crowd of officers and foreign
soldiers in the courtyard, who were eagerly hastening towards the
palace doors.
These acclamations, which became louder as the crowd increased,
gave greater delight to the heart of Louis XVI. than any he had
before received, although he had so frequently been greeted in the
same manner.
DECISION. 285
As to the queen, still seated where the king had left her, near
the window, and where she had just passed such agonising mo-
ments, when she heard the cries of devotedness and love which
welcomed the king as he passed by, and which gradually died away
in the distance, under the porticoes, or beneath the thickets of the
park
' Long live the king !' cried she ; ' yes, long live the king ! The
king will live, and that in despite of thee, infamous Paris ! thou
odious gulf, thou sanguinary abyss, thou shalt not swallow up this
victim ! I will drag him from thee, and that with this little, this weak
arm. It threatens thee at this moment it devotes thee to the
execration of the world, and to the vengeance of God !'
And, pronouncing these words with a violence of hatred which
would have terrified the most furious friends of the Revolution, could
they have seen and heard her, the queen stretched forth towards
Paris her weak arm, which shone frcm beneath the lace which sur-
rounded it, like a sword starting from its scabbard.
Then she called Madame de Campan, the lady in waiting in
whom she placed the most confidence, and shutting herself up with
her in her cabinet, ordered that no one should be admitted to her
presence.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE BREAST-PLATE.
THE following morning the sun rose brilliant and pure as on the
preceding day. Its bright rays gilded the marble and the gravel
walks of Versailles. The birds, grouped in thousands on the first
trees of the park, saluted, with their deafening songs, the new and
balmy day of joy thus promised to their love.
. The queen had risen at five o'clock. She had given orders that
the king should be requested to go to her apartment as soon as he
should wake.
Louis XVI., somewhat fatigued from having received a deputation
of the Assembly, which had come to the palace the preceding even-
ing, and to which he had been obliged to reply this was the com-
mencement of speech-making Louis XVI. had slept somewhat later
than usual to recover from his fatigue, and that it might not be said
that he was not as vigorous as ever.
Therefore, he was scarcely dressed when the queen's message
was delivered to him ; he was at that moment putting on his
sword. He slightly knit his brow.
' What !' said he, ' is the queen already up ?
' Oh, a long time ago, sire.'
' Is she again ill ?
' No, sire.'
' And what can the queen want so early in the morning ?'
286 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Her majesty did not say.'
The king took his first breakfast, which consisted of a bowl of
soup and a little wine, and then went to the queen's apartment.
He found the queen full dressed, as for a ceremonious reception
beautiful, pale, imposing. She welcomed her husband with that cold
smile which shone like a winter's sun upon the cheeks of the queen,
as when in the grand receptions at court it was necessary she should
cast some rays upon the crowd.
The king could not comprehend the sorrow which pervaded that
smile and look. He was already preparing himself for one thing,
that is to say, the resistance of Marie Antoinette to the project which
had been proposed the day before.
' Again some new caprice,' thought he.
And this was the reason for his frowning. The queen did not
fail, by the first words she uttered, to strengthen this opinion
' Sire,' said she, ' since yesterday \ have been reflecting much '
'There now now it is coming,/ cried the king.
' Dismiss, if you please, all who are not our intimate friends,' said
the queen.
The king, though much annoyed, ordered his officers to leave the
room. One only of the queen's women remained ; it was Madame
Campan.
Then the queen, laying both her beautiful hands on the king's arm,
said to him :
' Why, are you dressed already ? That is wrong.'
' How wrong ? and why ?
' Did I not send word to you not to dress yourself until you had
been here ? I see you have already your coat on and your sword.
I had hoped you would have come in your dressing-gown.'
The king looked at her, much surprised. This phantasy of the
queen awakened in his mind a crowd of strange ideas, the novelty
of which only rendered the improbability still stronger. His first
gesture was one of mistrust and uneasiness.
' What is it that you wish ?' said he. ' Do you pretend to retard
or prevent that which we had yesterday agreed upon ?
' In no way, sire.'
' Let me entreat you not to jest on a matter of so serious a nature.
I ought and I will go to Paris. I can no longer avoid it. My
household troops are prepared. The persons who are to accompany
me were summoned last night to be ready.'
' Sire, I have no pretensions of that nature, but '
' Reflect,' said the king, working himself up by degrees to gain
courage ; ' reflect, that the intelligence of my intended journey must
have already reached the Parisians that they have prepared them-
selves that they are expecting me that the very favourable feelings,
as was predicted to us, that this journey has excited in the public
mind, may be changed into dangerous hostility. Reflect, in fin* '
THE BREAST-PLATE. 287
* But, sire, I do not at all contest what you have done me the
honour to say to me. I resigned myself to it yesterday this morn-
ing I am still resigned.'
' Then, madame, why all this preamble ?*
' I do not make any.'
f Pardon me, pardon me ; then why all these questions regarding
my dress, my projects ?
'As to your dress, that I admit,' said the queen, endeavouring
again to smile ; but that smile, from so frequently fading away, be-
came more and more funereal.
' What observation have you to make upon my dress ?
' I wish, sire, that you would take off your coat.'
' Do you not think it becoming ? It is a silk coat, of a violet
colour. The Parisians are accustomed to see me dressed thus ; they
like to see me in this, with which, moreover, the blue riband har-
monises well You have often told me so yourself.'
' I have, sire, no objection to offer to the colour of your coat.'
' Well, then ?
' But to the lining.'
' In truth you puzzle me with that eternal smile. The lining what
jest '
' Alas ! I no longer jest.'
' There now you are feeling my waistcoat ; does that displease
you too ? White taffeta and silver, the embroidery worked by your
own hand it is one of my favourite waistcoats.'
' I have nothing to say against the waistcoat, neither.'
'How singular you are ! Is it, then, the frill, or the embroidered
cambric shirt that offends you ? Why, must I not appear in full
dress when I am going to visit my good city of Paris ?
A bitter smile contracted the queen's lips ; the nether lip particu-
larly, that which the Austrian was so much reproached for ; it
became thicker, and advanced as if it were swelled by all the venom
of hatred and of anger.
' No,' said she, ' I do not reproach you for being so well dressed,
sire, but it is the lining the lining I say again and again.'
' The lining of my embroidered shirt ! Ah, will you at least ex-
plain yourself ?
' Well, then, I will explain. The king, hated, considered an in -
cumbrance, who is about to throw himself into the midst of seven
hundred thousand Parisians, inebriated with their triumph and their
revolutionary ideas, the king is not a prince of the middle ages, and
yet he ought to make his entry this day into Paris in a good iron
cuirass, in a helmet of good Milan steel ; he should protect himself
in such a way that no ball, no arrow, no stone, no knife, could reach
his person.'
' That is in fact true,' said Louis XVI., pensively : ' but, my good
friend, as I do not call mysdf nor Chartes the Eighth, nor Francis
288 TAKING THE BASTTLE.
the First, nor even Henry the Fourth, as the monarchy of my day
is one of velvet and of silk, I shall go naked under my silken coat,
or to speak more correctly, I shall go with a good mark at which
they may aim their balls, for I wear the jewel of my orders just over
my heart.'
The queen uttered a stifled groan.
' Sire,' said she, ' we begin to understand each other. You shall
see, you shall see that your wife jests no longer.'
She made a sign to Madame Campan, who had remained at the
farther end of the room, and the latter took from a drawer of the
queen's chiffonnier, a wide oblong flat parcel, wrapped up in a silken
cover.
' Sire,' said the queen, 'the heart of the king belongs, in the first
place, to France, that is true ; but I fully believe that it belongs to
his wife and children. For my part, I will not consent that this heart
should be exposed to the balls of the enemy I have adopted mea-
sures to save from every danger my husband, my king, the father of
my children.'
While saying this, she unfolded the silk which covered it, and
displayed a waistcoat of fine steel mail, crossed with such marvel-
lous art that it might have been thought an Arabian watered stuff,
so supple and elastic was its tissue, so admirable the play of its
whole surface.
I What is that ? said the king.
' Look at it, sire.'
' A waistcoat, it appears to me.'
' Why, yes, sire.'
1 A waistcoat that closes up to the neck.'
' With a small collar, intended, as you see, to line the collar of
the waistcoat or the cravat.'
The king took the waistcoat in his hands and examined it very
minutely.
The queen, on observing this eagerness, was perfectly transported.
The king, on his part, appeared delighted, counting the rings of
this fairy net which undulated beneath his fingers with all the mal-
leability of knitted wool.
' Why,' exclaimed he, ' this is admirable steel !'
' Is it not, sire ?'
I 1 really cannot imagine where you can have procured this.
' I bought it last night, sire, of a man who long since wished me
to purchase it of him, in the event of your going out on a campaign.'
' It is admirable ! admirable !' repeated the king, examining it as
an artist.
' And it will fit you as well as a waistcoat made by your tailor, sire. 1
' Oh ! do you believe that ?
' Try it on.'
The king said not a word, but took off his violet-coloured coal
THE BREAST-PLATE. 289
The queen trembled with joy ; she assisted Louis XVI. in taking
off his orders, and Madame Campan the rest. The king, however,
unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table.
If any one at that moment had contemplated the face of the queen,
they would have seen it lit up by one of those triumphant smiles
which supreme felicity alone bestows.
The king allowed her to divest him of his cravat, and the delicate
fingers of the queen placed the steel collar round his neck. Then
Marie Antoinette herself fastened the hooks of his corselet, which
adapted itself beautifully to the shape of the body, being lined
throughout with a fine doe-skin, for the purpose of preventing any
uncomfortable pressure from the steel.
This waistcoat was longer than an ordinary cuirass ; it covered
the whole body. With the waistcoat and shirt over it, it did not
increase the volume of the body even half a line. It did not, in the
slightest degree, inconvenience any movement of the wearer.
' Is it very heavy ?' asked the queen.
'No.'
' Only see, my king, it is a perfect wonder, is it not ?' said the
queen, clapping her hands, and turning to Madame de Campan,
who was just buttoning the king's ruffles.
Madame de Campan manifested her joy in as artless a manner
as did the queen.
' I have saved my king r cried Marie Antoinette. ' Test this in-
visible cuirass, prove it, place it upon a table, try if you can make
any impression upon it with a knife ; try if you can make a hole
through it with a ball try it ! try it !'
' Oh !' exclaimed the king, with a doubting air.
' Only try it,' repeated she, with enthusiasm.
' I would willingly do so from curiosity,' replied the king.
' You need not do so ; it would be superfluous, sire.'
' How, it would be superfluous that I should prove to you the ex-
cellence of your wonder ?'
' Ah ! thus it is with all the men. Do you believe that I would
have given faith to the judgment of another of an indifferent person,
when the life of my husband, the welfare of France, was in questior .*
' And yet, Antoinette, it seems to me that this is precisely w\.^t
you have done you have put faith in another.'
She shook her head with a delightfully playful obstinacy.
' Ask her ?' said she, pointing to the woman who was present, ' ask
our good Campan there what we have done this morning ?
'What was it, then? good heaven!' ejaculated the king, com-
pletely puzzled.
' This morning what am I saying ? this night, after dismissing
all the attendants, we went, like two mad-brained women, and shut
ourselves up in her room, which is at the far end of the wing occu-
pied by the pages. Now the pages were sent off las night to prepare
290 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
the apartments at Rambouillet, and we felt well assured that no one
could interrupt us before we had executed our project'
' Good heaven ! you really alarm me ! What were the designs,
then, of these two Judiths ?
( Judith effected less, and certainly with less noise. But for that,
the comparison would be marvellously appropriate. Campan carried
the bag which contained this breast-plate ; as for me, I carried a
long hunting-knife which belonged to my father, that infallible blade
which killed so many wild boars.'
' Judith ! still Judith !' cried the king, laughing.
1 Oh ! Judith had not the heavy pistol which I took from your
armoury, and which I made Weber load for me.'
' A pistol.'
' Undoubtedly. You ought to have seen us running in the dark
startled, agitated at the slightest noise avoiding everybody for fear
of their being indiscreet, creeping like two little mice along the de-
serted corridors. Campan locked three doors and placed a mattress
against the last, to prevent our being overheard ; we put the cuirass
on one of the figures which they use to stretch my gowns on, and
placed it against a wall. And I, with a firm hand, too, I can assure
you, struck the breast-plate with the knife ; the blade bent, flew out
of my hand, and, bounding back, stuck into the floor, to our great
terror.'
' The deuce P exclaimed the king.
' Wait a little.'
' Did it not make a hole ? asked Louis XVI.
' Wait a little, I tell you. Campan pulled the knife out of the
board. " You are not strong enough, madame," she said, " and per-
haps your hand trembles. I am stronger, as you shall see." She
therefore raised the knife, and gave the figure so violent a blow, so
well applied, that my poor German knife snapped off short against
the steel mail.'
' See, here are the two pieces, sire. I will have a dagger made
for you out of one of them.'
' Oh ! this is absolutely fabulous,' cried the king ; ' and the mail
was not injured ?
' A slight scratch on the exterior ring, and there are three one
over the other.'
' I should like to see H.'
' You shall see it.'
And the queen began to undress the king again with wonderful
celerity, in order that he might the sooner admire her idea, and her
high feats in arms.
' Here is a place that is somewhat damaged, it would appear to
me,' said the king, pointing to a slight depression over a space of
about an inch in circumference.
' That was done by the pistol-ball, sire.'
THE BREAST-PLATE. 291
* How ! you fired off a pistol loaded with ball ? you ?
1 Here is the ball, completely flattened, and still black. Here, take
it, and now do you believe that your life is in safety ?
' You are my tutelar angel,' said the king, who began slowly to
unhook the mailed waistcoat, in order to examine more minutely the
traces left by the knife and the pistol-shot.
' Judge of my terror, dear king,' said Marie Antoinette, ' when on
the point of firing the pistol at the breast-plate. Alas ! the fear of
the report, that horrible noise which you know has so frightful an
effect upon me, was nothing ; but it appeared to me that, in firing
at the waistcoat destined to protect you, I was firing at you, your-
self ; I was afraid of wounding you ; I feared to see a hole in the
mail, and then my efforts, my trouble, my hopes were for ever lost.'
' My dear wife,' said Louis XVI., having completely unhooked
the coat of mail and placed it on the table, ' what gratitude do I not
owe you !'
'Well, now, what is it you are doing?' asked the queen.
And she took the waistcoat and again presented it to the king.
But he, with a smile replete with nobleness and kindness
' No,' said he, ' I thank you.'
' You refuse it ? said the queen.
' I refuse it.'
' Oh ! but reflect a moment, sire.'
' Sire,' cried Madame Campan, in a supplicating tone, ' but 'tis
your salvation 'tis your life !'
' That is possible,' said the king.
' You refuse the succour which God himself has sent us.'
' Enough ! enough !' said the king.
* Oh ! you refuse ! you refuse ! ;
' Yes, I refuse.'
' But they will kill you.'
' My dear Antoinette, when gentlemen in this eighteenth century
are going out to battle, they wear a cloth coat, waistcoat, and shirt,
this is all they have to defend them against musket-balls ; when
they go upon the field of honour to fight a duel, they throw off all
but their shirt that is for the sword. As to myself, I am the first
gentleman of my kingdom ; I will do neither more nor less than my
friends ; and there is more than this while they wear cloth, I alone
have the right to wear silk. Thanks, my good wife ; thanks, my
good queen thanks.'
' Ah !' exclaimed the queen, at once despairing and delighted,
' why cannot his army hear him speak thus ?'
As to the king, he quietly completed his toilette, without even ap-
pearing to understand the act of heroism he had just performed.
' Is the monarchy then lost ?' murmured the queen, ' when we can
feel so proudly at such a moment ?
3Q2 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE DEPARTURE.
ON leaving the queen's apartment, the king immediately found
himself surrounded by all the officers and all the persons of his
household, who had been appointed by him to attend him on his
journey to Paris.
The principal personages were Messieurs de Beauvau, de Ville-
roy, de Nesle, and d'Estaing.
Gilbert was waiting, in the middle of the crowd, till Louis XVI.
should perceive him, were it only to cast a look upon him in passing
It could be easily perceived that the whole of the throng there
present were still in doubt, and that they could not credit that the
king would persist in following up the resolution he had come to.
' After breakfast, gentlemen,' said the king, ' we will set out.'
Then, perceiving Gilbert,
' Ah ! you are there, doctor,' he continued, ' you know that I take
you with me.'
'At your orders, sire.'
The king went into his cabinet, where he was engaged two hours.
He afterwards attended mass with all his household ; then, at about
nine o'clock, he sat down to breakfast.
The repast was taken with the usual ceremonies, excepting that
the queen, who, after attending mass, was observed to be out of
spirits, her eyes swelled and red, had insisted on being present at
the king's repast, but without partaking of it in the slightest manner,
that she might be with him to the last moment.
The queen had brought her two children with her, who already
much agitated, doubtless, by what the queen had said to them, were
looking anxiously from time to time at their father's face, and then
at the crowd of officers of the guards who were present.
The children, moreover, from time to time, by order of their
mother, wiped away a tear, which every now and then would rise
to their eyelids, and the sight of this excited the pity of some and
the anger of others, and rilled the whole assembly with profound
grief.
The king ate on stoically. He spoke several times to Gilbert,
without taking his eyes off his plate ; he spoke frequently to the
queen, and always with deep affection.
At last, he gave instructions to the commanders of his troops.
He was just finishing his breakfast, when an officer came in to
announce to him that a compact body of men, on foot, coming from
Paris, had just appeared at the end of the grand avenue, leading to
the Place d'Armes.
On hearing this, the officers and guards at once rushed out of the
room. The king raised his head and looked at Gilbert, but seeing
that Gilbert smiled, he tranquilly continued eating.
THE DEPARTURE. 293
The queen turned pale, and leaned towards M. de Beauvau, to
request him to obtain information.
M. de Beauvau ran out precipitately.
The queen then drew near to the window.
Five minutes afterwards, M. de Beauvau returned.
' Sire,' said he, on entering the room, ' they are National Guards,
Jrom Paris, who, hearing the rumour spread yesterday in the capital,
of your majesty's intention to visit the Parisians, assembled to the
number of some ten thousand, for the purpose of coming out to
meet you on the road, and not meeting you so soon as they ex-
pected, they have pushed on to Versailles.'
' What appear to be their intentions ?' asked the king.
' The best in the world,' replied M. de Beauvau.
' That matters not,' said the queen, 'have the gates closed.
' Take good care not to do that/ said the king ; ' it is quite enough
that the palace doors remain closed.'
The queen frowned, and darted a look at Gilbert.
The latter was awaiting this look from the queen, for one half his
prediction was already fulfilled. He had promised the arrival of
twenty thousand men, and ten thousand had already come.
The king turned to M. de Beauvau.
' See that refreshments be given to these worthy people,' said he.
M. de Beauvau went down a second time. He transmitted to the
cellarmen the order he had received from the king.
After doing this, he went upstairs again.
' Well ?' said the king, in a tone of inquiry.
' Well, sire, your Parisians are in high discussion with the gentle-
men of the Guards.'
' How !' cried the king, ' there is a discussion ?'
' Oh ! one of pure courteousness. As they have been informed
that the king is to set out in two hours, they wish to await his de-
parture, and march behind his majesty's carriage.'
' But.' inquired the queen, in her turn, ' they are on foot, I
suppose ?
' Yes, madame.'
' But the king has horses to his carriage, and the king travels fast,
very fast you know, Monsieur de Beauvau, that the king is accus-
tomed to travelling very rapidly.'
These words, pronounced in the tone the queen pronounced them,
implied :
Put wings to his majesty's carriage.'
The king made a sign with his hand to stop the colloquy.
' I will go at a walk.'
The queen heaved a sigh which almost resembled a cry of anger.
'It would not be right,' tranquilly added Louis XVI., 'that I
should make these worthy people run, who have taken the trouble
to come so far to do me honour. My carriage shall be driven at a
*94 TAKING THE BASTILR.
walk, and a slow walk, too, so that everybody may be able to follow
me.'
The whole of the company testified their admiration by a murmur
of approbation ; but, at the same time, there was seen on the coun-
tenances of several persons the reflection of the disapproval which
was expressed by the features of the queen, at so much goodness of
soul which she considered as mere madness.
A window was opened.
The queen turned round amazed. It was Gilbert, who, in his
quality of physician, had only exercised the right which appertained
to him of renewing the air of the dining-room, thickened by the
odours of the viands and the breathing of two hundred persons.
' What is that ? asked the king.
' Sire,' replied Gilbert, ' the National Guards are down there on
the pavement, exposed to the heat of the sun, and they must feel it
very oppressive.'
' Why not invite them upstairs to breakfast with the king ? sar-
castically said one of her favourite officers to the queen.
' They should be taken to some shady place put them into the
marble court -yard, into the vestibules, wherever it is cool,' said the
king.
' Ten thousand men in the vestibules !' exclaimed the queen.
' If they are scattered everywhere, there will be room enough for
them,' said the king.
' Scattered everywhere !' cried Marie Antoinette, ' why, sir, you
will teach them the way to your own bedchamber.'
This was the prophecy of terror which was to be realised at Ver-
sailles before three months had elapsed.
' They have a great many children with them, madame,' said
Gilbert, in a gentle tone.
' Children !' exclaimed the queen.
' Yes, madame ; a great many have brought their children with
them, as if on a party of pleasure. The children are dressed as
little National Guards, so great is the enthusiasm for this new
institution.'
The queen opened her lips as if about to speak ; but, almost in-
stantly, she held down her head.
She had felt a desire to utter a kind word ; but pride and hatred
had stopped it ere it escaped her lips.
Gilbert looked at her attentively.
4 Ah !' cried the king, ' those poor children. When people bring
children with them, it is plain that they have no intention to do
harm to the father of a family ; another reason for putting them in
a cooler place, poor little things ; let them in, let them in.'
Gilbert then, gently shaking his head, appeared to say to the
queen, who had remained silent
' There, madame ; that is what you ought to have said I had
THE DEPARTURE. 295
given you the opportunity ; your kind words would have been re-
peated, and you would have gained two years of popularity.'
The queen comprehended Gilbert's mute language, and a blush
suffused her face.
She felt the error she had committed, and immediately excused
herself by a feeling of pride and resistance, which she expressed by
a glance, as a reply to Gilbert. During this time, M. de Beauvau
was following the king's orders relating to the National Guards.
Then were heard shouts of joy and benediction from that armed
crowd, admitted by the king's order to the interior of the palace.
The acclamations, the fervent wishes, the loud hurrahs, ascended
as a whirlwind to the hall in which the king and queen were seated,
whom they reassured with regard to the disposition of the so much
dreaded inhabitants of Paris.
' Sire,' said M. de Beauvau, ' in what order is it that your majesty
determines the procession shall be conducted ?
1 And the discussion between the National Guards and my
officers ?
' Oh ! sire, it has evaporated, vanished : those worthy people are
so happy that they now say, " We will go wherever you may please
to place us. The king is our king as much as he is everybody else's
king. Wherever he may be, he is ours." '
The king looked at Marie Antoinette, who curled, with an ironical
smile, her disdainful lip.
' Tell the National Guards,' said Louis XVI., ' that they may
place themselves where they will.'
' Your majesty,' said the queen, ' will not forget that your body-
guards have the right of surrounding your carriage.'
The officers, who perceived that the king was somewhat unde- 1
cided, advanced to support the arguments of the queen.
' That is the case, undoubtedly,' replied the king. ' Well, we
shall see.'
M. de Beauvau and M. de Villeroy left the room to take their
stations and to give the necessary orders.
The clock of Versailles struck ten.
' Well, well,' said the king, ' I shall put off my usual labours till
to-morrow ; these worthy people ought not to be kept waiting.'
The king rose from table.
Marie Antoinette went to the king, clasped him in her arms and
embraced him. The children clung weeping to their father's neck.
Louis XVI., who was much moved, endeavoured gently to release
himself from them ; he wished to conceal the emotions which would
soon have become overpowering.
The queen stopped all the officers as they passed by her, seizing
the one by the arm, others by their swords.
' Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said she, ' I confide in you.' And this
eloquent exclamation recommended to them to be watchful for the
safety of the king, who had just descended the staircase.
296 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
All of them placed their hands upon their hearts and upon their
swords.
The queen smiled to thank them.
Gilbert remained in the room till almost the last.
' Sir,' said the queen to him, ' it was you who advised the king to
take this step. It was you who induced the king to come to this
resolution, in spite of my entreaties. Reflect, sir, that you have as-
sumed a fearful responsibility as regards the wife, as regards the
children.'
' I am sensible of that,' coldly replied Gilbert.
' And you will bring the king back to me safe and unhurt,' she
said, with a solemn gesture.
' Yes, madame.'
' Reflect, that you will answer for his safety with your head.'
Gilbert bowed.
' Reflect that your head is answerable,' cried Marie Antoinette.
' Upon my head be the risk,' said the doctor, again bowing. ' Yes,
madame ; and this pledge I should consider as a hostage of but
little value, if I believed the king's safety to be at all threatened.
But I have said, madame, that it is to a triumph that I this day
conduct his majesty.'
' I must have news of him every hour,' added the queen.
' You shall, madame ; and this I swear to you.'
'Go, sir go at once I hear the drums ; the king is about to
leave the palace.'
Gilbert bowed, and descending the grand staircase, found himself
face to face with one of the king's aides-de-camp, who was seeking
him by order of his majesty.
They made him get into a carriage which belonged to M. de
Beauvau ; the grand master of the ceremonies not allowing, as he
had not produced proofs of his nobility, that he should travel in
one of the king's carriages.
Gilbert smiled, on finding himself alone in a carriage with arms
upon its panels, M. de Beauvau being on horseback, curvetting by
the side of the royal carriage.
Then it struck him that it was ridiculous in him thus to be oc-
cupying a carriage on which was painted a princely coronet and
armorial bearings.
This scruple was still annoying him when, from the midst of a
crowd of National Guards, who were following the carriage, he
heard the following conversation, though carried on in a half whisper,
by men who were curiously stretching out their necks to look at him.
' Oh ! that one that is the Prince de Beauvau.'
' Why,' cried a comrade, ' you are mistaken.'
4 1 tell you it must be so, since the cai
carriage has the prince's arms
upon it.'
' The arms the arms ! I say that means nothing.'
THE DEPARTURE. 297
* Zounds !' said another, ' what do the arms prove ?'
1 They prove that if the arms of Monsieur de Beauvau are upon
the coach, it must be Monsieur de Beauvau who is inside of it.'
' Monsieur de Beauvau is he a patriot ?' asked a woman.
' Pooh !' exclaimed the National Guard-,
Gilbert again smiled.
' But I tell you,' said the first contradictor, ' that it Is not the
prince the prince is stout, that one is thin the prince wears the
uniform of a commandant of the Guards ; that one wears a b*ack
coat it is his intendant.'
A murmur, which was by no means favourable to Gilbert, arose
among the crowd, who had degraded him by giving him this title,
which was not at all flattering.
'Why, no, by the devil's horns !' cried a loud voice, the sound of
which made Gilbert start. It was the voice of a man who, with his
elbows and his fists, was clearing his way to get near the carriage.
' No,' said he, ' it is neither Monsieur de Beauvau nor his intendant.
It is that brave and famous patriot, and even the most famous of all
the patriots. Why, Monsreur Gilbert, what the devil are you doing
in the carriage of a prince ?
' Ha ! it is you, Father Billot !' exclaimed the doctor.
' By heaven,' replied the farmer, ' I took good care not to lose the
opportunity !'
'And Pitou ? asked Gilbert.
' Oh, he is not far off. Hilloah ! Pitou, where are you ? Come
this way come quickly.'
And Pitou, on hearing this invitation, managed, by a dexterous
use of his shoulders, to slip through the crowd till he reached Billot's
side, and then, with admiration, bowed to Gilbert.
' Good-day, Monsieur Gilbert,' said he.
' Good-day, Pitou, good-day, my friend.'
' Gilbert ! Gilbert ! who is he ?' inquired the crowd of one
another.
' Such is fame,' thought the doctor, ' well understood at Villers-
Cotterets yes ; but at Paris popularity is everything.'
He alighted from the carriage, which continued its onward pro-
gress at a walk, while Gilbert moved on with the crowd, on foot,
leaning on Billot's arm.
H~, in a few words, related to the farmer his visit to Versailles,
the good disposition of the king and the royal family ; he in a few
minutes preached such a propaganda of royalism to the group by
which he was surrounded, that, simple and delighted, these worthy
people, who were yet easily induced to receive good impressions,
uttered loud and continued shouts of ' Long live the king !' which,
taken up by those who preceded them, soon reached the head of the
line, and deafened Louis XVI. in his carriage.
' I will see the king !' cried Billot, electrified. ' I must get close
20
98 TAKING THE BASTILE.
to him, and see him well ; I came all this way on purpose. I will
judge him by his face the eye of an honest man can always speak
for itself. Let us get nearer to his carriage, Monsieur Gilbert, shall
we not ?
1 Wait a little, and it will be easy for us to do so,' replied Gilbert,
* for I see one of Monsieur de Beauvau's aides-de-camp, who is seek-
ing for some one, coming this way.'
And, in fact, a cavalier, who, managing his horse with every sort of
precaution, amid the groups of fatigued but joyous pedestrians, was
endeavouring to get near the carriage which Gilbert had just left.
Gilbert called tc him.
' Are you not looking, sir, for Dr. Gilbert ? he inquired.
' Himself,' replied the aide-de-camp.
' In that case, I am he.'
' Monsieur de Beauvau sends for you, at the king's request.'
These high-sounding words made Billot's eyes open widely, and
on the crowd they had the effect of making them open their ranks
to allow Gilbert to pass. Gilbert glided through them, followed by
Billot and Pitou, the aide-de-camp going before them, who kept on
repeating :
' Make room, gentlemen, make room ; let us pass, in the king's
name, let us pass !'
Gilbert soon reached the door of the royal carriage, which was
moving onward as if drawn by Merovingian oxen.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE JOURNEY.
THUS pushing and thus pushed, but still following M. de Beauvau's
aide-de-camp, Gilbert, Billot, and Pitou at length reached the car-
riage in which the king, accompanied by Messieurs D'Estaing and
De Villequier, was slowly advancing amid the crowd, which con-
tinually increased.
Extraordinary, unknown, unheard-of spectacle ! for it was the first
time that such a one had been seen. All those National Guards
from the surrounding villages, impromptu soldiers suddenly sprung
up, hastened, with cries of joy, to greet the king in his progress,
saluting him with their benedictions, endeavouring to gain a look
from him, and then, instead of returning to their homes, taking
place in the procession, and accompanying their monarch towards
Paris.
And why ? No one could have given a reason for it. Were they
obeying an instinct ? They had seen, but they wished again to see,
this well-beloved king.
For it must be acknowledged that, at this period, Louis XVT. was
an adored king, to whom the French would have raised altars, had
THE JOURNEY. 299
it n 1 been for the profound contempt with which Voltaire had in-
spired them for all altars.
Louis XVI. therefore had no altars raised to him, but solely be-
cause the free-thinkers of that day had too high an esteem for him
to inflict upon him such a humiliation.
Louis XVI. perceived Gilbert leaning upon the arm of Billot ; be-
hind them marched Pitou, still dragging after him his long sabre.
' Ah, doctor,' cried the king, ' what magnificent weather, and what
a magnificent people !'
' You see, sire,' replied Gilbert.
Then, turning towards the king :
' What did I promise your majesty ?
'Yes, sir, yes, and you have worthily fulfilled your promise.'
The king raised his head, and with the intention of being heard :
' We move but slowly,' said he ; ' and yet it appears to me that
we advance but too rapidly for all that we have to see.'
' Sire,' said M. de Beauvau, ' and yet, at the pace your majesty is
going, you are travelling about one league in three hours. It would
be difficult to go more slowly.'
In fact, the horses were stopped every moment : harangues and
replies were interchanged ; the National Guards fraternised the
word was only then invented with the body-guards of his majesty.
4 Ah !' said Gilbert to himself, who contemplated this singular
spectacle as a philosopher, ' if they fraternise with the body-guards,
it was because before being friends they had been enemies.'
' I say, Monsieur Gilbert,' said Billot, in a half-whisper, ' I have
had a good look at the king, I have listened to him with all my ears.
Well, my opinion is that the king is an honest man !'
And the enthusiasm which animated Billot was so overpowering,
that he raised his voice in uttering these last words to such a pitch,
that the king and his staff heard him.
The officers laughed outright.
The king smiled, and then, nodding his head :
' That is praise which pleases me,' said he.
These words were spoken loud enough for Billot to hear them.
' Oh ! you are right, sire, for I do not give it to everybody,' replied
Billot, entering at once into conversation with his king, as Michaud.
the miller, did with Henry IV.
' And that flatters me so much the more,' rejoined the king, much
embarrassed at not knowing how to maintain his dignity as a king,
and speak graciously as a good patriot.
Alas ! the poor prince was not yet accustomed to call himself
King of the French.
He thought that he was still called the King of France,
Billot, beside himself with joy, did not give himself the trouble to
reflect whether Louis, in a philosophical point of view, had abdicated
the title of king to adopt the title of a man. Billot, who felt how
y>o TAKING THE B AS TILE.
much this language resembled rustic plainness, Billot applauded
himself for having comprehended the king, and for h iving been
comprehended by him.
Therefore, from that moment Billot became more and more en-
thusiastic. He drank from the king's looks, according to the Vir-
gilian expression, deep draughts of love for constitutional royalty,
and communicated it to Pitou, who, too full of his own love and the
superfluity of Billot's, it overflowed at first in stentorian shouts, then
in more squeaking, and finally in less articulate ones ot :
' Long live the king ! Long live the father of the people !'
This modification in the voice of Pitou was produced by degrees
in proportion as he became more and more hoarse.
Pitou was as hoarse as a bull-frog when the procession reached the
Point du Jour, where the Marquis de Lafayette, on his celebrated
white charger, was keeping in order the undisciplined and agitated
cohorts of the National Guard, who had from five o'clock that morn-
ing lined the road to receive the royal procession.
At this time it was nearly two o'clock.
The interview between the king and this new chief of armed
France passed off in a manner that was satisfactory to all present.
The king, however, began to feel fatigued. He no longer spoke ;
he contented himself with merely smiling.
The general-in-chief of the Parisian militia could no longer utter
a command ; he only gesticulated.
The king had the satisfaction to find that the crowd as frequently
cried : ' Long live the king !' as ' Long live Lafayette !' Unfortuately.
this was the last time he was destined to enjoy this gratification of
his self-love.
During this, Gilbert remained constantly at the door of the king's
carriage, Billot near Gilbert, Pitou near Billot.
Gilbert, faithful to his promise, had found means, since his de-
parture from Versailles, to despatch four couriers to the queen.
These couriers had each been the bearer of good news, for at
every step of his journey the king had seen caps thrown up in the
air as he passed, only on each of these caps shone the colours of the
nation, a species of reproach addressed to the white cockade which
the king's guards and the king himself wore in their hats.
In the midst of his joy and his enthusiasm, this discrepancy in
the cockades was the only thing which annoyed Billot.
Billot had on his cocked hat an enormous tri -coloured cockade.
The king had a white cockade in his hat ; the tastes of the sub-
ject and the king were not therefore absolutely similar.
This idea so much perplexed him, that he could not refrain
from unburthening his mind upon the subject to Gilbert, at a mo-
ment when the latter was not conversing with the king.
' Monsieur Gilbert,' said he to him, ' how is it that his majesty
does not wear the national cockade ?'
THE JOURhEY. 301
'Because, my dear Billot, either the king does not know that
there is a new cockade, or he considers that the cockade he wears
ought to be the cockade of the nation.'
' Oh ! no oh ! no, since his cockade is a white one, and our
cockade ours is a tri-coloured one.'
' One moment,' said Gilbert, stopping Billot just as he was about
to launch with heart and soul into the arguments advanced by the
newspapers of the day, ' the king's cockade is white, as the flag of
France is white. The king is in no way to blame for this. Cockade
and flag were white long before he came into the world. Moreover,
my dear Billot, that flag has performed great feats, and so has the
white cockade. There was a white cockade in the hat of Admiral
de Suffren, when he re-established our flag in the East Indies.
There was a white cockade in the hat of Assas, and it was by that
the Germans recognised him in the night, when he allowed himself
to be killed rather than that they should take his soldiers by sur-
prise. There was a white cockade in the hat of Marshal Saxe,
when he defeated the English at Fontenoy. There was, in fine, a
white cockade in the hat of the Prince de Condd, when he beat the
Imperialists at Rocroi, at Fribourg, and at Lens. The white cockade
has done all this, and a great many other things, my dear Billot,
while the national cockade, which will perhaps make a tour round
the world, as Lafayette has predicted, has not yet had time to ac-
complish anything, seeing that it exists only for the three last days.
I do not say that it will rest idle, do you understand, but, in short,
having as yet done nothing, it gives the king full right to wait till it
has done something.'
' How ? the national cockade has as yet done nothing ?' cried
Billot, ' has it not taken the Bastile ?'
' It has,' said Gilbert, sorrowfully ; 'you are right, Billot.'
'And that is why,' triumphantly rejoined the farmer, ' that is why
the king ought to adopt it.'
Gilbert gave a furious nudge with his elbow into Billot's ribs, for
he had perceived the king was listening, and then, in a low tone
'Are you mad, Billot?' said he; 'and against whom was the
Bastile taken, then ? Against royalty, it seems to me. And now
you would make the king wear the trophies of your triumph, and
the insignia of his own defeat. Madman ! the king is all heart, all
goodness, all candour, and you would wish him to show himself a
hypocrite !'
' But,' said Billot, more humbly, without, however, giving up the
argument altogether, ' it was not precisely against the king that the
Bastile was taken, it was against despotism.'
Gilbert shrugged up his shoulders, but vith the delicacy of the
superior man, who will not place his foo* "^n his inferior, for fear tha/
he should crush him.
302 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' No,' said Billot, again becoming animated, ' it is not against out
good king that we have fought, but against his satellites.'
Now in those days they said, speaking politically, satellites instead
of saying soldiers, as they said in the theatres, courser instead
of horse.
4 Moreover,' continued Billot, and with some appearance of reason,
' he disapproves them, since he comes thus in the midst of us ; and
if he disapproves them, he must approve us. It is for our happi-
ness and his honour that we have worked, we, the conquerors of the
Bastile,'
' Alas ! alas !' murmured Gilbert, who did not know how to con-
ciliate the appearance of the king's features with that which he
knew must be passing in his heart
As to the king, he began, amid the confused murmurs of the
march, to understand some few words of the conversation entered
into by his side.
Gilbert, who perceived the attention which the king was paying
to the discussion, made every effort to lead Billot on to less slippery
ground than that on which he had ventured.
Suddenly the procession stopped ; it had arrived at the Cours la
Reine, at the gate formerly called La Conference, in the Champs
Elysdes.
There a deputation of electors and aldermen, presided over by the
new mayor, Bailly, had drawn themselves up in fine array, with a
guard of three hundred men, commanded by a colonel, besides at
least three hundred members of the National Assembly, taken, as
it will be readily imagined, from the ranks of the Tiers Etat.
Two of the electors united their strength and their address to hold
in equilibrium a vast salver of gilt plate, upon which were lying two
enormous keys, the keys of the city of Paris during the days of
Henry IV.
This imposing spectacle at once put a stop to all individual con-
versations, and every one, whether in the crowd or in the ranks,
immediately directed their attention to the speeches about to be
pronounced on the occasion.
Bailly, the worthy man of science, the admirable astronomer,
who had been made a deputy in defiance to his own will, a mayor
in spite of his objections, an orator notwithstanding his unwilling-
ness, had prepared a long speech. This speech had for its exordium,
according to the strictest laws of rhetoric, a laudatory encomium or
the king, from the coming into power of M. Turgot, down to tht
taking of the Bastile. Little was wanting, such privilege has
eloquence, to attribute to the king the initiative in the acts of the
people.
Bailly was delighted with the speech he had prepared, when an
incident it is Bailly himself who relates this incident, in his Me-
moirs furnished him with a new exordium, very much more pic-
turesque than the one he had prepared the only one, moreover.
THE JO URNE Y. 303
which remained engraved on the minds of the people, always ready
to seize upon good and, above all, fine sounding phrases, when
founded upon a material fact.
While walking towards the place of meeting, with the aldermen
and the electors, Bailly was alarmed at the weight of the keys which
he was about to present to the king.
' Do you believe,' said he, laughingly, ' that after having shown
these to the king, I will undergo the fatigue of carrying them back
to Paris ?'
' What will you do with them, then?' asked one of the electors.
' What will I do with them ?' said Bailly ; ' why, I will give them
to you, or I will throw them into some ditch at the foot of a
tree.'
' Take good care not to do that,' cried the elector, completely
horrified. ' Do you not know that these keys are the same which
the city of Paris offered to Henry IV. after the siege ? They are
very precious, they are inestimable antiquities.'
' You are right/ rejoined Bailly, ' the keys offered to Henry IV.,
the conqueror of Paris, and which are now to be offered to Louis XVI.
heh ? Why, I declare, now,' said the worthy mayor to himself,
' this would be a capital antithesis in my speech.'
And instantly he took a pencil and wrote above the speech he
had prepared the following exordium :
' Sire, I present to your majesty the keys of the good city of
Paris. They are the same which were offered to Henry IV. He
had re-conquered his people ; to-day the people have re-conquered
their king.'
The phrase was well turned, and it was also true. It implanted
itself in the memories of the Parisians, and of all the speeches, all
the works of Bailly, this only survived.
As to Louis XVI., he approved it by an affirmative nod, but colour-
ing deeply at the same time ; for he felt the epigrammatic irony
which it conveyed, although concealed beneath a semblance of re-
spect and oratorical flourishes.
' Oh ! Marie Antoinette,' murmured Louis XVI. to himself,
' would not allow herself to be deceived by this pretended venera-
tion of Monsieur Bailly, and would reply in a very different
manner to that which I am about to do to the untoward astro-
nomer.'
And these reflections were the cause why Louis XVI., who had
paid too much attention to the commencement of the speech, did
not listen at all to the conclusion of it, nor to that of the president of
the electors, M. Delavigne, of which he heard neither the beginning
nor the end.
However, the addresses being concluded, the king, fearing not to
appear sufficiently delighted with their efforts to say that which
was agreeable to him, replied in a very noble tone, and without
304 TAKING THE BASTILE.
making any allusion to what the orators had said, that the homage
of the city of Paris and of the electors was exceedingly gratifying
to him.
After which he gave orders for the procession to move on towards
the Hotel de Ville.
But before it recommenced its march, he dismissed his body-guard,
wishing to respond by a gracious confidence to the half-politeness
which had been evinced to him by the municipality, through their
organs, the president of the electors and M. Bailly.
Being thus alone, amid the enormous mass of National Guards
and spectators, the carriage advanced more rapidly.
Gilbert and his companion Billot still retained their posts on the
right of the carriage.
At the moment when they were crossing the Place Louis XV.,
the report of a gun was heard, fired from the opposite side of the
Seine, and a white smoke arose, like a veil of incense, towards the
blue sky, where it as suddenly vanished.
As .f the report of this musket shot had found an echo within his
breast, Gilbert had felt himself struck, as by a violent blow. For
a second his breath failed him, and he hastily pressed 1 his hand to
his heart, where he fel'c a sudden and severe pain.
At the same instant a cry of distress was heard around the royal
carriage ; a woman had fallen to the ground, shoe through the right
shoulder.
One of the buttons of Gilbert's coat, a large steel button, cut
diamond fashion, as they were worn at the period, had just been
struck diagonally oy that same ball.
It had performed the office of a breastplate, and the ball had
glanced off from it ; this had caused the painful shock which Gilbert
had experienced.
Part of his waistcoat and his frill had been torn off by the ball.
This ball, on glancing from the barton, had killed the unfor-
'unate woman, who was instantly removed from the spot, bleeding
profusely.
The king had heard the shot, but had seen nothing.
He leaned towards Gilbert, and smiling, said
' They are burning gunpowder yonder, to do me honour.'
' Yes, sire,' replied Gilbert.
But he was careful ot Lo mention to his majesty the nature of the
ovation which they were offering to him.
In his own mind, however, he acknowledged that the queen had
some reason for t'he apprehensions she had expressed, since, but
lor him standing immediately before, and closing the carriage door,
as it were, hermetically, that ball, which had glanced off from his
steel butt n, would have gone straight to the king's breast.
And now from what hand had proceeded this so well-aimed
shot?
THE JO URNE Y. 305
No one then wished to inquire, so that it will never now be
known.
Billot, pale from what he had just seen, his eyes incessantly at-
tracted to the rent made in Gilbert's coat, waistcoat, and frill, excited
Pitou to shout as loudly as he could, ' Long live the Father of the
French !'
The event of the day was so great that this episode was quickly
forgotten.
At last, Louis XVI. arrived in front of the Hotel de Ville, after
having been saluted on the Pont Neuf by a discharge of artillery,
which, at all events, were not loaded with ball.
Upon the facade of the Hotel de Ville was an inscription, in large
letters,, black in the daylight, but which, when it was dark, were to
form a brilliant transparency. This inscription was the result of the
generous lucubrations of the municipal authorities.
The inscription was as follows
' To Louis XVI., FATHER OF THE FRENCH, AND KING OF A FREE
PEOPLE.'
Another antithesis, much more important than the one contained
in M. Bailly's speech, and which excited shouts of admiration from
all the Parisians assembled in the square.
The inscription attracted the attention of Billot.
But as Billot could not read, he made Pitou read the inscription
to him.
Billot made him read it a second time, as if he had not understood
it perfectly at first.
Then, when Pitou had repeated the phrase, without varying in a
single word :
' Is it that r* cried he, ' is it that ?
1 Undoubtedly,' replied Pitou.
' The municipality has written that the king is a king of a free
people ?'
' Yes, Father Billot.'
' Well, then,' exclaimed Billot, ' since the nation is free, it has the
right to offer its cockade to the king.'
And with one bound, rushing before the king, who was then
alighting from his carriage at the front steps of the Hotel de Ville :
'Sire,' said he, 'you saw on the Pont Neuf that the Henry IV., in
bronze, wore the national cockade.'
' Well ?' cried the king.
( Well, sire, if Henry IV. wears the national cockade, you ran
tvear it too.'
' Certainly,' said Louis XVI., much embarrassed, ' and if I had
one '
' Well,' cried Billot, in a louder tone, and raising his hand, ' in
the name of the people I offer you this one in the place of yours ;
accept it.'
306 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Bailly intervened,
The king was pale. He began to see the progressive encroach-
ment. He looked at Bailly as if to ask his opinion.
' Sire,' said the latter, * it is the distinctive sign of every French-
man.'
' In that case, I accept it,' said the king, taking the cockade from
Billot's hands.
And putting aside his own white cockade, he placed the tri-
coloured one in his hat.
An immense triumphant hurrah was echoed from the great crowd
upon the square.
Gilbert turned away his head, much grieved.
He considered that the people were encroaching too rapidly, and
that the king did not resist sufficiently.
' Long live the king !' cried Billot, who thus gave the signal for a
second round of applause.
' The king is dead,' murmured Gilbert ; ' there is no longer a king
in France.'
An arch of steel had been formed, by a thousand swords held up,
from the place at which the king had alighted from his carriage, to
the Hoor of the hall in which the municipal authorities were waiting
to receive him.
He passed beneath this arch, and disappeared in the gloomy
passages of the H6tel de Ville.
' That is not a triumphal arch,' said Gilbert ; ' but the caudine
forks.'
Then, with a sigh
' Ah ! what will the queen say to this ?
CHAPTER XXXVII.
SHOWING WHAT WAS TAKING PLACE AT VERSAILLES WHILE THE
KING WAS LISTENING TO THE SPEECHES OF THE MUNICIPALITY.
IN the interior of the H6tel de Ville the king received the most
flattering welcome ; he was styled the Restorer of Liberty.
Being invited to speak for the thirst for speeches became every
day more intense and the king wishing, in short, to ascertain
the feelings of all present, he placed his hand upon his heart, and
said :
' Gentlemen, you may always calculate on my affection.'
While he was thus listening in the H6tel de Ville to the com-
munications from the government for from that day a real govern-
ment was constituted in France, besides that of the throne and the
National Assembly the people outside the building were admiring
the beautiful horses, the gilt carriage, the lacqueys, and the coach-
men of his majesty.
WHAT WAS TAKING PLACE AT VERSAILLES. 307
Pitou, since the entry of the king into the H6tel de Ville, had,
thanks to a louis given by Father Billot, amused himself in making
a goodly quantity of cockades, of red and blue ribands, which he
had purchased with the louis, and with these, which were of all
sizes, he had decorated the horses' ears, the harness, and the whole
equipage.
On seeing this, the imitative people had literally metamorphosed
the king's carriage into a cockade shop.
The coachman and the footmen weB profusely ornamented with
them.
They had, moreover, slipped some dozens of them into the carriage
itself.
However, it must be said that M. de Lafayette, who had re-
mained on horseback, had endeavoured to restrain these honest
propagators of the national colours, but had not been able to
succeed.
And therefore, when the king came out
' Oh, oh !' cried he, on seeing this strange bedizenment of his
equipage.
Then, with his hand, he made a sign to M. Lafayette to approach
him.
M. de Lafayette respectfully advanced, lowering his sword as he
oame near the king.
' Monsieur de Lafayette,' said the king to him, ' I was looking for
you to say to you that I confirm your appointment to the command
of the National Guards.'
And he got into his carriage amid a universal acclamation.
As to Gilbert, tranquillized henceforward as to the personal
safety of the king, he had remained in the Hall with Railly and the
electors
The speechifying had not yet terminated.
However, on hearing the loud hurrahs which saluted the de-
parture of the king, he approached a window, to cast a last glance
on the square, and to observe the conduct of his two country
friends.
They were both, or, at least they appeared to be, still on the best
terms with the king.
Suddenly, Gilbert perceived a horseman advancing rapidly along
the Quay Pelletier, covered with dust, and obliging the crowd,
which was still docile and respectful, to open its ranks and let him
pass.
The people, who were good and complaisant on this great day,
smiled while repeating
' One of the king's officers ! one of the king's officers !*
And cries of ' Long live the king !' saluted the officer as he
passed on, and women patied his horse's neck, which was white
with foam.
308 TAKING THE BASTII.E.
This officer at last managed to reach the king's carriage, and
arrived there at the moment when a servant was closing the door
of it.
' What ! is it you, Charny ? cried Louis XVI.
And then, in a lower tone
' How are they all out yonder ? he inquired.
Then, in a whisper
' The queen ?
' Very anxious, sire,' replied the officer, who had thrust his head
completely into the carriage window.
' Do you return to Versailles ?*
' Yes, sire.'
' Well, then, tell our friends they have no cause for uneasiness.
All has gone off marvellously well.'
Charny bowed, raised his head, and perceived M. de Lafayette,
who made a friendly sign to him.
Charny went to him, and Lafayette shook hands with him ; and
the crowd, seeing this, almost carried both officer and horse as far
as the quay, where, thanks to the vigilant orders given to the National
Guards, a line was formed to facilitate the king's departure.
The king ordered that the carriage should move out at a walking
pace, till it reached the Place Louis XV. There he found his body-
guards, who were awaiting the return of the king, and not without
impatience ; so that this impatience, in which every one par-
ticipated, kept on increasing every moment, and the horses were
driven on at a pace which increased in rapidity as they advanced
upon the road to Versailles.
Gilbert, from the balcony of the window, had fully comprehended
the meaning of the arrival of this horseman, although he did not
know his person. He readily imagined the anguish which the queen
must have suffered, and especially for the last three hours, for during
that time he had not been able to despatch a single courier to Ver-
sailles, amid the throng by which he was surrounded, without ex-
citing suspicion, or betraying weakness.
He had but a faint idea of all that had been occurring at Ver-
sailles.
We shall now return there with our readers, for we do not wish to
make them read too long a course of history.
The king had received the last courier from the queen at three
o'clock.
Gilbert had found means to despatch a courier just at the moment
the king entered the Hotel de Ville, under the arch formed by the
swords of the National Guards.
The Countess de Charny was with the queen. The countess had
only just left her bed, which from severe indisposition she had kept
since tke previous day.
She was still very pale. She had hardly strength to raise her eyes,
WHAT WAS TAKING PLACE AT VERSAILLES. 309
the heavy lids of which seemed to be constantly falling, weighed
down either with grief or shame.
The queen, on perceiving her, smiled, but with that habitual smile
which appears, to those familiar with the court, to be stereotyped
upon the lips of princes and of kings.
Then, as if overjoyed that her husband was in safety
' Good news again !' exclaimed the queen to those who surrounded
her ; ' may the whole day pass off as well !'
' Oh, madame !' said a courtier, ' your majesty alarms yourself too
much. The Parisians know too well the responsibility which weighs
upon them.'
' But, madame,' said another courtier, who was not so con-
fiding, ' is your majesty well assured as to the authenticity of this
intelligence ?'
' Oh, yes !' replied the queen. ' The person who writes to me has
engaged, at the hazard of his head, to be responsible for the safety
of the king. Moreover, I believe him to be a friend.'
' Oh ! if he is a friend,' rejoined the courtier, bowing, ' that is quite
another matter.'
Madame de Lamballe, who was standing at a little distance, ap-
proached.
' It is,' said she, ' the lately appointed physician, is it not ?
' Yes, Gilbert,' unthinkingly replied the queen, without reflecting
that she was striking a fearful blow at one who stood close beside
her.
' Gilbert !' exclaimed Andrde, starting as if a viper had bit her to
the heart, ' Gilbert, your majesty's friend ?
Andre"e had turned round with flashing eyes, her hands clenched
with anger and shame, and seemed proudly to accuse the queen,
both by her looks and attitude.
' Put, however,' said the queen, hesitating.
' Oh, madame, madame !' murmured Andre*e, in a tone of the
bitterest reproach.
A mortal silence pervaded the whole room, after this mysterious
incident.
In the midst of this silence, a light step was heard upon the tes-
selated floor of the adjoining room.
' Monsieur de Charny !' said the queen, in a half whisper, as if to
warn Andre"e to compose herself.
Charny had heard he had seen all only he could not compre-
hend it.
He remarked the pallid countenance of Andrde, and the embar-
rassed air of Marie Antoinette.
It would have been a breach of etiquette to question the queen ;
but Andre"e was his wife, he had the right to question her.
He therefore went to her, and in the most friendly tone
' What is the matter, madame ?' said he.
310 TAKING THE BASTJLE.
Andre"e made an effort to recover her composure.
' Nothing, count,' she replied.
Charny then turned towards the queen, who, notwithstanding her
profound experience in equivocal positions, had ten times essayed to
muster up a smile, but could not succeed.
' You appear to doubt the devotedness of this Monsieur Gilbert,'
said he to Andre*e. ' Have you any motive for suspecting his
fidelity?'
Andre"e was silent.
' Speak, madame, speak,' said Charny, insistingly.
Then, as Andre*e still remained mute
' Oh, speak, madame !' cried he. ' This delicacy now becomes
condemnable. Reflect, that on it may depend the safety of our
master.'
' I do not know, sir, what can be your motive for saying that,' re-
plied Andrde.
' You said, and I heard you say it, madame I appeal moreover
to the princess ' and Charny bowed to the Princess de Lamballe
' you exclaimed, with an expression of great surprise, " Gilbert, your
majesty's friend !" '
' 'Tis true, you did say that, my dear,' said the Princess de Lam-
balle, with her habitual ingenuousness.
Then, going closer to Andre"e
' If you do know anything, Monsieur de Charny is right.'
' For pity's sake, madame ! for pity's sake !' said Andre"e, in an
imploring tone, but so low, that it could not be heard by any one but
the princess.
The princess retired a few steps.
' Oh, good heaven ! it was but a trifling matter,' said the queen,
feeling that should she any longer delay to interfere, she would
be failing in propriety. ' The countess was expressing her appre-
hensions, which doubtless were but vague. She had said that it
was difficult for a man who had taken part in the American revo-
lution, one who is the friend of Monsieur Lafayette, to be our friend.'
'Yes, vague,' mechanically repeated And r^e 'very vague.'
' A fear of a similar nature to one which had been expressed by
one of these gentlemen before the countess had expressed it here,'
rejoined Marie Antoinette.
And with her eyes she pointed out the courtier whose doubts had
given rise to this discussion.
But it required more than this to convince Charny. The great
confusion which had appeared on his entering the room persuaded
him that there was some mystery in the affair.
He therefore persisted.
' It matters not, madame,' said he. ' It seems to me that it is your
doty not to express vain fears, but, on the contrary, to state precise
facts.'
WHAT WAS TAKING PLACE AT VERSAILLES. 311
' What, sir,' said the queen, with some asperity, ' you are returning
to that subject.'
' Madame !'
' Your pardon, but I find that you are still questioning the Countess
de Charny.'
' Excuse me, madame,' said Charny ; ' it is from interest for '
' For your self-love, is it not ? Ah ! Monsieur de Charny,' added
the queen, with an ironical expression, of which the count felt the
whole weight, ' acknowledge the thing frankly. You are jealous/
' Jealous ! jealous !' cried De Charny, colouring ' but of what ?
I ask this of your majesty.'
' Of your wife, apparently,' replied the queen, harshly.
' Madame ! : stammered Charny, perfectly astounded at this un-
looked-for attack.
' It is perfectly natural,' dryly rejoined Marie Antoinette ; ' and
the countess assuredly is worth the trouble.'
Charny darted a look at the queen, to warn her that she was going
too far.
But this was useless trouble, superfluous precaution. When this
lioness was wounded, and felt the burning pain galling her heart,
she no longer knew restraint.
'Yes, I can comprehend your being jealous, Monsieur de Charny;
jealous and uneasy ; it is the natural state of every soul that loves,
and which consequently is on the watch.'
' Madame !' repeated Charny.
'And therefore I,' pursued the queen, 'I experience precisely the
same feelings which you do at this moment. I am at once a prey
to jealousy and anxiety.' She emphasized the word jealousy. ' The
king is at Paris, and I no longer live.'
' But, madame,' observed Charny, who could not at all compre-
hend the meaning of this storm, the thunder of which appeared to
growl more fiercely and the lightnings to flash more vividly every
moment, ' you have just now received news of the king ; the news
was good, and you must feel more tranquil.'
' And did you feel tranquillised when the countess and myself a
moment ago, endeavoured to reassure you ?*
Charny bit his lip.
Andrde began to raise her head, at once surprised and alarmed
surprised at what she heard alarmed at what she thought she
understood.
The silence which had ensued after the first question which
Charny had addressed to Andre"e was now renewed, and the com-
pany seemed anxiously awaiting Charny's answer to the queen.
Charny remained silent.
' In fact,' resumed the queen, with still increasing anger, ' it is the
destiny of people who love to think only of the object of their af-
fection. It would be happiness to those poor hearts to sacrifice
3 I2 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
pitilessly everything, yes, everything to the feeling by which they
are agitated. Good heaven ! how anxious am I with regard to the
king !'
One of the courtiers ventured to remark that other couriers would
arrive.
' Oh, why am I not at Paris, instead of being here ! why am I
not with the king?' said Marie Antoinette, who had seen that Charny
had become agitated since she had been endeavouring to instil that
jealousy into his mind which she so violently experienced.
Charny bowed.
' If it be only that, madame,' said he, ' I will go there ; and if, as
your majesty apprehends, the king is in any danger, if that valuable
life be exposed, you may rely, madame, that it shall not be from not
having exposed mine in his defence.'
' That I know.'
Charny bowed and moved towards the door.
' Sir ! sir !' cried Andre"e, rushing between Charny and the door ;
' be careful of yourself !'
Nothing was wanting to the completion of this scene but this out-
burst of the fears of Andre'e.
And therefore, as soon as Andre'e had been thus impelled, and in
spite of herself, to cast aside her habitual coldness no sooner had
she uttered these imprudent words, and evinced this unwonted
solicitude, than the queen became frightfully pale.
' Why, madame,' she cried to Andre'e, ' how is this, that you here
usurp the part of a queen ?'
' Who I, madame ? stammered Andre'e, comprehending that
she had, for the first time, allowed to burst forth from her lips the
fire which for so long a period had consumed her soul.
' What !' continued Marie Antoinette, ' your husband is in the
king's service. He is about to set out to seek the king. If he is
exposing his life, it is for the king : and when the question is the
service of the king, you advise Monsieur de Charny to be careful of
himself.'
On hearing these appalling words, Andre'e was near fainting.
She staggered, and would have fallen to the floor had not Charny
rushed forward and caught her in his arms.
An indignant look, which Charny could not restrain, completed
the despair of Marie Antoinette, who had considered herself an
offended rival, but, who, in fact, had been an unjust queen.
' The queen is right,' at length said Charny, with some effort,
' and your movement, madame, was inconsiderate. You have no
husband, madame, when the interests of the king are in question :
and I ought to be the first to request you to restrain your sensibility,
if I presumed that you deigned to feel any alarm for me.'
Then, turning towards Marie Antoinette :
' I am at the queen's orders,' said he, coldly, ' and I set out at one*
THE RETURN. 313
It is I wV.o will bring you news of the king good news, madame,
or I will not bring any.'
Then, having spoken these words, he bowed almost to the ground,
and left the room before the queen, moved at once by terror and by
anger, had thought of detaining him.
A moment afterwards was heard the noise of a horse's hoofs clat-
tering over the pavement of the court-yard, and which was galloping
at full speed.
The queen remained motionless, but a prey to internal agitation,
so much the more terrible from her making the most violent efforts
to conceal it.
Some understood, while others could not comprehend the cause
of this agitation, but they all showed that they respected their sove-
reign's tranquillity.
Marie Antoinette was left to her own thoughts.
Andre'e withdrew with the rest from the apartment, abandoning
Marie Antoinette to the caresses of her two children, whom she had
sent for, and who had been brought to her.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE RETURN.
NIGHT had returned, bringing with it its train of fears and gloomy
visions, when suddenly shouts were heard from the front of the
palace.
The queen started and rose up. She was not far from a window,
which she opened.
Almost at the same instant, servants, transported with joy, ran
into the queen's room, crying :
' A courier, madame, a courier !'
Three minutes afterwards, a hussar rushed into the ante-chamber.
He was a lieutenant despatched by M. de Charny. He had rode
at full speed from Sevres.
' And the king ?' said Marie Antoinette.
' His majesty will be here in a quarter of an hour,' replied the
officer, who was so much out of breath that he could scarcely ar-
ticulate.
4 Safe and well ?' asked the queen.
' Safe, well, and smiling, madame,' replied the officer.
' You have seen him then ?
' No, madame, but Monsieur de Charny told me so, when he sent
me off.'
The queen started once more at hearing this name, which chance
had thus associated with that of the king.
' I thank you, sir ; you had better rest yourself,' said the queen to
the young gentleman
21
314 TAKING THE BASTILE.
The young officer made his obeisance and withdrew.
Marie Antoinette, taking her children by the hand, went towards
the grand entrance of the palace, where were already assembled all
the courtiers and the servants.
The penetrating eye of the queen perceived, on the first step, a
female form attired in white, her elbow leaning upon the stone
balustrade, and looking eagerly into the darkness, that she might
first discern the approach of the king's carriage.
It was Andre"e, whom even the presence of the queen did not
arouse from her fixed gaze.
She, who generally was so eager to fly to the side of her mistress,
evidently had not seen her, or disdained to appear to have seen her.
She, then, bore her ill will for the vivacity which she had shown that
afternoon, and from which cruel vivacity she had so much suffered.
Or else, carried away by a powerfully interesting sentiment, she
was with eager anxiety looking for the return of Charny, for whom
she had manifested so much affectionate apprehension.
A twofold poniard-stab to the queen, which deepened a wound
that was still bleeding.
She lent but an absent ear to the compliments and joyful con-
gratulations of her other friends, and the courtiers generally.
She even felt for a moment her mind abstracted from the violent
grief which had overwhelmed her all the evening. There was even
a respite to the anxiety excited in her heart by the king's journey,
threatened by so many enemies.
But with her strong mind she soon chased all that was not legiti-
mate affection from her heart. At the feet of God she cast her
jealousy. She immolated her anger and her secret feelings to the
holiness of her conjugal vow.
It was doubtless God who thus endowed her, for her quiet and
support, with this faculty of loving the king, her husband, beyond
every being in the world.
At that moment, at least, she so felt, or thought she felt it ; the
pride of royalty raised the queen above all terrestrial passions ; love
of the king was her egotism.
She had therefore driven from her breast all the petty vengeance
of a woman, and the coquettish frivolity of the lover, when the
flambeaux of the escort appeared at the end of the avenue.
These lights increased in volume every moment, from the rapidity
with which the escort advanced.
They could hear the neighing and the hard breathing of the
horses. The ground trembled, amid the silence of the night, beneath
the weight of the squadrons which surrounded and followed the
king's carriage.
The gates were thrown open, the guards rushed forth to receive
the king with shouts of enthusiasm. The carriage rolled sonorously
over the pavement of the great court-yard.
THE RETURN. 315
Dazzled, delighted, fascinated, strongly excited by the varied
emotions she had experienced during the whole day, by those
which she then felt, the queen flew down the stairs to receive the
king.
Louis XVI., as soon as he had alighted from his carriage,
ascended the staircase with all the rapidity which was possible,
surrounded as he was by his officers, all agitated by the events of
the day and their triumph ; while in the court-yard, the guards,
mixing unceremoniously with the grooms and equerries, tore from
the carriages and the harness all the cockades which the enthusiasm
of the Parisians had attached to them.
The king and the queen met upon a marble landing. The queen,
with a cry of joy and love, several times pressed the king to her
heart
She sobbed as if, on thus meeting him, she had believed she was
never again to see him.
Yielding thus to the emotions of an overflowing heart, she did
not observe the silent pressure of their hands which Charny and
Andrde had just exchanged.
This pressure of the hand was nothing ; but Andre"e was at the
foot of the steps ; she was the first Charny had seen and touched.
The queen, after having presented her children to the king, made
Louis XVI. kiss them, and then the dauphin, seeing in his father's hat
the new cockade, on which the torches cast an ensanguined light,
exclaimed, with childish astonishment :
' Why, papa, what have you on your cockade ? Is it blood ?
It was the national red.
The queen uttered a cry, and examined it in her turn.
The king bent down his head, under the pretence of again kissing
his little daughter, but in reality to conceal his shame.
Marie Antoinette, with profound disgust, tore the cockade from
the hat, without seeing the noble, furious woman that she was
wounding to the heart a nation that would one day know how to
avenge itself.
' Throw it away, sire,' said she ; ' throw it away !'
And she threw this cockade down the stairs, upon which trampled
the feet of the whole escort which accompanied the king to his
apartments.
This strange transition had extinguished all conjugal enthusiasm
in the queen's breast. She looked around, but without apparent
intention, for M. de Charny, who was standing at his ordinary post
near the king, with the stiff formality of a soldier.
' I thank you, sir,' she said to him, when their eyes met, after
several moments of hesitation on the part of the count ; ' I thank
you, sir. You have well fulfilled your promise.'
' To whom are you speaking ? inquired the king.
' To M^*sTeur de Charnv,' said she. boldly.
316 TAKING THE BASTILE.
1 Yes, poor Charny ! he had trouble enough to get near me.
And Gilbert what has become of him ? I do not see him,' added
Louis.
The queen, who had become more cautious since the lesson of
the afternoon, called out
' Come in to supper,' in orderto change the conversation. ' Mon-
sieur de Charny,' pursued she, 'find the Countess de Charny, and
bring her with you. We will have a family supper.'
In this she acted as a queen. But she sighed on observing that
Charny, who, till then, had appeared gloomy, at once became
smiling and joyful.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
FOULON.
BILLOT was in a state of perfect ecstasy.
He had taken the Bastile he had restored Gilbert to liberty; he
had been noticed by Lafayette, who called him by his name ; and
finally, he had seen the burial of Foulon.
Few men in those days were as much execrated as Foulon. One
only could in this respect have competed with him, and this was his
son-in-law, M. Berthirr de Savigny.
They had both of them been singularly lucky the day following
the capture of the Bastile.
Foulon died on that day, and Berthier had managed to escape
from Paris.
That which had raised to its climax the unpopularity of Foulon,
was, that on the retirement of M. Necker, he had accepted the
place of the virtuous Genevese, as he was then called, and had been
comptroller-general during three days.
And therefore was there much singing and dancing at his burial.
The people had at one time thought of taking the body out of
the coffin, and hanging it ; but Billot had jumped upon a post, and
had made a speech on the respect due to the dead, and the hearse
was allowed to continue on its way.
As to Pitou, he had become a perfect hero.
Pitou had become the friend of M. Elie and M. Hullin, who
deigned to employ him to execute their commissions.
He was, besides, the confidant of Billot of Billot, who had been
treated with distinction by M. de Lafayette, as we have already
said, and who sometimes employed him as a police guard about
his person, on account of his brawny shoulders, his herculean fists,
and his indomitable courage.
Since the journey of the king to Paris, Gilbert, who had been,
through M. Necker, put in communication with the principal mem-
bers of the National Assembly and the Municipality, was inces-
FOULON. 317
santly occupied with the education of the republic, still in its in-
fancy.
He therefore neglected Billot and Pitou, who, neglected by him,
threw themselves ardently into the meetings of the citizens, in the
midst of which political discussions of transcendent interest were
constantly agitated.
At length, one day, after Billot had employed three hours in
giving his opinion to the electors, as to the best mode of victualling
Paris, and fatigued with his long speech, though proud of having
played the orator, he was resting with delight, lulled by the monoto-
nous voices of his successors, which he took good care not to listen
to, Pitou came in, greatly agitated, and gliding like an eel through
the Sessions Hall of the electors in the H6tel de Ville, and, in a
palpitating tone, which contrasted greatly with the usual placidity
of his enunciation,
' Oh, Monsieur Billot !' said he, ' dear Monsieur Billot !'
' Well, what is it ?'
' Great news !'
' Good news ?
' Glorious news !
1 What is it, then ?'
' You know that I had gone to the club of the " Virtues," at the
Fontainebleau barrier?'
' Yes, and what then ?'
' Well, they spoke there of a most extraordinary event.'
' What was it ?'
' Do you know that that villain Fculon passed himself off for
dead, and carried it so far as to allow himself to be buried ?
' How ! passed himself for dead ? How say you ? pretended to
allow himself to be buried ? Nonsense ! He is dead enough ; for
was I not at his funeral ?'
' Notwithstanding that, Monsieur Billot, he is still living. 3
'Living?'
' As much alive as you and I are.'
' You are mad !'
' Dear Monsieur Billot, I am not mad. The traitor, Foulon,
the enemy of the people, the leech of France, the peculator, is not
dead.'
' But since I tell you he was buried after an apoplectic fit, since
I tell you that I saw the funeral go by, and even that I prevented
the people from dragging him out of his coffin to hang him ?*
'And I have just seen him alive. Ah, what do you say to
that ?'
1 You ?'
'As plainly as I now see you, Monsieur Billot. It appears that
it was one of his servants who died, and the villain gave him
318 TAKING THE BASTILE.
an aristocratic funeral. Oh, all is discovered. It was from fear of
the vengeance of the people that he acted thus.'
' Tell me all about it, Pitou.'
'Come into the vestibule for a moment, then, Monsieur Billot.
We shall be more at our ease there.'
They left the hall, and went into the vestibule.
' First of all, we must know whether Monsieur Bailly is here.'
' Go on with your story ; he is here.'
'Good ! Well, I was at the club of the "Virtues," listening to
the speech of a patriot. Didn't he make grammatical faults ! It
was easily seen that he had not been educated by the Abb For-
tier.'
' Go on, I tell you. A man may be a good patriot, and yet not
be able to read or write.'
' That is true,' said Pitou. ' Well, suddenly a man came in,
completely out of breath. " Victory !" cried he, " Victory ! Foulon
was not dead ! Foulon is still alive ! I have discovered him I have
found him !"
' Everybody there was like you, Father Billot No one would
believe him. Some said, " How ! Foulon ?" " Yes." Others said,
" Pshaw ! impossible !" And others said, " Well, while you were at
it, you might as well have discovered his son-in-law, Berthier." '
' Berthier !' cried Billot.
' Yes, Berthier de Savigny. Don't you recollect our intendant at
Compiegne, the friend of Monsieur Isidore de Charny ?
1 Undoubtedly ! he who was always so proud with everybody,
and so polite with Catherine ?'
' Precisely,' said Pitou ; ' one of those horrible contractors a
second leech to the French people the execration of all human
nature the shame of the civilised world, as said the virtuous
Laustalot.'
' Well, go on, go on !' cried Billot.
' That is true,' said Pitou ' ad eventum festina which means
to say, Monsieur Billot, " hasten to the winding up." Wait a
moment.'
' I am waiting ; but you make my blood boil.'
' Ah, but listen. I am hot enough, too. I tell you that he had
given it out that he was dead, and had one of his servants buried in
his place. Fortunately, Providence was watching.'
' Providence, indeed !' disdainfully exclaimed the Voltairian
Billot.
' I intended to say, the nation,' rejoined Pitou, with humility.
' This good citizen, this patriot, out of breath, who announced
the news to us, recognised him at Vitry, where he had concealed
himself.'
'Ah! ahf
FOULON. 319
' Having recognised him, he denounced him, and the syndic, whose
name is Monsieur Raepp, instantly arrested him.'
' And what is the name of the brave patriot who had the courage
to do all this ?'
' Of informing against Foulon f
'Yes.'
'Well, his name is Monsieur Saint Jean.
' Saint Jean ! Why, that is a lackey's name.'
' And he was precisely the lackey of the villain Foulon. Aristo-
crat, you are rightly served. Why had you ladceys ?
' Pitou, you interest me,' said Billot, going close to the narrator.
' You are very kind, Monsieur Billot. Well, then, here is Foulon
denounced and arrested ; they are bringing him to Pans. The in-
former had run on a-head to announce the news, and receive the
reward for his denunciation ; and sure enough, in a few moments
afterwards Foulon arrived at the barrier.'
' And it was there that you saw him ?
' Yes. He had a very queer look, I can tell you. They had
twisted a bunch of stinging-nettles round his neck, by way of cravat.'
' What say you ? stinging-nettles ? And what was that for ?
' Because it appears that he had said rascal as he is ! that
bread was for men, oats for horses, but that nettles were good enough
for the people.'
' Did he say that, the wretch ?'
' Yes ! by heaven ! he said so, Monsieur Billot.
' Good ! there, now, you are swearing.'
' Bah !' cried Pitou, with a swaggering air, ' between military
men ! Well, they brought him along on foot, and the whole of the
way they were giving him smashing blows in the back and on his
head.'
' Oh ! oh !' cried Billot, somewhat less enthusiastic
'It was very amusing,' continued Pitou, 'only that everybody
could not get at him to give him a blow, seeing that there were ten
thousand persons hooting after him.'
' And after this ? asked Billot, who began to reflect.
' After that they took him to the president of the Saint Marcel
district a good patriot, you know.'
' Yes Monsieur Acloque.'
* Cloque yes, that is it who ordered him to be taken to the
H&tel de Ville, seeing that he did not know what to do with him ;
so that you will soon see him.'
' But how happens it that it is you who have come to announce
this, and not the famous Saint Jean ?'
' Why, because my legs are six inches longer than his. He had
set off before me, but I soon came up with and passed him. I
wanted to inform you first, that you might inform Monsieur Bailly
of it'
3 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' What luck you have, Pitou !'
' I shall have much more than this to-morrow.'
' And how can you tell that ?'
' Because this same Saint Jean, who denounced Monsieur Foulon,
proposed a plan to catch Monsieur Berthier, who has run away.'
' He knows, then, where he is ?'
' Yes ; it appears that he was their confidential man, this good
Monsieur Saint Jean, and that he received a great deal of money
from Foulon and his son-in-law, who wished to bribe him.'
' And he took the money ?'
' Certainly, the money of an aristocrat is always good to take ; but
he said : " A good patriot will not betray his nation for money." '
' Yes,' murmured Billot, ' he betrays his masters, that is all. Do
you know, Pitou, that your Monsieur Saint Jean appears to me to
be a worthless vagabond ?
'That is possible, but it matters not ; they will take Monsieur
Berthier as they have taken Master Foulon, and they will hang them
nose to nose. What horrid wry faces they will make, looking at
each other hey ?'
' And why should they be hanged ?
' Why, because they are vile rascals, and I detest them.'
' What ! Monsieur Berthier, who has been at the farm Mon-
sieur Berthier, who, during his tours into the Isle-de-France, has
drank our milk and eaten of our bread, and sent the gold buckles to
Catherine from Paris ? Oh, no, no ! they shall not hang him.'
' Bah !' repeated Pitou, ferociously, ' he is an aristocrat a wheed-
ling rascal !'
Billot looked at Pitou with stupefaction. Beneath the gaze of the
farmer, Pitou blushed to the very whites of his eyes.
Suddenly, the worthy cultivator perceived M. Bailly, who was
going from the hall into his own cabinet ; he rushed after him to
inform him of the news.
But it was now for Billot in his turn to be treated with incredulity.
' Foulon ! Foulon !' cried the mayor, ' what folly !'
' Well, Monsieur Bailly, all I can say is, here is Pitou, who saw
him.'
' I saw him, Monsieur Mayor,' said Pitou, placing his hand on his
heart, and bowing.
And he related to M. Bailly all he had before related to Billot.
They observed that poor Bailly turned very pale ; he at once
understood the extent of the catastrophe.
' And Monsieur Acloque sends him here ? murmured he.
' Yes, Monsieur Mayor.'
' But how is he sending him ?'
' Oh, there is no occasion to be uneasy; said Pitou, who misun-
derstood the anxiety of Bailly ; there are plenty of people to guard
the prisoner. He will not be carried off.'
FOULON. 32!
'Would to God he might be carried off!' murmured Bailly.
Then, turning to Pitou :
' Plenty of people what mean you by that, my friend ?
f I mean plenty of people.'
' People V
1 More than twenty thousand men, without counting the womei/,'
said Pitou, triumphantly.
' Unhappy man !' exclaimed Bailly. ' Gentlemen, gentlemen
assessors !
And he related to the electors all he had just heard.
While he was speaking, exclamations and cries of anguish burst
forth from all present.
The silence of terror pervaded the hall, during which a confused,
distant, indescribable noise assailed the ears of those assembled,
like that produced by the rushing of blood to the head in attacks
upon the brain.
' What is that ?' inquired an elector.
' Why, the noise of the crowd, to be sure,' replied another.
Suddenly a carriage was heard rolling rapidly across the square ;
it contained two armed men, who helped a third to alight from it,
who was pale and trembling.
Foulon had at length become so exhausted by the ill usage he
had experienced, that he could no longer walk, and he had been
lifted into a coach.
Behind the carriage, led on by Saint Jean, who was more out of
breath than ever, ran about a hundred young men, from sixteen to
eighteen years of age, with haggard countenances and flaming eyes.
They cried, ' Foulon ! Foulon !' running almost as fast as the
horses.
The two armed men were, however, some few steps in advance of
them, which gave them the time to push Foulon into the Hotel de
Ville, and its doors were closed against the hoarse barkers from
without.
' At last we have him here,' said his guards to the electors, who
were waiting at the top of the stairs. ' By heaven ! it was not
without trouble !'
' Gentlemen ! gentlemen !' cried Foulon, trembling, ' will you save
me?'
' Ah ! sir,' replied Bailly, with a sigh, ' you have been very cul-
pable.'
' And yet, sir,' said Foulon, entreatingly, his agitation increasing,
'there will, I hope, be justice to defend me.'
At this moment the exterior tumult was redoubled.
' Hide him quickly !' cried Bailly to those around him, ' or '
He turned to Foulon.
' Listen to me,' said he ; the situation is serious enough for you to
322 TAKING 1HE BASTILE.
be consulted. Will you perhaps it is not yet too late will you
endeavour t?. escape from the back part of the H6tel de Ville ?*
' Oh ! no.' exclaimed Foulon ; ' I should be recognised mas-
sacred !'
' Do you prefer to remain here m the midst of us ? I will do,
and these gentlemen will do, all that is humanly possible to defend
you ; will you not, gentlemen ?
' We promise it; cried all the electors, with )ne voice.
' Oh ! I prefer remaining with you, gentlemen. Gentlemen, do
not abandon me !'
' I have told you, sir, replied Bailly, with dignity, ' that we will do
all that may be humanly possible to save you.'
At that moment a frightful clamour arose from the square,
ascended into the air, and invaded the Hotel de Vilte through the
open windows.
' Do you hear ? do you hear * murmured Foulon, perfectly livid
with terror.
In fact, the mob had rushed howling an ' frightful to behold from
all the c treets leading to th, H6tel de Ville, and aoove all from the
Quay Lepelletier, and the Rue de l a v anniere.
Bailly went to a window
Knives, pikes, scythes, and muskets glistened in the sunshine.
In less than ten minutes toe vast square was filled with people. It
was the whole of Foulon's train, Df which Pitou had spoken, and
which had been increased by curious idlers, who, hearing a great
noise, had run to the Place de Greve, as towards a common centre.
All these voices, and there were more than twenty thousand,
cried incessantly :
' Foulon ! Foulon !'
Then it was seen that the hundred young men who had been the
precursors of this furious mob, pointed out to this howling mass the
gate by which Foulon had entered the building ; this gate was
instantly threatened, and they began to beat it down with the butt
ends of their muskets, r.nd with crowbars.
Suddenly it flew open.
The guards of the H6tel de Ville appeared, and advanced upon
the assailants, who, in their first terror, retreated, and left a large
open space in the front of the building.
This guard stationed itself upon the front steps, and presented a
bold front to the crowd.
The officers, moreover, instead of threatening, harangued the
crowd in friendly terms, and endeavoured to calm it by their pro-
testations.
Bailly had become quite confused. It was the first time that the
poor astronomer had found himself in opposition to the popular
tempest.
THE FA THER-IN-LA W. 32 3
' What is to be done ? demanded he of the electors ; ' what is to
be done ?
' We must try him.'
' No trial can take place when under the intimidation of the mob,'
said Bailly.
' Zounds !' exclaimed Billot, ' have you not then men enough to
defend you ?'
'We have not two hundred men.'
' You must have a reinforcement, then.'
' Oh ! if Monsieur Lafayette were but informed of this !'
' Well, send and inform him of it.'
' And who would venture to attempt it ? Who could make his way
through such a multitude ?
' I would,' replied Billot.
And he was about to leave the hall
Bailly stopped him.
1 Madman !' cried he ; ' look at that ocean i You would be swal-
lowed up even by one of its waves. If you wish to get to Monsieur
de Lafayette, and even then I would not answer for your safety, go
out by one of the back doors. Go !'
"Tis well !' tranquilly replied Billot.
And he darted out of the room wiih the swiftness of an arrow.
CHAPTER XL.
THE FATHER-IN-LAW.
THE clamour, which kept on constantly increasing from the square,
clearly proved that the exasperation of the mob was becoming
greater. It was no longer hatred that they felt, it was abhorrence;
they no longer merely threatened, they foamed.
' The cries of ' Down with Foulon ! Death to Foulon !' crossed
each other in the air, like projectiles in a bombardment. The
crowd, which was still augmenting, pressed nearer to the entrance
of the Hotel de Ville, till they, as it may be said, almost suffocated
the civic guards at their posts.
And already there began to circulate among the crowd, and to
increase in violence, those rumours which are the precursors of
violence.
These rumours no longer threatened Foulon only, but the electors
who protected him.
' They have let the prisoner escape !' said some
1 Let us go in ! let us go in !' said others.
' Let us set fire to the H6tel de Ville !'
' Forward ! forward !'
Bailly felt that, as M. de Lafayette did not arrive, there was only
one resource left to them.
324 TAKING THE BASTILE.
And this was, that the electors should themselves go down, mix
in with the groups, and endeavour to pacify the most furious among
them.
' Foulon ! Foulon !'
Such was the incessant cry, the constant roaring of those furious
waves.
A general assault was preparing ; the walls could not have re-
sisted it.
' Sir,' said Bailly to Foulon, if you do not show yourself to the
crowd, they will believe that we have allowed you to escape ; they
will force the door, will come in here, and once here, should they
find you, I can no longer be responsible for anything.'
' Oh ! I did not know that I was so much execrated !' exclaimed
Foulon.
And, supported by Bailly, he dragged himself to the window.
A fearful cry resounded immediately on his presenting himself.
The guards were driven back, the doors broken in ; a torrent of
men precipitated themselves up the staircase into the corridors, into
the rooms, which were invaded in an instant.
Bailly threw around the prisoner all the guards who were within
call, and then he began to harangue the crowd.
He wished to make these men understand that to assassinate
might sometimes be doing justice, but that it was never an act of
justice.
He succeeded, after having made the most strenuous efforts, after
having twenty times perilled his own existence.
' Yes, yes,' cried the assailants, ' let him be tried ! let him be
tried ! but let him be hanged !'
They were at this point in the argument when General de La-
fayette reached the H6tel de Ville, conducted there by Billot.
The sight of his tri-coloured plume, one of the first which had
been worn, at once assuaged their anger, and the tumult ceased.
The commander-in-chief of the National Guard had the way
cleared for him, and addressing the crowd, repeated, though in
more energetic terms, every argument that Bailly had endeavoured
to enforce.
His speech produced a great effect on all those who were near
enough to hear it, and the cause of Foulon was completely gained
in the electors' hall.
But on the square were twenty thousand furious people, who had
not heard M. de Lafayette, and who remained implacable in their
frenzy.
' Come, now,' said Lafayette at the conclusion of his oration, very
naturally imagining that the effect he had produced on those who
surrounded him had extended to all outside ; ' come, now, this man
must be tried.'
' Yes,' cried the mob
THE FA THER-IN-LA W. 325
'And consequently I order that he be taken to prison,' added
Lafayette.
To prison ! to prison !' howled the mob.
At the same time the general ittade a sign to the guards of the
Hotel de Ville, who led the prisoner forward.
The crowd outside understood nothing of all that was going on,
excepting that their prey was about to appear. They had not even
an idea that any one had the slightest hope of disputing it with
them.
They scented, if we may be permitted the expression, the odour
of the human flesh which was descending the staircase.
Billot had placed himself at the window with several electors,
whom Bailly also joined, in order to follow the prisoner with their
eyes while he was crossing the square, escorted by the civic guards.
On the way, Foulon here and there addressed a few incoherent
words to those around him, which, although they were protestations
of confidence, clearly evinced the most profound and ill-disguised
terror.
' Noble people,' said he, while descending the staircase, ' I fear
nothing ; I am in the midst of my fellow citizens.'
And already bantering laughs and insults were being uttered
around him, when suddenly he found himself outside of the
gloomy archway at the top of the stone steps which lead into the
square.
Immediately one general cry, a cry of rage, a howling threat, a
roar of hatred, burst from twenty thousand lungs. On this explo-
sion of the public feeling, the guards conducting the prisoner are
lifted from the ground, broken, dispersed ; Foulon is seized by
twenty powerful arms, raised above their shoulders, and carried into
the fatal corner, under the lamp-post, ignoble and brutal execu-
tioner of the anger of the people, which they termed their justice.
Billot from his window saw all this, and cried out against it ; the
electors also did all they could to stimulate the guards, but they
were powerless.
Lafayette, in despair, rushed out of the H6tel de Ville, but he
could not break through the first rank of that crowd, which spread
out like an immense lake between him and the victim.
The mere spectators of this scene jumped upon posts, on window-
sills, on every jutting part of a building, in order to gain a better
view, and they encouraged by their savage shouts the frightful effer-
vescence of the actors.
The latter were playing with their victim, as would a troop of
tigers with an inoffensive prey.
They were disputing who should hang Foulon ; at last they under-
stood that if they wished to enjoy his agony, it was necessary that
their several functions should be agreed upon.
But for that he would have been torn to pieces.
326 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Some of them raised up Foulon, who had no longer strengta
enough to cry out.
Others, who had taken off his cravat and torn his coat, placed a
rope round his neck.
And others, who had climbed up the lamp-post, had handed to
their companions below the rope which they put round the neck of
the ex-minister.
Foi a moment they raised Foulon above their heads and showed
him thus to the crowd a rope twined round his neck, and his hands
tied behind him.
Then,when the crowd had had due time to contemplate the sufferer,
when they had clapped their hands sufficiently, the signal was given,
and Foulon, pale and bleeding, was hoisted up to a level with the
lantern, amid a hooting more terrible even than death.
All those who, up to that time, had not been able to see anything,
then perceived the public enemy raised above the heads of the
crowd.
New shouts were then heard ! but these were against the execu-
tioners. Were they about to kill Foulon so expeditiously ?
The executioners merely shrugged their shoulders, and pointed
to the rope.
The rope -was old ; it could be seen to give way, strand by strand.
The despairing movements which Foulon made in his agony at
length broke the last strand ; and Foulon, only half-strangled, fell
heavily upon the pavement.
He was only at the preface of his torments, he had only pene-
trated into the vestibule of death.
They all rushed towards the sufferer ; they were perfectly secure
with regard to him ; there was no chance of his escaping them ; in
falling, he had broken his leg a little below the knee.
And yet, some imprecations arose, imprecations which were un-
intelligible and calumniatory ; the executioners were accused, they
were considered as clumsy and unskilful. They, on the contrary,
who had been so ingenious, they who had expressly chosen an old
worn-out rope, in the hope that it would break.
A hope which the event, as has been related, had fully realized.
They made a knot in the rope, and again fixed it round the neck
of the unhappy man, who, half dead, with haggard eyes, looked
around, endeavouring to discover whether in that city which is
called the centre of the civilised universe, whether one of the bayo-
nets of that king of whom he was the minister, and who had a hun-
dred thousand, would not be raised in his defence amid that horde
of cannibals.
But there was nothing there to meet his eyes but hatred, but in-
sult, but death !
' At least, kill me at once, without making me endure these
atrocious torments !' cried the despairing Foulon.
THE FATHER-IN-LAW. 327
'Well, now,' replied a jeering voice, ' why should we abridge your
torments ? you have made ours last long enough.'
' And besides,' said another, ' you have not yet had time enough
to digest your nettles.'
' Wait, wait a little,' cried a third ; ' his son-in-law, Berthier, will
be brought to him ; there is room enough for him on the opposite
lamp- post.'
We shall see what wry faces the father and son-in-law will make
at each other,' added another,
' Finish me, finish me at once !' cried the wretcned man.
During this time, Bailly and Lafayette were begging, supplicat-
ing, exclaiming, and endeavouring to get through the crowd ; sud-
denly, Foukm was again hoisted by the rope, which again broke,
and their prayers, their supplications^ their agony, no less painful
than that of the sufferer himself, was lost, confounded and ex-
tinguished amid the universal laugh which accompanied this second
fall.
Bailly and Lafayette, who, three days before had been the sove-
reign arbiters of the will of six hundred thousand Parisians a
child now would not listen to them the people even murmured at
them they were in their way they were interrupting this preat
spectacle.
Billot had vainly given them all the aid of his uncommon
strength the powerful athlete had knocked down twenty men, but
in order to reach Foulon, 't wpuid be necessary to knock down fifty
a hundred, two hundred, and his strength is exhausted, and when
he pauses to wipe from his brow the perspiration and the blood
which is streaming from it, Foulon is raised a third time to the
pulley of the tamp-post.
This time they had taken compassion upon him, the rope was a
new one.
At last, the condemned is dead, the victim no longer suffers.
Half a minute had sufficed to the crowd to assure itself that the
vital spark was extinguished. And now that the tiger has killed, he
may devour his prey.
The body, thrown, from the top of the lamp-post, did not even
fall to the ground. It was torn to pieces before it reached it.
The head was separated from the trunk in a second, and in an-
other second raised on the end of a pike. It was very much in
fashion in those days to carry the heads of one's enemies in that
way.
At this sanguinary spectacle Bailly was horrified. That head ap-
peared to him to be the head of the Medusa of ancient days.
Lafayette, pale, his drawn sword in his hand, with disgust repulsed
the guards who had surrounded him, to excuse themselves for not
having been the strongest.
Billot, stamping his feet with rage, and kicking right and left, like
328 TAKING THE SAST1LE.
one of his own fiery Perche horses, returned into the Hotel de
Ville, that he might see no more of what was passing on that en-
sanguined square.
As to Pitou, his fieriness of popular vengeance was changed into
a convulsive movement, and he had fled to the river's bank, where
he closed his eyes and stopped his ears that he might neither see
nor hear.
Consternation reigned in the Hotel de Ville : the electors began
to comprehend that they would never be able to direct the move-
ments of the people, but in the manner which should suit the
people.
All at once, while the furious mob were amusing themselves with
dragging the mutilated remains of Foulon through the gutters, a
new cry, a new shout, rolling like distant thunder, was heard, pro-
ceeding from the opposite side of the river.
A courier was seen galloping over the bridge. The news he was
bringing was already known to the crowd. They had guessed it
from the signs of their most skilful leaders, as a pack of hounds
take up the scent from the inspiration of their finest nosed and
best practised blood-hounds.
The crowd rushed to meet this courier, whom they surrounded ;
they scent that he has touched their new prey ; they feel that he is
going to speak of M. Berthier.
And it was true.
Interrogated by ten thousand voices, all howling at once, the
courier is compelled to reply to them.
' Monsieur Berthier de Savigny has been arrested at Com-
piegne.'
Then he proceeds into the Hotel de Ville, where he announces
the same tidings to Lafayette and to Bailly.
' Good good I knew it,' said Lafayette.
' We knew it,' said Bailly, ' and orders have been given that he
should be kept there.'
' Kept there ? repeated the courier.
' Undoubtedly ; I have sent two commissaries with an escort.'
' An escort of two hundred men, was it not r" said an elector ;
' it is more than sufficient.'
' Gentlemen,' replied the courier, ' this is precisely what I was
sent to tell you. The escort has been dispersed and the prisoner
carried off by the multitude.'
' Carried off !' exclaimed Lafayette. ' Has the escort allowed the
prisoner to be carried off ?'
' Do not blame them, general ; all that it was possible to do, they
did.'
' But Monsieur Berthier ?' anxiously inquired Bailly.
' They are bringing him to Paris, and he is at Bourgot by this
time.'
THE FATHER-IN-LAW. 329
* But should they bring him here,' cried Bailly, ' he is lost. 1
' Quick ! quick !' cried Lafayette, ' five hundred men to Bour-
get. Let the commissioners and Monsieur Berthier stop there
let them stop there. During the night, we will consider what is to
be done.'
' But who would venture to undertake such a commission ?' said
the courier, who was looking with terror at that waving sea of
heads, every wave of which sent forth its threatening roar.
' I will !' cried Billot : ' at least, I will save htm'
' But you would perish in the attempt,' cried the courier ; ' the
road is black with people.'
' I will go, nevertheless,' said the farmer.
' It is useless now,' murmured Bailly, who had been listening to
the noises from without. ' Hush ! Do you not hear that ?'
They then heard, from the direction of the Porte St. Martin, a
rushing noise like that of the sea when beating over the shingles
on a beach.
' It is too late,' said Lafayette.
' They are coming ! they are coming !' murmured the courier.
' Do you not hear them ?'
' A regiment ! a regiment !' cried Lafayette, with that generous
ebullition of humanity which was the most brilliant feature of his
character.
' What ! By God's death !' exclaimed Bailly, who swore perhaps
for the first time in his life, ' you seem to forget that our army
ours ! is precisely that crowd whom you wish to fight.'
And he hid his face in his hands.
The shouts which had been heard in the distance were re-
echoed by the people in the streets, and thus communicated to
the crowd upon the square with the rapidity of a train of gun-
powder.
Then those who were insulting the remains of Foulon, left
their sanguinary game, to rush forward in pursuit of a new ven-
geance.
The adjacent streets immediately disgorged a large proportion of
that howling mob, who hurried from the square with upraised knives
and menacing gestures, towards the Rue St. Martin, to meet the
new funeral procession.
CHAPTER XLI.
THE SON - I N-L A W.
THE junction having been accomplished, both parties were equally
eager to return to the square.
A strange scene then ensued.
Some of those ingenious persons whom we have seen upon the
22
330 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Place de Greve, presented to the son-in-law the head of Foulon
on the end of a pike.
M. Berthier was coming along the Rue St. Martin. They were
then just crossing the Rue St. Mery.
He was in his own cabriolet, a vehicle which at that period was
considered as eminently aristocratic a vehicle which more than
any other excited popular animadversion ; for the people had so
often complained of the reckless rapidity with which they were
driven, either by young fops or dancing-girls who drove themselves,
and which, drawn by a fiery horse, sometimes ran over, but always
splashed, the unfortunate pedestrian.
Berthier, in the midst of all the shouts, the hootings, and the
threats of the infuriate mob, was talking tranquilly with the elector
Riviere, the commissary sent to Compiegne to save him, but who,
being abandoned by his colleague, had with much difficulty saved
himself.
The people had begun with the cabriolet ; they had turned off
the head of it, so that Berthier and his companion were com-
pletely exposed, not only to the view, but to the blows of the
populace.
As they moved onwards, his misdeeds were related to him, com-
mented upon, and exaggerated by the popular fury.
' He wished to starve Paris,' cried one.
' He had the rye and wheat cut when it was green ; and then, a
rise in the price of corn having taken place, he realised enormous
Sums.'
' Not only did he do that,' said they, ' which was enough in itself,
but he was conspiring.'
In searching him they had found a pocket-book. In thivpocket-
book were incendiary letters, orders for massacre, proof that ten
thousand cartridges had been distributed to his agents. So said
the crowd.
These were all monstrous absurdities ; but, as is well known, the
mob, when in a paroxysm of rage, gives out, as positive facts, the
most absurd improbabilities.
The person whom they accused of all this was a man who was
still young, not being more than from thirty to thirty-two years of
age, elegantly dressed, almost smiling, though greeted every moment
by injurious epithets and even blows. He looked with perfect indif-
ference at the infamous placards which were held up to him, and with-
out affectation continued his conversation with Riviere.
Two men, irritated at his assurance, had wished to terrify him, and
to diminish this self-confidence. They had mounted on the steps
on each side of the cabriolet, and each of them placed the point of
his bayonet on Berth ier's breast.
But Berthier, brave even to temerity, was not to be moved by
such a trifle. H had continued to converse with the elector,
THE SON- IN LA W. 331
as if those two muskets were but inoffensive accessories to the
cabriolet.
Tke mob, profoundly exasperated by this disdain, which formed
so complete a contrast to the terror of Foulon the mob roared
around the vehicle, and waited with impatience for the moment
when, instead of a threat, they might inflict a wound.
It was then that Berthier had fixed his eyes on a misshapen and
bloody object, which was held up and danced before him, and which
he suddenly recognised as the head of his father-in-law, and which
the ruffians who bore it held down close to his lips.
They wished to make him kiss it.
M. Riviere, indignant at this brutality, pushed the pike away with
his hand.
Berthier thanked him by a gesture, and did not even deign to
turn round to follow this hideous trophy with his eyes. The execu-
tioners carried it behind the cabriolet, holding it over Berthier's
head.
They thus arrived on the Place de Greve, and the prisoner, after
unheard of efforts by the civic guards, who had been re-assembled
in some order, was delivered into the hands of the electors of the
Hotel de Ville.
A dangerous charge, a fearful responsibility, which made Lafayette
once more turn pale, and poor Bailly's heart swell almost to
breaking.
The mob, after having hacked away for a while at the cabriolet,
which had been left at the foot of the front steps, again placed
itself in the most advantageous positions, kept guard on all the
issues from the building, made all its preparations, and placed new
ropes in the pulleys of the lanterns.
Billot, at the sight of Berthier, who was tranquilly ascending the
great staircase of the Hotel de Ville, tore his hair, and could not
restrain himself from weeping bitterly.
Pitou, who had left the river's bank, and had come on the quay
again when he thought that Foulon's execution had been accom-
plished Pitou, terrified, notwithstanding his hatred for M. Berthier,
guilty in his eyes not only of all the mob reproached him with, but
also of having given gold buckles to Mademoiselle Catherine
Pitou crouched down sobbing behind a bench.
During this time Berthier had entered the grand Hall of Council,
as coolly as if all the tumult had reference to some other person,
and quietly conversed with the electors.
He knew the greater portion of them, and was even intimate with
some of them.
The latter avoided him with the instinctive terror with which timid
minds are inspired by the contact of an unpopular man.
Therefore Berthier soon found himself almost alone with Bailly
and Lafayette.
3ja TAKING THE BASTILE.
He made them relate to him all the particulars of Foulon's death.
Then, shrugging up his shoulders
' Yes,' said he, ' I can understand it. They hate us, because
we are the instruments with which royalty has tortured the people.'
' Great crimes are laid at your door, sir,' said Bailly, austerely.
1 Sir,' replied Berthier, ' if I had committed all the crimes with
which I am reproached, I should be less or more than man a wild
beast or a demon. But I shall be tried, I presume, and then the
truth will be ascertained.'
' Undoubtedly,' said Bailly.
' Well, then,' rejoined Berthier, ' that is all I desire. They have
my correspondence, and it will be seen whose orders I have
obeyed ; and the responsibility will fall on those to whom it rightly
appertains.'
The electors cast their eyes upon the square, from which arose
the most frightful clamour.
Berthier understood this mute reply.
Then Billot, pushing through the throng which surrounded
Bailly, went up to the intendent. and offering him his huge honest
hand
' Good-day, Monsieur de Sauvigny,' said he to him.
' How ! is that you, Billot ?* cried Berthier, laughing, and grasp-
ing firmly the hand which was held out to him. 'What, you have
come to Paris to join in these disturbances, you, my worthy farmer,
who used to sell your wheat so well in the market at Villers-Cotterets,
Cressy, and Soissons ?'
Billot, notwithstanding his democratic tendencies, could not but
admire the tranquillity of this man, who could thus smile at a
moment when his life was hanging by a thread.
' Install yourselves, gentlemen,' said Bailly to the electors ; ' we
must now proceed to the examination of the charges against the
accused.'
' Be it so,' said Berthier : ' but I must warn you of one thing,
gentlemen, and that is, that I am perfectly exhausted. For the last
two days I have not slept. To-day, from Compiegne to Paris, I
have been pushed about, beaten, dragged along. When I asked for
something to eat they offered me hay, which is not excessively re-
freshing. Therefore, give me some place where I can sleep, if it be
only for an hour.'
At that moment Lafayette left the room for a short time, to ascer-
tain the state of matters outside. He returned more dispirited than
ever.
r My dear Bailly,' said he to the mayor, ' exasperation is at its
height ; to keep Monsieur Berthier here would be exposing ourselves
to a siege. To defend the Hotel de Ville would be giving these
furious madmen the pretext which they wish. Not to defend the
THE SON-IN-LA W. 333
H6tel de Ville would be acquiring the habit of yielding every time
we are attacked.'
During this time, Berthier had sat down, and then stretched him-
self at full length upon a bench.
He was preparing himself to sleep.
The desperate howls from below were audible to him, for he was
near an open window ; but they did not disturb him. His counten-
ance retained the serenity of a man who forgets all, to allow sleep
to weigh down his eyelids.
Bailly was deliberating with the electors and Lafayette.
Billot had his eyes fixed upon Berthier.
Lafayette was rapidly taking the votes of the electors ; after which,
addressing the prisoner, who was beginning to slumber
' Sir,' said he, ' be pleased to get ready.'
Berthier heaved a sigh, then, raising himself on his elbow
' Ready for what ?' he inquired.
' These gentlemen have decided that you are to be transferred to
t:\e Abbaye.'
' To the Abbaye ? Well be it so,' said the intendant. ' But,'
continued he, looking at the confused electors, and whose confusion
he readily comprehended ; ' but, one -way or the other, let us finish
this.'
And an explosion of anger and furious impatience long restrained
burst forth from the square.
' No, gentlemen, no,' exclaimed Lafayette, ' we cannot allow him
to depart at this moment.'
Bailly's kind heart and undaunted courage impelled him to come
to a sudden resolution. He went down into the square with two of
the electors, and ordered silence.
The people knew as well as he did what he was about to say ; but,
as they were fully bent on committing another crime, they would
not even listen to a reproach ; and as Bailly was opening his lips to
speak, a deafening clamour arose from the mob, drowning his voice
before a single word could be heard.
Bailly, seeing that it would be impossible for him to proffer even
a syllable, returned into the Hotel de Ville, pursued by cries of
' Berthier ! Berthier !'
But other cries resounded in the midst of those, cries similar to
those shrill notes which suddenly are heard in the choruses of
demons by Weber or by Meyerbeer, and these were, ' To the
lantern ! to the lantern !'
On seeing Bailly come back pale and disheartened, Lafayette
rushed out in his turn. He is young, he is ardent, he is beloved.
That which the old man could not effect, his popularity being but
of yesterday, he, Lafayette he, the friend of Washington and of
Necker, would undoubtedly obtain at the first word.
But in vain was it that the people's general threw himself into
334 TAKING THE BASTILE.
the most furious groups. In vain did he speak in the name of jus-
tice and humanity. In vain was it that, recognising, or feigning to
recognise, certain leaders of the people, did he supplicate them,
grasping their hands, and endeavouring to allay their fury.
Not one of his words was listened to ; not one of his gestures
was understood ; not one of the tears he shed was seen.
Repulsed step by step, he threw himself upon his knees on the
perron of the Hotel de Ville, conjuring these tigers, whom he called
his fellow-citizens, not to dishonour the nation, not to dishonour
themselves, not to elevate to the rank of martyrs guilty men, to
whom the law would award a degrading death, which degradation
was a portion of their punishment.
As he persisted in his entreaties, he was at last personally
threatened in his turn ; but he defied all threats. Some of these
furious wretches drew their knives, and raised them as if to
strike.
He bared his breast to their blows, and their weapons were in-
stantly lowered.
But if they thus threatened Lafayette, the threat was still more
serious to Berthier.
Lafayette, thus overcome, re-entered the H6tel de Ville as Bailly
had done.
The electors had all seen Lafayette vainly contending against the
tempest. Their last rampart was overthrown.
They decided that the guard of the H6tel de Ville should at once
conduct Berthier to the Abbaye.
It was sending Berthier to certain death.
' Come then,' said Berthier, when this decision was announced.
And eyeing all these men with withering contempt, he took his
station in the centre of the guards, after having thanked Bailly and
Lafayette for their exertions, and, in his turn, held out his hand to
Billot.
Bailly turned away his face to conceal his tears Lafayette to
conceal his indignation.
Berthier descended the staircase with the same firm step with which
he had ascended it.
At the moment that he appeared on the perron, a furious howl
assailed him, making even the stone step on which he had placed
his foot tremble beneath him.
But he, disdainful and impassible, looked at all those flashing eyes
calmly and unflinchingly, and, shrugging his shoulders, pronounced
these words :
' What a fantastic people ! What is there to make them howl
thus ?'
He had scarcely uttered these words, when he was seized upon by
the foremost of the mob. They had rushed on to the perron itself,
and clutched him, though surrounded by his guards. Their iron
THE SON-IN-LAW. 335
hands dragged him along. He lost his footing, and fell into the
arms of his enemies, who in a second dispersed his escort.
Then an irresistible tide impelled the prisoner over the same path,
stained with blood, which Foulon had been dragged over only two
hours before.
A man was already seated astride the fatal lamp, holding a rope
in his hand.
But another man had clung to Berthier, and this man was dealing
out with fury and delirium blows and imprecations on the brutal
executioners.
He continually cried
' You shall not have him ! You shall not kill him !'
This man was Billot, whom despair had driven mad, and mad as
twenty madmen.
To some he shrieked
' I am one of the conquerors of the Bastile !'
And some of those who recognised him became less furious in
their attack.
To others he said
' Let him be fairly tried. I will be responsible for him. If he is
allowed to escape, you shall hang me in his stead.'
Poor Billot poor worthy man ! The whirlwind swept him away,
he and Berthier, as the water-spout carries away a feather or a straw
in its vast spirals.
He moved on without perceiving anything. He had reached the
fatal spot.
The thunderbolt is less swift.
Berthier, who had been dragged along backwards Berthier,
whom they had raised ap, seeing that they stopped, raised his eyes,
and perceived the infamous, degrading halter swinging above his
head.
By an effort as violent as it was unexpected, he tore himself from
the grasp of those who held him, snatched a musket from the hands
of a national guard, and inflicted several wounds on his self-ap-
pointed executioners with his bayonet.
But in a second a thousand blows were aimed at him from behind.
He fell, and a thousand crcher blows from the ruffians who encircled
him rained down upon him.
Billot had disappeared beneath the feet of the assassins.
Berthier had not time to suffer. His life's blood and his soul
rushed at once from his body through a thousand gaping wounds.
Then Billot was witness to a spectacle more hideous than he had
yet seen. He saw a fiend plunge his hand into the open breast of
the corpse, and tear out the still smoking heart.
Then, sticking this heart on the point of his sabre, he held it
above the heads of the shouting mob, which opened before him as
he advanced, and he carried it into the Hotel de Ville. and laid
336 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
it on the table of the grand council, where the electors held their
sessions.
Billot, that man of iron nerve, could not support this frightful
sight ; he fell fainting against a post at about ten paces from the fatal
lantern.
Lafayette, on seeing this infamous insult offered to his authority
offered to the revolution which he directed, or rather which he
had believed he should direct Lafayette broke his sword, and threw
it at the faces of the assassins.
Pitou ran to pick up the farmer, carried him off in his arms, whis-
pering into his ear :
' Billot ! Father Billot ! take care ; if they see that you are faint-
ing, they will take you for his accomplice, and will kill you too.
That would be a pity so good a patriot !'
And thereupon, he dragged him towards the river, concealing him
as well as he was able from the inquisitive looks of some zealous
patriots who were murmuring.
CHAPTER XLII.
BILLOT BEGINS TO PERCEIVE THAT ALL IS NOT ROSES IN
REVOLUTIONS.
BlLLOT, who, conjointly with Pitou, had been engaged in all the
glorious liberations, began to perceive that the cup was becoming
bitter.
When he had completely recovered his senses, from the refreshing
breezes on the river's banks :
' Monsieur Billot,' said Pitou to him, ' I regret Villers-CotterSts
do not you ?'
These words, like the refreshing balm of calmness and virtue,
aroused the farmer, whose vigour returned to him, and he pushed
through the crowd, to get away at once from the scene of butchery.
' Come,' said he to Pitou, 'you are right.'
And he at once determined on going to find Gilbert, who was re-
siding at Versailles, but who, without having revisited the queen
after the journey of the king to Paris, had become the right hand of
Necker, who had been re-appointed minister, and was endeavouring
to organise property by generalising poverty.
Pitou had as usual followed Billot.
Both of them were admitted into the study in which the doctor
was writing.
' Doctor,' said Billot, ' I am going to return to my farm.'
'And why so ? inquired Gilbert.
' Because I hate Paris.'
' Ah, yes ! I understand,' coldly observed Gilbert. ' You are
tired.'
BILLOT PERCEIVES THA T ALL IS NOT ROSES. 337
' Worn out.'
' You no longer like the revolution ?'
' I should like to see it ended.'
Gilbert smiled sorrowfully.
' It is only now beginning,' he rejoined.
' Oh !' exclaimed Billot.
' That astonishes you, Billot 5* asked Gilbert.
' What astonishes me the most is your perfect coolness.'
' My friend,' said Gilbert to him, ' do you know whence my cool-
ness proceeds ?'
' It can only proceed from a firm conviction.'
' Guess what that conviction is.'
' That all will end well.'
Gilbert smiled still more gloomily than the first time.
' No ; on the contrary, from the conviction that all will end badly.'
Billot cried out with astonishment.
As to Pitou, he opened his eyes to an enormous width : he thought
the argument altogether illogical.
' Let us hear,' said Billot ' let us hear ; for it seems to me that I
do not rightly understand you.'
' Take a chair, Billot,' said Gilbert, ' and sit down close to me.'
Billot did as he was ordered.
' Closer, closer still, that no one may hear but yourself.'
' And I, Monsieur Gilbert ?' said Pitou, timidly, making a move
towards the door, as if he thought the doctor wished him to withdraw.
' Oh, no ! stay here,' replied the doctor. ' You are young ; listen.'
Pitou opened his ears, as he had done his eyes, to their fullest
extent, and seated himself on the ground, at Father Billot's feet.
This council was a singular spectacle, which was thus held in
Gilbert's study, near a table heaped up with letters, documents, new
pamphlets, and newspapers ; and within four steps of a door, which
was besieged by a swarm of petitioners, or people having some
grievance to complain of. These people were all kept in order
by an old clerk, who was almost blind, and had lost an arm.
' I am all attention,' said Billot. ' Now explain yourself, my
master, and tell us how it is that all will finish badly.'
' I will tell you, Billot. Do you see what I am doing at this
moment, my friend ?'
' You are writing lines.'
' But the meaning of those lines, Billot ?'
' How would you have me guess that, when you know that I can-
not even read them ?
Pitou timidly raised his head a little above the table, and cast his
eyes on the paper which was lying before the doctor.'
' They are figures,' said he.
' That is true ; they are figures, and which are at once the salva-
tion and ruin of France. 1
338 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Well, now !' exclaimed Billot.
' Well, now ! well, now !' repeated Pitou.
'These figures, when they are presented to-morrow,' continued
the doctor, ' will go to the king's palace, to the mansions of the
nobility, and to the cottage of the poor man, to demand of all of
them one-quarter of their income.'
' Hey ?* ejaculated Billot.
' Oh, my poor Aunt Angelique !' cried Pitou ; ' what a wry face
she will make !'
' What say you to this, my worthy friend ? said Gilbert. ' People
make revolutions, do they not ? Well, they must pay for them.'
' Perfectly just !' heroically replied Billot ' Well, be it so it will
be paid.'
' Oh, you are a man who is already convinced, and there is
nothing to astonish me in your answers ; but those who are not
convinced ?*
' Those who are not so ?
' Yes ; what will they do *
' They will resist!' replied Billot, and inatone which signified that he
would resist energetically if he were required to pay a quarter of
his income to accomplish a work which was contrary to his con-
victions.
' Then there would be a conflict,' said Gilbert.
' But the majority ? said Billot
' Conclude your sentence, my friend.'
' The majority is there to make known its will.'
' Then there would be aggression.'
Billot looked at Gilbert, at first doubtingly, and then a ray of in-
telligence sparkled in his eye.
' Hold, Billot !' said the doctor, ' I know what you are about to say
to me. The nobility and the clergy possess everything, do they
not?'
' That is undoubted,' replied Billot ; ' and therefore the con-
vents '
'The convents?*
' The convents overflow with riches.'
' Notum certumque] grumbled Pitou.
' The nobles do not pay in proportion to their income. Thus I, a
farmer, pay more than twice the amount of taxes paid by my neigh-
bours, the three brothers Charny, who have between them an in-
come of two hundred thousand livres.'
' But, let us see,' continued Gilbert. ' Do you believe that the
nobles and the priests are less Frenchmen than you are r"
Pitou pricked up his ears at this proposition, which sounded
somewhat heretical at tiie time, when patriotism was calculated by
the strength of elbows on the Place de Greve.
You do not believe a word of it, do you, my friend ? You cannot
BILLOT PERCEIVES THAT ALL IS NOT ROSES. 339
imagine that these nobles and priests, who absorb everything, and
give back nothing, are as good patriots as you are ?'
' That is true.'
' An error, my dear friend, an error. They are even better, and I
will prove it to you.'
' Oh ! that, for example, I deny.'
; On account of their privileges, is it not ?
1 Zounds ! yes.'
' Wait a moment'
' Oh, I can wait'
' Well, then, I certify to you, Billot, that in three days from this
time the person who will have the most privileges in France will be
the man who possesses nothing.'
' Then I shall be that person,' said Pitou, gravely.
' Well, yes, it will be you.'
c But how can that be ?
f Listen to me, Billot. These nobles and these ecclesiastics, whom
you accuse of egotism, are just beginning to be seized with that
fever of patriotism which is about to make the tour of France. At
this moment they are assembled like so many sheep on the edge of
the ditch ; they are deliberating ; the boldest of them will be the
first to leap over it ; and this will happen to-morrow, perhaps to-
night ; and after him, the rest will jump it.'
' What is the meaning of that, Monsieur Gilbert?"
' It means to say that, voluntarily abandoning their prerogatives,
feudal lords will liberate their peasants, proprietors of estates their
farms, and the rents due to them, the dove-cote lords their pigeons.'
' Oh, oh !' ejaculated Pitou, with amazement ; ' you think they
will give up all that ?*
' Oh,' cried Billot, suddenly catching the idea, ' that will be
splendid liberty indeed !'
' Well, then ; and after that, when shall we all be free, what shall
we do next ?'
' The deuce !' cried Billot, somewhat embarrassed ; ' what shall be
done next ? Why, we shall see !'
' Ah, there is the great word !' exclaimed Gilbert : c we shall
see r
He rose from his chair with a gloomy brow, and walked up and
down the room for a few minutes ; then, returning to the farmer,
whose hand he seized with a violence which seemed almost a
threat :
' Yes,' said he, ' we shall see ! We shall all see you, as I shall ; he,
as you and I shall ; and that is precisely what I was reflecting on
just now, when you observed that composure which so much sur-
prised you.'
' You terrify me. The people united, embracing each other, forn*
ing themselves into one mass to ensure their general prosperity-
340 TAKING THE BASTILE.
can that be a subject which renders you gloomy, Monsieur
Gilbert ?
The latter shrugged his shoulders.
' Then,' said Billot, questioning in his turn, ' what will you say of
yourself if you now doubt, after having prepared everything in the
old world, by giving liberty to the new ?
' Billot,' rejoined Gilbert, ' you have just, without at all suspecting
it, uttered a word which is the solution of the enigma a word which
Lafayette has uttered, and which no one, beginning with himself,
perhaps, fully understands. Yes, we have given liberty to the new
world '
' You ! and Frenchmen, too ! That is magnificent.'
' It is magnificent ; but it will cost us dear,' said Gilbert, sorrow-
fully.
' Pooh ! the money is spent ; the bill is paid,' said Billot, joy-
ously. ' A little gold, a great deal of blood, and the debt is liqui-
dated.'
' Blind enthusiast !' said Gilbert, ' who sees not in this dawning in
the west the germ of ruin to us all ! Alas ! why do I accuse them,
when I did not see more clearly than they ? The having given
liberty to the new world, I fear, I fear greatly, was totally ruining
the old one.'
' Rerunt novus nascitur ordof exclaimed Pitou, with great revolu-
tionary self-possession.
' Silence, child,' said Gilbert.
' Was it, then, more difficult to overcome the English, than it is
now to quiet the French ?' asked Billot.
' A new world,' repeated Gilbert ; ' that is to say, a vast open
space, a clear table to work upon ; no laws, but no abuses ; no ideas,
but no prejudices. In France, thirty thousand square leagues of
territory for thirty millions of people ; that is to say, should the
space be equally divided, scarcely room for a cradle or a grave for
each. Out yonder, in America, two hundred thousand square
leagues for three millions of persons ; frontiers which are ideal, for
they border on the desert, which is to say immensity. In those two
hundred thousand leagues, navigable rivers, having a course of a
thousand leagues ; virgin forests, of which God alone knows the
limits ; that is to say, all the elements of life, of civilization, and of
a brilliant future. Oh, how easy it is, Billot, when a man is called
Lafayette, and is accustomed to wield a sword ; when a man is called
Washington, and is accustomed to reflect deeply how easy is it to
combat against walls of wood, of earth, of stone, of human flesh !
But when, instead of founding, it is necessary to destroy ; when we
see in the old order of things that we are obliged to attack walls of
bygone crumbling ideas, and behind the ruins even of these walls,
that crowds of people and of interests still take refuge ; when, after
having found the idea, we find that, in order to make the people
adopt it, it will be necessary, perhaps, to decimate that people, from
BILLOT PERCEIVES THAT ALL IS NOT ROSES. 341
the old who remember, down to the child who has still to learn ;
from the recollection which is the monument down to the instinct
which is the germ of it then, oh then, Billot ! it is a task which
will make all those shudder who can see behind the horizon. I am
far-sighted, Billot, and I shudder.'
'Pardon me, sir,' said Billot, with his sound good sense ; 'you
accused me, a short time since, of hating the revolution, and now
you are making it execrable to me.'
' But have I told you that I renounce it ?'
l Errare humanum est] murmured Pitou ; ' sed perse-verare ditboli
cum.'
And he drew his feet towards him with his hands.
' I shall, however, persevere,' continued Gilbert, ' for, although I
see the obstacle, I can perceive the end, and that end is splendid,
Billot. It is not only the liberty of France that I am dreaming of,
but it is the liberty of the whole world ; it is not physical equality,
but it is equality before the laws equality of rights : it is not the
fraternity of our own citizens, but fraternity between all nations. I
may be losing my own soul, my body may perhaps perish in the
struggle,' continued Gilbert, in a melancholy tone, ' but it matters
not ; the soldier who is sent to the assault of a fortress, sees the
cannon on its ramparts, sees the balls with which they are loaded,
sees the match placed near the touchhole ; he sees even more than
this, he sees the direction in which they are pointed, he feels that
this piece of black iron may pass through his own breast but he
still rushes onward the fortress must be taken. Well, we are all
soldiers, Father Billot. Forward, then ! and over the heaps of our
dead bodies may one day march the generations of which this boy
now present is the advanced guard.'
' I do not really know why you despair, Monsieur Gilbert. Is it
because an unfortunate man was this day murdered on the Place de
Greve ?
' And why were you then so much horrified ? Go, then, Billot, and
cut throats also.'
' Oh ! what are you now saying, Monsieur Gilbert ?
' Zounds ! a man should be consistent. You came here, all pale,
all trembling you, who are so brave, so strong and you said to
me, " I am tired out." I laughed in your face, Billot ; and now that
I explain to you why you were pale, why you were worn out, it is
you who laugh at me in turn.'
' Speak ! speak ! but first of all give me the hope that I shall
return cured, consoled, to my fields.'
' Your fields ! Listen to me, Billot all our hope is there. The
country a sleeping revolution, which wakes up once in a thousand
years, and gives royalty the vertigo every time it awakens the
country will wake up in its turn, when the day shall come for pur-
chasing or conquering those wrongly acquired territories of which
34* TAKING THE BASTILE.
you just now spoke, and with which the nobility and clergy are
gorged, even to choking. But to urge on the country to a harvest
of ideas, it will be necessary to urge on the countrymen to the con-
quest of the soil. Man, by becoming a proprietor, becomes free ;
and in becoming free, he becomes a better man. To us, then, pri-
vileged labourers, to whom God has consented that the veil of the
future shall be raised, to us, then, the fearful work, which after
giving liberty to the people, shall give them the property of the soil.
Here, Billot, will be a good work, and a sorry recompense, perhaps ;
but an active, powerful work, full of joys and vexations, of glory
and calumny. The country is still lulled in a dull impotent slumber,
but it awaits only to be awakened by our summons, and that new
dawn shall be our work. When once the country is awakened, the
sanguinary portion of our labours will be terminated, and its peace-
able labours, the labours of the country, will commence.'
' What, then, do you now advise that I should do, Monsieur
Gilbert ?
' If you wish to be useful to your country, to the nation, to your
brother men, to the world, remain here, Billot ; take a hammer and
work in this Vulcan's furnace, which is forging thunders for the
whole world.'
' Remain here to see men butchered, and perhaps at last learn to
butcher them myself?*
' How so ? said Gilbert, with a faint smile. * You, Billot, become
a murderer ! What is it you are saying ?*
' I say that should I remain here as you request me,' cried Billot,
trembling with agitation, ' I say that the first man whom I shall see
attaching a rope to a lamp-post, I will hang that man with these
my hands.'
Gilbert's smile became more positive.
' Well, now,' said he, ' I find you understand me, and now you also
are a murderer.'
' Yes ; a murderer of vile wretches.'
'Tell me, Billot, you have seen De Losme, De Launay, De
Flesselles, Foulon, and Berthier slaughtered ?
4 Yes.'
' What epithet did those who slaughtered them apply to them ?'
' They called them wretches.'
' Oh ! that is true,' said Pitpu, ' they did call them wretches.'
' Yes ; but it is I who am right and not they,' rejoined Billot.
' You will be in the right,' said Gilbert, ' if you hang them ; but
in the wrong if they hang you.'
Billot hung down his head under this heavy blow ; then suddenly
raising it again, with dignity
' Will you venture to maintain,' said he, ' that those who assas-
sinate defenceless men, and who are under the safeguard of public
honour, will you maintain that they are as good Frenchmen as
I amF
BILLOT PERCEIVES THAT ALJ JS NOT ROSES. 343
* Ah !' said Gilbert, ' that is quite another question. Yes, in
France we have several sorts of Frenchmen. First of all, we have
the people, to which Pitou belongs, to which you belong, to which
I belong ; then we have the French clergy, and then the French
nobility. Three classes of Frenchmen in France, each French in
his own point of view, that is to say. as regards their interests, and
this without counting the King of France, who is also a Frenchman
in his way. Ah ! Billot, here you see, in these different modes of
all these Frenchmen considering themselves French, here is the
real secret of the revolution. You will be a Frenchman in your own
way, the Abbe" Maury will be a Frenchman in his way, Mirabeau
will be a Frenchman in a mode that differs from that of the Abbe*
Maury, and the king will be a Frenchman in another way than that
of Mirabeau. Well, Billot, my excellent friend, thou man of up-
right heart and sound judgment, you have just entered upon the
second part of the question which I am now engaged upon. Do
me the pleasure, Billot, to cast your eyes on this.'
And Gilbert presented a printed paper to the farmer.
' What is this ?' asked Billot, taking the paper.
' Read.'
4 Why, you know full well that I cannot read.'
' Tell Pitou to read it then.'
Pitou rose, and standing on tiptoe looked at the paper over the
farmer's shoulder.
' That is not French,' said he, ' it is not Latin, neither is it
Greek.'
' It is English,' replied Gilbert.
' I do not know English,' said Pitou, proudly.
' I do,' said Gilbert, ' and I will translate that paper to you ; but,
in the first place, read the signature.'
'PIT T,' spelt Pitou ; ' what does PITT mean ?'
' I will explain it to you,' replied Gilbert.
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE PITTS.
' PITT,' rejoined Gilbert, ' is the son of Pitt.'
' Well, now !' cried Pitou, ' that is just as we have it in the Bible.
There is then Pitt the first and Pitt the second ?'
' Yes, and Pitt the first, my friends listen attentively to what I
am going to tell you '
' We are listening,' replied Billot and Pitou at the same moment.
' This Pitt the first was during thirty years the sworn enemy of
France ; he combated in the retirement of his cabinet, to which he
was nailed by the gout, Montcalm and Vaudreuil in America,
the Bailly de Suffren and D'Estang on the seas, Noailles and
Broglie on the continent. This Pitt the first made it a principle
344 TAKING THE BASTILE.
with him that it was necessary to destroy the influence which France
had gained over the whole of Europe : during thirty years he re-
conquered from us, one by one, all our colonies one by one, all our
factories, the whole of our possessions in the East Indies, a hundred
leagues of territory in Canada, and then, when he saw that France
was three-fourths ruined, he brings forward his son to ruin her
altogether.'
' Ah ! ah !' exclaimed Billot, evidently much interested, ' so that
the Pitt we have now '
' Precisely,' replied Gilbert, ' he is the son of the Pitt whom we
have had, and whom you already know, Father Billot, whom Pitou
knows, whom all the universe knows, and this Pitt junior was thirty
years old this last May.'
' Thirty years old ?'
' Yes ; you see that he has well employed his time, my friends.
Notwithstanding his youth he has now governed England for seven
years seven years has he put in practice the theory of his father.'
' Well, then, we are likely to have him for a long time yet,' said
Billot.
' And it is the more probable that the vital qualities are very tena-
cious among the Pitts. Let me give you a proof of it.'
Pitou and Billot indicated by a motion of their heads that they
were listening with the greatest attention.
Gilbert continued :
' In 1778, the father of our enemy was dying, his physicians an-
nounced to him that his life was merely hanging by a thread, and
that the slightest effort would break that thread. The English
Parliament was then debating on the question of abandoning the
American colonies and yielding to their desire for independence, in
order to put a stop to the war, which threatened, fomented as it was
by the French, to swallow up the riches and all the soldiers of Great
Britain. It was at the moment when Louis XVI., our good king,
he on whom the whole nation has just conferred the title of ' Father
of French Liberty,' had solemnly recognised the independence of
America ; and on the fields of battle in that country, and in their
councils, the swords and genius of the French had obtained the
mastery. England had offered to Washington, that is to say, to the
chief of the insurgents, the recognition of American nationality, on
condition that the new nation should ally itself with England
against France.'
' But,' said Billot, ' it appears to me this proposition was not a
decent one, to be either offered or accepted.'
' My dear Billot, this is what is called diplomacy, and in the po-
litical world these sorts of ideas are much admired. Well, Billot,
however immoral you may consider the matter, in spite of Washing-
ton, the most faithful of men, Americans would have been found to
accede to this degrading concession on the part of England. But
THE PITTS. 345
Lord Chatham, the father of Pitt, the man who had been given
over by the physicians, this dying man, this phantom who was
already standing knee deep in the grave, this Chatham, who it
might be thought could have desired naught more on this earth
but repose, before sleeping beneath his monument, this feeble old
man determined on appearing in the Parliament where the question
was about to be discussed.
' On entering the House of Lords, he was leaning ^n the one
side on the arm of his son, William Pitt, then only nineteen years
of age, and on the other on that of his son-in-law, Lord Mahon.
He was attired in his magnificent robes, which formed a derisive
contrast to his own emaciated form. Pale as a spectre, his eyes
half-extinguished beneath his languishing eyelids, he desired his
friends to lead him to his usual seat on the bench appropriated to
earls, while all the lords rose at his entrance, astounded at the un-
expected apparition, and bowed to him in admiration, as the
Roman Senate might have done had Tiberius, dead and forgotten,
returned among them. He listened in silence and with profound
attention to the speech of the Duke of Richmond, the mover of
the proposition, and when he had concluded, Lord Chatham rose
to reply.
' Then this dying man summoned up strength enough to speak
for three whole hours ; he found fire enough within his heart to lend
lightnings to his eyes : in his soul he found accents which stirred
up the hearts of all who heard him.
' It is true that he was speaking against France, it is true that
he was instilling into the minds of his countrymen the hatred
which he felt, it is true that he had called up all his energies, all
his fervent eloquence, to ruin and devour this country, the hated
rival of his own. He forbade that America should be recognised
as independent, he forbade all sort of compromise ; he cried, war !
war ! He spoke, as Hannibal spoke against Rome, as Cato against
Carthage ! He declared that the duty of every loyal Englishman
was to perish ruined, rather than to suffer that a colony, even one
single colony, should detach itself from the mother country.
Having concluded his perorfxtion, having hurled his last threat, he
fell to the ground as if thunder-stricken.
' He had nothing more to do in this world he was carried ex-
piring from the house.
' Some few days afterwards he was dead.'
' Oh ! oh !' cried both Billot and Pitou, simultaneously, ' what a
man this Lord Chatham was !'
' He was the father of the young man of thirty who is now oc-
cupying our attention,' pursued Gilbert. ' Lord Chatham died at
the age of seventy. If the son lives to the same age, we shall have
to endure William Pitt for forty years longer. This is the man,
Father Billot, with whom we have to contend ; this is the man
23
346 TAKING THE BASTILE.
who n<nv governs Great Britain, who well remembers the names
of Lameth, of Rochambeau, and Lafayette, who at this moment
knows the name of every man in the National Assembly : he who
has sworn a deadly hatred to Louis XVI., the author of the treaty
of 1788 : the man, in short, who will not breathe freely as long as
there shall be a loaded musket in France and a full pocket. Do
you begin to understand ?'
' I understand that he has a great detestation of France : yes,
that is true, but I do not altogether see your meaning.'
' Nor I,' said Pitou.
' Well, then, read these four words.' And he presented a paper
to Pitou.
' English again,' cried Pitou.
' Yes ; these are the words " Don't mind the money? '
'I hear the words, but I do not understand them,' rejoined
Pitou.
Gilbert translated the words, and then :
' But more than this : he farther on reiterates the same advice,
for he says " tell them not to be sparing of money, and they need
not send me any accounts." '
' Then they are arming/ said Billot
' No ; they are bribing.'
' But to whom is this letter addressed ?*
' To everybody and to nobody. The money which is thus given,
thus strewn abroad, thus lavished, is given to peasants, to artisans,
to wretches, to men, in short, who will degrade bur revolution.'
Father Billot held down his head : these words explained many
things.
' Would you have knocked down De Launay with the butt end
of a musket, Billot ?'
'No.'
* Would you have killed FlesseJles by firing a pistol at him r*
'No.'
' Would you have carried the still bleeding heart of Berthier and
placed it on the table of the electors ?
' Infamy !' exclaimed Billot. ' On the contrary, however guilty
this man may have been, I would have allowed myself to be torn
to pieces could I hare saved him by it : and the proof of this is
that I was wounded in defending him, and that but for Pitou, who
dragged me to the river side '
' Oh ! that is true,' cried Pitou, ' but for me, Father Billot would
have had but a bad time of it.'
' Well, then, see you now, Billot, there are many men who would
act as you have done, when they feel that they have some one to
assist them near them, and who, on the contrary, if abandoned to
bad examples, become wicked, then ferocious then when the evil
is done, why, 'tis done.'
THE PITTS. 347
But, in short,' observed Billot, objectingly, admitting that Mr.
Pitt, or rather his money, had something to do with the death of
Flesselles, of Foulon, and of Berthier, what would he gain by it ?
Gilbert began to laugh with that inaudible laugh which astonishes
the simple, but which makes the thinking shudder.
' What would he gain by it !' he exclaimed, ' can you ask that r 1
Yes, I do ask it.'
' I will tell you. It is this ; you were much pleased with the
revolution, were you not you who walked in blood to take the
Bastile ?
' Yes, I was pleased with it'
' Well ! you now like it less well ! now you regret Villers-
Cotterets, your farm, the quietude of your plain, the shades of your
great forests.'
' Frigida Tempt' murmured Pitou.
' Oh ! yes, you are right,' sighed Billot.
' Well, then, you, Father Billot, you, a farmer, you, the proprietor
of land, you, a child of the Isle of France, and consequently a
Frenchman of the olden time, you represent the third order, you
belong to that which is called the majority. Well, then, you are
disgusted.'
' I acknowledge it.'
' Then the majority will become disgusted as you are.'
' And what then ?
' And you will one day open your arms to the soldiers of the
Duke of Brunswick or of Mr. Pitt, who will come to you in the
name of those two liberators of France to restore wholesome doc-
trine.'
'Never!'
' Pshaw ! wait a little.'
' Flesselles, Berthier, and Foulon were at bottom rascals,' ob-
served Pitou.
' Assuredly, as Monsieur de Sartines and Monsieur de Maurepas
were villains, as Monsieur d'Argenson and Monsf;ur de Philip-
peaux were before them, as Monsieur Law was, as the Leblancs,
the De Paris, the Duvernays were villains, as Fouquet was, as
Mazarin was also, as Lamblanq, as Enguerrand de Marigny were
villains, as Monsieur de Brienne is towards Monsieur de Calonne,
as Monsieur de Calonne is towards Monsieur de Necker, as Mon-
sieur de Neckar will be to the administration which we shall have
in two years.'
' Oh ! oh ! doctor !' murmured Billot, ' Monsieur de Necker a
villain never !'
' As you will be, my good Billot, a villain in the eyes of little
Pitou here, in case one of Mr. Pitt's agents should teach him cer-
tain theories, backed by the influence of a pint of brandy and ten
livres per day for getting up disturbances. This word villain, do
34$ TAKING THE BASTJLE.
you see, Billot, is the word by which in revolutions we designate
the man who thinks differently from us ; we are all destined to
tear that name more or less ; some will bear it so far that their
countrymen will inscribe it on their tombs, others so much farther
that posterity will ratify the epithet. This, my dear Billot, is what
I see and which you do not see. Billot, Billot ! people of real
worth must therefore not withdraw.'
' Bah !' cried Billot, ' even were honest people to withdraw, the
revolution would still run its course : it is in full motion.'
Another smile rose to the lips of Gilbert.
' Great child !' cried he, ' who would abandon the handle of the
plough, unyoke the horses from it, and then say " Good ! the
plough has no need of me, the plough will trace its furrow by itself."
But, my friends, who was it undertook the revolution? honest people,
were they not ?'
' France flatters herself that it is so. It appears to me that La-
fayette is an honest man, it appears to me that Bailly is an honest
man, it appears to me that Monsieur de Necker is an honest man, it
app ,-ars to me that Monsieur Elie, Monsieur Hullin, and Monsieur
Maillard, who fought side by side with me, are honest people, it
appears to me that you yourself '
'Well, Billot, if honest people, if you, if I, if Maillard, if Hullin,
if Elie, if Necker, if Bailly, if Lafayette should withdraw, who would
carry on the work? Why, those wretches, those assassins, those
villains whom I have pointed out to vou the agents, the agents of
Mr. Pitt !'
' Try to answer that, Father Billot,' said Pitou, convinced of the
justice of the doctor's argument
' Well, then,' replied Billot, ' we will arm ourselves, and shoot
these villains down as if they were dogs.'
' Wait a moment who will arm themselves "?
' Everybody.'
' Billot, Billot ! remember one thing, my good friend, and it is
this, that what we are doing at this moment is called what do you
call what we are now doing, Billot ?
1 Talking politics, Monsieur Gilbert.'
' Well ! in politics there is no longer any absolute crime ; one is
a villain or an honest man, as we favour or thwart the interests of
the man who judges us. Those whom you call villains will always
give some specious reasons for their crimes : and to many honest
people, who may have had a direct or an indirect interest in the
commission of these crimes, these very villains will appear honest
men also. From the moment that we reach that point, Billot, we
must beware. There will then be men to hold the plough-handle.
It will move onward, Billot it will move onward, and without us.'
' It is frightful,' said the farmer ; ' but if it moves onward without
us, where will it stop ?
THE PITTS. 349
' God only knows !' exclaimed Gilbert ; ' as to myself, I know
not.'
' Well, then, if you do not know, you, who are a learned man,
Monsieur Gilbert, I, who am an ignoramus, cannot be expected to
know anything of the matter. I augur from it '
' Well, what do you augur from it ? Let us hear.'
* I augur from it that what we had better do I mean Pitou and
myself is to return to the farm. We will again take to the plough
the real plough that of iron and wood, with which we turn up
the earth, and not the one of flesh and blood, called the French
people, and which is as restive as a vicious horse. We will make
our corn grow instead of shedding blood, and we shall live free,
joyous and happy as lords in our own domain. Come with us,
come with us, Monsieur Gilbert. The deuee ! I like to know where
I am going !'
' One moment, my stout-hearted friend,' cried Gilbert. ' No, I
know not whither I am going. I have told you so, and I repeat it
to you ; however, I still go on, and I will continue stili to do so.
My duty is traced out to me ; my life belongs to God ; but my works
are the debt which I shall pay to my country. If my conscience
says to me, " Go on, Gilbert, you are in the right road go on," that
is all that I require. If I am mistaken, men will punish me but
God will absolve me.'
' But sometimes men punish those who are not mistaken. You
said so yourself just now.'
'And I say it again. It matters not, I persist, Billot : be it an
error or not, I shall go on. To guarantee that the events will not
prove my inability, God forbid that I should pretend to do so. But
before all, Billot, the Lord has said, " Peace be to the man of good
intentions." Therefore, be one of those to whom God has promised
peace. Look at Monsieur de Lafayette, in America as well as France
this is the third white charger he has worn out, without counting
those he will wear out in future. Look at Monsieur de Bailly, who
wears out his lungs. Look at the king, who wears out his popularity.
Come, come, Billot let us not be egotistical. Let us also wear
ourselves out a little. Remain with me, Billot.'
' But to do what, if we do not prevent evil being done ?'
' Billot remember never to repeat those words ; for I should
esteem you less. You have been trampled under foot, you have
received hard fisticuffs, hard knocks from the butt-ends of muskets,
and even from bayonets, when you wished to save Foulon and
Berthier.'
' Yes, and even a great many,' replied the farmer, passing his hand
over his still painful body.
' And as to me,' said Pitou, ' I had one eye almost put out.'
' And all that for nothing,' added Billot.
' Well, my children, if instead of there being only ten, fifteen,
350 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
twenty of your courage, there had been a hundred, two hundred,
three hundred, you would have saved the unhappy man from the
frightful death which was inflicted on him ; you would have spared
the nation the blot which has sullied it. And that is the reason
why, instead of returning to the country, which is tolerably tranquil
that is why, Billot, I exact, as far as I can exact anything of you,
my friend, that you should remain at Paris that I may have always
near me a vigorous arm, an upright heart ; that I might test my
mind and my works on the faithful touchstone of your good sense
and your pure patriotism ; and, in fine, that we might strew around
us, not gold for that we have not but our love of country and of the
public welfare, in which you would be my agent with a multitude of
misled, unfortunate men my staff, should my feet slip my staff,
should I have occasion to strike a blow.'
' A blind man's dog,' said Billot, with sublime simplicity.
' Precisely,' said Gilbert, in the same tone
' Well,' said Billot, ' I accept your proposal. I will be whatever
you may please to make me.'
' 1 know that you are abandoning everything fortune, wife, child,
and happiness, Billot. But you may be tranquil ; it will not be for
long.'
' And I,' said Pitou, ' what am I to do ?
' You ? said Gilbert, looking at the ingenuous and hardy youth
who boasted not much of his intelligence ; ' you, you will return *o
the farm, to console Billot's family, and explain to them the holy
mission he has undertaken.'
' Instantly !' cried Pitou, trembling with joy at the idea of re-
turning to Catherine.
4 Billot,' said Gilbert, ' give him your instructions^
' They are as follows,' said Billot.
' I am all attention.'
' Catherine is appointed by me as mistress of the house. Do you
understand ?
' And Madame Billot ? exclaimed Pitou, somewhat surprised at
this slight offered to the mother, to the advancement of the
daughter.
' Pitou,' said Gilbert, who had at once caught the idea of Billot,
from seeing a slight blush suffuse the face of the honest farmer, ' re-
member the Arabian proverb, " to hear is to obey."'
Pitou blushed in his turn. He had almost understood, and felt
the indiscretion of which he had been guilty.
' Catherine has all the judgment of the family,' added Billot un-
affectedly, in order to explain his idea.
Gilbert bowed in token of assent.
' Is that all ?' inquired the youth.
' All that I have to say,' replied Billot
' But not as regards me,' said Gilbert
THE PITTS. 351
' I am listening,' observed Pitou, well disposed to attend to the
Arabian proverb cited by Gilbert.
' You will go with a letter I shall give you to the College Louis le
Grand,' added Gilbert. ' You will deliver that letter to the Abb6
BeYardier ; he w ill entrust Sebastian to you, and you will bring him
here. After I have embraced him, you will take him to Villers-
Cottere"ts, where you will place him in the hands of the Abbd
Fortier, that he may not altogether lose his time. On Sundays
and Thursdays he will go out with you. Make him walk in the
meadows and in the woods. It will be more conducible to my
tranquillity and his health that he should be in the country yonder
than here,'
' I have understood you perfectly,' said Pitau, delighted to be thus
restored to the friend of his childhood, and to the vague aspirations
of a sentiment somewhat more adult, which had been awakened
within him by the magic name of Catherine.
He rose and took leave of Gilbert, who smiled, and of Billot, who
was dreaming.
Then he set off, running at full speed, to fetch Sebastian Gilbert,
his foster-brother, from the college.
'And now we,' said Gilbert to Billot, ' we must set to work.'
CHAPTER XLIV.
MEDEA.
A DEGREE of calmness bad succeeded at Versailles to the terrible
moral and political agitations which we have placed before the eyes
of our readers.
The king breathed again, and although he could not help re-
flecting on the suffering his Bourbon pride had endured during his
journey to Paris, he consoled himself with the idea of b"is reconquered
popularity.
During this time M. de Necker was organising, and by degrees
losing his.
As to the nobility, they were beginning to prepare their defection
or their resistance.
The people were watching and waiting.
Duringthis time the queen, thrown back as it were on the resources
of her own mind, assured that she was the object of many hatreds,
shut herself up closely, almost concealed herself ; for she also knew
that, although the object of hatred to many, she was at the same
time the object of many hopes.
Since the journey of the king to Paris she had scarcely caught a
glimpse of Gilbert.
Once, however, he had presented himself to her in the vestibule
which led to the king's apartments.
And there, as he had bowed to her very humbly and respectfully,
she was the first to begin a conversation with him.
352 TAKING THE BASTILE.
1 Good day, sir,' said she to him ; ' are you going to the king ?
And then she added, with a smile, in which there was a slight
tinge of irony :
' Is it as counsellor, or as physician ?
' It is aS his physician, madame,' replied Gilbert. ' I have to-day
an appointed service.'
She made a sign to Gilbert to follow her. The doctor obeyed.
They both of them went into a small sitting-room, which led to
the king's bed-room.
' Well, sir,' said she, ' you see that you were deceiving me, when
you assured me the other day, with regard to the journey to Paris,
that the king was incurring no danger.'
' Who, I, madame ?' cried Gilbert, astonished.
' Undoubtedly ! was not the king fired at ?
' Who has said that, madame ?
' Everybody, sir ; and above all, those who saw the poor woman
fall almost beneath the wheels of the king's carriage. Who says that
Why, Monsieur de Beauvau and Monsieur d'Estaing, who saw your
coat torn and your frill perforated by the ball.'
' Madame !'
' The ball which thus grazed you, sir, might have killed the king,
as it killed that unfortunate woman ; for, in short, it was neither
you nor that poor woman that the murderers wished to kill.'
' I do not believe in such a crime,' replied the doctor, hesitating.
' Be it so ; but I believe in it, sir,' rejoined the queen, fixing her
eyes on Gilbert.
' At all events, if there was intentional crime, it ought not to be im-
puted to the people.'
'Ah!' she exclaimed, 'to whom then must it be attributed?
Speak !'
' Madame,' continued Gilbert, shaking hib head, ' for some time
past I have been watching and studying the people. Well, then, the
people, when they assassinate in revolutionary times, the people kill
with their hands ; they are then like the furious tiger, the irri-
tated lion. The tiger and the lion use no intermediary agent be-
tween their fury and their victim ; they kill for killing's sake ; they
spill blood to spill it ; they like to dye their teeth, to steep their
claws in it.'
'Witness Foulon and Berthier, you would say. But wae not
Flesselles killed by a shot from a pistol ; I was so told, at least ;
but after all,' continued the queen, in a tone of irony, ' perhaps it was
not true ; we crowned heads are so surrounded by flatterers.'
Gilbert,, in his turn, looked intently at the queen.
' Oh ! as to him !' said he, ' you do not believe more than I do,
madame, that it was the people who killed him. There were people
who were interested in bringing about his death.'
The queen reflected.
MEDEA. 353
' In fact,' she replied, ' that may be possible. 1
' Then,' said Gilbert, bowing, as if to ask the queen if she had any-
thing more to say to him.
4 1 understand, sir,' said the queen, gently, stopping the doctor with
an almost friendly gesture ; 'however that may be, let me tell you
that you will never save the king's life so effectually by your medical
skill, as you did three days ago with your own breast.'
Gilbert bowed a second time.
But as he saw that the queen remained, he remained also.
' I ought to have seen you again, sir,' said the queen, after a ma
mentary repose.
'Your majesty had no further need of me,' said Gilbert.
' You are modest.'
' I wish I were not so, madame.'
' And why ?'
' Because, being less modest, I should be less timid, and conse
quently better able to serve my friends or to frustrate enemies.'
' Why do you make that distinction ? You say, my friends, but do
not say my enemies.'
' Because, madame, I have no enemies ; or rather, because I will
not, for my part at least, admit that I have any.'
The queen looked at him with surprise.
' I mean to say,' continued Gilbert, ' that those only are my
enemies who hate me, but that I on my side hate no one.'
' Because ?'
' Because I no longer love any one, madame.'
' Are you ambitious, Monsieur Gilbert ?'
' At one time 1 hoped to become so, madame.'
'And '
' And that passion proved abortive, as did every other.'
' There is one, however, that still remains in it,' said the queen,
with a slight shade of artful irony.
' In my heart ? And what passion is that, good heaven ?
' Your patriotism.'
Gilbert bowed.
' Oh ! that is true,' said he. ' I adore my country, and for it I
would make every sacrifice.'
' Alas !' said the queen, with undefinable melancholy, ' there was
a time when a good Frenchman would not have expressed that
thought in the terms you now have used.'
' What does the queen mean to say ?' respectfully inquired Gilbert.
' I mean to say, sir, that in the times of which I speak, it was im-
possible for a Frenchman to love his country, without at the same
time loving his queen and king.'
Gilbert blushed ; he bowed, and felt within his heart one of those
electric shocks, which, in her seducing intimacies, the queen pro-
duced on those who approached her.
354 TAXING THE BASTILE
1 You do not answer, sir,' she said.
' Madame !' cried Gilbert, ' I may venture to boast that no one
loves the monarchy more ardently than myself.'
'Are we living in times, sir, when it is sufficient to say this ? and
would it not be better to prove it by our acts ?
' But, madame,' said Gilbert with surprise, ' I beg your majesty
to believe that all the king or queen might command '
' You would do is it not so ?
' Assuredly, madame.'
'In doing which, sir,' said the queen, resuming, in spite of herself,
a slight degree of her accustomed haughtiness, ' you would only be
fulfilling a duty.'
' Madame '
' God, who has given omnipotence to kings,' continued Marie
Antoinette, ' has released them from the obligation of being grateful
to those who merely fulfil a duty.'
' Alas ! alas ! madame,' rejoined Gilbert, ' the time is approaching
when your servants will deserve more than your gratitude, if they
will only fulfil their duty.'
' What is it you say, sir ?'
' I mean to say, madame, that in these days of disorder and
demolition, you will in vain seek for friends where you have been
accustomed to find servants. Pray, pray to God, madame, to send
you other servants, other supporters, other friends than those you
have.'
' Do you know any such f*
' Yes, madame.'
' Then point them out to me.'
' See now, madame ; I who now speak to you, I was your enemy
but yesterday.'
' My enemy ! and why were you so r*
' Because you ordered that I should be imprisoned.'
' And to-day ?
' To-day, madame,' replied Gilbert, bowing, ' I am your servant.'
' And your object ?
' Madame '
' The object for which you have become my servant It' is not in
your nature, sir, to change your opinion, your belief, your affec-
tions, so suddenly. You are a man, Monsieur Gilbert, whose re-
membrances are deeply planted ; you know how to perpetuate
your vengeance. Come now, tell me what was the motive of this
change P 5
' Madame, you reproached me but now with loving my country too
passionately.'
' No one can ever love it too much, sir ; the only question is to
know how we love it For myself, I love my country.' (Gilbert
smiled.) ' Oh ! no false interpretations, sir ; my country is France.
MEDEA. 355
A German by blood, I am a French-woman in my heart. I love
France ; but it is through the king. I love France from the respect
due to God, who has given us the throne. And now to you, sir.'
' To me, madame ?'
'Yes, it is now for you to speak. I understand you, do I not ? To
you it is quite another matter. You love France, merely and simply
for France herself.'
' Madame,' replied Gilbert, bowing, ' I should fail in respect to
your majesty, should I fail in frankness.'
' Oh !' exclaimed the queen, 'frightful, frightful period ! when all
people who pretend to be people of worth, isolate two things which
have never been separated from each other ; two principles which
have always gone hand in hand France and her king. But have
you not a tragedy of one of your poets, in which it is asked of a
queen who has been abandoned by all "What now remains to
you ?" and to which she replies " Myself !" Well, then, like Medea,
I also will say " Myself ! ); and we shall see.'
And she angrily left the room, leaving Gilbert in amazement.
She had just raised to his view, by the breath of her anger, one
corner of the veil behind which she was combining the whole work
of the counter-revolution.
' Come, come,' said Gilbrt to himself, as he went into the king's
room, ' the queen is meditating some project.'
' Really,' said the queen to herself, as she was returning to her
apartment, ' decidedly, there is nothing to be made of this man. He
has energy, but he has no devotedness.'
Poor princess ! with whom the word devotedness is synonymous
with civility.
CHAPTER XLV.
WHAT THE QUEEN WISHED.
GILBERT returned to M. Necker after his professional visit to the
king, whom he had found as tranquil as the queen was agitated.
The king was composing speeches, he was examining accounts,
he was meditating reforms in the laws.
This well-intentioned man, whose look was so kind, whose soul
was so upright, whose heart erred only from prejudices inherent to
the royal condition, this man was absolutely bent on producing
trivial reforms in exchange for the serious inroads made on his pre-
rogative. He was obstinately bent on examining the distant horizon
with his short-sighted eyes, when an abyss was yawning beneath
his feet. This man inspired Gilbert with a feeling of profound pity.
As to the queen, it was not thus, and in spite of his impassibility,
Gilbert felt that she was one of those women whom it was necessary
to love passionately, or to hate ven to the death.
356 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
When she had returned to her own apartment, Marie Antoinette
felt as if an immense burden were weighing on her heart.
And in fact, whether as a woman or as a queen, she felt that there
was nothing stable around her nothing which could aid her in
supporting even a portion of the burden which was crushing her.
On whichever side she turned her eyes, she saw only hesitation
and doubt.
The courtiers anxious with regard to their fortunes, and realising
what they could.
Relations and friends thinking of emigrating.
The proudest woman of them all, Andre'e, gradually becoming
estranged from her in heart and mind.
The noblest and the most beloved of all the men who surrounded
her, Charny, wounded by her caprice and a prey to doubt.
The position of affairs caused her great anxiety ; she, who was
instinct and sagacity personified.
How could this man, who was purity itself, how could this heart,
without alloy, have changed so suddenly ?
' No, he has not yet changed,' said the queen to herself, sighing
deeply, ' but he is about to change.'
He is about to change ! Frightful conviction to the woman who
loves passionately, insupportable to the woman who loves with pride.
Now, the queen loved Charny both passionately and proudly.
The queen was suffering therefore from two wounds.
And yet, at that very time, at the time when she felt the con-
sciousness of having acted wrongly, of the evil she had committed,
she had still time to remedy it.
But the mind of that crowned woman was not a flexible mind.
She could not descend to waver, even though she knew she was
acting unjustly ; had it been towards an indifferent person, she
might or would have wished to have shown some greatness of soul,
and then she might perhaps have asked for forgiveness.
But to the man whom she had honoured with an affection at once
so tender and so pure, to him whom she had deigned to admit to a
participation in her most secret thoughts, the queen considered it
would be degrading to make the slightest concession.
The misfortune of queens who condescend to love a subject, is to
love him always as queens, but never as women-
Marie Antoinette estimated herself at so high a price, that she
thought there was nothing human which could compensate her love,
not even blood, not even tears.
From the moment she felt that she was jealous of Andre'e, she
had begun to dwindle morally.
The consequence of this inferiority was her caprice.
The consequence of her caprice was anger.
The consequence of her anger was evil thoughts, which always
bring in their train evil actions.
WHAT THE QUEEN WISHED. 3$)
Charny did not enter into any of the considerations which we
have just stated ; but he was a man, and he had comprehended that
Marie Antoinette was jealous of his wife.
Of his wife, towards whom he had never shown any affection.
There is nothing which so much revolts an upright heart, one
altogether incapable of treachery, as to see that it is believed
capable of treachery.
There is nothing which so much conduces to direct the attention
towards a person as the jealousy with which that person is honoured.
Above all, if that jealousy be really unjust.
Then the person who is suspected reflects.
He alternately considers the jealous heart and the person who
has caused that jealousy.
The greater the soul of the jealous person, the greater is the
danger into which it throws itself.
In fact, how is it possible to suppose that a person of expansive
heart, of superior intelligence, of legitimate pride, could become
agitated for a mere nothing or for anything of trifling value. Why
should a woman who is beautiful be jealous ? Why should a woman
of the highest rank and power be jealous ? How could it be
supposed that, possessing all these advantages, a woman could be
jealous for a mere nothing or for anything of trifling value ?
Charny knew that Mademoiselle Andre"e de Taverney had been
long a friend of the queen that in former days she had been well
treated, always preferred by her. How then was it that she no
longer loved her? How was it that Marie Antoinette had all at
once become jealous of her ?
She must therefore have discerned some secret and mysterious
beauty which M. de Charny had not discovered, and undoubtedly
because he had not sought for it.
She had therefore felt that Charny might have perceived some-
thing in this woman, and that she, the queen, had lost in the com-
parison.
Or again, she might have believed that she perceived that Charny
loved her less, without there being any extraneous cause for this
diminution of his passion.
There is nothing more fatal to the jealous than the knowledge
which they thus give to others of the temperature of that heart
which they wish to keep in the most fervid degree of heat.
How often does it happen that the loved object is informed of his
coldness of a coldness which he had begun to experience, without
being able to account for it ?
And when he discovers that, when he feels the truth of the re-
proach, say, madame, how many times have you found that he has
allowed your chains to be again thrown round him, that his lan-
guishing flame has been rekindled ?
Oh ! unskilfulness of lovers ! It is, however, true that where
3$8 TAKING THE BASTTLE.
much art or adroitness is exercised, there scarcely ever exists a
great degree of love.
Marie Antoinette had therefore herself taught Charny to believe,
by her own anger and injustice, that his heart was less full of love
than formerly.
And as soon as he knew this, he endeavoured to account for it,
and looking around him, very naturally discovered the cause of the
queen's jealousy.
Andre'e, the poor, abandoned Andre'e, who had been a bride, but
had never been a wife.
He pitied Andre'e.
The scene of the return from Paris had unveiled the secret of
this deep-rooted jealousy, so carefully concealed from all eyes.
The queen also clearly saw that all was discovered, and as she
would not bend before Charny, she employed another method,
which, in her opinion, would lead to the same end.
She began to treat Andre'e with great kindness.
She admitted her to all her excursions, to all her evening parties ;
she overwhelmed her with caresses ; she made her the envy of all
the other ladies of the court.
And Andre'e allowed her to do all this, with some astonishment,
but without feeling grateful for it. She had for years said to herself
that she belonged to the queen, that the queen could do as she
pleased with her, and therefore was it that she submitted to it.
But, on the other side, as it was necessary that the irritation of
the woman should be vented on some one, the queen began to
severely ill treat Charny. She no longer spoke to him ; she was
absolutely harsh to him ; she affected to pass evenings, days, weeks,
without observing that he was present.
Only, when he was absent, the heart of the poor woman swelled
with anxiety ; her eyes wandered around eagerly, seeking him,
whom the moment they perceived, they were instantly averted
from.
Did she need the support of an arm, had she an order to give,
had she a smile to throw away, it was bestowed on the first comer.
But this first comer never failed to be a handsome and dis-
tinguished man.
The queen imagined she was curing her own wound by wounding
Chamy.
The latter suffered, but was silent. Not an angry or impatient
gesture escaped him. He was a man possessing great self-com-
mand, and although suffering frightful torture, he remained, to
appearance, perfectly impassible.
Then was seen a singular spectacle, a spectacle which women
alone can furnish and fully comprehend.
Andre'e felt all the sufferings of her husband, and as she loved
him with that angelic love which never had conceived a hope, she
pitied him, and allowed him to perceive shr did so.
WHAT THE QUEEN WISHED. 359
The result of this compassion was, a sweet and tacit reconciliation.
She endeavoured to console Charny without allowing him to per-
ceive that she comprehended the need he had of consolation.
And all this was done with that dtUcacy which may be called
essentially feminine, seeing that women alone are capable of it.
Marie Antoinette, who had sought to divide in order to reign,
perceived that she had made a false move, and that she was only
drawing together two souls by the very means which she had
adopted to keep them separate.
Then the poor woman, during the silence and the solitude of
night, endured the most frightful paroxysms of despair, such as
would make us wonder that God had created beings of sufficient
strength to support them.
And the queen would assuredly have succumbed to so many ills,
but for the constant occupation given to her mind by political events.
No one complains of the hardness of a bed when their limbs are
exhausted by fatigue.
Such were the circumstances under which the queen had been
living since the return of the king to Versailles, up to the day when
she thought seriously of resuming the absolute exercise of her
power.
For in her pride, she attributed to her decadency the species
of depreciation to which for some time the woman had been sub-
jected.
To her energetic mind, to think was to act. She therefore com-
menced her combinations without losing a moment.
Alas ! these combinations which she was then meditating were
those which wrought out her perdition.
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE FLANDERS REGIMENT.
UNFORTUNATELY, in the queen's opinion, all the facts which had
occurred were merely accidents, which a firm and active hand might
remedy. It was only necessary to concentrate her power.
The queen, seeing that the Parisians had so suddenly transformed
themselves into soldiers, and appeared to wish for war, resolved on
showing them what real war was actually.
' Up to this time, they have only had to deal with the Invalides,
or with Swiss, but ill supported and wavering ; we will show them
what it is to have opposed to them two or three well-disciplined and
royalist regiments.
' Perhaps there may be a regiment of this description, which has
already put to flight some of these rebellious rioters, and has shed
blood in the convulsions of civil war. We will have the most cele-
brated of these regiment* ordered here. The Parisians will then.
360 TAKING THE BASTILE.
understand that their best policy will be to abstain from provo-
cation.'
This was after all the quarrel between the king and the National
Assembly with regard to the veto. The king, during two months,
had been struggling to recover some tattered shreds of sovereignty ;
he had, conjointly with the administration and Mirabeau, endea-
voured to neutralise the republican outburst which was endeavouring
t j efface royalty in France.
The queen had exhausted herself in this struggle, and was ex-
hausted above all from having seen the king succumb.
The king in this contention had lost all his power and the re-
mains of his popularity. The queen had gained an additional
name, a nickname.
One of those words which were altogether foreign to the ears of
the people, and from that reason more pleasing to the ears of the
people ; a name which had not yet become an insult, but which
was soon to become the most opprobrious of all ; a witty saying,
which afterwards was changed into a sanguinary rallying cry.
In short, she was called Madame Veto.
This name was destined to be borne in revolutionary songs beyond
the banks of the Rhine, to terrify in Germany the subjects and the
friends of those who, having sent to France a German queen, had
some right to be astonished that she was insulted by the name of
the Autrichienne (the Austrian woman).
This name was destined in Paris to accompany, in the insensate
dancing rings, on days of massacre, the last cries, the hideous
agonies of the victinaa
Marie Antoinette was thenceforth called Madame Veto, until the
day when she was to be called the Widow Capet.
She had already changed her name three times. After having
been called the Autrichienne, she was next called Madame Deficit.
After the contests in which the queen had endeavoured to interest
her friends by the imminence of their own danger, she had re-
marked that sixty thousand passports had been applied for at the
Hotel de Ville.
Sixty thousand of the principal families of Paris and of France
had gone off to rejoin in foreign countries the friends and relatives
of the queen.
A very striking example, and one which had forcibly struck the
queen.
And therefore, from that moment she meditated a skilfully con-
certed flight ; a flight supported by armed force should it be neces-
sary ; a flight which had for its object safety, after which the faithful
who remained in France might carry on the civil war that is to
say, chastise the revolutionists.
The plan was not a bad one. It would assuredly have succeeded ;
but behind the queen the evil genius was also watching.
THE FLANDERS REGIMENT. 361
Strange destiny ! that woman, who inspired so many with enthu-
siastic devotedness, could nowhere find discretion.
It was known at Paris that she wished to fly before she had even
persuaded herself to adopt the measure.
Marie Antoinette did not perceive that from the moment her
intention bad become known, her plan had become impracticable.
Howevfer, a regiment, celebrated for its royalist sympathies, the
Flanders regiment arrived at Versailles by forced marches.
This regiment had been demanded by the municipal authorities of
Versailles, who, tormented by the extraordinary guards, and by the
strict watch it was necessary to keep around the palace, incessantly
threatened by fresh demands for distributions of provisions, and
successive disturbances, stood in need of some other military force
than the National Guards and the Militia.
The palace had already quite enough to do to defend itself.
The Flanders regiment arrived as we have said : and that it
should at once assume the importance with which it was intended
to be invested, it was necessary that a brilliant reception should
be given to it, that it might at once attract the attention of the
people.
The Count d'Estaing assembled all the officers of the National
Guard and all those of the corps then present at Versailles and went
out to meet it.
The regiment made a solemn entry into Versailles, with its park
of artillery and its ammunition wagons.
Around this group, which then became central, assembled a
crowd of young gentlemen, who did not belong to any regular
corps.
They adopted a sort of uniform by which they could recognise
each other, and were joined by all the officers unattached, all the
chevaliers of the order of Saint Louis, whom danger or interest had
brought to Versailles.
After this they made excursions to Paris, where were seen these
new enemies, fresh, insolent, and puffed up with a secret which
was sure to escape them as soon as an opportunity should present
itself.
At that moment the king might have escaped. He would have
been supported, protected on his journey, and Paris, perhaps, still
ignorant and ill prepared, would have allowed his departure.
But the evil genius of the Autrichienne was still watching.
Liege revolted against the emperor, and the occupation which
this revolt gave to Austria prevented her from thinking of the queen
of France.
The latter, on her side, thought that in delicacy she must abstain
from asking any aid at such a moment.
Then events, to which impulsion had been given, continued to
rush on with lightning-like rapidity.
36e TAKING THE BAST1LB
After the ovation in honour of the Flanders regiment, the body-
guards decided on giving a dinner to the officers of that regiment.
This banquet, this festivalj was fixed for the 1st of October. Every
important personage in the town was invited to it.
And what then was the object of this banquet ? To fraternize
with the Flanders soldiers. And why should not soldiers fraternize
with each other, since the districts and the provinces fraternize ?
Was it forbidden by the constitution that gentlemen should
fraternize !
The king was still the master of his regiments, and he alone
commanded them ; the palace ef Versailles was his own pro-
perty ; he alone had a right to receive into it whomsoever he might
please.
And why should he not receive brave soldiers and worthy gentle-
men within it, men who had just come from Douai, where they had
behaved -well.
N6thing could be more natural. No one thought of being asto-
nished, and still less of being alarmed at it.
This repast, to be taken thus in union, was about to cement the
affection which ought always to subsist between all the corps of a
French army, destined to defend both liberty and royalty.
Besides, did the king even know what had been agreed upon ?
Since the events of Paris, the king, free, thanks to his concessions,
no longer occupied himself with public matters ; the burden of
affairs had been taken from him. He desired to reign no longer,
since others reigned for him, but he did not think that he ought to
weary himself by doing nothing all day long.
The king, while the gentlemen of the National Assembly were
fraudulently cutting and contriving the king amused himself by
hunting.
The king, while the nobility and the reverend bishops were
abandoning, on the 4th of August, their dovecots and their feudal
rights, their pigeons and their parchments the king, who was very
willing, as all the world were doing it, to make some sacrifices,
abolished all his hunting train, but he did not cease to hunt on
that account.
Now, the king, while the officers of the Flanders regiment were
to be dining with his body-guards, would be enjoying the pleasures
of the chase, as he did every day ; the tables would be cleared
away before his return.
This would even inconvenience him so little, and he would so little
inconvenience the banquet in question, that he was resolved to ask
the queen to allow the festival to be given within the walls of the
palace itself.
The queen saw no reason for refusing this hospitality to the
Flanders soldiers.
She gave them the theatre for their banquet-room, in which she
THE FLANDERS REGIMENT. 363
allowed them for that day to construct a flooring even with the stage,
that there might be ample space for the guards and their guests.
When a queen wishes to be hospitable to French gentlemen, she
is so to the full extent of her power. This was their dining-room,
but they also required a drawing-room ; the queen allowed them to
use the saloon of Hercules.
On a Thursday, the ist of October, as we have already said, this
feast was given, which was destined to fill so fatal a page in the
history of the blindness and improvidence of royalty.
The king had gone out hunting.
The queen was shut up in her own apartments, sorrowful and
pensive, and determined not to hear either the ringing of the glasses
when the officers gave their toasts, or the sound of their enthusiastic
cheers.
Her son was in her arms ; Andre*e was with her ; two women
were at work in one corner of the room ; those were the only persons
with her.
The brilliantly attired officers, with their waving plumes and
bright gleaming arms, by degrees entered the palace ; their horses
neighed before the grated gates of the royal stables, their clarions
sounded as they approached, and the bands of the Flanders regiment
and the guards filled the air with harmonious sounds.
Outside the gilded railings of the court-yard of the palace was a
pale inquisitive crowd, gloomily anxious, watching, analysing, and
commenting on the joyous festival within, and the airs played by
the military bands.
In gusts, like the squalls of a distant tempest, there exhaled from
the open portals of the palace the sounds of merriment with the
odours of the savoury viands.
It was very imprudent to allow this crowd of starving people to
inhale the odours of the good cheer and wine to allow these morose
people to hear these sounds of jovial festivity.
The festival was however continued, without anything disturbing
its conviviality ; for a time, all was conducted with sobriety and
order ; the officers, full of respect for the uniform they wore, at first
conversed in an under tone, and drank moderately ; during the
first half hour, the programme which had been agreed upon was
strictly adhered to.
The second course was put on the table.
Monsieur de Lusignan, the Colonel of the Flanders regiment, rose
and proposed four toasts. They were to the health of the king, the
queen, the dauphin, and the royal family.
Four shouts of applause re-echoed from the vaulted rofs, and
struck the ears of the sorrowful spectators outside the palace.
An officer rose perhaps he was a man of judgment and of
courage a man of sound good sense, who foresaw the issue of all
this a man sincerely attached to that royal family to whom he had
just drank so noisily.
364 TAKING THE BASTILE.
This man comprehended that among these toasts there was one
which was omitted, which probably might present itself to their
attention.
He therefore proposed this toast, ' The Nation.'
A long murmur preceded a long shout.
' No, no,' cried every person present except the proposer of the
toast.
And the toast to the nation was contemptuously rejected.
The festival had just assumed its real character, the torrent had
formed its real course.
It has been said, and it is still repeated, that the person who
proposed this toast was but an instigator of an opposing manifesta-
tion.
However this might be, his words produced an untoward effect.
To forget the nation might have been but a trifle, but to insult
it was too much. It avenged itself.
As from this moment the ice was broken, as to the reserved silence
succeeded boisterous cries and excited conversation, discipline
became but a chimerical modesty ; the dragoons, the grenadiers,
the ' hundred Swiss ' were sent for, and even all the private soldiers
in the palace.
The wine was pushed round quickly ; ten times were the glasses
filled : when the dessert was brought in, it was absolutely pillaged.
Intoxication became general, the soldiers forgot that they were
drinking with their officers ; it was in reality a fraternal festival.
From all parts were heard shouts of Long live the king !
long live the queen !' So many flowers, so many lights, illuminating
the brilliantly gilded arches, so many loyal lightnings darting from
the eyes of these brave men, was a spectacle which would have been
grateful to the eyes of the queen, and reassuring to those of the
king.
This so unfortunate king, this so sorrowful queen, why were they
not present at such a festival ?
Some officious partisans withdrew from the dining-room, and ran
to Marie Antoinette's apartments, and related, exaggerated to her,
what they had seen.
Then the sorrowing eyes of the queen become reanimated, and
she rises from her chair. There is, then, some loyalty left, some
affection in French hearts !
There is therefore something still to hope!
At the doors were soon assembled a crowd of courtiers ; they en-
treat, they conjure the queen to pay a visit, merely to show herself
for a moment in the festive hall, where two thousand enthusiastic
subjects are consecrating, by their hurrahs, the religion of monarchi-
cal principles.
' The king is absent,' she sorrowfully replied. ' I cannot go there
alone.'
THE FLANDERS REGIMENT. 365
' But with monseigneur the dauphin,' said some imprudent per.
sons who still insisted on her going.
' Madame ! madame !' whispered a voice into her ear, ' remain
here ; I conjure you to remain.'
The queen turned round it was the Count de Charny.
' What !' cried she ; ' are you not below with all those gentle-
men ?'
' I was there, madame, but have returned. The excitement down
yonder is so great, that it may prejudice your majesty's interests
more than may be imagined.'
Marie Antoinette was in one of her sullen, her capricious days,
with regard to Charny. It pleased her on that day to do precisely
the contrary of everything that might have been agreeable to the
count .
She darted at him a disdainful look, and was about to address
some disobliging words to him, when, preventing her by a success-
ful gesture :
' For mercy's sake, madame,' added he, ' at least await the king's
advice.'
He thought by this to gain time.
' The king ! the king !' exclaimed several voices ; ' the king has
just returned from hunting.'
And this was the fact.
Marie Antoinette rises and runs to meet the king, who, still booted
and covered with dust, entered the room.
' Sire,' cried she, ' there is below a spectacle worthy of the King of
France ! Come with me come with me !'
And she took the king's arm and dragged him away without
looking at Charny, who dug his nails with anger into his breast.
Leading her son with her left hand, she descended the staircase.
A whole flood of courtiers preceded or urged her on. She reaches
the door of the theatre at the moment when, for the twentieth time,
the glasses were being emptied with shouts of ' Long live the king!
long live the queen !'
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE BANQUET GIVEN BY THE GUARDS.
AT the moment when the queen appeared with the king and their
son on the stage of the opera, an immense acclamation, as sudden
and as loud as the explosion of a mine, was heard from the banquet-
ing table and boxes.
The inebriated soldiers, the officers delirious with wine and en-
thusiasm, waving their hats and sabres above their heads, shouted,
' Long live the king ! long live the queen ! long live the dauphin "
The bands immediately played, ' Oh, Richard! oh, my king f
The allusion of this air had become so apparent, it so well ex-
^66 TAKING THE BASTILE.
pressed the thoughts of all present, it so faithfully translated the
meaning of this banquet, that all, as soon as the air began, imme-
diately sang the words.
The queen, in her enthusiasm, forgot that she was in the midttt of
inebriated men ; and king, though surprised, felt, with his accus-
tomed sound sense, that it was no place for him, and that it was
going beyond his conscientious feelings ; but weak, and flattered at
once more finding a popularity and zeal which he was no longer
habituated to meet from his people, he, by degrees, allowed himself
to be carried away by the general hilarity.
Charny, who during the whole festival had drank nothing but
water, followed the king and queen ; he had hoped that all would
have terminated without their being present, and then it would have
been but of slight importance ; they might have disavowed, have
denied everything ; but he turned pale at the thought that the pre-
sence of the king and queen would become an historical fact.
But his terror was increased greatly when he saw his brother
George approach the queen, and, encouraged by her smile, address
some words to her.
He was not near enough to hear the words, but by his gestures he
could comprehend that he was making some request.
To this request the queen made a sign of assent ; and suddenly
taking from her cap the cockade she wore upon it, gave it to the
young man.
Charny shuddered, stretched forth his arms, and uttered a cry.
It was not even the white cockade, the French cockade, which
the queen presented to her imprudent knight ; it was the black
cockade, the Austrian cockade, the cockade which was so hateful to
French eyes.
What the queen then did was no longer a mere imprudence ; it
was an act of absolute treason.
And yet all these poor fanatics, whom God had doomed to ruin, were
so insensate that, when George Charny presented to them this black
cockade, those who wore the white cockade threw it from them ;
those who had the tricoloured one trampled it beneath their feet.
And then the excitement became so great, that, unless they had
wished to be stifled with their kisses, or to trample under foot those
who threw themselves on their knees before them, the august hosts
of the Flanders regiment felt obliged to retreat towards their apart-
ments.
All this might have been considered as a sample of French folly,
which the French are always ready enough to pardon, if these
orgies had not gone beyond the point of enthusiasm ; but they soon
went much farther.
Good royalists, when eulogising the king, must necessarily some-
what ill-treat the nation :
That nation, in whose name so much vexation had been offered
to the king, that the bands had undoubtedly the right to play :
THE BANQUET GIVEN BY THE GUARDS. 36*
' Peut on affliger ce qu'on aime ?'
1 Can we afflict those whom we love ?*
It was while this air was being played that the king, the queen,
and the dauphin withdrew.
They had scarcely left the theatre when, exciting each other, the
boon companions metamorphosed the banqueting-room into a town
taken by assault.
Upon a signal given by M. Perseval, aide-de-camp to the Count
d'Estaing, the trumpets sounded a charge.
A charge, and against whom ? Against the absent enemy.
Against the people !
A charge ! music so enchanting to French ears that it had the
effect of transforming the stage of the opera-house at Versailles into
a battle-field, and the lovely ladies who were gazing from the boxes
at the brillfant spectacle were the enemy.
The cry ' To the assault !' was uttered by a hundred voices, and the
escalade of the Boxes immediately commenced. It is true that the
besiegers were in a humour which inspired so little terror, that the
besieged held out their hands to them.
The first who reached the balcony was a grenadier in the Flanders
regiment : M. de Perseval tore a cross from his own breast and
decorated the grenadier with it.
It is true that it was a Limbourg cross, one of those crosses which
are scarcely considered crosses.
And all this was done under the Austrian colours, with loud voci-
ferations against the national cockade.
Here and there some hollow and sinister sounds were uttered.
But, drowned by the howling of the singers, by the hurrahs
of the besiegers, by the inspiring sounds of the trumpets, these
noises were borne with threatening import to the ears of the
people, who were, in the first place, astonished, and then became
indignant.
It was soon known outside the palace, in the square, and afterwards
in the streets, that the black cockade had been substituted for the
white one, and that the tricoloured cockade had been trampled under
foot. It was also known that a brave officer of the National Guard,
who had, in spite of threats, retained his tricoloured cockade, had
been seriously wounded even in the king's apartments.
Then, it was vaguely rumoured that one officer alone had remained
motionless, sorrowful, and standing at the entrance '/ '! at immense
banqueting-room converted into a circus, whereir, ai chese madmen
had been playing their insensate pranks, anc' had looked on.
listened to, and had shown himself, loyal and intrepid soldier as he
was, submissive to the all-powerful will of the majority, taking upon
himself the faults of others, accepting the responsibility of all the
excesses committed by the army, represented on that fatal day by
the officers of the Flanders regiment ; but the name of this man.
368 TAKING THE BASTILE.
wise and alone amid so many madmen, was not even pronounced ;
and had it been, it would never have been believed that the Count
de Charny, the queen's favourite, was the man, who, although ready
to die for her, had suffered more painfully than any other from the
errors she had committed.
As to the queen, she had returned to her own apartments, com-
pletely giddy from the magic of the scene.
She was soon assailed by a throng of courtiers and flatterers.
' See,' said they to her, ' what is the real feeling of your troops ;
judge from this, whether the popular fury for anarchical ideas, which
has been so much spoken of, could withstand the ferocious ardour
of French soldiers for monarchical ideas.' And as all these words
corresponded with the secret desires of the queen, she allowed her-
self to be led away by these chimeras, not perceiving that Charny
had remained at a distance from her.
By degrees, however, the noises ceased ; the slumber of the mind
extinguished all the ignis-fatui, the phantasmagoria of intoxication.
The king, besides, paid a visit to the queen at the moment she was
about to retire, and let fall these words, replete with profound
wisdom,
' We shall see to-morrow.'
The imprudent man ! by this saying, which to any other person
but the one to whom it was addressed, would have been a warning
and sage counsel, he had revivified in the queen's mind feelings of
provocation and resistance which had almost subsided.
' In fact,' murmured she, when the king had left her. ' this flame,
which was confined to the palace this evening, will spread itself in
Versailles during the night, and to-morrow will produce a general
conflagration throughout France. All these soldiers, all these
officers who have this evening given me such fervent pledges of
their devotedness, will be called traitors, rebels to the nation, mur-
derers of their country. They will call the chiefs of these aristo-
crats, the subalterns of the stipendiaries of Pitt and Cobourg, satel-
lites of the barbarous powers of the savages of the north.
' Each of these heads which has worn the black cockade will be
doomed to be fixed to the lamp-post on the Place de Greve.
' Each of those breasts from which so loyally escaped those
shouts of " Long live the Queen !" will, on the first popular commo-
tion, be pierced with ignoble knives and infamous pikes.
1 And it is I, again I, always I, who have been the cause of all
this ! I shall have condemned to death all these brave and faith-
ful servants I, the inviolable sovereign. They are hypocritically
left unassailed when near me, but when away from me will be in-
sulted from hatred.
' Oh ! no ; rather than be ungrateful to such a degree as that,
towards my only, my last friends rather than be so cowardly and
so heartless, I will take the fault upon myself. It is for me that all
FffE BANQUET GIVEN BY THE GUARDS. 369
this has been done ; upon me let all their anger fall. We shall
then see how far their anger will be carried we shall see up to
which step of my throne the impure tide will dare to ascend.'
And to the queen, animated by these thoughts, which drove sleep
from her pillow, and on which she meditated during the greater
part of the night, the result of the events of the next day was no
longer doubtful.
The next day came, clouded over with gloomy regrets, and ushered
in by threatening murmurs.
On that day the National Guards, to whom the queen had pre-
sented their colours, came to the palace with heads cast down and
averted eyes, to thank her majesty.
It was easy to divine, from the attitude of these men, that they
did not approve what had occurred ; but, on the contrary, that they
would have loudly disapproved it had they dared.
They had formed part of the procession, and had gone out to
form part of the Flanders regiment ; they had received invitations
to the banquet, and had accepted them. Only, being more citizens
than soldiers, it was they who during the debauch had uttered those
disapproving groans which had not been heeded.
These observations on the following day had become a reproach,
a blame.
When they came to the palace to thank the queen, they were
escorted by a great crowd.
And taking into consideration the serious nature of the circum-
stances, the ceremony became an imposing one.
The parties on both sides were aboul: to discover with whom they
would have to deal.
On their side, all those soldiers and officers who had so compro-
mised themselves the evening before, were anxious to ascertain how
far they would be supported by the queen in their imprudent de-
monstrations, and had placed themselves before that people whom
they had scandalized and insulted, that they might hear the first
official words which should be uttered from the palace.
The weight of the whole counter-revolution was then hanging
suspended over the head of the queen.
It was, however, still within her power to have withdrawn from
this responsibility.
But she, proud as the proudest of her race, with great firmness
cast her clear and penetrating gaze all around her, whether friends or
enemies, and addressing herself in a sonorous voice to the officers
of the National Guards :
' Gentlemen,' said she, ' I am much pleased at having presented
you with your colours. The nation and the army ought to love the
king as we love the nation and the army. / was delighted with the
events of yesterday}
Upon these words which she emphasized in her firmest tone of
370 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
voice, a murmur arose from the crowd, and loud applause re-echoed
from the military ranks.
' We are supported,' said the latter.
' We are betrayed,' said the former.
Thus, poor queen, that fatal evening of the ist of October was
not an accidental matter ; thus, unfortunate woman, you do not
regret the occurrences of yesterday you do not repent.
And so far from repenting, you are delighted with them.
Charny, who was in the centre of a group, heard with a sigh of
extreme pain this justification nay, more than that, this glorifica-
tion of the orgies of the king's guards.
The queen, on turning away her eyes from the crowd, met those
of the count, and she fixed her looks on the countenance of her
lover in order to ascertain the impression her words had produced
upon him.
' Am I not courageous ?* was the import of this look.
' Alas ! madame, you are far more mad than courageous,' replied
the gloomy countenance of the count
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE WOMEN BEGIN TO STIR.
AT Versailles the court was talking heroically against the people.
At Paris, they were becoming knight-errants against the court
alone : knight-errantry was running about the streets.
These knights of the people were wandering about in rags, their
hands upon the hilt of a sabre or the butt-end of a pistol, ques-
tioning their empty pockets or their hollow stomachs.
While at Versailles they drank too much, at Paris, alas ! they
did not eat enough.
There was too much wine on the table-cloths of Versailles.
Not sufficient flour in the bakers' shops at Paris.
Strange circumstances ! a melancholy blindness, which now that
we are accustomed to the fall of thrones, will excite a smile of pity
from political men.
To make a counter revolution, and provoke to a combat people
who are starving !
AJas ! will say History, compelled to become a materialist philo-
sopher, no people ever fight so desperately as those who have not
dined.
It would however have been very easy to have given bread to the
people, and then, most assuredly, the bread of Versailles would have
appeared less bitter.
But the flour of Corbeil ceased to arrive. Corbeil is so far from
Versailles : who then, living with the king and queen, could have
thought of Corbeil ?
Unhappily, from this forgetfulness of the court, Famine, that
THE WOMEN BEGIN TO STIR. 371
spectre which sleeps with so much difficulty, but which so easily
awakens Famine had descended, pale and agitated, into the streets
of Paris. She listens at all the corners of the streets ; she recruits
her train of vagabonds and malefactors ; she glues her livid face
against the windows of the rich and of the public functionaries.
The men remember those commotions which had cost so much
blood ; they recall to mind the Bastile ; they recollect Foulon, Ber-
thier, and Flesselles ; they fear to have the opprobrious name of
assassins again attached to them, and they wait.
But the .women, who have as yet done nothing but suffer ! When
women suffer, the suffering is triple : for the child, who cries and
who is unjust, because it has not a consciousness of the cause for
the child who says to its mother, ' Why do you not give me bread ?
for the husband, who, gloomy and taciturn, leaves the house in
the morning to return to it in the evening still more gloomy and
taciturn ; and finally, for herself, the painful echo of conjugal and
maternal sufferings. The women burn to do something in their
turn ; they wish to serve their country in their own way.
Besides, was it not a woman who brought about the ist of October
at Versailles ?
It was therefore for the women, in their turn, to bring about the
5th of October at Paris.
Gilbert and Billot were sitting in the Cafd de Foy, in the Palais
Royal. It was at the Cafd de Foy that motions were proposed.
Suddenly the door of the coffee-house is thrown open, and a woman
enters it much agitated. She denounces the black and white cockades
which from Versailles have invaded Paris ; she proclaims the public
danger.
It will be remembered that Charny had said to the queen,
' Madame, there will be really much to apprehend when the women
begin to stir themselves.'
This was also the opinion of Gilbert.
Therefore, on seeing that the women were actually bestirring
themselves, he turned to Billot, uttering only these five words :
' To the H&el de Ville !'
Since the conversation which had taken place between Billot,
Gilbert, and Pitou and in consequence of which Pitou had re-
turned to Villers-Cotterets, with young Sebastian Gilbert Billot
obeyed Gilbert upon a single word, a gesture, a sign, for he had
fully comprehended that if he was strength, Gilbert was intelli-
gence.
They both rushed out of the coffee-house, crossed the garden of
the Palais Royal diagonally, and then through the Cour des Fon-
taines reached the Rue St. Honore".
When they were near the corn-market, they met a young girl
coming out of the Rue Bourdonnais, who was beating a drum.
* A celebrated coffee-house.
372 TAKING THE B-ASTJLE.
Gilbert stopped astonished.
* What can this mean ?' said he.
' Zounds ! doctor, don't you see,' said Billot, ' it is a pretty girl
who is beating a drum and really, not badly, on my faith.'
' She must have lost something,' said a passer-by.
' She is very pale,' rejoined Billot.
' Ask her what she wants,' said Gilbert.
' Ho ! my pretty girl !' cried Billot, ' what are you beating that
drum for ?
' 1 am hungry,' she replied, in a weak but shrill voice.
And she continued on her way beating the drum.
Gilbert had waited.
' Oh ! oh !' cried he, ' this is becoming terrible.'
And he looked more attentively at the women who were following
the young girl with the drum.
They were haggard, staggering, despairing.
Among these women there were some who had not tasted food
for thirty hours.
From among these women, every now and then, would break
forth a cry which was threatening even from its very feebleness,
for it could be divined that it issued from famished mouths.
' To Versailles !' they cried, ' to Versailles !'
And on their way, they made signs to all the women whom they
perceived in the houses, and they called to all the women who were
at their windows.
A carriage drove by ; two ladies were in that carriage : they put
their heads out of the windows and began to laugh.
The escort of the drum-beater stopped. About twenty women
seized the horses, and then, rushing to the coach doors, made the
two ladies alight and join their group, in spite of their recrimina-
tions and a resistance which two or three hard knocks on the head
soon terminated.
Behind these women, who proceeded but slowly, on account of
their stopping to recruit as they went along, walked a man with
his hands in his pockets.
This man, whose face was thin and pale, of tall, lank stature, was
dressed in an iron-grey coat, black waistcoat and small-clothes : he
wore a small shabby three-cornered hat, placed obliquely over his
forehead.
A long sword beat against his thin, but muscular, legs.
He followed, looking, listening, devouring everything with his
piercing eyes, which rolled beneath his black eye-lids.
' Hey ! why, yes,' cried Billot, ' I certainly know that face, I have
seen it at every riot.'
' It is Maillard, the usher,' said Gilbert.
1 Ah ! yes, that's he the man who walked over the plank after
me at the Bastile ; he was more skilful than I was, for he did not
fell into the ditch.'
THE WOMEN BEGIN TO STIR, 373
Halliard disappeared with the women at the corner of a street.
Billot felt a great desire to do as Maillard had done, but Gilbert
dragged him on to the H6tel de Ville.
It was very certain that the gathering would go there, whether it
was a gathering of men or of women. Instead of following the
course of the river, he went straight to its mouth.
They knew at the Hotel de Ville what was going on in Paris.
But they scarcely noticed it. Of what importance was it, in fact,
to the phlegmatic Bailly or to the aristocrat Lafayette, that a woman
had taken it into her head to beat a drum? It was anticipating the
carnival, and that was all.
But when, at the heels of this woman who was beating the drum,
they saw two or three thousand women when, at the sides of this
crowd which was increasing every minute, they saw advancing a
no less considerable troop of men, smiling in a sinister manner,
and carrying their hideous weapons when they understood that
these men were smiling at the anticipation of the evil which these
women were about to commit, an evil the more irremediable from
their knowing that the public forces would not attempt to stop the
evil before it was committed, and that the legal powers would not
punish afterwards, they began to comprehend the serious nature of
the circumstances.
These men smiled because the ill they had not dared to commit,
they would gladly have seen committed by the most inoffensive half
of the human kind.
In about half an hour, there were ten thousand women assembled
on the Place de Greve.
These ladies, seeing that their numbers were sufficient, began to
deliberate with their arms akimbo.
The deliberation was by no means a calm one ; those who de-
liberated were for the most part porteresses, market women, and
prostitutes. Many of these women were royalists, and far from
thinking of doing any harm to the king and queen, would have
allowed themselves to be killed to serve them. The noise which
was made by this strange discussion might have been heard across
the river, and by the silent towers of Notre-Dame, which, after
seeing so many things, were preparing themselves to hear things
still more curious.
The result of the deliberation was as follows :
' Let us just go and burn the Hotel de Ville, where so many
musty papers are made out to prevent our eating our daily food.'
And in the Hotel de Ville they were at that moment trying a
baker who had sold bread to the poor under weight.
It will be easy comprehended, that the dearer bread is the better
is every operation of this nature ; only the more lucrative it is, the
more dangerous.
In consequence, the admirers of lamp-justice were only waiting
for the baker with a new rope.
374 TAKING THE BASTILE.
The guards of the H&tel de Ville wished to save the unhappy
culprit, and used all their strength to effect it. But for some time
past it has been seen that the result but ill-accorded with these
philanthropic intentions.
The women rushed on these guards, dispersed them, made a
forcible entry into the Hotel de Ville, and the sack began.
They wished to throw into the Seine all they could not carry
away.
The men were, therefore, to be cast into the water the building
itself set fire to.
This was rather heavy work.
There was a little of everything in the H6tel de Ville.
In the first place there were three hundred electors.
There were also the assistants.
There were the mayors of the different districts.
' It would take a long time to throw all these men into the water,'
said a woman who was in a hurry to conclude the affair.
' They deserve it richly, notwithstanding,' observed another.
' Yes ; but we have no time to spare.'
' Well, then,' cried another, ' the quickest way will be to burn
them all, and everything with them.'
They ran about looking for torches, and to get faggots to set fire
to the municipality. While this was doing, in order not to lose
time, they caught an abbe", the Abb Lefevre Dormesson, and
strung him up.
Fortunately for the abbe", the man in the grey coat was there ; he
cut the rope, and the poor abb fell from a height of seventeen feet,
sprained one of his feet, and limped away amidst shouts of laughte
from these Megaeras.
The reason for the abb being allowed to get away was that the
torches were lighted, and the incendiaries had already these torches
in their hands, and they were about to set fire to the archives ; in
two minutes the whole place would have been in a blaze.
Suddenly the man in the grey coat rushed forward and snatched
torches and faggots out of the women's hands the women resisted
the man lays about him right and left with the lighted torches,
setting fire to their petticoats, and while they were occupied in ex-
tinguishing it, he extinguished the papers which had already been
ignited.
Who, then, is this man who thus opposes the frightful will of ten
thousand furious creatures ?
Why, then, do they allow themselves to be governed by this
man ? They had half hanged the Abb6 Lefevre ; they could hang
that man more effectually, seeing that he would be no longer there
to prevent them from hanging whom they pleased.
Guided by this reasoning, a frantic chorus arose from them,
threatening him with death, and to these threats deeds were
added.
THE WOMEN BEGIN TO STIR 375
Tne woman surrounded the man with the grey coat, and threw a
rope round his neck.
But Billot hastened forward. Billot was determined to render
the same service to Maillard which Maillard had rendered the
abbe.
He grasped the rope, which he cut into three pieces, with a well-
tempered and sharp knife, which at that moment served its owner
to cut a rope, but which ifl an extremity, wielded as it was by a
powerful arm, might serve him still more importantly.
And while cutting the rope and getting piece by piece of it as he
could, Billot cried,
'Why, you unfortunate wretches, you do not then recognize
Monsieur Maillard ?
At that well-known and redoubtable name all these women at
once paused ; they looked at each other, and wiped the perspiration
from their brows.
The work had been a difficult one, and although they were in
he month of October, they might well perspire in accomplish-
ing it.
' A conqueror of the Bastile ! and that conqueror Maillard !
Maillard, the usher of the Chatelet ! Long live Maillard !'
Threats were immediately turned into caresses ; they embrace
Maillard, and all cry, ' Long live Maillard !'
Maillard exchanged a hearty shake of the hand and a look with
Billot.
The shake of the hand implied, ' We are friends !'
The look implied, ' Should you ever stand in need of me, you
may calculate upon me.'
Maillard had resumed an influence over these women, which
was so much the greater from their reflecting that they had com-
mitted some trifling wrong towards him, and which he had to
pardon.
But Maillard was an old sailor on the sea of popular fury ; he
knew the ocean of the Faubourgs, which is raised by a breath, and
calmed again by a word.
He knew how to speak to these human waves, when they allow
you time enough to speak.
Moreover, the moment was auspicious for being heard. They
had all remained silent around Maillard.
Maillard would not allow that Parisian women should destroy
the municipal authorities, the only power to protect them ; he would
not allow them to annihilate the civic registers, which proved that
their children were not all, bastards.
The harangue of Maillard was of so novel a nature, and delivered
in so loud and sarcastic a tone, that it produced a great effect.
No one should be killed nothing should be burnt.
But tney insist on going to Versailles. It is there that exists the
376 TAKING THE BASTILE.
evil. It is there that they pass their nights in orgies, while Paris is
starving. It is Versailles that devours everything. Corn and flour
are deficient in Paris, because, instead of coming to Paris, they are
sent direct from Corbeil to Versailles.
It would not be thus if the great baker, the baker's wife, and the
baker's little boy were at Paris.
It was under these nicknames that they designated the king, the
queen, and the dauphin those natural distributors of the people's
bread.
They would go to Versailles.
Since these women are organised into troops, since they have
muskets, cannon, and gunpowder and those who have nqt/nuskets
nor gunpowder have pikes and pitchforks they ought to have a
general.
' And why not ? the National Guard has one.'
Lafayette is the general of the men.
Maillard is the general of the women.
M. Lafayette commands his do-little grenadiers, which appear to
be an army of reserve, for they do so little when there is so much
to be done.
Maillard will command the active army.
Without a smile, without a wink, Maillard accepts his appoint-
ment.
Maillard is general commandant of the women of Paris.
The campaign will not be a long one ; but it will be decisive.
CHAPTER XLIX.
MAILLARD A GENERAL.
IT was really an army that Maillard commanded.
It had cannon deprived of carriages and wheels, it is true ; but
they had been placed on carts. It had muskets many of which
were deficient in locks and triggers, it is true ; but every one had a
bayonet.
It had a quantity of other weapons very awkward ones, it is
true ; but they were weapons.
It had gunpowder, which was carried in pocket-handkerchiefs, in
caps, and in pockets ; and in the midst of these living cartouche-
boxes walked the artillerymen with their lighted matches.
That the whole army was not blown into the air during this ex-
traordinary journey, was certainly a perfect miracle.
Maillard at one glance appreciated the feelings of his army. He
saw that it would be of no use to keep it on the square where it had
assembled, nor to confine it within the walls of Paris, but to lead it
on to Versailles, and once arrived there, to prevent the harm which
it might attempt to do.
MAILLARD A GENERAL. 377
This difficult, this heroic task, Maillard was determined to ac-
complish.
And, in consequence, Maillard descends the steps and takes the
drum which was hanging from the shoulders of the young girl.
Dying with hunger, the poor young girl has no longer strength
to carry it. She gives up the drum, glides along a wall, and falls
with her head against a post.
A gloomy pillow the pillow of hunger.
Maillard asks her name. She replies that it is Madeleine Cham-
bry. Her occupation had been carving in wood for churches. But
who now thinks of endowing churches with those beautiful orna-
ments in wood, those beautiful statues, those magnificent basso-
relievos, the master-pieces of the fifteenth century ?
Dying with hunger, she had become a flower-girl in the Palais-
Royal.
But who thinks of purchasing flowers when money is wanting to
buy even bread ? Flowers, those stars which shine in the heaven of
peace and abundance flowers are withered by storms of wind and
revolutions.
Being no longer able to sculpture her fruits in oak being no
longer able to sell her roses, her jessamines, and lilacs, Madeleine
Chambry took a drum, and beat the terrible reveille of hunger.
She also must go to Versailles she who had assembled all this
gloomy deputation ; only, as she is too feeble to walk, she is to be
carried there in a cart.
When they arrive at Versailles, they will ask that she may be ad-
mitted into the palace, with twelve other women ; she is to be the
famished orator, and she will there plead before the king the cause
of all those that are starving.
This idea of Maillard's was much applauded.
And thus by a word Maillard had at once changed every hostile
feeling.
They did not before this know why they were going there ; they
did not know what they were going to do there.
But now they know ; they know that a deputation of twelve
women, with Madeleine Chambry at their head, are going to sup-
plicate the king, in the name of hunger, to take compassion on
his people.
Somewhere about seven thousand women were there assembled.
They commence their march, going along the quays.
But on arriving at the Tuileries, loud shouts were heard.
Maillard jumped upon a post in order to be seen by the whole of
his army.
' What is it that you want ?' he asked them.
' We wish to pass through the Tuileries.'
' That is impossible,' replied Maillard.
' And why is it impossible ?' cried sev^i thousand voices.
25
3? TAKING THE BASTfLE.
' Because the Tuileries is the king's house and the king's gardens;
because to pass through them without the king's permission, would
be to insult the king and more than that, it would be attacking, in
the king's person, the liberty of all.'
' Well, then, be it so,' say the women ; ' ask permission of the
Swiss.'
Maillard went to the Swiss, his cocked hat in his hand.
' My friend,' said he, ' will you allow these ladies to go through
the Tuileries ? They will only go through the archway, and will not
do any injury to the plants or trees.'
The only answer the Swiss gave was to draw his long rapier, and
to rush upon Maillard.
Maillard drew his sword, which was full a foot shorter, and their
weapons crossed.
While they were tilting at each other, a woman went behind
the Swiss, and gave him a fearful blow upon the head with a broom
handle, and laid him at Maillard's feet.
At the same time another woman was about to run the Swiss
through the body with a thrust of her bayonet.
Maillard sheathes his sword, takes that of the Swiss under one
arm, the musket of the woman under the other, picks up his hat,
which had fallen to the ground during the struggle, puts it upon his
head, and then leads his victorious troops through the Tuileries,
where, in fulfilment of the promise he had made, no sort of damage
was committed by them.
Let us, therefore, allow them to continue their way quietly
through the Cours la Reine, and go on towards Sevres, where they
separated into two bands, and let us return to what was going on
at Paris.
These seven thousand women had not failed in drowning the elec-
tors, in hanging the Abbe" Lefevre and Maillard, and burning the
Hotel de Ville, without making a certain degree of noise.
On hearing this noise, which had been re-echoed even in the most
remote quarters of the capital, Lafayette had hastened towards the
H6tel de Ville.
He was passing a sort of review at the Champ de Mars. He
had been on horseback from eight o'clock in the morning : he
reached the square of the Hotel de Ville just as the clock was
striking twelve.
The caricatures of those days represented Lafayette as a centaur,
the body of which was the famous white horse which had become
proverbial. The head was that of the commandant of the National
Guard.
From the commencement of the revolution, Lafayette spoke on
horseback, Lafayette eat on horseback, Lafayette gave all his orders
on horseback.
* The porter, or gate-keeper.
MAILLARD A GENERAL, 379
It often even happened that he slept on horseback.
And therefore when by chance he could sleep on his bed, Lafayette
slept soundly.
When Lafayette reached the Quay Pelletier, he was stopped by
a man who had been riding at full gallop on a swift horse.
This man was Gilbert ; he was going to Versailles he was going
to forewarn the king of the visit with which he was threatened, and
to place himself at his orders.
In two words he related all that had happened to Lafayette.
After that he rode off again at full speed.
Lafayette went on towards the Hotel de Ville.
Gilbert towards Versailles. Only, as the women were going on
the right bank of the Seine, he took the left side of the river.
The square before the Hotel de Ville having been vacated by the
women, was soon afterwards filled with men.
These men were National Guards, receiving pay or not receiving
it old French guards, above all, who, having gone over to the
people, had lost their privileges of king's guards privileges which
had been inherited by the Swiss and the body-guards.
To the noise made by the women had succeeded the noise of the
alarm-bell and the drums, calling the people to arms.
Lafayette made his way through the crowd, alighted from his
horse at the foot of the steps, and without paying any attention to
the acclamations, mingled with threats, excited by his presence, he
began to dictate a letter to the king upon the insurrection which had
taken place that morning.
He had got to the sixth line of his letter, when the door of the
secretary's office was violently thrown open.
Lafayette raised his eyes. A deputation of grenadiers demanded
to be received by the general.
Lafayette made a sign to the deputation that they might come in.
They entered the room.
The grenadier who had been appointed spokesman of the depu-
tation advanced to the table.
' General,' said he, in a firm voice, ' we are deputed by ten com-
panies of grenadiers. We do not believe that you are a traitor ; but
we are betrayed. It is time that all this should come to an end.
We cannot turn our bayonets against women who are asking us for
bread. The Provisioning Committee is either peculating, or it is
incompetent ; in either the one or the other case, it is necessary that
it should be changed. The people are unhappy, the source of their
unhappiness is at Versailles. It is necessary to go there to fetch
the king and bring him to Paris. The Flanders regiment must be
exterminated, as well as the body-guards, who have dared to trample
under foot the national cockade. If the king be too weak to wear the
crown, let him abdicate ; we will crown his son. A council of re-
gency will be nominated, and all will then go well.'
380 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Lafayette gazed at the speaker with astonishment. He had wit-
nessed disturbances he had wept over assassinations but this was
the first time that the breath of revolution had in reality been per-
sonally addressed to him.
This possibility that the people saw of being able to do without
the king amazed him it did more, it confounded him.
' How is this,' cried he ; 'have you, then, formed the project of
making war upon the king, and thus compel him to abandon us ?'
' General,' replied the spokesman, ' we love and we respect
the king ; we should be much hurt should he leave us ; for we
owe him much. But, in short, should he leave us, we have the
dauphin.'
' Gentlemen ! gentlemen !' cried Lafayette, ' beware of what you
are doing ; you are attacking the crown, and it is my duty not to
allow such a step !'
' General/ replied the National Guard, bowing, ' we would for you
shed the last drop of our blood. But the people are unhappy ; the
source of the evil is at Versailles. We must go to Versailles and
bring the king to Paris. It is the people's will.'
Lafayette saw that it was necessary to sacrifice his own feelings ;
and this was a necessity from which he never shrank.
He descends into the centre of the square, and wishes to harangue
the people ; but cries of ' To Versailles ! To Versailles f drowned
his voice.
Suddenly a great tumult was heard proceeding from the Rue de
la Vannerie. It is Bailly, who in his turn is coming to the Hotel de
Ville.
At the sight of Bailly, cries of ' Bread ! Bread! To Versailles r
burst from every side.
Lafayette, on foot, lost amid the crowd, feels that the tide con-
tinues rising higher and higher, and will completely swallow him up.
He presses through the crowd in order to reach his horse, with
the same ardour that a shipwrecked mariner swims to reach a
rock.
At last he grasps his bridle, vaults on his charger's back, and
urges him on towards the entrance of the Hotel de Ville ; but the
way is completely closed to him ; walls of men have grown up be-
tween him and it.
'Zounds, general !' cry these men, 'you must remain with us.'
At the same time tremendous shouts are heard of ' To Versailles !
To Versailles !'
Lafayette wavers, hesitates. Yes, undoubtedly, by going to Ver-
sailles he may be very useful to the king ; but will he be able to
master and restrain this crowd who are urging him to Versailles?
Suddenly a man descends the steps, pushes through the crowd, a
letter in his hand, and makes such good use of his feet and elbows,
particularly the latter, that he at length reaches Lafayette.
MAILLARD A GENERAL. 381
This man was the ever indefatigable Billot.
* Here, general,' said he, ' this comes from the Three Hundred.'
It was thus the electors were called.
Lafayette broke the seal, and began to read it to himself; but
twenty thousand voices at once cried out,
' The letter ! the letter !'
Lafayette was therefore compelled to read the letter aloud. He
makes a sign to request they will be silent. Instantaneously, and
as by a miracle, silence succeeds to the immense tumult, and La-
fayette reads the following letter, not one word of which was lost by
the people :
' " Seeing the state of circumstances and the desire of the people,
and on the representation of the commandant-general that it was
impossible to refuse, the electors assembled in council authorise the
commandant-general, and even order him, to repair to Versailles.
' " Four commissaries of the district will accompany him."*
Poor Lafayette had absolutely represented nothing to the electors,
who were by no means disinclined to leave some portion of the
responsibility of the events which were about to happen on his
shoulders. But the people they believed that he had really made
representations, and this coincided so precisely with their views,
that they made the air ring with their shouts of ' Long live La-
fayette !'
Lafayette turned pale, but in his turn repeated ' To Versailles !'
Fifteen thousand men followed him, with a more silent enthusiasm,
but which was at the same time more terrible than that of the
women who had gore forward as the advanced guard.
All these people were to assemble again at Versailles, to ask the
king for the crumbs which fell from the table of the body-guards
during the orgies of the ist October.
CHAPTER L.
VERSAILLES.
As usual, they were completely ignorant at Versailles of what was
going on at Paris.
After the scenes which we have described, and at the occurrence
of which the queen had openly congratulated herself, her majesty
was reposing herself after her fatigue.
She had an army, she had her devotees, she had counted her
enemies, she wished to begin the contest.
Had she not the defeat of the I4th July to avenge ? Had she
not the king's journey to Paris, a journey from which he had re-
turned with the tricoloured cockade in his hat, to forget, and to
make her court forget it also ?
Poor woman ! she but little expected the journey which she her-
self would be shortly compelled to take.
382 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Since her altercation with Charny, she had scarcely spoken to him.
She affected to treat Andre'e with her former friendliness, which had
for a time been deadened in her heart but which was for ever ex-
tinguished in that of her rival.
As to Charny, she never turned towards or looked at him, but
when she was compelled to address herself to him upon matters re-
garding his service, or to give him an order.
It was not a family disgrace ; for on the very morning on which
the Parisians were to leave Paris to come to Versailles, the queen
was seen talking affectionately with young George de Charny, the
second of the three brothers, who, in contradiction to Olivier, had
*iven such warlike counsels to the queen on the arrival of the news
Df the capture of the Bastile.
And in fact, at nine in the morning, as the young officer was
crossing the gallery to announce to the huntsman that the king in-
tended going out, when Marie Antoinette, returning from mass in
the chapel, saw him, she called him to her.
* Where are you running thus, sir ?' said she to him.
' As soon as I perceived your majesty I ran no longer,' replied
George ; ' on the contrary, I instantly stopped, and I was waiting
humbly for the honour you have done me in addressing me.'
' That does not prevent you, sir, from replying to my question,
and telling me whither you are going.'
' Madame,' replied George, ' I am on duty to-day, and form part
of the escort. His majesty hunts to-day, and I am going to the
huntsman to make arrangements for the meet.'
'Ah ! the king hunts again to-day,' said the queen, looking at the
big dark clouds which were rolling on from Paris towards Versailles.
' He is wrong to do so. The weather appears to be threatening ;
does it not, And're'e ?'
' Yes, madame,' absently replied the Countess de Charny.
' Are you not of that opinion, sir ?'
' I am so, madame ; but such is the king's will.'
' May the king's will be done, in the woods and on the high roads,'
replied the queen, with that gaiety of manner which was habitual
with her, and which neither the sorrows of the heart nor political
events could ever deprive her of.
Then, turning towards Andre'e,
' It is but just that he should have this amusement,' said the queen
to her in a whisper.
And then aloud to George,
' Can you tell me, sir, where the king intends hunting ?
' In the Meudon wood, madame.'
'Well, then, accompany him, and watch carefully over his safety.'
At this moment the Count de Charny had entered the room. He
amiled kindly at Andre'e, and, shaking his head, ventured to say to
ihe queen,
VERSAILLES. 38^
* That is a recommendation which my brother wiU not fail to re-
member, madame ; not in the midst of the king's pleasures, but in
the midst of his dangers.'
At the sound of the voice which had struck upon her ear, before
her eyes had warned her of the presence of Charny, Marie Antoinette
started, and turning round,
' I should have been much astonished,' said she with disdainful
harshness, ' if such a saying had not proceeded from the Count
Olivier de Charny.'
' And why so, madame ?' respectfully inquired the count.
' Because it prophecies misfortune, sir.'
Andre"e turned pale on seeing that the colour fled from her hus-
band's cheeks.
He bowed without offering a reply.
Then, on a look from his wife, who appeared to be amazed at his
being so patient,
' I am really extremely unfortunate,' he said, ' since I no longer
know how to speak to the queen without offending her.'
The no longer was emphasized in the same manner as a skilful,
actor would emphasize the more important syllables.
The ear of the queen was too well exercised not to perceive at
once the stress which Charny had laid upon his words.
' No longer !' she exclaimed sharply, ' no longer; what mean you
by no longer?'
' I have again spoken unfortunately, it would appear,' said De
Charny, unaffectedly.
And he exchanged a look with Andrde, which the queen this time
perceived.
She in her turn became pale, and then her teeth firmly set together
with rage.
' The saying is bad,' she exclaimed, ' when the intention is bad.'
' The ear is hostile,' said Charny,' ' when the thought is hostile.'
And after this retort, which was more just than respectful, he re-
mained silent.
' I shall wait to reply,' said the queen, ' until the Count de Charny
is more happy in his attacks.'
'And I,' said De Charny, ' shall wait to attack until the queen shall
be more fortunate than she has lately been in servants.'
Andre"e eagerly seized her husband's hand, and was preparing to
leave the room with him.
A glance from the queen restrained her. She had observed this
gesture.
' But, in fine, what has your husband to say to me ?' asked the
queen .
' He had intended telling your majesty that, having been sent to
Paris yesterday by the king, he had found the city in a most extra
ordinary state of ferment.'
384 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Again !' cried the queen ; and on what account ? The Parisians
have taken the Bastile, and are now occupied in demolishing it-
what can they require more ? Answer me, Monsieur de Charny.'
' That is true, madame,' replied the count ; ' but as they cannot
eat the stones, they are calling out for bread they say that they are
hungry.'
' That they are hungry ! that they are hungry !' exclaimed the
queen ; ' and what would they have us do in that respect ?*
' There was a time,' observed Charny, ' when the queen was the
first to compassionate the sufferings of the people ; there was a time
when she would ascend even to the garrets of the poor, and the
prayers of the poor ascended from the garrets to God with blessings
on her head.'
' Yes,' bitterly replied the queen, ' and I was well rewarded, was
I not, for the compassion which I felt for the misery of others ?
One of the greatest misfortunes which ever befell me was in con-
sequence of having ascended to one of these garrets.'
' Because your majesty was once deceived,' said Charny, ' because
she bestowed her favours and her grace upon a miserable wretch,
ought she to consider all human nature upon a level with that in-
famous woman ? Ah ! madame ! madame ! how at that time were
you beloved !'
The queen darted a furious glance at Charny.
' But, finally,' she said, ' what did actually take place in Paris
yesterday ? Tell me only things that you have yourself seen, sir ;
I wish to be sure of the truth of your words.'
' What I saw, madame ! I saw a portion of the population
crowded together on the quays vainly awaiting the arrival of flour.
I saw others standing in long files at the bakers' doors, uselessly
waiting for bread. What I saw was a starving people ; husbands
looking sorrowfully at their wives, mothers looking sorrowfully at
their children. What I saw ! I saw clenched and threatening
hands held up in the direction of Versailles. Ah ! madame !
madame ! the dangers of which I just now spoke to you are
approaching the opportunity of dying for your majesty a happi-
ness which my brother and myself will be the first to claim. I fear
the day is not far distant when it will be offered to us.'
The queen turned her back to Charny with an impatient gesture,
and went to a window and placed her pale though burning face
against a pane of glass. This window looked into the marble
courtyard.
She had scarcely done this, when she was seen to start.
' Andre"e !' cried she, ' come here and see who is this horseman
coming towards us ; he appears to be the bearer of very urgent
news.'
Andre*e went to the window, but almost immediately recoiled a
step from it, turning very pale.
VERSAILLES. 985
' Ah ! madame !' cried she, in a tone of reproach.
Chamy hastened towards the window : he had minutely observed
all that had passed.
' That horseman,' said he, looking alternately at the queen and at
Andre'e, ' is Doctor Gilbert.'
' Ah ! that is true,' said the queen ; and in a tone which rendered
it impossible, even to Andre'e, to judge whether the queen had
drawn her to the window in one of those fits of feminine vengeance
to which poor Marie Antoinette sometimes gave way, or whether
her eyes, weakened by watching, and the tears she had shed, could
no longer recognise, at a certain distance, even those whom it was
her interest to recognise.
An ice-like silence immediately ensued, and the three principal
characters in this scene interrogated and replied to each other
merely by looks.
It was in fact Gilbert who was coming, bringing with him the
untoward news which Chamy had predicted.
Although he had hurriedly alighted from his horse, although he
had rapidly ascended the staircase, although the three agitated feces
of the queen, Andre'e, and Chamy were turned towards the door
which led to this staircase, and by which the doctor ought to have
entered the room, this door did not open.
There was then, on the part of these three persons, an anxious
suspense of some minutes.
Suddenly, a door on the opposite side of the room was opened,
and an officer came in.
' Madame,' said he, ' Doctor Gilbert, who has come for the pur-
pose, of conversing with the king on important and urgent matters,
demands to have the honour of being received by your majesty, the
king having set out for Meudon an hour ago.'
' Let him come in !' said the queen, fixing on the door a look
which was firm even to harshness, while Andre'e, as if naturally
she sought to find a supporter in her husband, drew back and
supported herself on the count's arm.
Gilbert soon made his appearance on the threshold of the door.
CHAPTER LI.
THE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER.
GILBERT cast a glance on the several personages whom we have
placed on the stage, and advancing respectfully towards Marie
Antoinette :
'Will the queen permit me,' said he, 'in the absence of her
august husband, to communicate to her the news of which I am the
bearer ?
' Speak, sir,' said Marie Antoinette. ' On seeing you coming at
386 TAKING THE BASTTLE.
so rapid a. pace, I summoned up all my fortitude, for I felt well
assured that you were bringing me some fearful new;.'
Would the queen have preferred that I should have allowed her
to be surprised ? Forewarned, the queen, with that sound" judg-
ment, that elevated mind by which she is characterised, would ad-
vance to meet the danger ; and then, perhaps the danger might
retreat before her.'
' Let us see, sir what is this danger ?'
' Madame, seven or eight thousand women have set out from
Paris, and are coming armed to Versailles.'
'Seven or eight thousand women ? cried -'the queen, with an air
of contempt.
' Yes ; but they will, most likely, have stopped on the way ; and,
perhaps, on arriving here, their numbers will amount to fifteen or
twenty thousand.'
' And for what purpose are they coming ?'
' They are hungry, madame, and they are coming to ask the king
for bread.'
The queen turned towards Charny.
' Alas ! madame,' said the count, ' that which I predicted has now
happened.'
' What is to be done ?' asked Marie Antoinette.
' The king should, in the first place, be informed of it ' said
Gilbert.
The queen turned quickly towards him.
' The king ! oh ! no !' she Cried, ' what good purpose would it
answer to expose him to such a meeting ?'
This cry burst forth from the heart of Marie Antoinette almost
involuntarily. It was a convincing manifestation of the intrepidity
of the queen, of her consciousness of possessing a firmness which
was altogether personal to her, and, at the same time, of her con-
sciousness of her husband's weakness, which she ought 'not to have
admitted even to herself, and should not, more particularly, have
revealed to strangers.
But was Charny a stranger ? and Gilbert, was he a stranger ?
No : did not those two men, on the contrary, appear to be elected
by Providence, the one to be the safeguard of the queen, the other
to protect the king ?
Charny replied at once to the queen and to Gilbert ; he resumed
all his empire, for he had made the sacrifice of his pride.
Madame,' said he, ' Monsieur Gilbert is right ; it is necessary
that the king should be informed of this occurrence. The king is
still beloved ; the king will present himself to these women ; he will
harangue them, he will disarm them.'
' But,' observed the queen, ' who will undertake to give this in-
formation to the king ? The road between this and Meudon is no
doubt already intercepted, and it would be a dangerous enterprise.'
'The king is in the forest of Meudon ?'
THE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER. 387
Yes ; and it is probable the roads '
' Your majesty will deign to consider me as a military man,' said
Charny, unostentatiously ; ' a soldier, and one whose duty it is to
expose his life '
And, having said these words, he did not wait for a reply ; he
listened not to the sigh which escaped the queen ; but ran rapidly
down the staircase, jumped upon one of the guards' horses, and
hastened towards Meudon, accompanied by two cavaliers.
He had scarcely disappeared, and had replied by a sign to a
farewell gesture which Andrde addressed to him from the window,
when a distant noise, which resembled the roaring of the waves in a
storm, made the queen listen anxiously. This noise appeared to
proceed from the farthest trees on the Paris road, which, from the
apartment in which the queen was, could be seen towering above
the fog at some distance from the last houses of Versailles.
The horizon soon became as threatening to the eye as it had been
to the ear ; a hail shower began to chequer the dark grey haze.
And yet, notwithstanding the threatening state of the heavens,
crowds of persons were entering Versailles.
Messengers arrived continually at the palace.
Every messenger brought intelligence of numerous columns being
on their way from Paris, and every one thought of the joys and the
easy triumphs of the preceding days ; some of them feeling at heart
a regret that was akin to remorse, others an instinctive terror.
The soldiers were anxious, and, looking at each other, slowly took
up their arms. Like drunken people, who endeavour to shake off
the effects of wine, the officers, demoralised by the visible uneasiness
of their soldiers and the murmurs of the crowd, with difficulty
breathed in this atmosphere, impregnated as it was with misfortunes
which were about to be attributed to them.
On their side, the body-guards somewhere about three hundred
men coldly mounted their horses, and with that hesitation which
seizes men of the sword when they feel they have to deal with
enemies whose mode of attack is unknown to them.
What could they do against women who had set out threatening
and with arms, but who had arrived disarmed and who could no
longer raise even their hands, so enervated were they with fatigue,
so emaciated were they by hunger ?
And yet, at all hazards, they formed themselves into line, drew
their sabres, and waited.
At last, the women made their appearance : they had come by
two roads. Half-way between Paris and Versailles, they had sepa-
rated, one party coming by Saint Cloud, the other by Sevres.
Before they separated, eight loaves had been divided among them ;
it was all that could be found at Sevres.
Thirty-two pounds of bread for seven thousand persons !
On arriving at Versailles they could scarcely drag themselves
388 TAKING THE BASTILE.
along. More than three-fourths of them had scattered their
weapons along the road. Maillard had induced the remaining
fourth to leave their arms in the first houses they came to in
Versailles.
Then, on entering into the town
' Come, now,' said he, ' that they may not doubt that we are friends
to royalty, let us sing, " Vive Henri Quatre !" '
And in a dying tone, and with voices that had not strength enough
to ask for bread, they chanted the royal national air.
The astonishment was therefore great at the palace when, instead
of shouts and threats, they heard them singing the loyal air when,
above all, they saw the female choristers staggering for hunger has
somewhat the effect of drunkenness and these wretched women,
leaning their haggard, pale, and livid faces, begrimed with dirt, down
which the rain and perspiration were streaming, against the gilded
railings, faces which appeared to be more than doubled by the
number of hands which grasped those railings for support.
After a time, would now and then escape from these horribly
fantastic groups lugubrious howlings in the midst of these agonized
faces, would appear eyes flashing lightnings.
Also, from time to time, all these hands, abandoning the railings
which sustained them, were thrust through the space between them,
and stretched forth towards the palace.
Some of them were open and trembling these were soliciting.
Others were clenched and nervously agitated these were
threatening.
Oh ! the picture was a gloomy one.
The rain and mud so much for the heavens and earth.
Hunger and threatening gestures so much for the besiegers.
Pity and doubt such were the feelings of the defenders.
While waiting the return of Louis XVI.. agitated, but firmly re-
solved, the queen gave orders for the defence of the palace. By
degrees, the courtiers, the officers, and the high dignitaries of the
state grouped themselves around her.
In the midst of them she perceived M. de Saint Priest, the minister
for Paris.
' Go and inquire, sir,' said she to him, ' what it is these people
want.'
M. de Saint Priest immediately went down the staircase, crossed
the court-yard, and approached the railing.
' What is it that you demand ? said he to the women.
; Bread ! bread ! bread !' simultaneously cried a thousand voices.
' Bread !' replied M. de Saint Priest, impatiently ; ' when you
had but one master, you never were in want of bread. Now
that you have twelve hundred, you see to what they have reduced
you.'
And M. de Saint Priest withdrew amidst the threatening ricut*
SHE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER. 389
jf these famished creatures, giving strict orders that the gates
should be kept closed.
But a deputation advances, before which it is absolutely necessary
that the gates should be thrown open.
Maillard had presented himself to the National Assembly in the
name of the women ; he had succeeded in persuading them that
:he president with a deputation of twelve women should proceed
to the palace to make a statement to the king of the position of
affairs.
At the moment when the deputation, with Mounier at its head,
left the Assembly, the king returned to the palace at full gallop,
entering it by the stable- yard.
Charny had found him in the forest of Meudon.
' Ah ! it is you, sir,' cried the king, on perceiving him. ' Is it me
whom you are seeking ?*
' Yes, sire.'
' What then has happened ? You seem to have rode hard.'
' Sire, there are at this moment ten thousand women at Versailles,
who have come from Paris, and who are crying for bread.'
The king shrugged up his shoulders, but it was more from a feel-
ing of compassion than of disdain.
' Alas !' said he, ' if I had bread for them, I should not have
waited their coming from Paris to ask it of me.'
But without making any farther observation, he cast a mournful
look towards the place where the hounds were continuing their chase
of the stag which he was obliged to abandon.
' Well then, sir, let us go to Versailles,' said he.
And he rode off towards Versailles.
He had just arrived there, as we have said, when frightful cries
were heard proceeding from the Place d'Armes.
' What is the meaning of that ?' inquired the king.
' Sire,' cried Gilbert, entering the room, pale as death, ' they are
your guards, who, led on by Monsieur George de Charny, are charg-
ing upon the president of the National Assembly, and a deputation
which he is leading here.'
' Impossible !' exclaimed the king.
' Listen to the cries of those whom they are assassinating. Look !
look at the people who are flying in terror !'
' Let the gates be thrown open,' cried the king. ' I will receive
the deputation.'
' But, sire !' exclaimed the queen.
' Let the gates be opened,' said Louis XVI. ; ' the palaces of kings
ought to be considered as asylums.'
'Alas ! excepting, perhaps, for kings themselves,' said the
queen.
390 TAKING THE BASTILE.
CHAPTER LII.
THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER.
CHARNY and Gilbert rushed downstairs.
' In the name of the king !' cried the one.
' In the name of the queen !' cried the other.
And both of them added :
' Open the gates !'
But this order was no sooner executed than the president of the
National Assembly was thrown down in the courtyard and trampled
under foot.
Two of the women forming the deputation were wounded close by
his side.
Gilbert and Charny tkrew themselves into the crowd. These two
men the one proceeding from the highest class of society, the
other from the lowest met, working in the same cause.
The one wishes to save the queen, from his ardent love for the
queen ; the other wishes to save the king, from his love for royalty.
On the gates being opened, the women rushed into the courtyard,
and had thrown themselves into the ranks of the body-guards and
those of the Flanders regiment. They threaten, they entreat, they
caress. Who could resist women when they implore those whom
they address in the name of their sisters, their mothers ?
4 Room, gentlemen, room for the deputation !' cried Gilbert.
And all the ranks were immediately opened to allow Mounier
to pass with the unhappy women he was about to present to the
king.
The king having been informed by Charny, who had hastened
to him, waited for the deputation in the room contiguous to the
chapel.
It was Mounier who was to speak in the name of the Assembly.
It was Madeleine Chambry, the flower-girl, who had beaten the
drum, xvho was to speak in the name of the women.
Mounier said a few words to the king, and presented to him the
young flower-girl.
The latter stepped forward a pace or two and wished to speak,
but could only utter these words :
' Sire bread !'
And she fell fainting to the ground.
' Help ! help !' cried the king.
Andrde hurried forward, and handed her smelling-bottle to the
king.
' Ah ! madame,' said Charny to the queen, in a reproachful
tone.
The queen turned pale and withdrew to her own apartment.
' Prepare the equipages,' said she, ' the king and I are going to
Rambouillet.'
THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER. 391
During this time poor Madeleine Chambry was recovering her
senses, and finding herself in the king's arms, who was making her
inhale the salts he held in his hand, she uttered a cry of shame, and
wished to kiss his hand.
But the king prevented her.
' My lovely child,' said he, ' allow me to embrace you ; you are
well worth the trouble.'
' Oh ! sire, sire ! since you are so kind,' said the young girl, ' give
an order '
' What order ?' inquired the king.
*An order to have wheat sent to Paris, so that famine may
cease.'
' My dear child,' said the king, ' I will willingly sign the order
you request, but in truth I am afraid it will not be of much service
to you.'
The king seated himself at a table and began to write, when
suddenly a single musket-shot was heard, followed by a tolerably
quick fire of musketry.
'Ah! good God! good God!' exclaimed the king, 'what can
have happened ? See what it is, Monsieur Gilbert.
A second charge upon another group of women had been made,
and this charge had brought about the isolated musket-shot and
the volley which had been heard.
The isolated musket-shot had been fired by a man in the crowd,
and had broken the arm of M. de Savonniere, a lieutenant in the
guards, at the moment when that arm was raised to strike a young
soldier, who was behind a sentry-box, and who, with uplifted and
unarmed hands, was protecting a woman who was on her knees
behind him.
This musket-shot was replied to on the part of the guards, by
five or six shots from their carbines.
Two of the shots told. A woman fell dead.
Another was carried off seriously wounded.
The people became irritated, and in their turn two of the body-
guards fell from their horses.
At the same instant, cries of ' Room ! room !' are heard : they
were the men from the Faubourg Saint Antoine who were arriving,
dragging with them three pieces of artillery, with which they formed
a battery opposite to the principal gate of the palace.
Fortunately, the rain was falling in torrents ; the match is use-
lessly applied to the touchholes of these guns ; the priming, com-
pletely soddened by the rain, does not ignite.
At this moment a voice whispers into the ear of Gilbert.
' Monsieur de Lafayette is coming : he cannot be more than half
a league from Versailles.'
Gilbert in vain attempts to discover who has given him this in-
formation ; but from whomsoever it might come it was valuable.
392 TAKING THE BASTILE.
He looks around him sees a horse without a rider it belonged
to one of the two guards which had just been killed.
He leaps into the saddle, and sets off in a gallop on the road
towards Paris.
The second horse without a rider follows him ; but he had scarcely
gone twenty paces over the square, when the horse is stopped by
the bridle. Gilbert believes his intention has been divined, and
that some one wishes to pursue him. He casts a look behind him
as he rides off.
They were not thinking of him at all ; but they were hungry.
They think of nothing but obtaining food, and the poor horse is
instantly butchered by a hundred knives.
In a moment it is cut into a hundred pieces.
During this time the king had been informed, as Gilbert had been,
that General Lafayette was about to arrive.
He had signed, at the request of Mounier, his acceptance of the
Rights of Man.
He had signed, at the request of Madeleine Chambry, the order
for corn to be sent to Paris.
Furnished with this decree and this order, which it was thought
would have tranquillised all minds, Maillard, Madeleine Chambry,
and a thousand of the women had set out on their return to Paris.
Just beyond the first houses of Versailles they met Lafayette, who,
pressed by Gilbert, was riding at full speed, having ordered the
National Guards to follow him as quickly as possible.
' Long live the king !' cried Maillard and the women, waving the
decrees above their heads.
' What was it, then, you were saying to me of the dangers to
which his majesty is exposed ?' said Lafayette with astonishment.
' Come on, general, come on,' cried Gilbert, continuing to urge
him onwards ; 'you shall yourself judge of them.'
And Lafayette spurred on his horse.
The National Guards entered Versailles with drums beating and
colours flying.
At the first sounds of the drum which penetrated the palace, the
king felt that some one was respectfully touching his arm.
He turned round ; it was Andr^e.
' Ah ! is it you, Madame de Charny ?' said he ; ' what is the queen
doing ?'
' Sire, the queen sends to entreat that you will leave Versailles,
that you will not wait for the Parisians. At the head of your
guards and the soldiers of the Flanders regiment, you can go any-
where.'
' Are you of that opinion, Monsieur de Charny ? inquired the
king.
' Yes, sire, if you at once determine on passing the frontier ; but
if not '
THE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER. 393
4 If not?'
' It would be better to remain here.'
The king shook his head.
He remains, not because he has the courage to remain, but be-
cause he has not firmness to decide on going.
He murmured in a low tone :
' A fugitive king ! a fugitive king !'
Then, turning to Andre"e,
' Go and tell the queen to set out alone.'
Andre"e left the room to execute her mission.
Ten minutes afterwards, the queen came in and seated herself by
the king's side.
' For what purpose have you come here, madame ? ' asked
Louis XVI.
' To die with you, sire,' replied the queen.
'Ah !' murmured Charny, 'it is now that she is truly beautiful.'
The queen shuddered : she had heard him.
' I believe, indeed, it would be better that I should die than live,'
said she, looking at him.
At that moment the march of the National Guards was heard
under the windows of the palace.
Gilbert rapidly entered the room.
' Sire,' said he to the king, ' you have nothing further to appre-
hend, Monsieur de Lafayette is below.'
The king did not like M. de Lafayette, but he did not carry his
feelings further than dislike.
With regard to the queen, it was a very different matter. She
frankly hated him, and took no pains to conceal her hatred.
The result of this was, that Gilbert received no reply, although
he had believed that the intelligence he had communicated was the
most favourable he could have brought at such a moment.
But Gilbert was not a man to allow himself to be intimidated by
royal silence.
' Your majesty has heard ?' cried he to the king, in a nrm tone.
' Monsieur de Lafayette is below, and places himself at your ma-
jesty's orders.'
The queen continued silent.
The king made an effort to restrain his feelings.
' Let some one go and tell him that I thank him, and invite him,
in my name, to come upstairs.'
An officer bowed and left the room.
The queen drew back a step or two.
But the king, with a gesture that was almost imperative, made
her resume her position.
The courtiers formed themselves into two groups.
Charny and Gilbert, with two or three others, remained near the
king.
394 TAKING THE BASTILE.
All the rest retreated behind the queen's chair, and arranged
themselves in a half circle round her.
The footsteps of a man, ascending the staircase alone, were
heard, and M. de Lafayette appeared in the doorway.
In the midst of the silence which his appearance produced, a
voice, issuing from the group surrounding the queen, pronounced
these words :
' There is Cromwell !'
Lafayette smiled.
' Cromwell would not have presented himself alone to Charles
the First,' said he.
Louis XVI. turned frowningly towards these terrible friends who
wished to make an enemy of a man who had hastened to his assist-
ance.
Then, addressing Charny :
' Count,' said he, ' I shall remain. Monsieur de Lafayette being
here, I have nothing more to fear. Order the troops to withdraw
to Rambouillet. The National Guards will be posted at the
exterior ditches, the body-guards at those immediately near the
palace.'
Then, turning to Lafayette,
' Come with me, general, I have to speak with you.'
And as Gilbert was taking a step towards the door
' No, doctor,' cried the king, ' you will not be one too many ;
come wkh us '
And showing the way to Lafayette and Gilbert, he went into a
cabinet, into which they both followed him.
The queen followed them with her eyes, and when the door had
closed behind them,
' Ah !' cried she, ' it was to-day that we ought to have escaped
from this. To-day, there was still time. To-morrow, perhaps, it
will be too late.'
And she, in her turn, left the room, to withdraw to her own
apartments.
A great light, similar to that of an extensive conflagration, illu-
minated the windows of the palace.
It was an immense bonfire, at which the Parisians were roasting
the different joints of the horse they had killed.
The night was tolerably tranquil. The Assembly continued its
sittings till three o'clock in the morning.
At three o'clock, and before the members separated, they sent
two of their ushers, who took a round through Versailles, visited the
environs of the palace, and then went round the park.
All was, or all appeared to be, quiet.
The queen had wished to leave the palace by the gate which
communicated with Trianon, but the National Guards had refused
to allow her to pass.
THE EVENING OF 7 HE FIFTH OCTOBER. 395
She had alleged her fears, and she had been answered that she
was safer at Versailles than she could be elsewhere.
She had, in consequence, retired to her apartments ; and she, in
fact, felt reassured, when she saw that she was protected by the
most faithful of her guards.
At her door she had found George de Charny. He was armed,
and leaning upon the small musketoon used by the guards as well
as the dragoons. This was unusual ; the guards in the interior of
the palace stood sentry with their sabres only.
On perceiving him, the queen went up to him
'Ah ! it is you, baron,' she said.
'Yes, madanie.'
' Always faithful.'
' Am I not at my post ?'
' Who placed you here ?'
' My brother, madame.'
' And where is your brother ?'
' He is with the king.'
' And why with the king ?'
' Because he is the head of the family,' he said ; ' and in that
capacity has the right to die for the king, who is the head of the
state.'
' Yes,' said Marie Antoinette, with a certain degree of bitterness,
' while you have only the right of dying for the queen.'
' That would be great happiness for me,' said the young man,
bowing, ' should God ever permit me to fulfil that duty.'
The queen made a step to withdraw, but a suspicion was gnaw-
ing at her heart.
She stopped, and half-turning her head,
' And the countess,' she inquired, ' what has become of her ?'
'The countess, madame, came in about ten minutes since, and
she has ordered a bed to be prepared for her in your majesty's
ante-chamber.'
The queen bit her lips.
Whenever she had occasion to make inquiry with regard to any
of the De Charny family, she was always sure to find that they
were rigidly attending to their duties, be they what they might.
' Thanks, sir,' said the queen, with a charming gesture of the
head and hand at the same time, 'thanks for your watching so
carefully over the queen. You will, in my name, thank your brother
for watching over the king so carefully.'
And after saying this she went to her own room. In the ante
chamber she found Andrde, not lying down, but still sitting up and
respectfully awaiting her return.
She could not prevent herself from holding out her hand to
her.
' I have just been thanking your brother-in-law George, countessj
396 TAKING THE BASTILE.
she said, ' and I told him to thank your husband, and I now thank
you, in turn.'
Andre"e made a low courtesy, and stood aside to allow the queen
to pass, who then went into her bedroom.
The queen did not tell her to follow her. This devotedness, from
which she felt affection was withdrawn, and which, however icy
cold it might be, she knew would exist till death, weighed heavily
upon her feelings.
As we have before said, at three in the morning everything was
quiet in the palace at Versailles.
Gilbert had left it with M. de Lafayette, who had been on horse-
back for twelve hours, and who was so much fatigued that he could
scarcely stand. On leaving the palace he met Billot, who had ac-
companied the National Guards. He had seen Gilbert set off ; he
had thought that Gilbert might have occasion for him at Versailles,
and he had therefore followed him like the dog who runs to rejoin
his master who had left the house without him.
The Assembly, reassured by the report made to it by its ushers,
had adjourned.
It was hoped that this tranquillity would not be disturbed during
the night.
But they had calculated wrongly.
In almost all popular movements, by which great revolutions are
prepared, there is a pausing time, during which people believe that
all is terminated, and that they may sleep quietly.
They deceive themselves.
Behind the men who make the first commotion, there are others
who are awaiting the completion of this first movement, calculating
that the first, either from fatigue or being satisfied, do not desire tf
proceed farther and therefore repose.
It is then that, in their turn, these unknown men, the mysterious
agents of fatal passions, glide darkly in the shade, take up the
movement where it had been abandoned, and urge it onward to
its utmost limits ; and when they awake those who had opened
out the way to them and had laid down half way on the road,
believing that their journey was performed, that the end was
gained, they are terrified at the frightful progress which has been
made.
There was a very different impulsion during this terrible night,
and given by two troops who had arrived at Versailles the one is
the evening, the other during the night.
The first had come because it was hungry, and it asked for
bread.
The second had come from hatred, and asked for vengeance.
We know who it was led on the first Maillard and Lafayette.
But now, who was it that led on the second ? History mentions
not their names ; but as history has failed in this, tradition names,
MARAT.
THE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER. 397
We already know him ; we have seen him at the fetes given at
the marriage of Marie Antoinette, cutting off legs and arms on the
Place Louis XV. ; we have seen him in the square before the H6tcl
de Ville, urging on the citizens.
At length we see him gliding along in the night, like those wolves
who prowl along the sheepfolds, waiting until the shepherds shall
be asleep, to venture on their sanguinary work.
VERRlfcRE.
As to this one, we have mentioned his name for the first time.
He was a deformed dwarf, a hideous hunchback, but whose legs
appeared immeasurably long in proportion to his body. At every
storm which disturbed the depths of society, this sanguinary monster
was seen to rise with the scum and agitate himself upon its surface.
Two or three times during the most terrible tumults he was seen
passing through Paris, huddled upon a black charger, and similar to
one of the figures in the Apocalypse, or to one of those inconceivable
demons to which the pencil of Callot has given birth in his picture
of the temptations of Saint Anthony.
One day at a club, and mounted on the table, he was attacking,
threatening, and accusing Danton. It was at the period when the
popularity of the man of the 2nd of September was vacillating.
Danton felt that this venomous attack of Verriere would altogether
complete his ruin. He felt that he was lost lost like the lion who
perceives the hideous head of a serpent at two inches from his lips.
He looked around him, seeking either a weapon or some one to
back him. Fortunately, he caught sight of another little hunch-
back ; he immediately caught him under the arms, raised him, and
placed him upon the table immediately opposite his hump-backed
brother.
' My friend,' said he to him, ' reply to that gentleman ; I yield
the floor to you.'
The whole assembly roared with laughter, and Danton was saved
for that time at least.
There were, then, according to tradition, Marat, Verriere, and
besides them,
THE DUKE D'AIGUILLON.
The Duke d'Aiguillon ; that is to say, one of the most inveterate
enemies of the queen.
The Duke d'Aiguillon disguised as a woman.
And who was it said this ? Everybody.
The Abb<* Delille and the Abbe" Maury, these two abbe's who so
little resemble each other.
To the first was attributed the famous line :
' As a man, he's a coward ; as a woman, an assassin.'
As to the Abbe" Maury, that is another affair.
A fortnight after the occurrence of the events we are relating, the
Duke d'Aiguillon met him on the terrace of the Feuillans, and was
about to accost him.
3)8 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' Keep on your way, strumpet !' said the Abbe" Maury, and he
majestically left the duke perfectly astounded.
It was therefore said that these three men, Marat, Verriere, and
the Duke d'Aiguillon arrived at Versailles at about four o'clock in the
morning.
They were leading the second troop of which we have spoken.
It was composed of men who follow in the wake of those who
combat to conquer.
They, on the contrary, come to pillage and to assassinate.
They had undoubtedly assassinated a little at the Bastile, but they
had not pillaged at all.
Versailles offered a delightful compensation.
About half-past five in the morning the palace was startled from
its sleep.
A musket-shot had been fired in the marble courtyard.
Five or six hundred men had suddenly presented themselves at
the gate, and exciting, animating, pushing on each other, some of
them had climbed over the railings, while the others, by a united
effort, at length forced open the gate.
It was then that a shot fired by the sentinel had given the alarm.
One of the assailants fell dead. His bleeding corpse was stretched
upon the pavement.
This shot had divided this group of pillagers, whose aim was to
obtain possession of the plate in the palace : and that of some of
them, perhaps, to seize upon the king's crown.
Separated as by the blow of an immense hatchet, the crowd is
divided into two groups.
One of the groups goes to attack the queen's apartments, the
other ascends towards the chapel that is to say, towards the apart-
ments of the king.
Let us first follow the one proceeding towards the king's apart-
ments.
You have seen the waves rising when a high tide is setting in,
have you not ? Well, then, the popular wave is similar to it, with
this sole difference, that it keeps on advancing, without receding.
The whole of the king's guards at that moment consisted of a
sentinel, who was guarding the door, and an officer, who rushed
precipitately out of the ante-chamber, armed with a halberd which
he had snatched from the hand of a terrified Swiss.
' Who goes there ? cried the sentinel : ' who goes there ?
And as no answer was given, and as the flood of men still
ascended,
' Who goes there ?' he cried for the third time.
And he levelled his musket.
The officer feels at once what would be the result of a shot fired
in the apartments ; he strikes up the sentinel's gun, and, rushing
towards the assailants, he places his halberd across the top of the
staircase, thus completely preventing any one from passing.
THE EVENING OF THE FIFTH OCTOBER. 399
' Gentle men ! gentlemen !' cried he, ' what do you want ? What do
you require ?
' Nothing nothing,' said several voices ; ' let us pass, we are good
friends of his majesty.'
' You are good friends of his majesty, and you make war on
him?'
This time there was no answer a laugh and nothing else.
A man seized the stock of the halberd that the officer would not
leave go ot. To make him quit his hold, the man struck his hand.
The officer snatched the halberd from the hands of his adversary,
grasped the oaken stock with both of his, and, dealing his adversary
a blow on the head with all his strength, broke his skull.
The violence of the blow broke the halberd in two.
The officer, consequently, had two arms instead of one a stick
and a poniard.
He whirled the stick round struck with the poniard. During
this time the sentry had opened the door of the ante-chamber and
called for assistance.
Five or six guards came out.
' Gentlemen ! gentlemen !' said the sentinel, ' assist Monsieur de
Charny !'
The sabres sprang from the scabbard, glittered for an instant in the
light of the lamp which burnt above the staircase, and, to the right
and left of Charny, furiously attacked the assailants.
Cries of pain were heard, blood flowed, the wave of people re-
treated down the steps, and showed them covered with blood.
The door of the ante-chamber opened again, and the sentinel
cried :
' Enter, gentlemen : the king orders it !'
The guards profited by this moment of confusion among the
crowd. They rushed towards the door. Charny entered last. The
gate closes upon him, and the two large bolts shoot into their
places .
A thousand blows are struck at once on the door. It would hold
good, however, for ten minutes.
Ten minutes ! during these ten minutes some assistance might
arrive.
Let us see what the queen is doing.
The second group has darted towards the small apartments ; but
the staircase is narrow scarce two people can pass at once.
George de Charny watches there !
At the third : Who goes there ? no answer he fires.
At the sound of the report the queen's door opens.
Andre"e comes out, pale but calm.
' W T hat is it ?' asked she.
' Madame,' cried George, ' save her majesty ! it is her life they
want ! I am opposed to a thousand, but I will hold out as long as
400 TAKING THE BASTILE.
possible ! Quick ! quick !' Then, as the assailants prHpjt a ted
themselves on him, he shut the door, crying, ' Draw the bolt !
draw the bolt ! I shall live long enough to allow the queen to fly !'
And, turning, he pierced the two first he met in the corridor with
his bayonet.
The queen had heard everything.
Two of her women, Madame Hogue' and Madame Thibault, were
dressing her. Then, half dressed, the two women conducted her
through a corridor to the king, while, calm and indifferent to her
danger, Andrde drew bolt after bolt, as she followed the steps of
Marie Antoinette.
CHAPTER LIII.
THE MORNING.
BETWIXT the two apartments a man waited for the queen.
This man was Charny.
' The king !' cried Marie Antoinette, on seeing the blood on the
dress of the young man. ' The king ! monsieur, you promised to
save the king !'
' The king is saved, madame,' replied Charny.
And, looking towards the doors which the queen had left open, in
order to reach the CEil de Bceuf, where at this time were assem-
bled the queen, Madame Royale,t the dauphin, and a few guards,
Charny was about to ask what had become of Andrde, when his
eyes met those of the queen.
This look stopped the question which was about to issue from his
lips.
But the queen's look dived into the recesses of Charny's heart.
There was no need for his speaking. Marie Antoinette had
divined his thought.
' She is coming,' said the queen, ' you need not be uneasy.'
* The CEil de Boeuf, which has so very frequently been mentioned in this
book, had an historical interest. It was an oval room in the great palace
of Versailles, and its history, compiled recently by one of the most dis-
tinguished writers of France, comprises more pages than the annals of many
a European king !om. In the coterie of the Regent Duke of Orleans, of
Louis XV., and of the early days of the reign of Louis XVI., it flourished,
and not until the days of the Emperor Napoleon did it lose its prestige. The
scandal of this room was one of the great causes which made the whole of
the bourgeoisie and middle classes of France so cordially detest the old
monarchy, and induced them to throw the whole weight of their influence
into the cause of the Revolution. Such scenes as were enacted there, made
Lafayette, Beauharnais, De Romoeub, and other nobles, use all their in-
fluence to destroy a throne built up by crime, and with courtiers and
courtesans as its supporters.
t The title given to the eldest daughters of the kings of France.
THE MORNING. 401
And she ran to the dauphin, and clasped him in her arms.
Andre"e immediately after this closed the last door, and in he*
turn entered the room called the CEil de Boeuf.
Andre"e and Charny did not exchange a word.
The smile of the one replied to the smile of the other, and that
was all.
Strange to say, these two hearts, which had so long been severed,
began to entertain feelings which responded to each other.
During this time the queen looked around her, and as if she felt
delight in finding Charny in fault,
' The king,' she inquired, ' where is the king ?'
' The king is seeking for you, madame,' tranquilly replied Charny :
' he went to your apartment by one corridor, while you were coming
here by another.'
At the same instant loud cries were heard in the adjoining room.
They were the assassins, who were vociferating, ' Down with the
Austrian woman ! Down with the Messaline ! Down with the
Veto ! She must be strangled ! She must be hanged !'
At the same time two pistol-shots were heard, and two balls
pierced through the door at different heights.
One of these balls passed only a quarter of an inch above the
head of the dauphin, and then buried itself in the opposite wains-
coting.
' Oh ! my God ! my God !' cried the queen, falling upon her
knees.
The five or six guards, upon a sign made to them by Charny,
then placed themselves before the queen and the two royal children,
thus forming a rampart for them with their bodies.
At that moment the king appeared, his eyes full of tears, his face
pale as death ; he was calling for the queen, as the queen had called
for him.
He perceived her, and threw himself into her arms.
' Saved ! saved !' exclaimed the queen.
' By him, madame,' cried the king, pointing to Charny, ' and you
are saved by him also, are you not ?'
4 By his brother,' replied the queen.
' Sir,' said Louis XVI. to the count, ' we owe so much to your
family, so much that we shall never be able to repay the debt.'
The queen's eyes met those of Andre*e, and she turned away her
head, blushing deeply.
The blows of the assailants were heard endeavouring to destroy
the door.
' Come, gentlemen,' said Charny, ' we must defend our position
here for another hour. There are seven of us, and it will take them
full an hour to kill us if we defend ourselves resolutely. Before an
hour elapses it will be impossible that a reinforcement should not
arrive to the assistance of their majesties.'
402 TAKING THE BASTILE
Saying these words, Charny seized a large press which was
standing in one of the corners of the royal room.
His example was instantly followed, and a heap of furniture was
piled up against the door, between which the guards took care to
leave loopholes, through which they could fire on the assailants.
The queen took her two children in her arms, and raising her
hands above their heads, she prayed.
The children restrained their cries and tears.
The king went into the cabinet contiguous to the CEil de Boeuf,
in order to burn some valuable papers which he did not wish to fall
into the hands of the assassins.
The latter were attacking the door more desperately than ever.
At every instant, splinters were seen flying before the Wows given
by a sharp hatchet, or wrenched out by large pincers.
By the opening which had been thus made, pikes with reddened
points, bayonets reeking with blood, were forced through, attempting
to hurl death on those within.
At the same time, the balls pierced the frame-work above the
barricades, and left long traces on the gilded plaster of the ceiling.
At length a bench rolls from the top of the press ; the press itself
was partly damaged. One whole panel of the door, which formed
the front of the press, gave way, and they could see in the place of
the bayonets and pikes, arms covered with blood pass through it
and grasp the sides of the opening, which every moment became
wider.
The guards had discharged their last cartridge, and this they had
not done uselessly, for through this increasing opening could be
seen the floor of the gallery covered with the wounded and dead
bodies.
On hearing the shrieks of the women, who believed that through
this opening death was advancing upon them, the king returned.
'Sire,' said Charny, 'shut yourself up with the queen in the
farthest room from this ; close every door after you ; place two of us
behind the doors. I demand to be the last, and to guard the last
door. I will answer for it that we hold out two hours ; they have
been more than forty minutes in breaking through this one.'
The king hesitated ; it appeared to him to be humiliating to fly
thus from room to room, to entrench himself thus behind every
cupboard.
If the queen had not been there, he would not have retreated a
single step.
If the queen had not her children with her, she would have re-
mained as firmly as the king.
But alas ! poor human beings, kings or subjects, we have always
in our hearts some secret opening by which courage escapes and
terror enters.
The king was about to give the order to fly to the remotest room,
THE MORNING, 403
when, suddenly, the arms were withdrawn, the pikes and bayonets
disappeared, the shouts and threats at once ceased.
A general silence ensued, every one remaining with distended
lips, eagerly listening ears, and suppressed respiration.
They then heard the measured steps of regular troops advancing.
' They are the National Guards !' cried Charny.
' Monsieur de Charny !' cried a voice, and at the same time the
well-known face of Billot appeared at the opening.
' Billot !' cried Charny, ' is it you, my friend ?
' Yes, yes, 'tis I,' replied the honest farmer ; ' and the king and
queen, where are they ?'
'Th;y are here.'
' Safe and sound ?'
' Safe and sound.'
' May God be praised ! This way, Monsieur Gilbert, this way !'
cried he, in his stentorian voice.
At the name of Gilbert, the hearts of two women bounded with
very different feelings
The heart of the queen and the heart of Andre*e.
Charny turned round instinctively. He saw both Andre and the
queen turn pale at this name.
He shook his head and sighed.
' Open the door, gentlemen,' said the king.
The guards hastened to obey his orders, throwing aside the re-
mains of the barricade.
During this time the voice of Lafayette was heard crying :
' Gentlemen of the National Guard of Paris. I last night pledged
my word to the king that no injury should be done to any one be-
longing to his majesty. If you allow his guards to be massacred,
you will make me forfeit my word of honour, and I shall no longer
be worthy to be your chief.'
When the door was opened, the two persons first perceived were
General Lafayette and Gilbert ; a little to their left stood Billot,
perfectly delighted at the share he had taken in the king's de-
liverance.
It was Billot who had gone to awaken Lafayette.
Behind Lafayette, Gilbert, and Billot, was Captain Goudran, com-
manding the company of the centre St. Phillippe de Roule.
Madame Adelaide was the first who rushed forward to greet La-
fayette, and throwing her arms round his neck with all the gratitude
of terror,
' Ah, sir !' she exclaimed, ' it is you who have saved us !'
Lafayette advanced respectfully, and was about crossing the
threshold of the (Eil de Bceuf, when an officer stopped his progress.
' Your pardon, sir,' said he to him ; ' but have you rierht of ad-
mission ?'
4 04 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' If he have not,' said the king, holding out his hand to Lafayette,
' I give it to him.'
' Long live the king ! long live the queen !' cried Billot.
The king turned towards him.
' That is a voice I know,' said he, smiling.
' You are very kind, sire,' replied the worthy farmer. ' Yes, yes ;
you heard that voice on the journey to Paris. Ah ! had you but re-
mained in Paris instead of returning here.'
The queen knit her brows.
'Yes,' she said, 'since you Parisians are so very amiable.'
' Well, sir,' said the king to M. de Lafayette, as if he had been
asking him, ' in your opinion, what ought now to be done ?
' Sire,' respectfully replied M . de Lafayette, ' I think it would be
well that your majesty should show yourself on the balcony.'
The king asked Gilbert for his opinion, but merely by a look.
Louis XVI. then went straight to the window, and without hesi-
tation opened it himself and appeared upon the balcony.
A tremendous shout, a unanimous shout, burst from the people.
of
' Long live the king !'
Then a second cry followed the first :
' The king to Paris !'
Between these two cries, and sometimes overwhelming them, some
formidable voices shouted,
' The queen ! the queen !'
At this cry everybody shuddered ; the king turned pale, Charny
turned pale, even Gilbert himself turned pale.
The queen raised her head.
She was also pale, but with compressed lips and frowning brow,
she was standing near the window. Madame Royale was leaning
against her. Before her was the Dauphin, and on the fair head of
the child reclined her convulsively clenched hand, white as the
purest marble.
' The queen ! the queen !' reiterated the voices, becoming more
and more formidable.
' The people desire to see you, madame,' said Lafayette.
' Oh ! do not go, my mother !' said Madame Royale, in great
agony, and throwing her arms round the queen's neck.
The queen looked at Lafayette.
' Fear nothing, madame,' said he to her.
'What !' she exclaimed, ' and quite alone ?
Lafayette smiled, and respectfully, and with the delightful manner
which he retained even to his latest days, he took the two children
from their mother and made them first ascend the balcony.
Then offering his hand to the queen,
' If your majesty will deign to confide in me,' said he, ' I will be
responsible for all.'
THE MORNING. 405
And he conducted the queen on to the balcony.
It was a terrible spectacle, and one likely to cause the vertigo.
For the marble courtyard was transformed into a human sea, full of
roaring waves.
At the sight of the queen, an immense cry was uttered by the
whole of this crowd, and no one could have been positive whether
it was a cry of menace or of joy.
Lafayette kissed the queen's hand ; then loud applause burst
forth.
In the noble French nation there is, even in the veins of the
lowest born, chivalric blood.
The queen breathed more freely.
Then, suddenly shuddering,
'And my guards, sir,' said she, 'my guards, who have saved my
life ? can you do nothing for them ?'
' Let me have one of them, ma dame,' said Lafayette.
' Monsieur de Charny ! Monsieur de Charny !' cried the queen.
But Charny withdrew a step or two : he had understood what was
required of him.
He did not wish to make an apology for the evening of the 1st of
October.
Not having been guilty, he required no amnesty.
Andre'e, on her side, was impressed with the same feeling. She
had stretched out her hand to Charny for the purpose of preventing
him.
Her hand met the hand of the count, and these two hands were
pressed within each other.
The queen had observed this, notwithstanding she had so much
to observe at that moment
Her eyes flashed fire, and with a palpitating heart and broken
accents,
'Sir,' said she to another guard, 'sir, come here, I command you.'
The guard obeyed.
He had not, moreover, the same motives for hesitating as Charny
had.
M. de Lafayette drew the guard on to the balcony, and taking his
own tri coloured cockade from his hat, placed it in that of the guard,
after which he embraced him.
' Long live Lafayette ! long live the body-guard !' shouted fifty
thousand voices.
Some few wished to utter some hollow growlings, the last threat
of the disappearing tempest.
But they were overwhelmed by the universal acclamation.
' Come,' said Lafayette, ' all is ended, and fine weather has re-
turned.'
Then, stepping into the room,
' But that it should not again be overcast, sire, there still remains
a sacrifice for vou to make.'
406 TAX-ING THE BASTILE.
1 Yes,' said the king pensively, ' to leave Versailles, is it not 7
* And come to Paris yes, sire.'
' Sir,' said the king, 'you may announce to the people that at one
o'clock, I, the queen, and my children, will set out for Paris.'
Then, turning to the queen,
' Madame,' said he, ' you had better retire to your own apartment,
and prepare yourself.'
This order of the king appeared to remind Charny of an event of
importance which he had forgotten.
He rushed from the room, preceding the queen.
' Why are you going to my apartment, sir ?' said the queen harshly
to him ; ' you have no need to go there.'
' I earnestly trust it may be so, madame,' replied Charny ; * but
be not uneasy: if really I am not needed there, I shall not remain
long enough to cause my presence to be displeasing to your
majesty.'
The queen followed him ; traces of blood stained the floor, and
the queen saw them. She closed her eyes, and seeking an arm to
guide her, she took that of Charny, and walked some steps in this
way as a blind person.
Suddenly she felt that every nerve in Charny's body shuddered.
' What is the matter, sir ?' she said, opening her eyes.
Then suddenly
' A dead body ! a dead body !' she exclaimed.
' Your majesty will excuse my withdrawing my arm,' said he. ' I
have found that which I came to seek in your apartment the dead
body of my brother George.'
It was in fact the dead body of the unfortunate young man, whom
his brother had ordered to allow himself to be killed rather than
that the queen should be approached!
He had punctually obeyed.
CHAPTER LIV.
GEORGE DE CHARNY.
THE circumstances we have just related have been recounted in a
hundred different ways ; for they were certainly the most interesting
which occurred in the great period between 1789 and 1795, and
which is called the French Revolution.
They will be related in a hundred various ways still ; but we can
affirm beforehand that no one will relate them with more impar-
tiality than we do.
But of what service will all these narratives be, however true they
are ? Did ever a political lesson prove instructive to a political
man ?
No ! queens have wept ; no ! kings have been murdered ; and yet
GEORGE DE CHARNY. 40$
their successors have never profited by the cruel lesson which fate
had given them.
Faithful subjects have been prodigal of their devotedness,without
those whom fatality had destined to misfortune having derived any
advantage from it.
Alas ! we have seen the queen almost stumble over the body of
one of those men whom kings, when they depart, leave bleeding
upon the road which they have traversed in their fall.
A few hours after the cry of terror which the queen had uttered,
and at the moment when, with the king and her children, she was
about to leave Versailles, where she was never to return, the follow-
ing scene took place in an interior courtyard, damp from the rain,
and which a sharp autumnal wind had begun to dry.
A man dressed in black was leaning over a dead body.
A man dressed in the uniform of the Royal Guards was kneeling
on the opposite side of this body.
At three paces from them a third person was standing, with
clasped hands and fixed eyes, gazing intently at them.
The dead body was that of a young man of from twenty-two to
twenty-three years of age, the whole of whose blood appeared to
have escaped through large wounds in his head and chest.
His chest was scarred with frightful gashes, the skin surrounding
them was of a livid white ; it appeared still to heave with the dis-
dainful breathings of a hopeless defence.
His half-opened mouth, his head thrown back with an expression
of pain and anger, recalled to the mind the beautiful statue of the
dying gladiator.
' And life with a long groan fled to the abode of shadows.'
The man dressed in black was Gilbert.
The officer on his knees was the Count de Charny.
The man standing near them was Billot.
The corpse was that of the Baron George de Charny.
Gilbert, leaning over the body, gazed at it with that sublime in-
tentness which with the dying retains life when about to escape,
and with the dead almost recalls the soul which has taken flight.
' Cold, stiff he is dead positively dead !' said he at length.
The Count de Charny uttered a hoarse groan, and pressing in
his arms the insensible body, burst into sobs, so heart-rending, that
the doctor shuddered, and Billot ran to hide his head in a corner
of the small courtyard.
Then suddenly the count raised the body, placed it against the
wall, and slowly withdrew, still looking at it as if he expected that
his dead brother would become reanimated and follow him.
Gilbert remained still kneeling on one knee, his head reclining
on his hand, pensive and motionless.
Billot then left his dark corner and went up to Gilbert ; he no
longer heard the count's sobs, which had torn his heart.
408 TAKING THE BASTILB.
1 Alas ! alas ! Monsieur Gilbert,' said he, ' this, then, is really
what we have to expect in civil war, and that which you predicted
to me is now happening only it is happening sooner than I expected,
and even sooner than you yourself expected. I saw these -villains
murdering unworthy people ; and now I see these villains murder-
ing honest people. I saw them massacre Flesselles ; I saw them
massacre Monsieur de Launay ; I saw Foulon massacred ; I saw
Berth ier massacred. I then shuddered in every lirnb, and I felt a
horror for all men.'
' And yet the men they were then killing were miserable wretches.'
' It was then, Monsieur Gilbert, that you predicted the time would
come when they would kill honest people.'
' They have killed the Baron de Charny ; I no longer shudder I
weep ; I have no longer a horror of others I fear I may resemble
them.'
' Billot !' cried Gilbert.
But without listening Billot continued :
' Here is a young man whom they have assassinated, Monsieur
Gilbert he was a mere boy he was fairly combating, he was not
assassinating, but he has been assassinated.'
Billot heaved a sigh, which seemed to issue from the bottom of
his heart.
' Ah ! the unhappy youth, 5 he cried. ' I Knew him when he was
a child. I have seen him pass by when he was going from Bour-
sonne to Villers-Cotterets on his little grey pony ; he was carrying
bread to the poor from his mother.
' He was a beautiful boy, with a fair, rosy complexion, and large
blue eyes ; he was always smiling. Well ! it is very extraordinary,
since I saw him stretched out there, bloody and disfigured, it is not
a corpse that I behold in him, but always the smiling child of former
days, carrying a basket in his left hand and a purse in his right.
' Ah ! Monsieur Gilbert, in truth I believe I have now had
enough of it, and do not desire to see anything more ; for you pre-
dicted this to me. The time will come when I shall also see you
die, and then '
Gilbert gently shook his head.
' Billot,' said he, ' be calm ; my hour has not yet come.'
' Be it so ; but mine has come, doctor. I have a harvest down
yonder which has rotted, fields that are lying fallow, a family whom
I love ten times more dearly on seeing this dead body, whose
family are weeping for him.'
' What do you mean to say, my dear Billot ? Do you believe,
perchance, that I am going to afflict myself about you ?
' Oh, no !' replied Billot, ingenuously ; ' but as I suffer, I com-
plain ; and as complaining leads to nothing, I calculate on allevia-
ting my own sufferings in my own way.'
' Which means to say that '
GEORGE DE CHARNY. 409
' It means that I desire to return to my farm, Monsieur Gilbert.'
' Again, Billot ?'
'Ah \ Monsieur Gilbert, there is a voice down yonder which is
calling for me.'
' Take care, Billot ; that voice is advising you to desert.'
' I am not a soldier, and therefore there is no desertion, Monsieur
Gilbert.'
' What you are wishing to do would be a desertion far more cul-
pable than that of a soldier.'
' Explain that to me, doctor.'
' How ! you have come to Paris to demolish ; and you would fly
as soon as the building is falling.'
' Yes, that I may not crush my friends.'
1 Or rather, that you may not be crushed yourself.'
'Why, why !' replied Billot, ' it is not forbidden that a man should
think a little of himself.'
' Ah ! that is a magnificent calculation, indeed ; as if stones did
not roll, as if in rolling they did not crush, and even at a distance,
the timid men who would fly from them.'
' Oh ! you are well aware that I am not a timid man, Monsieur
Gilbert. 5
' Then you will remain, Billot ; I have occasion for you here.'
' My family also stands in need of me down yonder.'
1 Billot ! Billot ! I thought that you had agreed with me that a
man who loves his country has no family.'
' I should like to know whether you would use the same language
if Sebastian lay there, as that young man lies.'
And he pointed to the dead body.
'Billot,' replied Gilbert in a hollow tone, 'the day will arrive
when my son shall see me as I now see that body.'
' So much the worse for him, doctor, if on that day he should be
as calm as you are now.'
' I hope that he will be a better man than I am, Billot, and tha'
he will be firmer still, and precisely because I shall have given him
an example of firmness.'
' Then you would have the child accustom himself to see blood
flowing around him, that he should in his youthful years acquire
the habit of great conflagrations, of gibbets and riots attacks in
the dark that he should see kings threatened, queens insulted, and
then, when he has become as hard as his sword-blade, and quite as
cold, you would still expect that he should love, that he should
respect you.'
' No, I would not have him see all that, Billot ; and that is the
reason for my sending him back to Villers-CotterSts, and which I
now almost regret.'
' How ! You now regret it ?
'Yes.'
27
410 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' And why do you now regret ?'
' Because he would this day have seen exemplified the axiom of
the lion and the rat, which to him is but a fable.'
' What do you mean to say, Monsieur Gilbert ?
' I say that he would have seen a poor farmer, whom chance has
brought to Paris, a brave and honest man, who can neither read
nor write, who never could have believed that his life could have
influenced, either for good or evil, the high destinies which he
scarcely dared to raise his eyes to I say, that he would have seen
that man who had already at one time wished to leave Paris, as he
again wishes it 1 say that he would have seen this man contribute
efficaciously to save the life of a king, a queen, and two royal chil-
dren.'
Billot stared at Gilbert with astonished eyes.
' And how so, Monsieur Gilbert ? says he.
' How so ! you sublimely ignorant fellow. I will tell you how.
By waking at the first noise that was made ; by guessing that this
noise was a tempest ready to burst upon Versailles ; by running
to wake up Monsieur Lafayette for Monsieur Lafayette was asleep.'
' Zounds ! that was perfectly natural, for he had been twelve
hours on horseback, and for twenty-four hours he had not been
in bed.'
' By leading him to the palace,' continued Gilbert, ' and by bring-
ing him at once into the midst of the assassins and crying : " Stop*
wretches, here is the avenger !" '
' Well, now, that is really true I did all that.'
' Well, then, Billot, you see that this is a great compensation.
If you did not prevent this young man being assassinated, yoi
have perhaps prevented the assassination of the king, the queen,
and the two children. Ungrateful man ! and you ask to leave the
service of the country at the very moment when the country recom-
penses you.'
' But who will ever know what I have done, since I myself even
had no idea of it ?'
' You and I, Billot and is not that enough ?
Billot reflected for a moment, then, holding out his rough hand to
the doctor,
' I declare you are right, Monsieur Gilbert,' said he ; ' but you
know that a man is but a weak, egotistical, inconstant creature.
There is but you, Monsieur Gilbert, who is firm, generous, and
constant. What is it that has made you so ?'
'Misfortune,' said Gilbert, with a smile, in which there was more
sorrow than in a sob.
'That is singular,' said Billot; 'I had thought that misfortune
made men wicked.'
' The weak ; yes.'
' And I should be unfortunate and become wicked*'
P1TOU AND SEBASTIAN GILBERT. 414
' You may, perhaps, be unfortunate ; but you will never become
wicked, Billot.'
' Are you sure of that ?'
' I will answer for you.'
* In that case/ said Billot, sighing.
' In that case ' repeated Gilbert.
' Why, I will remain with you ; but more than once I know I
shall again be vacillating.'
' And every time it happens, Billot, I shall be near you to sustain
your firmness.'
' Well, again I say, so be it,' sighed the farmer.
Then, casting a last look on the body of the Baron George de
Charny, which the servants were about to remove on a bier,
* It matters not !' said Billot ; ' he was a handsome boy, that
little George de Charny, on his little grey pony, with a basket on
his left arm and his purse in the other.'
CHAPTER LV.
DEPARTURE, JOURNEY, AND ARRIVAL OF PITOU AND
SEBASTIAN GILBERT.
WE have seen, under circumstances long anterior to those we have
now related, the departure of Pitou and Sebastian Gilbert.
Our intention being, for the present, to abandon the principal
personages of our history, to follow the two young travellers, we
hope that our readers will allow us to enter into some details re-
lating to their arrival at Villers-Cotterets.
Gilbert had commissioned Pitou to go to the college Louis le
Grand and to bring Sebastian to him. For this purpose they put
Pitou into a hackney coach, and as they had confided Sebastian to
Pitou, they confided Pitou to the care of the coachman.
In about an hour the coach brought back Pitou ; Pitou brought
back Sebastian.
Gilbert and Billot were waiting for them in an apartment which
they had taken in the Rue St. Honore", a little above the Church of
the Assumption.
Gilbert explained to his son that he was to set out the same
evening with Pitou, and asked him whether he would not be well
pleased to return to the great woods he so much loved.
'Yes, father,' replied the boy, 'provided that you will come to
see me at Villers-Cotterets, or that you allow me to come to see you
at Paris.'
' You may be easy on that score, my ckild,' replied Gilbert, kissing
4 i2 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
his son's* forehead ; ' you know that now I shall never be happj
when away from you.'
As to Pitou, he coloured with delight at the idea of setting out the
same evening.
He turned pale with happiness when Gilbert placed, within one
of his, both Sebastian's hands, and in the other ten double louis, of
the value of forty-eight livres each.
A long series of instructions, almost all regarding the health of
his companion, were given by the doctor to Pitou, to which he re-
ligiously listened.
Sebastian cast down his large eyes to conceal his tears.
Pitou was weighing and jingling his louis in his immense pocket.
Gilbert gave a letter to Pitou, who was thus installed in his func-
tions, pro tern., of tutor.
This letter was for the Abbd Fortier.
The doctor's harangue being terminated, Billot spoke in his
turn.
' Monsieur Gilbert,' said he, ' has confided to you the health of
Sebastian ; I will confide to you his personal safety. You have a
pair of stout fists in case of need; make good use of them.'
' Yes,' said Pitou ; ' and, besides them, I have a sabre.'
' Do not make an abuse of that.'
' I will be merciful,' said Pitou ; ' clemens era?
'A hero, if you will,' repeated Billot, but not intending to say it
jeeringly.
' And now,' said Gilbert, ' I will point out to you the way in which
Sebastian should travel.'
' Oh !' cried Pitou, ' it is only eighteen leagues from Paris to
Villers-Cptterets ; we will talk all the way, Sebastian and I.'
Sebastian looked at his father, as if to ask him whether it would be
very amusing to talk during the journey of eighteen leagues with
Pitou.
Pitou caught this glance.
' We will speak Latin,' said he, ' and we shall be taken for learned
men.'
This was the dream of his ambition, the innocent creature.
How many others, with ten double louis in their pocket, would
have said
' We will buy gingerbread.'
Gilbert appeared for a moment to be in doubt
He looked at Pitou, then at Billot.
' I understand you,' said the latter ; ' you are asking yourself
whether Pitou is a proper guide, and you hesitate to confide your
child to him.'
' Oh !' said Gilbert, ' it is not to him that I confide him.'
' To whom then ?
PITOU AND SEBASTIAN GILBERT. 413
Gilbert looked up to heaven ; he was still too much a Voltairian to
dare to reply
< To God !'
And the affair was settled. They resolved, in consequence, not
to make any change in Pitou's plan, which promised, without ex-
posing him to too much fatigue, a journey replete with amusement
to Sebastian ; but it was decided they should not commence it until
the following morning.
Gilbert might have sent his son to Villers-Cottere'ts by one of the
public conveyances, which at that period were running between Paris
and the frontiers, or even in his own carriage ; but we know how
much he feared the isolation of thought for young Sebastian, and
nothing so much isolates dreaming people as the motion and rumb-
ling noise of a carriage.
He therefore took the two young travellers as far as Bourget, and
then, showing them the open road, on which a brilliant sun was
shining, and bordered by a double row of trees, he embraced his
son again, and, opening his arms, said
' Now go !'
Pitou therefore set off, leading Sebastian, who several times turned
round to blow kisses to his father, who was standing, his arms
crossed, upon the spot where he had taken leave of his son, following
him with his eyes, as if he were following a dream.
Pitou raised himself to the full height of his extraordinary stature.
Pitou was very proud of the confidence reposed in him by a person
of M. Gilbert's importance, one of the king's physicians-in-ordinary.
Pitou prepared himself scrupulously to fulfil the task entrusted to
him, which combined the functions of a tutor and almost those of a
governess.
Moreover, it was with full confidence in himself that he was con-
ducting little Sebastian ; he travelled very quietly, passing through
villages which were all in commotion and terror since the events at
Paris, which had only just occurred ; for although we have brought
up these events to the 5th and 6th October, it must be remembered
that it was towards the end of July or the beginning of August that
Pitou and Sebastian left Paris.
Besides this, Pitou had retained his helmet for a head-dress, and
his long sabre as a defensive weapon.
These were all that he had gained by the events of the I3th
and 1 4th July ; but this twofold trophy satisfied his ambition, and
by giving him a formidable air, at the same time sufficed for his
safety.
Moreover, this formidable air, to which indubitably the helmet and
dragoon's sabre greatly contributed, Pitou had acquired indepen-
dently of them. A man has not assisted in taking the Bastile, he
has not even merely been present at it, without having retained
omething heroic in his deportment.
4U TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Pitou had, in addition to this, become somewhat of an advocate.
No one could have listened to the resolutions passed at the H6tel
de Ville, to the orations of M. Bailly, the harangues of M. de Laia-
yette, without becoming somewhat of an orator ; above all, if he
had already studied the Latin Condones, of which French elo-
quence at the close of the eighteenth century was rather a pale,
though a tolerably correct, imitation.
Furnished with these two powerful modes of argument, to which
two vigorous fists were no mean adjuncts, and possessing a rare
amenity of smile and a most interesting appetite, Pitou journeyed
on agreeably towards Villers-Cotterets.
For the curious in politics he had news, besides which he could
manufacture them in case of need, having resided in Paris, where,
from that period, their fabrication has been always remarkable.
He related how M. Berthier had left immense buried treasures,
which the government would some day manage to dig up. How
M. de Lafayette, the paragon of all glory, the pride of provincial
France, was no longer considered in Paris but as a half-used-up doll,
whose white horse was a fertile subject for the concoction of jests
and caricatures. How M. Bailly, whom M. de Lafayette honoured
with his most intimate friendship, as well as all the members of his
family, was an aristocrat, and that scandalous people said even worse
things of him.
When he related all this, Pitou raised tempests of anger against
him, but he possessed the quos ego of all these storms. He would
then relate unpublished anecdotes of the Austrian woman.
His inexhaustible fancy procured for him an uninterrupted suc-
cession of excellent repasts, until he arrived at Vauciennes, the last
village on the road before reaching Villers-Cotterets.
As Sebastian, on the contrary, eat little or nothing as he did not
speak at all as he was a pale and sickly-looking youth, every one
who felt interested in Sebastian, admired the vigilant and paternal
care of Pitou towards him, who caressed, cosseted, attended on the
boy, and into the bargain, eat his part of the dinners, without seem-
ing to have any other motive than that of being agreeable to him.
When they arrived at Vauciennes, Pitou appeared to hesitate ; he
looked at Sebastian, Sebastian looked at Pitou.
Pitou scratched his head. This was his mode of expressing his
embarrassment.
Sebastian knew enough of Pitou to be aware of this peculiarity.
' Well, what is the matter, Pitou ?' asked Sebastian.
' The matter is, that if it were the same thing to you, and if you
were not too tired, instead of continuing our way straight on, we
would return to Villers-Cotterets through Haramont.
And Pitou, honest lad, blushed while expressing this wish, as
Catherine would have blushed when expressing a less innocent
desire.
P1TOU AND SEBASTIAN GILBERT. 415
Sebastian at once understood him.
' Ah ! yes,' said he, ' it was there our poor mother, Pitou, died.'
' Come, my brother, come.'
Pitou pressed Sebastian to his heart with an energy that almost
suffocated him, and taking the boy's hand, be began running down
the cross-road, which leads along the valley of Wuala, and so rapidly
that, after going a hundred paces, poor Sebastian was completely
out of breath, and was obliged to say
' Too fast, Pitou, too fast.'
Pitou stopped ; he had not perceived that h was going too fast,
it being his usual pace.
He saw that Sebastian was pale and out of breath.
He took him on his shoulders and carried him.
In this way Pitou might walk as fast as he pleased.
As it was not the first time that Pitou had carried Sebastian,
Sebastian made no objection.
They thus reached Largny. There Sebastian, feeling that Pitou
was panting, declared that he had rested long enough, and that he
was ready to walk at any pace that might suit Pitou.
Pitou, being full of magnanimity, moderated his pace.
Half an hour after this, Pitou was at the entrance of Haramont,
the pretty village where he first saw the light, as says the romance
of a great poet a romance, the music of which is of more value
than the words.
When they reached it, the two boys cast a look around them to
discover their old haunts.
The first thing which they perceived was the crucifix which popular
piety habitually places at the entrance to all villages.
Alas ! even at Haramont they felt the strange progression which
Paris was making towards atheism. The nails which fastened the
right arm and the feet of the figure of Christ had broken off from
rust having eaten through them. The figure was hanging, sus-
pended only by the left arm, and no one had had the pious idea of
replacing the symbol of that liberty, that equality, that fraternity
which every one was in those days preaching.
Pitou was not devout, but he had the traditions of his childhood.
That this holy symbol should have been thus neglected, wounded
him to the heart. He searched the hedges for one of those creep-
ing plants which are as thin and as tenacious as iron wire, laid his
helmet and his sabre on the grass, climbed up the cross, refastened
the arm of the divine martyr to it, kissed the feet, and descended.
During this time Sebastian was praying on his knees at the foot
of the cross. For whom was he praying ? Who can tell ?
Perhaps for that vision of his childhood which he fondly hoped
once more to find beneath the great trees ; for that unknown mother
who is never unknown ; for if she has not nourished us from her
breast, yet is she still our mother.
416 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
His holy action being accomplished, Pitou replaced his helmet
on his head, and replaced his sabre in his belt.
When Sebastian had concluded his prayer, he made the sign of
the cross, and again took Pitou's hand.
Both of them then entered the village, and advanced towards the
cottage in which Pitou had been born, in which Sebastian had been
nursed.
Pitou knew every stone in Haramont, and yet he could not find
the cottage. He was obliged to inquire what had become of it, and
the person he applied to showed him a small house built of stone,
with a slated roof.
The garden of this house was surrounded by a wall
Aunt Angelique had sold her sister's house, and the new pro-
prietor, having full right to do so, had pulled down everything the
old walls, which had again become dust the old door with a hole
cut in it to allow ingress to the cat the old windows, with their
panes half glass, half paper, upon which had appeared in strokes the
elementary lessons Pitou had received in writing the thatched roof
with its green moss, and the plants which had grown and blossomed
on its summit. The new proprietor had pulled down all this all
had disappeared.
The gate was closed, and lying on the threshold was a big black
dog, who showed his teeth to Pitou.
' Come,' said Pitou, the tears starting from his eyes ; ' let us
begone, Sebastian. Let us go to a place where at least I am sure
that nothing will have changed.'
And Pitou dragged Sebastian to the cemetery where his mother
had been buried.
He was right, the poor boy ! There, nothing had been changed ;
only the grass had grown it grows so rapidly in cemeteries that
there was some chance even that he would not be able to recognise
his mother's grave. Fortunately, at the same time that the grass
had grown, a branch of a weeping-willow which Pitou had planted,
had, in three years, become a tree. He went straight to the tree
and kissed the earth which it overshadowed, with the same
instinctive piety with which he had kissed the feet of the figure of
Christ.
When he rose from the ground, he felt the branches of the willow,
agitated by the wind, waving around his head.
He then stretched out his arms, and clasping the branches, pressed
them to his heart.
It was as if he was holding the hair of his mother, which he was
embracing for the last time.
The two youths remained a considerable time by the side of this
grave, and evening was approaching.
It was necessary that they should leave it, the only thing that
appeared to have any remembrance of Pitou.
PITOU AGAIN TURNED OUT OF DOORS. 417
When about to leave it, Pitou for a moment had the idea of break-
ing off a slip of the willow and placing it in his helmet ; but just
when he was raising his hand to do so, he paused.
It appeared to him that it would be giving pain to his poor mother
to tear off a branch from a tree, the roots of which, perhaps, were
entwined round the decaying deal coffin in which her remains
reposed.
He again kissed the ground, took Sebastian by the hand, and
left the cemetery.
All the inhabitants of the village were either in the fields or in the
woods ; few persons, therefore, had seen Pitou ; and disguised as he
was by his helmet and his long sabre, among those persons no one
had recognised him.
He therefore took the road to Villers-Cotterets, a delightful road
which runs through the forest for nearly three-quarters of a league
without meeting any living or animated object to divert his grief.
Sebastian followed, mute and pensive as himself.
They arrived at Villers-Cotterets at about five in the afternoon.
CHAPTER LVI.
H30W PITOU, AFTER HAVING BEEN CURSED AND TURNED OUT OF
DOORS BY HIS AUNT ON ACCOUNT OF A BARBARISM AND THREE
SOLECISMS, WAS AGAIN CURSED AND TURNED OUT BY HER ON
ACCOUNT OF A FOWL COOKED WITH RICE.
PlTOU arrived at Villers-Cotterets by that part of the park which is
called the Pheasantry. He walked across the dancing place, always
abandoned during the week, and to which he had three weeks pre-
viously conducted Catherine.
What a number of things had happened to Pitou and to France
during those three weeks !
Then, having followed the long avenue of chestnut-trees, he
reached the square before the chateau, and knocked at the back
door of the college presided over by the Abbe* Fortier.
It was full three years since Pitou had left Haramont, while it
was only three weeks since he had left Villers-Cotterets. It was
therefore very natural that he should not have been recognised at
Haramont, and that he should have been recognised at Villers-
Cotterets.
In a moment a rumour ran through the town that Pitou had
returned there with young Sebastian Gilbert ; that both of them
had gone into the house of the Abb Fortier ; that Sebastian looked
much the same as when he had left them, but that Pitou had a helmet
and a long sword.
The result of this was that a great crowd had assembled at the
principal gate ; for they calculated that if Pitou had gone into the
418 TAKING THE BASTILE.
chateau by the small private door, he would come out of it by the
great gate in the Rue de Soissons.
This was his direct road for going to the Pleux.
In fact, Pitou remained at the Abb Former's only long enough to
deliver into the hands of the abbess sister the letter from the doctor,
the young lad himself, and five double louis destined to pay his
board.
The Abbe" Fortier's sister was at first much terrified when she saw
so formidable a soldier advancing through the garden ; but soon,
beneath the dragoon's helmet, she recognised the placid and honest
face of Pitou, which somewhat tranquillised her.
And finally, the sight of the five double louis reassured her
altogether.
This terror of the poor old maid can be the more readily explained,
by informing our readers that the Abbe* Fortier had gone out with
his pupils to give them a walk, and that she was quite alone in the
house.
Pitou, after having delivered the letter and the five double louis,
embraced Sebastian, and left the house, clapping his helmet on his
head with due military bravado.
Sebastian had shed some tears on separating from Pitou, although
the separation was not to be of long duration, and notwithstanding
that his society was not exceedingly amusing ; but his hilarity, his
mildness, his continued obligingness, had touched the heart of
young Gilbert. Pitou had the disposition of those fine great New-
foundland dogs, who sometimes fatigue you very much, but who in
the end disarm your anger by licking your hand.
There was one thing which diminished Sebastian's grief, which
was that Pitou promised that he would often go to see him. One
thing diminished Pitou's regret, and this was that Sebastian thanked
him for his promise.
But now let us for awhile follow our hero from the house of the
Abbd Fortier to that of his aunt Angelique, situated, as our readers
already know, at the farther end of the Pleux.
On leaving the Abbe* Fortier's house, Pitou found some twenty
persons who were waiting for him. His strange equipment, a descrip-
tion of which had been given throughout the town, was in part known
to those assembled. On seeing him thus return from Paris, where
so much fighting was going on, they presumed that Pitou had been
lighting too, and they wished to hear the news.
This news Pitou communicated with his accustomed majesty.
The taking of the Bastile, the exploits of M. Billot and of M. Maillard,
of Messieurs Elie and Hullin ; how Billot had fallen into the ditch
of the fortress, and how he, Pitou, had dragged him out of it ; finally,
how they had saved M . Gilbert, who during six or seven days had
been one of the prisoners confined there.
The auditors already knew most n the details that Pitou
P1TCU AGAIN TURNED OUT OF DOORS. 419
had related to them ; but they had read all these details in the news-
papers of the day, and however faithful the editor of a newspaper
may be in his writings, he always knows less than an ocular witness
who relates the incidents who may be interrupted, and who re-
sumes who may be questioned, and replies.
Now Pitou resumed, replied, gave all the details, showing, when
interrupted, the greatest obligingness in all his answers the greatest
possible amenity.
The result of all this was that in about an hour's conversation at
the door of the Abb Fortier, in which he gave a succinct narrative,
the Rue de Soissons was crowded with auditors, when one of the
persons present, observing some signs of anxiety in Pitou's counten
ance, took upon himself to say :
' But he is fatigued, poor Pitou, and we are keeping him here upon
his legs instead of allowing him to go to his aunt Angelique's
house, poor dear woman, who will be so delighted at seeing him
again.'
' It is not that I am fatigued,' said Pitou, ' but that I am hungry.
I have never been fatigued, but I am always hungry.'
Then, and in consequence of this ingenuous declaration,the crowd,
who highly respected the cravings of Pitou's stomach, respectfully
made way for him to pass, and Pitou, followed by some persons
more inveterately curious than the rest, was permitted to wend his
way to the Pleux that is to say, to the house of his aunt Angelique.
Aunt Angelique was not at home ; she had gone doubtless to visit
some neighbours, and the door was locked.
Several persons then invited Pitou to go to their houses and
take the nourishment he stood in need of ; but Pitou proudly
refused.
' But,' said they to him, ' you see, dear Pitou, that your aunt's door
is locked.'
' The door of an aunt cannot remain locked before an obedient
and hungry nephew,' said Pitou majestically.
And, drawing his long sabre, the sight of which made men and
children start back with affright, he introduced the point of it be-
tween the bolt and the staple of the lock, gave a vigorous jerk, and
the door flew open, to the great admiration of all present, who no
longer doubted the great exploits of Pitou, since they saw him with
so much audacity expose himself to the anger of the ill-tempered old
maid.
The interior of the house was in precisely the same state as when
Pitou had left it. The famous leathern arm-chair royally held its
state in the centre of the room ; two or three other mutilated chairs
and stools formed the lame court of the great arm-chair ; at the end
of the room was the kneading-trough ; on the right, the cupboard
and the chimney.
Pitou entered the house with a bland smile ; he had no quarrel with
430 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
all these poor articles of furniture ; on the contrary, they were the
friends of his youth. They were, it is true, almost as hard in their
nature as Aunt Angelique ; but when they were opened, there was
something good to be found in them ; while, had Aunt Angelique
been opened, her inside would certainly have been found dryer and
worse than her exterior.
Fitou, upon the instant, gave a proof of what we have advanced to
the persons who had followed him, and who, seeing what was going
on, were waiting outside the house, curious to see what would be
the result when Aunt Angelique should return home.
It was, moreover, very perceptible that all these persons felt great
sympathy for Pitou. We have said that Pitou was hungry, so
hungry that it had been perceived by the change in his countenance.
Therefore he lost no time ; he went straight to the kneading-
trough and cupboard.
In former times we say former times, although scarcely three
weeks had elapsed since Pitou's departure ; for, in our opinion, time
is to be measured, not by its duration, but by the events which have
occurred in former times, Pitou, unless urged on by the evil spirit,
or by irresistible hunger, both of them infernal powers, and which
much resemble each other in former times Pitou would have
seated himself upon the threshold of the closed door, and humbly
waited the return of Aunt Angelique ; when she had returned, would
have bowed to her with a soft smile ; then, standing aside, would
have made room for her to pass, would have followed her into the
house, would have gone for a loaf and a knife, that she might
measure out his portion to him ; then, his share being cut off, he
would have cast a longing eye, a single look, tearful and magnetic
he thought it so at least magnetic to such a degree as to call
forth the cheese or any other dainty from the shelf of the cup-
board.
An electricity which rarely succeeded, but which, however, some-
times did succeed.
But now, Pitou having become a man, no longer acted thus : he
tranquilly raised the lid of the bread-trough, drew from his pocket
his long clasp-knife, took the loaf and angularly cut off a slice which
might have weighed a good kilogramme (two pounds), as is elegantly
said since the adoption of the new-system weights.
Then he let fall the loaf into the trough again, and the cover on
the loaf.
After which, without allowing his equanimity to be at all disturbed,
he went to the cupboard.
It appeared to Pitou for an instant that he heard the growling
voice of Aunt Angelique ; but the cupboard-door creaked upon its
hinges, and this noise, which had all the power of reality, drowned
the other, which had only the influence of imagination.
At the time when Pitou was one of the household, the avariciouf
PITOU AGAIN TURNED OUT OF DOORS. 421
aunt would provide only viands of a coarse description, such as
Marolles cheese, or thin slices of highly-salted bacon, surrounded
by the verdant leaves of an enormous cabbage ; but since this fabu-
lous devourer had left the country, the aunt, in despite of her avarice,
would cook up for herself dishes that would last her a whole week,
but which were of a much more succulent description.
Sometimes it would be a good piece of beef a-la-mode, surrounded
by carrots and onions, stewed in the gravy ; sometimes a haricot of
mutton with savoury potatoes, big as a child's head, or long as
cucumbers ; sometimes a calf s foot, flavoured with some shalots
in vinegar, to give it more piquancy ; sometimes it was a gigantic
omelet made in the great frying-pan and variegated with a quantity
of chives and parsley, or enamelled with slices of bacon, one of
which sufficed for the dinner of the old woman, even on the days
when she had the greatest appetite.
During the whole week, Aunt Angelique would, with great dis-
cretion, enjoy the savoury dish, making only such breaches in the
precious morsel as the exigencies of the moment required.
Each day did she rejoice in being alone to consume such good
things, and during the thrice happy week she thought of her nephew,
Ange Pitou, as often as she placed her hand upon the dish or raised
a mouthful to her lips.
Pitou was in great good luck.
He had fallen upon a day it was Monday when Aunt Angelique
had cooked an old cock with rice, which had boiled so long, sur-
rounded with its bland covering of paste, that the bones had left the
flesh, and the flesh had become almost tender.
Itwas a formidable dish it was served up in a deep wide porringer,
which, though black externally, was resplendent and attractive to
the eye.
The meat was placed above the rice, looking like small islands or
the bosom of a vast lake, and the cock's comb, rising above them all.
looked like the crest of Ceuta in the Straits of Gibraltar.
Pitou had not even the courtesy to utter one word of admiration
on seeing this great marvel.
Spoiled by good living, he forgot, the ungrateful fellow ! that such
magnificence had never until then inhabited the cupboard of Aunt
Angelique.
He held his great hunch of bread in his right hand.
He seized the vast dish in his left, and held it in equilibrium by
the pressure of his immense square thumb, buried as far as the first
joint in the unctuous mess, the odour of which was grateful to his
olfactory organs. At this moment it appeared to Pitou that a shadow
interposed between the light of the doorway and himself.
He turned round smiling, for Pitou's was one of those artless dis-
positions whose faces always giv svidssce sf th-2 satisfaction of their
hearts.
422 TAKING 7 HE BASTILE.
The shadow was the body of Aunt Angelique.
Of Aunt Angelique, more miserly, more crabbed, and more skin-
and-bone than ever.
In former days we are obliged incessantly to return to the same
figure of speech that is to say, to the comparative, as comparison
alone can express our thought ; in former times, at the sight of
Aunt Angelique, Pitou would have let fall the dish, and while
Aunt Angelique would have bent forward in despair to pick up the
fragments of her fowl and the grains of rice, he would have bounded
over her head, and would have taken to his heels, carrying off his
bread under his arm.
But Pitou was no longer the same ; his helmet and his sabre had
less changed him, physically speaking, than his having associated
with the great philosophers of the day had changed him morally.
Instead of flying terrified from his aunt, he approached her with a
gracious smile, opened wide his arms, and, although she endeavoured
toescape the pressure, embraced her with all his might, squeezing the
old maid so energetically to his breast, while his hands, the one
loaded with the dish containing the fowl and rice, and the other with
the bread and knife, were crossed behind her back.
When he had accomplished this most nephew-like act, which he
considered as a duty imposed upon him, and which it was necessary
to fulfil, he breathed with all the power of his vast lungs, and
said :
' Aunt Angelique, you may well be surprised, but it is indeed your
poor Pitou.'
When he had clasped her so fervently in his arms, the old maid
imagined that, having been surprised in the very act by her, Pitou
had wished to suffocate her, as Hercules, in former days, had
strangled Antaeus.
She, on her side, breathed more freely when she found herself
relieved from this dangerous embrace.
Only Aunt Angelique might have remarked that Pitou had not
even manifested his admiration of the dish he was devouring.
Pitou was not only ungrateful, but he was also ill-bred.
But there was one thing which disgusted Aunt Angelique more than
the rest ; and this was, that, while she would be seated in state in her
leathern arm-chair, Pitou would not even dare to sit down on one of
the dilapidated chairs or one of the lame stools which surrounded
it; but, instead of this, after having so cordially embraced her, Pitou
had very coolly ensconced himself in her own arm-chair, had
placed the dish between his knees, and was leisurely devouring its
contents.
In his powerful right hand he held the knife already mentioned, the
blade of which was wide and long, a perfect spatula, with which
Polyphemus himself might have eaten his pottage.
In the other hand he held a bit of bread of three fingers wide and
P2TOU AGAIN TURNED OUT OF DOORS. 423
six inches long ; a perfect broom, with which he swept up the rice,
while on its side the knife, in seeming gratitude, pushed the meat
upon the bread.
A learned, though pitiless manoeuvre, the result of which, in a
few minutes, was that it caused the blue and white of the interior of
the dish to become visible, as during the ebbing tide we gradually
perceive the rings and marks upon the quays of a seaport.
We must renounce attempting to describe the frightful perplexity
and despair of Aunt Angelique.
At one moment she imagined that she could call out.
Pitou, however, smiled at her with such a fascinating air, that the
words expired before Aunt Angelique could give them utterance.
Then she attempted to smile in her turn, hoping to exorcise that
ferocious animal, called hunger, and which had taken up its abode
in the stomach of her nephew.
But the proverb is right ; the famished stomach of Pitou remained
both deaf and dumb.
His aunt, instead of smiling, wept.
This somewhat incommoded Pitou, but it did not prevent his
eating.
'Oh ! oh ! aunt, how good you are,' said he, 'to cry thus with
joy, on my arrival. Thanks, my good aunt, thanks !'
And he went on devouring.
Evidently the French Revolution had completely denaturalized
this man.
He bolted three-fourths of the fowl, and left a small quantity of
the rice at the bottom of the dish, saying,
' You like the rice best, do you not, my dear aunt ? It is softer
for your teeth. I leave you the rice.'
This attention, which she no doubt imagined to be a sarcasm,
almost suffocated Aunt Angelique. She resolutely advanced
towards young Pitou, snatched the dish from his hands, uttering
a blasphemous expression, which, twenty years subsequently,
would have appeared admirably suitable to a grenadier of the old
guard.
Pitou heaved a sigh.
' Oh ! aunt,' cried he, ' you regret your fowl, do you not ?
' The villain !' cried Aunt Angelique, ' I believe that he is jeering
me.'
Pitou rose from his chair.
' Aunt,' said he, majestically, ' it was not my intention to eat
without paying for what I ate. I have money. I will, if you please,
board regularly with you, only I shall reserve to myself the right of
choosing my own dinner.'
' Rascal !' exclaimed Aunt Angelique.
' Let us see we will calculate each portion at four sous I now
owe you for one meal four sous worth of rice and two sous of
bread six sous.'
*4 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Six sous !' cried the aunt : ' six sous ! why, there is eight sous
worth of rice and six sous of bread, without counting anything
else.'
' Oh ! I know I have not allowed anything for the fowl, my good
aunt, knowing that it came from your poultry-yard he was an old
acquaintance I knew him at once by his comb.'
' He was worth his price, however.'
' He was five years old, at least. I stole him from under his
mother's wing for you he was then barely as big as my fist ; and
I recollect even that you beat me, because when I brought him
home to you I did not bring you corn enough to feed him the
next day. Mademoiselle Catherine gave me some barley ; he
was my property, and I ate my property ; I had good right to
do so.'
His aunt, mad with anger, pulverised the revolutionary hero with
a look she had no voice.
' Get out of this !' murmured she.
' What, at once, so soon after having dined, without even giving
me time to digest my dinner. Ah ! aunt, aunt, that is by no means
polite.'
' Out with you !'
Pitou, who had again sat down, rose from the arm-chair ! He
found, and that with a most lively feeling of satisfaction, that his
stomach could not have contained a single grain of rice more than
he had swallowed.
' Aunt,' said he, majestically, c you are an unfeeling relation. 1
will demonstrate to you that you are now acting as wrongly towards
me as you have always done ; that you are still as harsh, still as
avaricious as ever. Well ! I will not allow you to go about telling
every one that I have devoured yoyr property.'
He placed himself on the threshold of the door, and in a sten-
torian voice, which might be heard, not only by the inquisitive
persons who had accompanied him and had been present during
the whole of this scene, but also by every one who was passing at
a distance of five hundred paces
' I call these worthy people to witness, that having arrived from
Paris, on foot, after having taken the Bastile, being tired and
hungry, I seated myself in this house that I ate my relation's
provisions that I was so harshly reproached for the food of which
I partook that I was so pitilessly driven from the house, that I
feel myself compelled to go.'
Pitou delivered this exordium in so pathetic a tone, that the
neighbours began to murmur against the old woman.
'A poor traveller,' continued Pitou, 'who has walked nine
leagues a worthy lad, honoured with the confidence of Monsieur
Gilbert and Monsieur Billot, and who was charged by them to
bring back Sebastian Gilbert to the Abbe* Fortier one of the
PJTOU AGAIN TURNED OUT OF DOORS 425
conquerors of the Bastile a friend of Monsieur Bailly and of
General Lafayette I call upon you all to witness that I have been
turned out.'
The murmurs went on increasing.
' And,' pursued he, ' as I am not a mendicant, as, when I am re-
proached for the bread I eat, I pay for it, here is half-a-crown
which I lay down as payment for that which I have eaten in my
aunt's house !'
And, saying this, Pitou proudly drew a half-crown from his
pocket, and threw it on the table, from which, in the sight of all, it
rebounded, hopped into the dish, and half buried itself in the re-
maining rice.
This last trait completely confounded the old woman. She bent
down, beneath the universal reprobation to which she had exposed
herself, and which was testified by a long, loud murmur. Twenty
hands were held out to Pitou, who left the hut shaking the dust
from his shoes on the threshold, and disappeared from his aunt's
eyes, escorted by a crowd of persons offering him his meals and
lodging, happy to be the hosts of a conqueror of the Bastile, a
friend of M. Bailly and of General Lafayette.
Aunt Angelique picked the half-crown out of the rice, wiped
it and put it into the saucer, where it was to wait, with many others,
its transmigration into an old louis.
But while putting by this half-crown of which she had become
possessed in so singular a manner, she sighed, reflecting that per-
haps Pitou had had full right to eat the whole of the contents of
the dish, since he had so amply paid for it.
CHAPTER LVII.
PITOU A REVOLUTIONIST.
PrTOU wished, after having fulfilled the first duties of obedience, to
satisfy the first feelings of his heart.
It is a very delightful feeling to obey, when the orders of the
master are in perfect unison with the secret sympathies of the per-
son who obeys.
He therefore made the best use of his legs ; and going along the
narrow alley which leads from the Pleux to the Rue Lonnet, which
forms a sort of green girdle to that portion of the town, he went
straight across the fields that he might the sooner arrive at Billot's
farm.
But his rapid course was soon slackened ; every step he took
brought back some recollection to his mind.
When any one returns to the town or to the village in which
he was born, he walks upon his youth he walks on his past
days, which spread themselves, as the English poet says, like
28
426 TAKING THE BASTILE.
a carpet beneath the feet, to do honour to the traveller who re-
turns.
He finds, at each step, a recollection in the beatings of his
heart.
Here, he has suffered there, he has been happy ; here, he has
sobbed with grief there, he has wept with joy.
Pitou, who was no analyzer, was compelled to be a man. He
discovered traces of the past as he proceeded on his way, and he
arrived with his soul replete with sensations at the farm of Dame
Billot.
When he perceived at a hundred paces before him the long slated
roofs when he measured with his eyes the old elm trees bending
down over the moss-grown chimneys when he heard the distant
sound of the cattle, the barking of the dogs, the carts lumbering
along the road, he placed his helmet more proudly on his head,
grasped his dragoon's sabre with more firmness, and endeavoured
to give himself a martial appearance, such as was fitting to a lover
and a soldier.
At first, no one recognised him a proof that his effort was at-
tended with tolerable success.
A stable boy was standing by the pond watering his horses, and
hearing a noise, turned round, and through the tufted head of a
withy tree he perceived Pitou, or rather a helmet and a sabre.
The stable boy seemed struck with stupefaction.
Pitou, on passing him, called out,
' Hilloa ! Barnaut good-day, Barnaut !'
The boy, astounded that the helmet and sabre knew his name,
took off his small hat, and let fall the halter by which he held the
horses.
Pitou passed on smiling.
But the boy was by no means reassured ; Pitou's benevolent
smile had remained concealed beneath his helmet.
At the same moment Dame Billot perceived the approach of this
military man through the windows of the dining-room.
She immediately jumped up.
In country places, everybody was then on the alert ; for alarming
rumours were spread abroad, of brigands who were destroying the
forest-trees, and cutting down fields of corn though still unripe.
What did the arrival of this soldier portend ? Was it an attack,
or was it assistance ?
Dame Billot had taken a general survey of Pitou as he ap-
proached. She asked herself what could be the meaning of such
country-looking garments with so brilliant a helmet ; and, we must
confess, her suppositions tended as much towards suspicion as to-
wards hope.
The soldier, whoever he might be, went straight to the kitchen.
Dame Billot advanced two steps towards the new-comer. Pitou,
P1TOU A REVOLUTIONIST. 427
on his side, that he might not be behind-hand in politeness, took off
his helmet.
' Ange Pitou !' she exclaimed ' you here, Ange ?'
' Good day, Ma'am Billot,' replied Pitou.
' Ange ! Oh ! good heaven, whoever would have guessed it !
Why, you have enlisted, then ?
' Oh ! enlisted !' cried Pitou.
And he smiled somewhat disdainfully.
Then he looked around, seeking for one he did not find there.
Dame Billot smiled" ; she guessed the meaning of Pitou's looks.
Then, with great simplicity,
' You are looking for Catherine ?' she said.
4 To pay my respects to her,' replied Pitou ; ' yes, Madame
Billot.'
' She is attending to the drying of the linen. Come, now, sit
down ; look at me speak to me.'
' Very willingly,' said Pitou. ' Good day good day good day,
Madame Billot.'
And Pitou took a chair.
Around him were soon grouped, and at thte doors and on the stops
of the staircases, all the servant-maids and the farm-labourers, to
whom the stable-boy had quickly communicated the arrival of the
soldier.
And as each of them came in, they might be heard whispering,
' Why, it is Pitou !'
' Yes, 'tis he indeed !'
' Really !'
Pitou cast a benign glance on all his former comrades. His smile
to most of them was a caress.
' And you have come from Paris, Ange ? said the mistress of the
house.
' Straight, Madame Billot.'
' And how is your master ?'
' Very well, Madame Billot.'
' And how are things going on in Paris ?'
< Very badly.'
'Ah!'
And the circle of auditors drew nearer.
' The king ?' inquired the farmer's wife.
Pitou shook his head, and gave a clacking- sound with his tongue
which was very humiliating for the monarchy.
' The queen ?'
Pitou, to this question, made no reply at all.
' Oh !' exclaimed Madame Billot.
1 Oh !' repeated all present.
' Come, now, speak on, Pitou,' said Madame Billot.
' Well, ask me anything you please,' replied Pitou, who did not
4 2 TAKING THE BASTILE.
wish to communicate all the interesting news he brought in the
absence of Catherine.
' Why have you a helmet P' asked Madame Billot.
' It is a trophy,' said Pitou.
* And what is a trophy, my friend ? inquired the good woman.
' Ah ! that is true, Madame Billot,' replied Pitou, with a protecting
smile ; ' you cannot know what a trophy is. A trophy is when one
has vanquished an enemy, Madame Billot.'
' You have then vanquished an enemy, Pitou 5*
'One!' replied Pitou, disdainfully. 'Ah! my good Madame
Billot, you do not know, then, that we two, Monsieur Billot and I,
have taken the Bastile ?'
This magic sentence electrified the audience. Pitou felt the
breath of the astonished auditors upon his hair as they bent forward
to gaze at him, and their hands on the back of his chair.
' Tell us tell us a little of what our man has done,' said Madame
Billot, with pride, but trembling with apprehension at the same
time.
Pitou looked around to see if Catherine were coming ; but she
came not.
It appeared to him absolutely insulting, that to hear such recent
news, and brought by such a courier, Mademoiselle Billot did not at
once leave her linen.
Pitou shook his head ; he was beginning to be out of humour.
' Why, you see it would take a long time to tell it all,' said he.
' And you are hungry ?' inquired Madame Billot.
' It may be so.'
'Thirsty?'
' I will not say no.'
Instantly farm-labourers and servants hastened to procure him
refreshment, so that Pitou soon had within his reach a goblet,
bread, meats and fruit of every description, before he had even re-
flected on the bearing of his answer.
Pitou had a warm liver, as they say in the country that is to say,
he digested quickly ; but, however quick might be his digestion, it
was still amply occupied with Aunt Angelique's fowl and rice ; not
more than half an hour having elapsed since he had absorbed the
last mouthful.
What he had asked for, therefore, did not enable him to gain so
much time as he had anticipated, so rapidly had he been served.
He saw that it was necessary for him to make a desperate effort,
and he set himself to work to eat.
But whatever may have been his good will, after a moment or
two he was compelled to pause.
' What is the matter with you ? asked Madame Billot.
' Why really, I must say
' Bring Pitou something to drink.'
PITOU A REVOLUTIONIST. 429
4 1 have cicU ;r here, Ma'am Billot.'
; But perhaps you like brandy better ?'
* Brandy !'
' Yes : perhaps you are accustomed to drink it in Paris.'
The worthy woman imagined that during twelve days' absence
Pitou had had time enough to be corrupted.
Pitou indignantly repelled the supposition.
1 Brandy !' cried he again, ' and for me oh ! never !'
' Well, then, speak.'
' But if I now tell you the whole story,' said Pitou, ' I shall have
to begin it again for Mademoiselle Catherine, and it is a very long
one.'
Two or three persons rushed out towards the laundry, to fetch
Mademoiselle Catherine.
But while they were all running about in search of her, Pitou
mechanically turned his head towards the staircase which led up to
the first story of the house, and being seated precisely opposite this
staircase, he saw Mademoiselle Catherine, through an open door,
looking out of a window.
Catherine was looking in the direction of the forest that is to
say, towards Boursonne.
Catherine was so much absorbed in contemplation, that the unusual
movement in the house had not struck her ; nothing within it had
attracted her attention, which seemed to be wholly engrossed by
what was happening without.
' Ah ! ah !' cried he, sighing, ' looking towards the forest, towards
Boursonne, towards Monsieur Isidor de Charny. Yes, that is it.'
And he heaved a second sigh, more melancholy than the first.
And at this moment the messengers returned, not only from the
laundry, but from every place in which it was probable Mademoiselle
Catherine might be found.
' Well ?' inquired Madame Billot.
' We have not seen mademoiselle.'
' Catherine ! Catherine !' cried Madame Billot.
The young girl did not hear her.
Pitou then ventured to speak.
' Madame Billot,' said he, ' I well know why they did not find
Mademoiselle Catherine at the laundry.'
' And why did they not find her ?'
' Because she is not there.'
' You know, then, where she is ?'
' Yes.'
' Where is she, then ?'
' Yonder upstairs.'
And taking Dame Billot by the hand, he made her go up the three
or four first steps of the staircase, and showed her Catherine, who
was sitting on the sill of the window.
430 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' She is dressing her hair,' said the good woman.
' Alas ! no ; her hair is already dressed,' replied Pitou, in a
melancholy tone.
The farmer's wife paid no attention to Pitou's melancholy, but in
a lod voice she called
' Catherine ! Catherine !'
The young girl started with surprise, quickly closed her window,
and said,
' What is the matter ?
1 Come down, then, Catherine !' cried Dame Billot, little doubting
the joyful effect her words would produce upon her. ' Come down
here ; here is Ange just arrived from Paris.'
Pitou, with great anxiety, listened for the answer which Catherine
would make.
' Ah !' coldly replied Catherine.
So coldly, that poor Pitotfs heart sank within him.
And she descended the staircase with all the phlegmatic manner
of the Flemish women we see in the paintings of Van Ostade and
Brauer.
' Well,' said she, when she reached the kitchen floor, * why, it is
really Pitou !'
Pitou bowed, blushing deeply, and trembling in every nerve.
' He has a helmet,' said a servant-maid, whispering into her
mistress's ear.
Pitou overheard her, and watched the effect produced on Cathe-
rine's countenance.
A lovely countenance, perhaps somewhat paler, but still full and
peach-like.
But Catherine did not evince any admiration for Pitou's helmet
' Ah ! he has a helmet,' she said, ' and for what purpose ?
This time indignation mastered every other feeling in the mind
Df the bold youth.
' I have a helmet and a sabre,' said he proudly, ' because I have
fought and killed Germaa dragoons and Swiss soldiers ; and if you
doubt it, Mademoiselle Catherine, ask your father, and he will tell
you.'
Catherine's mind was so preoccupied that she heard only the
last words uttered by Pitou.
'And how is my father?* inquired she. ' How happens it that
he did not return with you ? Is there bad news from Paris ?
1 Very bad,' replied Pitou.
' I thought that everything had been arranged,' observed Cathe-
rine.
' Yes, that is true ; but everything is disarranged again,' rejoined
Pitou.
' Was there not a reconciliation between the king and the people,
and was not Monsieur Necker recalled ?
PITOU A REVOLUTIONIST. 431
' But little is thought of Monsieur Necker,' said Pitou.
' And yet that satisfied the people did it not ?'
' It so well satisfied them that the people are now about to do
themselves justice and to kill all their enemies.'
' All their enemies !' exclaimed Catherine with astonishment ;
' who, then, are the enemies of the people ?'
' The aristocrats, to be sure,' said Pitou.
Catherine turned pale.
' But who do they call aristocrats ?' she asked.
' Why, those who have large estates those who have fine country-
seats those who starve the nation those who have all, while we
have nothing.'
' Go on, go on !' impatiently cried Catherine.
' Those who have beautiful horses and fine carriages, when we
are obliged to go on foot. 7
' Great God !' exclaimed the young girl, becoming so pale as to
be positively livid.
Pitou remarked this change in her countenance.
' I call aristocrats some persons of your acquaintance.'
' Of my acquaintance !'
' Of our acquaintance !' said Dame Billot .
' But who is it, then ? said Catherine, persistingly.
' Monsieur Berthier de Sauvigny, for instance.'
1 Monsieur Berthier de Sauvigny ?'
' Who gave you the gold buckles which you wore the day you
danced with Monsieur Isidor !'
1 Well ?
' Well : I saw people eating his heart, I who am now speaking to
you.'
A cry of terror was uttered by all present. Catherine threw her-
self back in the chair which she had taken.
' You saw that ? cried Madame Billot, trembling with horror.
' And Monsieur Billot saw it too. 1
' Oh ! good God !'
' Yes, and by this time they must have killed or burned all the
aristocrats of Paris and Versailles.'
' It is frightful !' murmured Catherine.
' Frightful ! and why so? You are not an aristocrat, you, Made-
moiselle Billot ?'
' Monsieur Pitou,' said Catherine, with gloomy energy, ' it appears
to me that you were not so ferocious before you went to Paris.
' And I am not more so now, mademoiselle,' said Pitou, somewhat
staggered, 'but-
' But, then, do not boast of the crimes committed by the Parisians,
since you are not a Parisian, and that you did not commit these
crimes.'
' I was so far from committing them,' said Pitou, ' that Monsieur
432 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
Billot and myself narrowly escaped being murdered while defending
Monsieur Berthier.'
' Oh ! my good father ! my brave father ! I recognise him there !'
enthusiastically exclaimed Catherine.
' My good, my worthy man !' cried Madame Billot, her eyes
streaming with tears. ' Tell me, what did he do ?'
Pitou then related the whole of the dreadful scene which had
occurred on the Place de Greve, the despair of Billot, and his desire
to return to Villers-Cottere'ts.
' Why did he not return, then ?* cried Catherine, and in an accent
that deeply moved Pitou's heart.
Dame Billot clasped her hands.
1 Monsieur Gilbert would not allow it,' replied Pitou.
' Does Monsieur Gilbert wish, then, that my husband should be
killed:" said Madame Billot, sobbing.
' Does he wish, then, that my father's house should be ruined ?
added Catherine, in the same tone of gloomy melancholy.
' Oh ! by no means !' cried Pitou ; ' Monsieur Billot and Monsieur
Gilbert understand each other ; Monsieur Billot will remain still
some time at Paris, to finish the revolution.'
' What ! oy themselves all alone !' cried Dame Billot.
' No, with Monsieur Bailly and Monsieur de Lafayette.'
' Ah !' cried the farmer's wife, -.vith admiration, ' if he indeed is
with Monsieur de Lafayette and Monsieur Bailly '
' When does he think of returning ?' inquired Catherine.
'Oh! as to that, mademoiselle, I cannot tell.'
'And you, Pitou, how happens it, then, that you have returned !'
' Who I ? Why, I brought back Sebastian Gilbert to the Abbe*
Fortier, and I have come here to bring you Monsieur Billot's in-
structions.'
Pitou, while saying these words, rose, not without a certain
degree of diplomatic dignity, which was understood, if not by the
servants, at all events by their mistresses.
Dame Billot rose, and at once dismissed all the labourers and
servants.
Catherine, who had remained seated, studied the thoughts of
Pitou, even in the depths of his soul, before they issued from his
lips.
1 What can he have told him to say to me ? she asked herself.
CHAPTER LVIII.
MADAME BILLOT ABDICATES.
THE two women summoned up all their attention to listen to the
desires of this honoured husband and father. Pitou was well aware
that the task was a difficult one ; he had seen both Dame Billot
and Catherine filling their several stations at the farm ; he knew
MADAME BILLOT ABDICATES. 433
the habit of command of the one, and the firm independence of the
other.
Catherine, who was so gentle a daughter, so laborious, so good,
had acquired, by virtue of these very qualities, a very great ascen-
dency over every person connected with the farm ; and what is the
spirit of domination, if it is not a firm will not to obey ?
Pitou knew, in explaining his mission, how much pleasure he was
about to cause to the one, and how much grief he would inflict upon
the other.
Reducing Madame Billot to play a secondary part appeared to
him unnatural, absurd. It gave Catherine more importance with
regard to Pitou, and under actual circumstances Catherine by no
means needed this.
But at the farm he represented one of Homer's heroes a mouth
a memory, but not an intellectual person : he expressed himself
in the following terms :
' Madame Billot, Monsieur Billot's intention is that you should
have the slightest possible annoyance- '
' And how so ? : cried the good woman, much surprised.
'What is the meaning of the word annoyance?' said Catherine.
' It means to say,' replied Pitou, ' that the management of a farm
like yours is a species of government replete with cares and labour,
that there are bargains to be made '
' And what of that ? said the worthy woman.
' Payments '
Well ?'
' Fields to plough '
' Go on.'
' Money to be collected '
' Who says the contrary ?'
' No one, assuredly, Madame Billot ; but in order to make bar-
gains, it is necessary to travel about.'
' I have my horse.'
' In paying, it is often necessary to dispute.'
' Oh ! I have a good tongue.'
'To cultivate the fields.'
' Am I not accustomed to agriculture ?'
' And to get in the harvest ! Ah ! that is quite another matter ;
meals have to be cooked for the labourers, the wagoners must be
assisted.'
' For the welfare of my good man, to do all these would not frighten
me !' cried the worthy woman.
' But, Madame Billot in short so much work and getting
rather aged '
' Ah !' cried Dame Billot, looking askance at Pitou.
' Come to my assistance, Mademoiselle Catherine,' said the poor
434 TAKING THE BASTILE.
lad, finding his energy diminishing by degrees as his position became
more and more difficult.
' I do not know what I am to do to assist you,' replied Catherine.
' Well, then, this is the plain fact,' rejoined Pitou. ' Monsieur
Billot does not desire that Madame Billot should be subjected to so
much trouble '
' And who then ? cried she, interrupting him, trembling at once
with admiration and respect.
' He has chosen some one who is stronger, and who is both him-
self and yourself. He has appointed Mademoiselle Catherine.'
' My daughter Catherine to govern the house !' exclaimed the
wounded mother, with an accent of mistrust and inexpressible
jealousy.
' Under your directions, my dear mother,' the young girl hastened
to say, and blushing deeply.
4 By no means by no means !' cried Pitou, who, from the moment
he had summoned up courage enough to speak out, was determined
to go through with it ; ' it is not so ! I must execute my commission
to the letter. Monsieur Billot delegates and authorises Mademoi-
selle Catherine in his stead and place to attend to all the work and
all the affairs of the house.'
Every one of these words, which bore the accent of truth, pene-
trated the heart of the housekeeper ; and so excellent was her nature,
that instead of allowing the jealousy she had at first naturally felt to
become more bitter, or her anger to become more violent, the cer-
tainty of her diminution in importance appeared to make her more
resigned, more obedient, and more convinced of the infallibility of
her husband's judgment.
Was it possible that Billot could be mistaken ? was it possible to
disobey Billot ?
These were the only two arguments which the worthy woman
used to convince herself.
And her resistance at once ceased.
She looked at her daughter, in whose eyes she saw only modesty,
confidence, the desire to succeed, unalterable tenderness and respect.
She yielded absolutely.
' Monsieur Billot is right,' she said ; ' Catherine is young, she has
a good head, she is even headstrong.'
' Oh ! yes,' said Pitou, certain that he had flattered the self-love
of Catherine at the same time that he indulged in an epigram at her
expense.
J Catherine,' continued Dame Billot, ' will be more at her ease
than I should be upon the road. She could better look after the
labourers for whole days than I could. She would sell better ; she
would make purchases with greater sureness ; she would know how
to make herself obeyed.'
Catherine smiled
MADAME BILLOT ABDICATES.
435
'Well, then,' continued the good woman, without even being
Compelled to make an effort to restrain a sigh, ' here is our Cathe-
rine, who is going to have all her own way : she will run about as
she pleases she will now have the command of the purse now she
will always be seen upon the roads my daughter, in short, trans-
formed into a lad '
' You need be under no apprehension for Mademoiselle Cathe-
rine,' said Pitou, with a self-sufficient air; ' I am here, and I will
accompany her wherever she goes.'
This gracious offer, on which Ange perhaps calculated to produce
an effect, produced so strange a look on the part of Catherine that
he was quite confused.
The young girl blushed not as women do when anything agree-
able has been said to them, but with a sort of double feeling of anger
and impatience, evincing at once a desire to speak and the necessity
of remaining silent.
Pitou was not a man of the world, and therefore could not appre-
ciate these shades of feeling.
But having comprehended that Catherine's blushing was not a
perfect acquiescence,
' What !' said he, with an agreeable smile, which displayed his
powerful teeth under his thick lips, ' what ! you say not a word,
Mademoiselle Catherine?'
' You are not aware, then, Monsieur Pitou, that you have uttered
a stupidity ?
'A stupidity !' exclaimed the lover.
' Assuredly !' cried Dame Billot, ' to think of my daughter Cathe-
rine going about with a body-guard.'
' But, in short, in the woods,' said Pitou, with an air so ingenuously
conscientious that it would have been a crime to laugh at him.
' Is that also in the instructions of our good man ? continued Dame
Billot, who thus evinced a certain disposition for epigram.
' Oh ! ; added Catherine, 'that would be too indolent a profession,
which neither my father would have advised Monsieur Pitou to
adopt, nor would Monsieur Pitou have accepted it.'
Pitou rolled his large and terrified eyes from Catherine to Dame
Billot ; the whole scaffolding of his building was giving way.
Catherine, as a true woman, at once comprehended the painful
disappointment of Pitou.
' Monsieur Pitou,' said she, ' was it at Paris that you have seen
young girls compromising their reputation in this way by always
dragging young men after them ?
' But you are not a young girl, you,' stammered Pitou, ' since you
are the mistress of the house.'
' Come, come, we have talked enough for to-night,' abruptly said
Dame Billot. ' The mistress of the house will have much to do to-
morrow, when I shall give up the house to her, according to her
436 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
father's orders. Come, Catherine, we must prepare for bed. Good-
night, Pitou.'
Pitou bowed with great deference to the two ladies, which
Catherine returned with a slight inclination of the head.
Poor Ange retired for the night to the small room he had formerly
occupied at the farm, and although greatly disappointed at the
coldness of Catherine's reception, he soon fell asleep, to which the
fa:igue of the day greatly induced.
The next morning he was up soon after daybreak, but saw
nothing of Catherine until the whole family assembled at the break-
fast table.
After this substantial repast was concluded, a ceremony was
commenced before the astounded eyes of Pitou, a ceremony that
was not deficient in grandeur nor in poetry, from its rustic simplicity.
Dame Billot drew her keys from off the bunch, one by one, and
delivered them to Catherine, giving her a list of the linen, of the
furniture, the provisions, and the contents of the cellars. She con-
ducted her daughter to the old secretary, or bureau, made of maho-
gany inlaid with ivory and ebony, somewhere about the year 1738
or 1740, in the secret drawer of which Father Billot locked up his
most valuable papers, his golden louis, and all the treasures and
archives of the family.
Catherine gravely allowed herself to be invested with the supreme
command over everything, and took due note of the secret drawers ;
she questioned her mother with much intelligence, reflected on
each answer, and the information she required being obtained,
appeared to store it up in the depths of her memory, as a weapon
in reserve in case of any contest.
After the furniture and household articles had been examined,
Dame Billot went on to the cattle, the lists of which were carefully
made out.
Horses, oxen and cows ; sheep, whether in good order or sick ;
lambs, goats, fowls, and pigeons, all were counted and noted down.
But this was merely for the sake of regularity.
Of this branch of the farm business the young girl had for a long
time past been the special administratrix.
There was scarcely a hen in the barnyard of which she did not
know the cackle ; the lambs were familiar with her in a month ;
the pigeons knew her so well that they would frequently completely
surround her in their flight ; often even they would perch upon her
shoulders, after having cooed at her feet.
The horses neighed when Catherine approached. She alone
could make the most restive of them obey. One of them, a colt,
bred upon the farm, was so vicious as to allow no one to approach
him : but he would break his halter and knock down his stall to get
to Catherine, putting his nose into her hand, or into her pocket, to
get at the crust of bread he was always sure of finding there.
MADAME BILLOT ABDICATES. 437
Nothing was so beautiful or so smile-inspiring as this lovely fair-
haired girl, with her large blue eyes, her white neck, her round
arms, her small fat hands, when she came out with her apronful of
corn to a spot near the pond, where the ground had been beaten
and saltpetred to harden it for a feeding place, and on which she
would throw the grain she brought by handfuls.
Then would be seen all the young chickens, all the pigeons, all
the young lambs, hurrying and scrambling towards the pond ; the
beaks of the birds soon made the flooring appear speckled, the red
tongues of the young goats licked the ground, or picked up crisp
buckwheat. This area, darkened by the layers of corn, in five
minutes became as white and clean as the delf-plate of the labourer
when he has finished his meal.
Certain human beings have in their eyes a fascination that sub-
dues, or a fascination that terrifies ; two sensations so powerful over
the brute creation, that they never think of resisting them.
Which of us has not seen a savage bull looking for several
minutes, with melancholy expression, at a child who smiles at him
without comprehending the danger he is running ? he pities him.
Which of us has not seen the same bull fix a sinister and affrightened
look on a robust farmer, who masters him by the steadiness of his
gaze, and by a mute threat ? The animal lowers his head, he
appears to be preparing for the combat ; but his feet seem rooted
in the ground he shudders he is terrified.
Catherine exercised one of these two influences on all that sur-
rounded her ; she was at once so calm and so firm, there was so
much gentleness and yet so much decided will, so little mistrust,
so little fear, that the animal standing near her did not feel even
the temptation of an evil thought.
And this extraordinary influence she, with greater reason, exer-
cised over thinking beings. She possessed a charm that was irre-
sistible ; not a man in the whole district had ever smiled when
speaking of Catherine ; no young man entertained an evil thought
towards her ; those who loved her, wished to have her for their
wife ; those who did not love her, would have desired that she were
their sister.
Pitou, with head cast down, his hands hanging listless by his
side, his ideas wandering, mechanically followed the young girl
and her mother while they were taking a list of the farm stock.
They had not addressed a word to him. He was there like a
guard in a tragedy ; and his helmet did not a little contribute to
give that singular appearance.
After this, they passed in review all the male and female servants
of the farm.
Dame Billot made them form a half circle, in the centre of which
she placed herself.
' My children,' said she, ' our master is not yet coming back from
438 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Paris, but he has chosen a master for us in his place. It is my
daughter Catherine, who is here she is young and strong. As to
myself, I am oH, and my head is weak. Our master has done
rightly. Catherine is now your mistress. She is to receive and
give money. As to her orders, I shall be the first to receive and
execute them ; any of you who may be disobedient will have to deal
with her.'
Catherine did not add a single word ; she tenderly embraced her
mother. The effect of this kiss was greater than that of any well-
rounded phrase. Dame Billot wept Pitou was much affected.
All the servants received the announcement of the new reign with
acclamations.
Catherine immediately entered on her new functions, and allotted
to ail their several services. Each received her mandate, and set
out immediately to execute it, with the good-will which every one
demonstrates at the commencement of a reign.
Pitou was the only one remaining, and he at length, approaching
Catherine, said to her :
'And I?'
' Ah ! you,' replied Catherine, ' I have no orders to give you.'
' How ! I am, then, to remain without having anything to do ?
1 What do you wish to do ?*
1 Why, what I did before I went to Paris.'
' Before going there, you were received into the house by my
mother.'
' But you are now the mistress ; therefore, point out the work I
am to do.'
'I have no work for you, Monsieur Ange.'
' And why !'
' Because you you are a learned man, a Parisian gentleman, to
whom such rustic labours would not be suitable.'
' Can it be possible !' exclaimed Pitou.
Catherine made a sign, which implied, ' It is even so.'
' I a learned man !' repeated Pitou.
' Undoubtedly.'
' But look at my arms, Mademoiselle Catherine.'
' That matters not.'
'But, in short, Mademoiselle Catherine,' said the poor lad, in
despair, 'why is it that under the pretext of my being a learned man,
you would force me to die of hunger ? You do not know, then, that
the philosopher Epictetus became a menial servant that he might
have bread to eat ? that ^Esop, the fable writer, earned his bread
by the sweat of his brow ? They were, however, people much more
learned than I am.'
' What would you have ? as I have said before, it is even so.'
' But Monsieur Billot accepted me as forming part of his house-
hold, and he has sent me back from Paris that I may still be so.'
MADAME BILLOT ABDICA TES. 439
'That may be the case ; for my father might have compelled you
to undertake things which I, his daughter, would not venture to im-
pose upon you.'
' Do not impose them upon me, Mademoiselle Catherine.'
' But then you would remain in idleness, and that I could not at
all allow. My father had the right to do so, he being the master,
and which I could not do, being merely his agent. I have charge
of his property, and I must take care that his property be productive.'
' But once I am willing to work, I shall be productive ; you must
see clearly, mademoiselle, that you keep swimming round in the
same vicious circle.'
' What say you ?' cried Catherine, who did not comprehend the
grandiloquent phrases of Pitou ; ' what mean you by a vicious circle ?
' We call a bad argument a vicious circle, mademoiselle.
No ; let me remain at the farm, and send me on your messages if
you will. You will then see whether I am a learned man and an idle
fellow. Besides which, you have books to keep, accounts to put in
order. Arithmetic is my particular forte.'
'It is not, in my opinion, sufficient occupation for a man,' said
Catherine.
' Why, then, it would seem I am fit for nothing,' said Pitou.
' Continue to live here,' said Catherine in a gentler tone ; ' I will
reflect upon it, and we will see.'
' You require to reflect, in order that you may know whether you
ought to keep me here. But what have I done to you, then, Made-
moiselle Catherine ? Ah ! you were not thus formerly.'
Catherine gave an almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders.
She had no good reasons to give to Pitou, and nevertheless it was
evident that his pertinacity fatigued her.
Therefore, breaking off the conversation
' Enough of this, Monsieur Pitou,' said she ; ' I am going to La
Ferte"-Milon.'
' Then I will run and saddle your horse, Mademoiselle Cathe-
rine.'
' By no means ; on the contrary, remain where you are.'
' You refuse, then, to allow me to accompany you ? ;
' Remain here,' said Catherine, imperatively.
Pitou remained as if nailed to the spot, holding down his head
and restraining a tear, which seared his eye-balls as if it had been
molten lead.
Catherine left Pitou where he was, went out, and ordered one of
the farm servants to saddle her horse.
' Ah !' murmured Pitou, 'you think me changed, Mademoiselle
Catherine ; but it is you who are so, and much more changed than
I am.'
440 TAKING THE BASTILE.
CHAPTER LIX.
WHAT DECIDED PITOU TO LEAVE THE FARM AND RETURN TO
HARAMONT, HIS REAL AND ONLY COUNTRY.
DAME BILLOT, resigned without affectation to undertake the func-
tions of an upper servant, had, without ill-humour, and with good-
will, resumed her occupations. Movement, which had for an instant
been suspended throughout the agricultural hierarchy, soon returned,
and the farm once more resembled the interior of a humming and
industrious hive.
While they were getting her horse ready, Catherine re-entered
the house ; she cast a glance at Pitou, whose body remained mo-
tionless, but whose head turned like a weather-cock, following each
movement which the young girl made until she went upstairs to her
own room.
' What was it Catherine had gone to her room for ?' said Pitou to
himself.
Poor Pitou, what had she gone there for ! She went there to
dress her hair, to put on a clean cap and a pair of finer stockings.
Then, when this supplementary toilet was completed, as she heard
her horse pawing the ground beneath the window, she came down,
kissed ker mother and set out.
P_educed to positive idleness, and feeling but ill-assured from a
slight glance, half-indifferent, half-compassionate, which Catherine
had addressed to him as she left the door, Pitou could not endure
to remain in such a state of anxious perplexity.
Since Pitou had once more seen Catherine, it appeared to him that
the life of Catherine was absolutely necessary to him.
And, besides, in the depths of his heavy and dreaming mind,
something like a suspicion came and went with the regularity of the
pendulum of a clock.
It is the peculiar property of ingenuous minds to perceive every-
thing in equal degree. These sluggish natures are not less sensible
than others ; they feel, but they do not analyse.
Analysis is the habit of enjoying and suffering ; a man must have
become, to a certain degree, habituated to sensations to see their
ebullition in the depth of that abyss which is called the human heart.
There are no old men who are ingenuous.
When Pitou had heard the horse's footsteps at a certain distance
from the house, he ran to the door. He then perceived Catherine,
who was going along a narrow cross-road, which led from the farm
to the high road to La Ferte'-Milon, and terminated at the foot of a
hill, whose summit was covered by a forest.
From the threshold of the door, he breathed forth an adieu to the
young girl, which was replete with regret and kindly feeling.
But this adieu had scarcely been expressed by his hand and heart,
when Pitou reflected on one circumstance.
P1TOV RETURNS TO HARAMONT. 441
Catherine might have forbidden him to accompany her, but she
could not prevent him from following her.
Catherine could, if she pleased, say to Pitou, ' I will not see
you ;' but she could not very well say to him, ' I forbid your looking
at me.'
Pitou therefore reflected that, as he had nothing to do, there
was nothing in the world to prevent him from gaining the wood
and keeping along the road which Catherine was going ; so that
without being seen, he would see her from a distance through
the trees.
It was only a league and a half from the farm to La Ferte'-Milon.
A league and a half to go there, and a league and a half to return.
What was that to Pitou ?
Moreover, Catherine would get to the high road by a line
which formed an angle with the forest. By taking a straight direc-
tion, Pitou would gain a quarter of a league, so that the whole
distance for him would be only two leagues and a half for the whole
journey.
Two leagues and a half was a mere nothing of a walk for a
man who appeared to have robbed Tom Thumb, or to have at
least pilfered the set A\ Jeague-boots whick Tom had taken from
the ogre.
Pitou had scarcely imagined this project before he put it into
execution.
While Catherine was going towards the high road, he, Pitou,
stooping down behind the high waving corn, stole across to the
forest.
In an instant he had reached the border of the wood ; and once
there, he jumped across the wide ditch which bounded it, then
rushed beneath the trees, less graceful, but as rapid as a terrified
deer.
He ran for a quarter of an hour in this way, and at the end of
that time he perceived the wood becoming lighter, for he had nearly
reached the opposite edge near the road.
There he stopped, leaning against an enormous oak, which com-
pletely concealed him behind its knotted trunk. He felt perfectly
sure that he had got ahead of Catherine.
He waited ten minutes even a quarter of an hour but saw no
one.
Had she forgotten something, that she should have taken with her,
at the farm ? This was possible.
With the greatest possible precaution, Pitou crept near the road,
stretched out his head from behind a great beech tree, which grew
upon the very edge of the ditch, belonging, as it were, half to the
road, half to the forest. From this he had a good view of the plain,
and could have perceived, anything that was moving upon it ; he,
however, could discern nothing.
29
442 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
He felt assured, therefore, that Catherine must have returned ta
the farm.
Pitou retraced his steps. Either she had not yet reached the
farm, and he would see her return to it, or she had reached it, and
he would see her come out again.
Pitou extended the compass of his long legs, and began to re-
measure the distance which separated him from the plain.
He ran along the sandy part of the road, which was softer to his
feet, when he suddenly paused.
Pitou had raised his eyes, and at the opposite end of the road he
saw at a great distance, blending as it were with the blue horizon of
the forest, the white horse and the red jacket of Catherine.
The pace of Catherine's horse was an amble.
The horse, ambling along, had left the high road, having turned
into a bridle path, at the entrance of which was a direction post,
bearing the following inscription :
''Path leading from the road of La Fertt- Milan to Boursonne.'
It was, as we have said, from a great distance that Pitou per-
ceived this, but we know that distance was of no consequence to
Pitou.
' Ah !' cried he, again darting into the forest, ' it is not, then, to La
Fertd-Milon that she was going, but to Boursonne ! And yet, I am
not mistaken ; she said La Ferte*-Milon more than ten times ; she
had a commission given to her to make purchases at La Ferte'-
Milon. Dame Billot herself spoke of La Ferte"-Milon.'
And while saying these words, Pitou continued running. Pitou
ran faster and faster still. Pitou ran like a madman.
For Pitou urged on by doubt, the first symptom of jealousy
was no longer biped. Pitou appeared to be one of those
winged machines, which Dsedalus in particular, and the great
mechanicians of antiquity in general, imagined so well, but, alas !
executed so badly.
He greatly resembled, at that moment, those figures stuffed with
straw, with long reed arms, placed over lay shops, and which the
wind keeps turning in every direction.
Arms, legs, head, all are in motion, all are turning, all seem to be
flying.
Pitou's immensely long Jegs measured paces of at least five feet,
so widely could he distend them ; his hands, like two broad bats at
the end of two long sticks, struck upon the air like oars. His head
all mouth, all nostrils, and all eyes absorbed the air, which they
sent forth again in noisy breathings.
No horse could have been animated to so great a fury of speed.
No lion could have had a more ferocious desire of coming up
with his prey.
Pitou had more than half a league to run when he perceived
Catherine ; he did not give her time enough to go a quarter of a
league, while he was running twice that distance.
P1TOU RETURNS TO HARAMONT. 443
His speed was therefore double that of a horse that was trotting.
At length he came to a line with the object of his pursuit.
The extremity of the forest was then not more than five hundred
paces from him. He could see the light more clearly through the
trees, and just beyond them was the estate of Boursonne.
Catherine pulled up her horse. Pitou instantly stopped.
It was time, for the poor devil's breath was fast failing him.
It was no longer merely for the purpose of seeing Catherine that
Pitou followed her it was to watch her.
She had spoken that which was false. What could be her object?
That mattered not. In order to gain a certain degree of authority
over her, it was necessary to surprise her, and prove that she had
uttered a flagrant falsehood.
Pitou threw himself head foremost into the underwood and thorns,
breaking through them with his helmet, and using his sabre to clear
the way when it was necessary.
However, as Catherine was now only moving on at a walk, from
time to time the crackling noise of a branch being broken reached
her ear, which made both the horse and the mistress prick up their
ears.
Then Pitou, whose eyes never for a moment lost sight of Cathe-
rine, stopped, which was of some advantage to him, as it enabled
him to recover his breath, and it destroyed at the same time any
suspicion that Catherine might entertain.
This, however, could not last long, nor did it.
Pitou suddenly heard Catherine : s horse neigh, and this neighing
was replied to by the neighing of another horse. The latter could
not yet be seen.
But however this might be, Catherine gave hers a smart cut with
her holly switch ; and the animal, which had blown for a few
moments, set off again in full trot.
In about five minutes thanks to this increase of speed she had
come up with a horseman, who had hastened towards her with as
much eagerness as she had shown to reach him.
Catherine's movement had been so rapid and unexpected, that
poor Pitou had remained motionless, standing in the same place,
only raising himself on the tops of his toes that he might see as far
as possible.
The distance was too great to enable him to see clearly.
But if he did not see, what Pitou felt, as if it had been an electric
shock, was the delight and the blushing of the young girl. It was
the sudden start which agitated her whole body. It was the sparkling
of her eyes, usually so gentle, but which then became absolutely
flashing.
Neither could he see who was the cavalier. He could not dis-
tinguish his features ; but, recognising by his air, by his green
velvet hunting coat, by his hat with its broad loop, by the easy and
444 TAKING THE BASTILE.
graceful motion of his head, that he must belong to the very highest
class of society, his memory at once reverted to the very handsome
young man, the elegant dancer of Villers-Cotterets his heart, his
mouth, every fibre of his nerves, murmured the name of Isidor de
Charny.
And it was so, in fact.
Pitou heaved a sigh, which was very much like a roar ; and,
rushing anew into the thicket, he advanced within twenty paces of
the two young people, then too much occupied with one another to
remark whether the noise they heard was caused by the rushing ot
a quadruped or of a biped through the underwood.
The young man, however, turned his head towards Pitou, raised
himself up in his stirrups, and cast a vague look around him.
But at the same moment, and in order to escape this investigation,
Pitou threw himself flat on his face.
Then, like a serpent, he glided along the ground about ten paces
more, and having then got within hearing distance, he listened.
' Good-day, Monsieur Isidor,' said Catherine.
' Monsieur Isidor !' murmured Pitou ; ' I was sure of that.'
He then felt as if the horseman and the horse were weighing on
his poor heart, and trampling him under foot.
He then felt in all his limbs the immense fatigue of the race he
had run, and which doubt, mistrust, and jealousy had urged him to
during a whole hour.
The two young people had each let fall their bridle, and had
grasped each other's hands, and remained thus, mute and smiling
at each other, while the two horses, no doubt accustomed to each
other, were rubbing their noses together, and pawing the green turf
by the road-side.
' You are behind your time to-day J said Catherine, who was the
first to speak.
' To-day /' exclaimed Pitou to himself ; ' it seems that on other
days he was not behind time.'
' It is not my fault, dear Catherine,' replied the young man, ' for
I was detained by a letter from my brother, which reached me only
this morning, and to which I was obliged to reply by return of post.
But, fear nothing ; to-morrow I will be more punctual.'
Catherine smiled, and Isidor pressed still more tenderly the hand
which had been left in his.
Alas ! all these proofs of affection were so many thorns which
made poor Pitou's heart bleed.
' You have then very late news from Paris ? she asked.
1 Yes.'
' Well, then,' continued she, smiling, 'so have I. Did you not
tell me the other day when similar things happened to two persons
who loved each other, that it is called sympathy ?
' Precisely. And how did you receive your news, my loveiy
Catherine?'
PITOU RETURNS TO HARAMONT. 445
* By Pitou.'
' And who do you mean by Pitou ?' asked the young nobleman,
with a free and joyous air, which changed to scarlet the colour which
had already overspread Pitou' s cheeks.
' Why, you know full well,' said she. ' Pitou is the poor lad
whom my father took into the farm, and who gave me his arm one
Sunday.'
'Ah ! yes,' said the young gentleman, 'he whose knees are like
knots tied in a table-napkin.'
Catherine laughed. Pitou felt himself humiliated, and was in
perfect despair. He looked at the knees, which were in fact like
knots, raising himself on both hands and getting up, but he again
fell flat on his face with a sigh.
' Come, now,' said Catherine, ' you must not so sadly illtreat
my poor Pitou. Do you know what he proposed to me, just
now ?'
' No ; but tell me what it was, my lovely one.
' Wett, then, he proposed to accompany me to La Ferte"-Milon.'
' Where you are not going ?'
' No ; because I thought you were waiting for me here ; while,
on the contrary, it was I who almost had to wait for you.'
' Ah ! do you know you have uttered a royal sentence, Cathe-
rine ?'
' Really ! well, I am sure I did not imagine I was doing so.'
' And why did you not accept the offer of this handsome cava-
lier? he would have amused us.'
' Not always, perhaps,' replied Catherine, laughing.
' You are right, Catherine,' said Isidor, fixing his eyes, which
beamed with love, on the beautiful girl.
And he caught the blushing face of the young girl in his arms,
which he clasped round her neck.
Pitou closed his eyes that he might not see, but he had forgotten
to shut his ears that he might not hear, and the sound of a kiss
reached them.
Pitou clutched his hair in despair, as does the man afflicted with
the plague in the foreground of Gros' picture, representing Bona-
par:c visiting the soldiers attacked by the plague in the hospital at
Jaffa.
When Pitou had somewhat recovered his equanimity, he found
that the two young people had moved off to a little distance, and
were proceeding on their way, walking their horses.
The last words which Pitou could catch were these :
'Yes, you are right, Monsieur Isidor ; let us ride together for an
hour ; my horse's legs shall make up the lost time. And,' added
she, laughing, ' it is a good animal, who will not mention it to any
one.'
And this was all the vision faded away. Darkness reigned in
446 TAKING THE BASTJLE.
the soul of Pitou, as it began to reign over all nature, and, rolling
upon the heather, the poor lad abandoned himself to the over-
whelming feelings which oppressed his heart.
He remained in this state for some time ; but the coolness of the
evening at length restored him to himself.
' I will not return to the farm,' said he, ' I should only be humili-
ated, scoffed at. I should eat the bread of a woman who loves
another man, and a man, I cannot but acknowledge, who is hand-
somer, richer, and more elegant than I am. No, my place is no
longer at the farm, but at Haramont at Haramont,my own country,
where I shall, perhaps, find people who will not think that my knees
are like knots made in a table-napkin.'
Having said this, Pitou trotted his good long legs towards Hara-
mont, where, without his at all suspecting it, his reputation and that
of his helmet and sabre had preceded him, and where awaited him,
if not happiness, at least a glorious destiny.
But, it is well known, it is not an attribute of humanity to be per-
fectly happy.
CHAPTER LX.
PITOU AN ORATOR.
HOWEVER, on arriving at Villers-Cottere'ts, towards ten o'clock at
night, after having had the long run we have endeavoured to
describe, Pitou felt that, however melancholy he might be, it was
much better to stop at the Dauphin Hotel and sleep in a good bed,
than to sleep canopied by the stars, under some beech or oak in the
forest.
For as to sleeping in a house at Haramont, arriving there at half-
past ten at night, it was useless to think of it. For more than an
hour and a half every light had been extinguished, and every door
closed in that peaceful village.
Pitou therefore put up at the Dauphin Hotel, where, for a thirty
sous piece, he had an excellent bed, a four-pound loaf, a piece of
cheese, and a pot of cider.
Pitou was both fatigued and in love, tired out and in despair.
The result of this was a struggle between his moral and physical
feelings, in which the moral were in the first instance victorious,
but at length succumbed.
That is to say, that from eleven o'clock to two in the morning,
Pitou groaned, sighed, turned and twisted in his bed, without being
able to sleep a wink ; but at two o'clock, overcome by fatigue, he
closed his eyes, not to open them again till seven.
As at Haramont every one was in bed at half-past ten at night,
so at Villers-Cottere'ts everybody is stirring at seven in the morn-
ing.
Pitou, on leaving the Dauphin Hotel, again found that his helmet
and sabre attracted public attention.
PITOU AN ORATOR. 447
After going about a hundred paces, he consequently found him-
self the centre of a numerous crowd.
Pitou had decidedly acquired an enormous popularity.
There are few travellers who have such good luck. The sun,
which, it is said, shines for the whole world, does not always shine
with a favourable brilliancy for people who return to their own native
place with the iesire of being considered prophets.
But also it does not happen to every one to have an aunt, crabbed
and avaricious to so ferocious a degree as Aunt Angelique ; it does
not happen to every Gargantua, capable of swallowing an old cock
boiled with rice, to be able to offer a half-crown to the proprietor of
the victim.
But that which happens still less often to returning persons,
whose origin and traditions can be traced back to the Odyssey, is to
return with a helmet on their heads and a sabre by their sides ;
above all, when the rest of their accoutrements are far from being
military.
For we must avow that it was, above all, this helmet and this
sabre which recommended Pitou to the attention of his fellow
citizens.
But for the vexations which Pitou's love encountered on his return,
it has been seen that all sorts of good fortune awaited him. This
was undoubtedly a compensation.
And, immediately on seeing him,some of the inhabitants of Villers-
Cotterets, who had accompanied Pitou from the Abbe* Fortier's door
in the Rue de Soissons to Dame Angelique's door in the Pleux, re-
solved, in order to continue the ovation, to accompany him from
Villers-Cotterets to Haramont.
And they did as they had resolved ; on seeing which, the above-
mentioned inhabitants of Haramont began to appreciate their com-
patriot at his just value.
It is, however, only justice to them to say, that the soil was already
prepared to receive the seed. Pitou's first passage through Hara-
mont, rapid as it had been, had left some traces in the minds of its
inhabitants : his helmet and his sabre had remained impressed on
the memories of those who had seen him appearing before them,
as a luminous apparition.
In consequence, the inhabitants of Haramont, seeing themselves
favoured by this second return of Pitou, which they no longer hoped
for, received him with every manifestation of respect and considera-
tion, entreating him to doff, for a time, his warlike accoutrements,
and fix his tent under the four linden trees which overshadowed the
little village square, as the Thessalians used to entreat Mars on the
anniversary of his great triumphs.
Pitou deigned the more readily to consent to this, from its being
his intention to fix his domicile at Haramont. He therefore ac-
cepted the shelter of a bedroom, which a warlike person of the
village let to him ready furnished.
448 TAKING THE BAST1LL.
It was furnished with a deal bedstead, a palliasse, ana a mattress
two chairs, a table, and a water-jug.
The rent of the whole of this was estimated by the proprietor him-
self at six livres per annum that is to say, the value of two dishes
of fowl and rice.
The rent being agreed upon, Pitou took possession of his domicile,
and supplied those who had accompanied him with refreshments at
his own charge ; and as these events, without speaking of the cider
he had imbibed, had somewhat excited his brain, he pronounced an
harangue to them, standing on the threshold of his new residence.
This harangue of Pitou's was a great event, and consequently all
Haramont was assembled round the house.
Pitou was somewhat of a clerk, and knew what fine language was :
he knew the right words by which at that period the haranguers of
nations it was thus Homer called them stirred up the popular
masses.
Between M. de Lafayette and Pitou there was undoubtedly a great
distance, but between Haramont and Paris the distance was greater
still morally speaking, it will be clearly understood.
Pitou commenced by an exordium with which the Abbe* Fortier
critical as he was, would not have been dissatisfied.
' Citizens,' said he, ' citizens this word is sweet to pronounce -I
have already addressed other Frenchmen by it, for all French nen
are brothers ; but on this spot I am using it, I believe, toward - real
brothers, and I find my whole family here in my compatriots of
Haramont.'
The women there were some few among the aud> C'fy, and they
were not the most favourably disposed towards the or i <, for Pitou's
knees were still too thick, and the calves of his legs t ) thin, to pro-
duce an impression in his favour on a feminine av Jience the
women, on hearing the word family, thought of that poor Pitou, the
orphan child, the poor abandoned lad, who, since the death of his
mother, had never had a meal that satisfied his hunger. And this
word family, uttered by a youth who had none, moved in some
among them that sensitive fibre which closes the reservoir of tears.
The exordium being finished, Pitou began the narrative, the second
head of an oration.
He related his journey to Paris, the riots with regard to the busts,
the taking of the Bastile, and the vengeance of the people ; he passed
lightly over the part he had taken in the combats on the Place Ven-
d6me, the square before the Palais Royal, and in the Faubourg
Saint Antoine. But the less he boasted, the greater did he appear
in the eyes of his compatriots ; and, at the end of Pitou's narrative,
his helmet had become as large as the dome of the Invalides, and
his sabre as long as the steeple of Haramont church.
The narrative being ended, Pitou then proceeded to the confirma-
tion, that delicate operation by which Cicero recognised a real
orator.
PITOU AN OR A TOR. 449
He proved that popular indignation had been justlyexcited against
speculators ; he said two words of Messieurs Pitt, father and son ;
he explained the revolution by the privileges granted to the nobility
and to the clergy; finally, he invited the people of Haramont to do that
in particular which the people of France had done generally that is
to say, to unite against the common enemy.
Then he went on from the confirmation to the peroration, by one
of those sublime changes common to all great orators.
He let fall his sabre, and, while picking it up, he accidentally drew
it from its scabbard.
This accident furnished him with a text for an incendiary resolu-
tion, calling upon the inhabitants of Haramont to take up arms,
and to follow the example of the revolted Parisians.
The people of Haramont were enthusiastic, and replied ener-
getically.
The revolution was proclaimed with loud acclamation throughout
the village.
The men from Villers-Cotterets, who had remained at the meeting,
returned home, their hearts swelling with the patriotic leaven, sing-
ing in the most threatening tones towards the aristocrats, and with
savage fury :
'Vive Henri Quatre,
Vive ce roi vaillant '
Rougel de 1'Isle had not then composed the Marseillaise, and the
Federalists of '90 had not yet re-awakened the old popular Ca ira,
seeing that they were then only in the year of grace 1789.
Pitou thought that he had merely made a speech. Pitou had made
a revolution.
He re-entered his own house, regaled himself with a piece of brown
bread and the remains of his cheese, from the Dauphin Hotel, which
he had carefully stowed away in his helmet ; then he went and
bought some brass wire, made some snares, and, when it was dark,
went to lay them in the forest.
That same night Pitou caught a good-sized rabbit, and a young
one about four months old.
Pitou would have much wished to have set his wires for hares, but
he could not discern a single run, and this proved to him the correct-
ness of the old sporting axiom, 'Dogs and cats, hares and rabbits,
live not together.'
It would have been necessary to have gone three or four leagues
before reaching a country well stocked with hares, and Pitou was
rather fatigued ; his legs had done their utmost the day before, for,
besides the distance they had performed, they had carried for the
last four or five leagues a man worn out with grief, and there is
nothing so heavy as grief to long leg'
4$o TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Towards one in the morning he returned with his first harvest ; he
hoped to gather another after the passage in the morning.
He went to bed, retaining within his breast remains of so bitter
a nature of that grief which had so much fatigued his legs the day
before, that he could only sleep six hours consecutively upon the
ferocious mattress, which the proprietor himself called a shingle.
Pitou therefore slept from one o'clock to seven. The sun was
therefore shining upon him through his open shutter while he was
sleeping.
Through this open shutter, thirty or forty inhabitants of Haramont
were looking at him as he slept.
He awoke as Turenne did on his gun-carriage, smiled at his com-
patriots, and asked them graciously why they had come to him in
such numbers and so early.
One of them had been appointed spokesman. We shall faithfully
relate this dialogue. This man was a wood-cutter, and his name
Claude Tellier.
' Ange Pitou,' said he, ' we have been reflecting the whole night ;
citizens ought, in fact, as you said yesterday, to arm themselves in the
cause of liberty.'
' I said so,' replied Pitou, in a firm tone, and which announced that
he was ready to maintain what he had said.
' Only, in order to arm ourselves, the principal thing is wanting.'
' And what is that ?' asked Pitou with much interest.
'Arms!'
' Ah ! yes, that is true,' said Pitou.
' We have, however, reflected enough not to allow our reflections
to be lost, and we will arm ourselves, cost what it may.'
' When I went away,' said Pitou, ' there were five guns in Hara-
mont ; three muskets, a single-barrelled fowling-piece, and a double-
barrelled one.'
' There are now only four,' rejoined the orator ; ' one of the fowling-
pieces burst from old age a month ago.'
' That must have been the fowling-piece which belonged to Ddsird
Maniquet,' said Pitou.
' Yes, and, by token, when she burst she carried off two of my
fingers,' said De"sird Maniquet, holding above his head his mutilated
hand \ ' and as this accident happened to me in the warren of that
aristocrat who is called Monsieur de Longpre", the aristocrats shall
pay me for it.'
Pitou nodded his head to show that he approved this just re-
venge.
' We therefore have only four guns left,' rejoined Claude
Tellier.
' Well, then, with four guns you have already enough to arm five
men,' said Pitou.
' How do you make that out f
PITOU AN ORATOR. 451
* Oh, the fifth will carry a pike ! That is the way they do at Paris
for every four men armed with guns there is always one man armed
with a pike. Those pikes are very convenient things they serve
to stick the heads upon which have been cut off.'
' Oh, oh !' cried a loud joyous voice, ' it is to be hoped that we shall
not cut off heads.'
1 No,' gravely replied Pitou ; ' if we have only firmness enough to
reject the gold of Messrs. Pitt, father and son. But we were talking
of guns ; let us not wander from the question, as Monsieur Bailly
says. How many men have we in Haramont capable of bearing
arms ? Have you counted them ?'
'Yes.'
' And how many are you ?'
' We are thirty-two.'
' Then there are twenty-eight muskets deficient ?'
'Which we shall never get,' said the stout man with the good-
humoured face.
'Ah,' said Pitou, 'it is necessary to know that'
' And how is it necessary to know ?
' Yes, I say it is necessary to know, because I know.
' What do you know ?'
' I know where they are to be procured.'
' To be procured ?'
' Yes ; the people of Paris had no arms neither. Well ! Monsieur
Marat, a very learned doctor, but very ugly, told the people of Paris
where arms were to be found ; the people of Paris went where
Monsieur Marat told them, and there they found them.'
'And where did Marat tell them to go?' inquired Ddsird
Maniquet.
' He told them to go to the Invalides.'
' Yes ; but we have no Invalides at Haramont.'
' But I know a place in which there are more than a hundred
guns,' said Pitou.
' And where is that ?
1 In one of the rooms of the Abbe* Fortier's college.
' The Abb Fortier has a hundred guns ? He wishes, then, to
arm his singing boys, the beggarly black cap !' cried Claude
Tellier.
Pitou had not a deep-seated affection for the Abbd Fortier ; how-
ever, this violent outburst against his former professor profoundly
wounded him.
' Claude !' cried he, ' Claude !'
'Well ! what now?'
' I did not say that the guns belong to the Abbe" Fortier.'
'If they are in his house, they belong to him.'
'That position is ? felse one. I am in the house of Bastieu
4J2 TAKING THE JBASTILB.
Godinet, and yet the house of Bastieu Godinet does not belong
to me.'
' That is true,' said Bastieu, replying, without giving Pitou occasion
to appeal to him directly.
' The guns, therefore, do not belong to the Abbe" Fortier,' con-
tinued Pitou.
' Whose are they, then r"
' They belong to the township.'
' If they belong to the township, how does it happen that they are
in the Abbd Fortier's house ?'
' They are in the Abbd Fortier's house, because the house in which
the Abbd Fortier lives belongs to the township, who gives it to him
rent free because he says mass and teaches the children of poor
citizens gratis. Now, since the Abbe" Fortier's house belongs to the
township, the township has a right to reserve a room in the house
that belongs to it, to put its muskets : ah !'
' That is true,' said the auditors, ' the township has the right.'
' Well, then, let us see ; how are we to get hold of these guns
tell us that ?'
The question somewhat embarrassed Pitou, who scratched his
ear.
' Yes, tell us quickly,' cried another voice, ' for we must go to our
work.'
Pitou breathed again : the last speaker had opened to him a door
for escape.
' Work !' exclaimed Pitou. ' You speak of arming yourselves for
the defence of the country, and you think of work !'
And Pitou accompanied his words with a laugh, so ironical and
so contemptuous, that the Haramontese looked at each other, and
felt humiliated.
' We would not mind sacrificing a few days more, should it be
absolutely necessary,' said the other, ' to gain our liberty.'
' To gain our liberty,' cried Pitou, ' it will be necessary to sacrifice
more than a cay we must sacrifice all our days.'
' Then,' said Boniface, ' when people are working for liberty they
are resting.'
' Boniface,' replied Pitou, with the air of Lafayette when irritated,
1 those will never know how to be free who know not how to trample
prejudices under foot.'
' As to myself,' said Boniface, ' I ask nothing better than not to
work ; but what is to be done, then, with regard to eating ?
' Do people eat ? cried Pitou, disdainfully.
' At Haramont they do so yet. Do they no longer eat at Paris ?
'They eat when they have vanquished the tyrants,' replied
Pitou. 'Did any one eat on the I4th of July ? Did they even
think of eating on that day ? No : they had not time even to
think of it.'
P1TOU AN OR A TOR. 453
4 Ah ! ah !' cried some of the most zealous, ' the taking of the
Bastile must have been a fine sight.'
' But,' continued Pitou, disdainfully, ' as to drinking, I will not say
No ; it was so hot. and gunpowder has so acrid a taste.'
' But what had they to drink ?'
' What had the people to drink ? why, water, wine, and brandy.
It was the women who had taken this in charge.'
' The women ?
1 Yes, and handsome women, too, who had made flags of the front
part of their dresses.'
' Can it be possible !' cried the auditors with astonishment
' But at all events,' observed the sceptic, ' they must have eaten the
next day r*
' I do not say that they did not,' replied Pitou.
' Then,' rejoined Boniface, triumphantly, ' if they eat they must
have worked.'
' Monsieur Boinface,' replied Pitou, ' you are speaking of things
without understanding them. Paris is not a hamlet. It is not com-
posed of a heap of villagers, accustomed to think only of their
bellies obedientia ventri, as we say in Latin, we who are learned.
No : Paris, as Monsieur de Mirabeau says, is the head of all nations ;
it is a brain which thinks for the whole world. The brain, sir,
never eats.'
' That is true,' thought the auditors.
'And yet,' said Pitou, 'the brain, though it does not eat, still feeds
itself.'
' But then how does it feed itself? answered Boniface.
Invisibly, with the nutriment of the body.'
Here the Haramontese were quite at a loss, the question was too
profound for them to understand.
' Explain this to us, Pitou/ said Boniface.
' That is easily done,' replied Pitou. ' Paris is the brain, ,as 1 have
said ; the provinces are the members ; the provinces will work,
drink, eat, and Paris will think.'
' Then I will leave the provinces and go to Paris,' rejoined the
sceptical Boniface, ' Will you come to Paris with me, my friends ?'
A portion of the audience burst into a loud laugh, and appearec 1
to side with Boniface.
Pitou perceived that he would be discredited by this sarcastic
railer.
' Go then to Paris,' cried he in his turn, ' and if you find there
a single face as ridiculous as yours, I will buy of you such young
rabbits as this at a louis a-piece.'
And with one hand Pitou held up the young rabbit he had caught,
and with the other made the louis which remained of Doctor Gilbert's
magnificence jingle in his pocket.
Pitou this time had the laueh in his favour.
454 TAKING THE BASTILE
Upon this Boniface became positively purple with rage.
'Why, Master Pitou, you are playing the insolent to call us
idiculous.'
* Ridiculous thou art,' majestically replied Pitou.
' But look at yourself,' retorted Boniface.
It would be but to little purpose,' replied Pitou. ' I might see
something as ugly as yourself, but never anything half so stupid.'
Pitou had scarcely said these words, when Boniface at Hara-
mont they are almost as passionate as in Picardy struck at him
with his fist, which Pitou adroitly parried, but to which he replied
by a kick in the true Parisian fashion.
This kick was followed by a second, which sent the sceptic flying
some few feet, when he fell heavily to the ground.
Pitou bent down over his adversary, so as to give the victory the
most fatal consequences, and all were already rushing to save poor
Boniface, when Pitou, raising himself up
' Learn,' said he, ' that the conquerors of the Bastile do not fight
with fists. I have a sabre, take another sabre, and let us end the
matter at once.'
Upon this, Pitou drew his sword, forgetting, or perhaps not for-
getting, that the only sabre in all Haramont was his own, with the
exception of that of the rural guard, at least two feet shorter than
his own.
It is true that to establish a more perfect equilibrium he put on
his helmet.
This greatness of soul electrified the assembly. It was agreed by
all that Boniface was a rascallion, a vile fellow, an ass unworthy of
being admitted to share in any discussion on public affairs.
And consequently he was expelled.
'You see, then,' said Pitou, ' the image of the revolution of Paris,
as Monsieur Prudhomme or Loustalot has said I think it was the
virtuous Loustalot who said it yes, 'twas he, I am now certain
of it
' " The great appear to us to be great, solely because we are upon
our knees : let us stand up." '
This epigraph had not the slightest bearing on the question in
dispute, but perhaps, for that very reason, it produced a prodigious
effect.
The sceptic Boniface, who was standing at a distance of twenty
paces, was struck by it, and he returned to Pitou, humbly saying
to him
' You must not be angry with us, Pitou, if we do not understand
liberty as well as you do.'
' It is not liberty,' said Pitou, ' but the rights of man.'
This was another blow with the sledge-hammer, with which Pitou
a second time felled the whole auditory.
' Decidedly,' said Boniface, ' you are a learned man, and we pay
homage to you.'
PITOV AN ORATOR. 4$5
Pitou bowed.
' Yes,' said he, ' education and experience have placed me above
you ; and if just now I spoke to you rather harshly, it was from my
friendship for you.'
Loud applause followed this ; Pitou saw that he could now give
vent to his eloquence.
' You have just talked of work,' said he, ' but do you know what
work is ? To you, labour consists in splitting wood, in reaping the
harvest, in picking up beech-mast, in tying up wheat-sheaves,
in placing stones one above another, and consolidating them with
cement. In your opinion, I do not work at all. Well, then, you
are mistaken, for I alone labour much more than you do all together,
for I am meditating your emancipation, for I am dreaming of your
liberty, of your equality. A moment of my time is therefore of
more value than a hundred of your days. The oxen who plough
the ground do but one and the same thing ; but the man who
thinks surpasses all the strength of matter. I, by myself, am worth
the whole of you. Look at Monsieur Lafayette ; he is a thin, fair
man, not much taller than Claude Tellier. He has a pointed nose,
thin legs, and arms as small as the back joints of this chair. As to
his hands and feet, it is not worth while to mention them. A man
might as well be without. Well ! this man has carried two worlds
on his shoulders, which is one more than Atlas did, and his little
hands have broken the chains of America and France.
' Now, as his arms have done all this, arms not thicker than the
back railing of a chair, only imagine to yourselves what arms like
mine can do.'
And Pitou bared his arms, which were as knotty as the trunk of
a holly tree.
And, having drawn this parallel, he paused, well assured that he
had produced, without coming to a regular conclusion, an immense
effect.
And he had produced it.
CHAPTER LXI.
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR.
THE greatei portion of events which happen to man, and which
confer on him great happiness or great honours, are almost always
brought about from his having fervently desired or much disdained.
If this maxim were duly applied to events and to men cited in
history, it would be found that it possesses not only profundity, but
also truth.
We shall, however, content ourselves, without having recourse to
proofs, with applying it to Ange Pitou, our man and our history.
In fact, Pitou, if we are allowed to retrograde a few steps, and to
return to the wound which he had received straight to the heart
456 TAKING THE BAST1LB.
Pitou nad, in fact, after the discovery he had made on the borders
of the forest, been seized with a withering disdain for the things of
this nether world.
He who had hoped to find blossom within his heart that rare and
precious plant which mortals denominate Love he who had re-
turned to his own province with a helmet and a sabre, proud of
thus associating Mars and Venus, as was said by his illustrious
compatriot, Demoustier, in his ' Letters to Emilie on Mythology,'
found himself completely taken aback and very unhappy on per-
ceiving that there existed at Villers-Cotterets and its neighbourhood
more lovers than were necessary.
He who had taken so active a part in the crusade of the Parisians
against the nobility, found himself but very insignificant in opposi-
tion to the country nobility, represented by M. Isidor de Charny.
Alas ! so handsome a youth, a man likely to please even at first
sight, a cavalier who wore buckskin breeches and a velvet riding
coat.
How would it be possible to contend against such a man ?
With a man who had long riding boots, and spurs on the heels of
those boots with a man whose brother many people still called
Monseigneur.
How was it possible to contend against such a rival ? How could
he avoid at once feeling shame and admiration " two feelings which,
to the heart of a lover, inflict a double torture a torture so frightful
that it has never yet been decided whether a jealous man prefers a,
rival of higher or lower condition than himself.
Pitou, therefore, but too well knew the pangs of jealousy, the
wounds of which are incurable and fertile in agony, and of which
up to this time the ingenuous heart of our hero had remained
ignorant jealousy, a plant of marvellous and venomous growth,
which springs up without seed being sown, from a soil that had
never seen germinate any noxious passion, not even self-love, that
evil root which chokes up even the most sterile lands.
A heart thus tortured stands in need of much philosophy in order
to regain its habitual calmness.
Was Pitou a philosopher ? He who the day following that on
which he had experienced this sensation, could think of waging war
against the hares and rabbits of his highness the Duke of Orleans,
and the day after that, of making the long harangues we have
reported ?
Was his heart then as hard as flint, from which every fresh blow
draws a spark ? Or did it possess only the soft resistance of a
sponge, which has the quality of absorbing tears, and of mollifying,
without receiving a wound, the shock of every misfortune ?
This the future will indubitably testify ; therefore let us not pre-
judge, but go on with our story.
After having received the visit we have related, and his harangues
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR. 457
being terminated, Pitou, compelled by his appetite to attend to
minor matters, set to work and cooked his young rabbit, regretting
that it was not a hare.
But, in fact, had the rabbit been really a hare, Pitou would not
have eaten, but would have sold it.
That would not have been a very trifling concern. A hare, ac-
cording to its size, is worth from eighteen to twenty-four sous ; and
although he was still the possessor of a few louis given to him by
Doctor Gilbert, Pitou, without being as avaricious as his aunt
Angelique, had a good dose of economy, which he had inherited from
his mother. Pitou would, therefore, have added eighteen sous to his
treasure, which would thus have been increased instead of di-
minished.
For Pitou had justly reflected that it was not necessary for a man
to make repasts which would cost him one day half-a-crown, another
eighteen sous. He was not a Lucullus ; and Pitou said that with
the eighteen sous his hare would have brought him, he could have
lived during a whole week !
Now, during that week, supposing that he had caught a hare on
the first day, he might very well have taken three during the six
following days, or rather the six following nights. In a week, there-
fore, he would have gained food for a month.
Following up this calculation, forty-eight hares would have suf-
ficed for a year's keep : all the rest would have been clear profit.
Pitou entered into this economical calculation while he was eating
-his rabbit; which, instead of bringing him anything, cost him a
sous worth of butter and a sous worth of lard. As to the onions,
he had gleaned them upon the common land.
' After a repast, the fireside or a walk,' says the proverb. After
his repast, Pitou went into the forest to seek a snug corner where
he could take a nap.
It is scarcely necessary to say that as soon as the unfortunate
youth had finished talking politics and found himself alone, he had
incessantly before his eyes the spectacle of M. Isidor making love
to Mademoiselle Catherine.
The oaks and beech trees trembled with his sighs : nature, which
always smiles on well-filled stomachs, made one exception in regard
to Pitou, and appeared to him a vast dark desert, in which there
remained only rabbits, hares, and deer.
Once hidden beneath the tall trees of his natal forest, Pitou, in-
spired by their cool and invigorating shade, became more firm in
his heroic resolution, and this was to disappear from before the eyes
of Catherine to leave her altogether free, and not to affect himself
extravagantly as to her preference of another, that he might not be
more humiliated than was necessary by invidious comparison.
It was a highly painful effort to abstain from seeing Mademoiselle
Catherine ; but a man ought to be a man.
458 TAKING THE B A STILE.
Moreover, this was not precisely the case in question.
The question was not exactly, that he should no more s'&e Made
moiselle Catherine, but that he should not be seen by her.
Now, what was there to prevent the contemned lover from care-
fully concealing himself and catching a glance of the cruel fair one?
Nothing.
From Haramont to the farm what was the distance ? Scarcely
a league and a half that is to say, a few strides that was all !
Although it would have been base on the part of Pitou to have
continued his attentions to Catherine after what he had seen, it
would be so much the more adroit in him to continue to ascertain
her acts and conduct, thanks to a little exercise, which could not be
but favourable to Pitou's health.
Moreover, that portion of the forest behind the farm and extend-
ing towards Boursonville abounded in hares.
Pitou would go at night to lay his wires, and the next morning,
from the top of some high hillock, he would cast his eyes over
the plain and watch Mademoiselle Catherine's doings. This he
had the right to do ; this, to a certain point, was his duty, being the
authorised agent, as he undoubtedly was, of Father' "Billot.
Thus, having consoled himself, and as it were in spite of himself,
Pitou thought he might cease sighing. He dined off an enormous
slice of bread he had brought with him, and when the evening had
closed in, he laid a dozen wires and threw himself down upon the
heather, still warm from the sun's rays.
There he slept like a man in utter despair that is to say, his
sleep was almost as undisturbed as that of death.
The coolness of the night awoke him ; he went to examine his
wires. Nothing had been taken ; but Pitou calculated always more
upon the morning passage ; only, as his head felt somewhat heavy,
he determined on returning to his lodgings and looking to his wires
the following day.
But this day, which to him had passed by so devoid of events
and intrigues, had been passed in a very different manner by the
inhabitants of the hamlet, who had employed it in reflecting and in
making combinations.
It might have been seen towards the middle of that day which
Pitou had passed dreaming in the forest the wood-cutters, we say,
might have been seen leaning contemplatively upon their hatchets ;
the threshers with their flails suspended in the air, meditating ; the
joiners stopping their planes upon a half-smoothed plank.
Pitou was the first great cause of all this loss of time ; Pitou had
been the breath of discord which had stirred these straws which
began to whirl about confusedly.
And he, the occasion of all this agitation, had not even thought
one moment on the subject
But at the moment when he was going towards his own lodging^
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR. 459
although the clock had struck ten, and usually at that hour not a
single light was to be seen, not an eye was still open in the village,
he perceived a very unaccustomed scene around the house which he
resided in. He 'saw a number of men seated in groups, a number
standing in groups, several groups walking up and down.
The aspect of these groups was altogether singular.
Pitou, without knowing why, imagined that all these people were
talking of him.
And when he passed through the street, they all appeared as if
struck by an electric shock, and pointed at him as he passed.
' What can the matter be with them all !' said Pitou to himself.
' I have not my helmet on.'
And he modestly retired to his own lodging, after having ex-
changed salutations with a few of the villagers as he passed by
them.
He had scarcely shut the door of his house when he thought he
heard a slight knock upon the door-post.
Pitou was not in the habit of lighting a candle to undress by. A
candle was too great a luxury for a man who paid only six livres a
year for his lodgings, and who, having no books, could not read.
But it was certain that some one was knocking at his door.
He raised the latch.
Two of the young inhabitants of the village familiarly entered his
abode.
' Why, Pitou, you have not a candle,' said one of them.
' No,' replied Pitou : ' of what use would it be ?
' Why, that one might see.'
' Oh ! I see well at night ; I am Nyctalops.'
And in proof of this he added :
' Good evening, Claude ! Good evening, De*sireV
' Well ." they both cried, ' here we are, Pitou !'
' This is a kind visit ; what do you desire of me, my friends ?
' Come out into the light,' said Claude.
' Into the light of what ? There is no moon.'
' Into the light of heaven.'
' You have, then, something to say to me ?'
1 Yes, we would speak with you, Ange.'
And Claude emphasized these words with a singular expression.
' Well, let us go, then,' said Pitou.
And the three went out together.
They walked on until they reached the first open space in the
road, Ange Pitou still not knowing what they wanted of him.
' Well ? inquired Pitou, seeing that his two companions stopped.
'You see now, Ange,' said Claude, ' here we are, D^sird Maniquet
and myself. We manage to lead all our companions in the country.
Will you be one of us ?'
' To do what ?
460 TAKING THE BAST2LE.
1 Ah ! that is the question. It is to '
' To do what ? said Pitou, drawing himself up to his full height
' To conspire !' murmured Claude in Pitou's ear.
' Ah ! ah ! as they do at Paris,' said Pitou jeeringly.
The fact is, that he was fearful of the word, and of the echo of the
word, even in the midst of the forest.
' Come now, explain yourself,' said Pitou to Claude, after a short
oause.
'This is the case/ said the latter. ' Come nearer. De'sire', you
who are a poacher to your very soul, and who know all the noises
of the day and night, of the plain and of the forest, look around and
see if we have been followed ; listen whether there be any one at-
tempting to overhear us.'
De'sire^ gave an assenting nod, took a tolerably wide circuit round
Pitou and Claude, and having peeped into every bush and listened
to every murmur, returned to them.
' You may speak out,' said he, ' there is no one near us.
* My friends,' rejoined Claude, ' all the townships of France, as
Pitou has told us, desire to be armed, and on the footing of National
Guards !'
' That is true !' said Pitou.
' Well, then, why should Haramont not be armed like the other
townships ?
' You said why, only yesterday, Claude,' replied Pitou, * when I
proposed my resolution that we should arm ourselves. It iramont is
not armed because Haramont has no muskets !'
' Oh ! as to muskets, we need not be uneasy about them, since
you know where they are to be had.'
' I know ! I know !' said Pitou, who saw at what Claude was
aiming, and who felt the danger of the proceeding.
' Well,' continued Claude, ' all the patriotic young fellows of the
village have been consulting together to-day.'
' Good !'
'And there are thirty-three of us.'
' That is the third of a hundred, less one,' added Pitou.
' Do you know the manual exercise ? inquired Claude.
'Do I not,' exclaimed Pi ^u, who did not even know how to
shoulder arms.
' Good ! and do you know how to manoeuvre a company ?*
' I have seen General Lafayette manoeuvring forty thousand men
at least ten times,' disdainfully replied f i.
' That is all right,' said De'sire'. -;red of remaining silent, and who,
without intending to presume, wished to put in a word in his turn.
' Well, then, will you command us ? said Ciaude to Pitou.
' Who I ? exclaimed Pitou, r.uting with s rprise.
' Yes, you yourself !'
And the two conspirators intently eyed Pitou.
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR. 461
' Oh ! you hesitate !' cried Claude.
Why '
' You are not, then, a good patriot/ said Desire.
' Oh ! that, for example
'There is something, then, that you are afraid of?'
' What, I ? I, a conqueror of the Bastile a man to whom a medal
is awarded ?
4 You have a medal awarded you j*
' J shall have one as soon as the medals have been struck. Mon-
sieur Billot has promised to apply for mine in my name.'
' He will have a medal ! We shall have a chief who has a medal !'
exclaimed Claude, in a transport of joy.
' Come now, speak out,' said Ddsird ; ' will you accept the ap-
pointment ?'
' Do you accept ? asked Claude.
' Well, then, yes : I will accept it,' said Pitou, carried away by his
enthusiasm, and also, perhaps, by a feeling which was awakening
within him, and which is called pride.
' It is agreed ; from to-morrow morning you will be our com-
mander.'
' And what shall I command you to do ?
' Our exercise, to be sure.'
' And the muskets ?
' Why, since you know where there are muskets f
f Oh ! yes, at the house of the Abbe" Fortier.'
' Undoubtedly.'
' Only it is very likely the Abbd Fortier will refuse to let me have
them.'
'Well, then, you will do as the patriots did at the Invalides you
will take them.'
' What, I alone ?
1 You will have our signatures, and, should it be necessary, you
shall have our hands too. We will cause a rising in Villers-Cot-
tere*ts but we will have them.'
Pitou shook his head.
' The Abbe* Fortier is a very obstinate man,' said he.
* Pooh ! you were his most favourite pupil ; he would not be able
to refuse you anything.'
' It is easy to perceive that you do not know him !' cried Pitou,
with a sigh.
' How ! do you believe the old man would refuse ?'
' He would refuse them even to a squadron of the Royal Germans
He is dreadfully obstinate, in justum et tenacem. But, I forgot,
you do not even understand Latin,' added Pitou, with much com-
passion.
But the two Haramontese did not allow themselves to be dazzled
either by the quotation or the apostrophe.
462 TAKING THE BASTILE,
' Ah ! in good truth,' said De'sire', ' we have chosen an excellent
chief, Claude ; he is alarmed at everything.'
Claude shook his head.
Pitou perceived that he was compromising his high position ; he
remembered that fortune always most favoured those who possess
most audacity.
' Well, be it so,' said he ; ' I will consider it.'
' You, then, will manage the affair of the muskets ?
' I will promise to do all I can.'
An expression of satisfaction was uttered by his two friends, re-
placing the slight discontent they had before manifested.
' Ho ! ho !' said Pitou to himself, ' these men want to dictate to
me, even before I am their chief ; what will they do, then, when I
shall be so in reality ?
' Do all you can,' said Claude, shaking his head : ' oh ! oh ! that
is not enough.'
' If that is not enough,' replied Pitou, c try you to do more. I give
up my command to you. Go and see what you can make of the
Abbe Fortier and his cat-o'-nine-tails.'
' That would be well worth while,' said Maniquet, disdainfully.
' It is a pretty thing, indeed, for a man to return from Paris with a
helmet and a sabre, and then to be afraid of a cat-o'-nine-tails.'
' A helmet and a sabre are not a cuirass ; and even if they were,
the Abbe* Fortier would still find a place on which to apply his cat-
o'-nine-tails.'
Claude and De'sire' appeared to comprehend this observation.
' Come, now, Pitou, my son,' said Claude. (' My son ' is a term
of endearment much used in the country.)
' Well, then, it shall be so,' said Pitou ; ' but zounds ! you must
be obedient.'
' You will see how obedient we shall be,' said he, giving a wink to
De'sire".
' Only,' added De'sire', ' you must engage with regard to the
muskets '
' Oh ! that is agreed upon,' cried Pitou, interrupting him, who was
in truth extremely uneasy at the task imposed upon him ; but whom,
however, ambition was counselling to venture on deeds which re-
quired great daring.
1 You promise, then ?' said CUude.
'You swear it ?' said De'sire'.
Pitou stretched forth his hand. His two companions did the
same.
And thus it was, by the light of the stars, and in an opening of the
forest, that the insurrection was declared in the department of the
Aisne, by the three Haramontese, unwitting plagiarists of William
Tell and his three companions.
The fact is, that Pitou dimly foresaw that, after all the perils and
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR. 463
troubles he would have to encounter, he would have the happiness
of appearing gloriously invested with the insignia of a commander
of the National Guard before the eyes of Catherine ; and the in-
signia appeared to him to be of a nature to cause her to feel, if not
remorse, at least some regret for the conduct she had pursued.
Thus consecrated by the will of his electors, Pitou returned to his
house, meditating on the ways and means by which he could procure
arms for his thirty-three National Guards
CHAPTER LXII.
IN WHICH WILL BE SEEN OPPOSED TO EACH OTHER THE MONAR-
CHICAL PRINCIPLE REPRESENTED BY THE ABBE FORTIER,
AND THE REVOLUTIONARY PRINCIPLE REPRESENTED BY PITOU.
THE whole of that night, Pitou was so absorbed in reflecting on
the great honour which had befallen him, that he forgot to visit his
wires.
The next morning he donned his helmet, and buckled on his great
sabre, and' set out manfully towards Villers-Cottere'ts.
It was just striking six o'clock when Pitou reached the square be-
fore the chateau, and he modestly knocked at the small door, which
opened into the Abbe" Fortier's garden/
Pitou had knocked loud enough to satisfy his conscience, but
gently enough not to be heard from the house.
He had hoped thus to gain a quarter of an hour's respite, and
during that time to summon up some flowers of oratory wherewith
to adorn the speech he had prepared for the Abb Fortier.
But his astonishment was great, when, notwithstanding his having
knocked so gently, he saw the gate at once opened : but his astonish-
ment soon ceased, when in the person who had opened it he recog-
nised Sebastian Gilbert.
The lad was walking in the garden studying his lesson by the sun's
first rays or rather, we should say, pretending to study ; for the
opened book was hanging listlessly in his hand, and the thoughts of
the youth were capriciously wandering after those whom he most
loved in the world.
Sebastian uttered a joyous cry on perceiving Pitou.
They embraced each other. The boy's first words were these:
' Have you received news from Paris ?
' No : have you any ?' inquired Pitou.
' Oh ! I have received some,' said Sebastian. ' My father has writ-
ten me a delightful letter.'
' Ah !' cried Pitou.
' And in which,' continued the lad, ' there is a word for you.'
And taking the letter from his breast pocket, he handed it to
Pitou.
464 TAKING THE BASTILE.
1 P.S. Billot recommends Pitou not to annoy or distract the at
tention of the people at the farm.'
' Oh !' said Pitou, ' that is a recommendation which, as it regards
me, is altogether useless. There is no one at the farm whom I can
either annoy or amuse.'
Then he added to himself, sighing still more deeply
' It was to Monsieur Isidor that these words ought to have been
addressed.'
He, however, soon recovered his self-possession, and returned the
letter to Sebastian.
' Where is the abbd ?' he inquired.
Sebastian bent his ear towards the house, and, although the width
of the court-yard and the garden separated him from the staircase,
which creaked beneath the steps of the worthy priest
' Why,' said he, ' he is just coming downstairs.'
Pitou went from the garden into the court-yard, and it was only
then that he heard the heavy footsteps of the abbd.
The worthy professor was reading the newspaperas he came down-
stairs. His faithful cat-o'-nine-tails was, as usual, hanging by his side.
With his nose close to the newspaper for he knew by heart the
number of steps and every inequality in the wall of his old house
the abbe* almost ran against Ange Pitou, who had assumed the most
majestic air he could put on, in order to contend with his political
antagonist.
But we must first of all say a few words as to the position of the
Abbe* Fortier, which might have appeared tedious in any other page,
but which here find their natural place.
They will explain how it was that the thirty or forty muskets which
have been so much talked about happened to be in the Abbe* Fortier's
charge ; which muskets had become the object of the ambition of
Pitou and of his two accomplices, Claude and De"sire*.
The Abbe" Fortier, who had formerly been the almoner or sub-
almoner of the chateau, as we have already bad occasion to ex-
plain elsewhere, had in course of time, and above all with that
patient fixity of ideas inherent in ecclesiastics, become sole inten-
dant of what in theatrical language is called the properties of the
chateau.
Besides the sacred vases, besides the library, he had received in
charge all the hunting apparatus of the Duke of Orleans, Louis
Philippe, the father of Philippe, who was afterwards called EgalUe".
Some of this apparatus had been in the family as far back as the
reigns of Louis XIII. and Henri III. All these articles had been
artistically arranged by him in one of the galleries of the chateau,
which had been allotted to him for this express purpose. In order
to give them a more picturesque appearance, he had formed them
into stars, the centre being shields, surrounded by boar-spears,
hunting-knives, and short muskets, richly inlaid, and manufactured
during the time of the League.
P1TOU A CONSPIRA TOR. 465
The door of this gallery was formidably defended by two small
cannon of plated bronze, given by Louis XIV. to his brother
Monsieur.
Besides these, there were about fifty musketoons, brought as
trophies by Joseph Philippe from the battle of Ushant, and
presented by him to the municipality of Villers-Cotterets ; and
the municipality, as we have said, having furnished the Abb For-
tier with a house free of rent, had placed these muskets, not know-
ing what to do with them, in the collegiate house.
Such was the treasure guarded by the Dragon, named Fortier,
and threatened by the Jason, named Ange Pitou.
The little arsenal of the chateau was sufficiently celebrated in the
country, to make people desire to obtain possession of it at little
cost.
But, as we have said, the abb being a vigilant Dragon, did not
appear disposed willingly to give up, to any Jason whatsoever, tk
golden apples which his Hesperides contained.
Having said this much, let us return to Pitou.
He very gracefully bowed to the Abbd Fortier, accompanying his
bow with a slight cough, such as we use to attract the attention of
persons who are naturally absent, or who are preoccupied.
The Abb Fortier raised his nose from the newspaper.
* Well, I declare,' said he, ' 'tis Pitou.'
' To serve you, should I be capable of doing so,' courteously re-
plied Ange.
The abbd folded up his newspaper, or rather closed it as he would
have done a portfolio, for in those happy days the newspapers were
still small pamphlets.
Then, having folded up his paper, he stuck it into his belt on the
opposite side to his cat-o'-nine-tails.
' Ah ! yes but in that lies the misfortune,' replied the abbd,
jeeringly, ' seeing that you are not capable.'
' Oh ! most worthy abbeV
' Do you hear me, Mr. Hypocrite ?
1 Oh ! good abbeV
' Do you hear me, Mr. Revolutionist ?'
' Come now, this is good ; for before I have spoken even a single
word, you get into a passion with me. This is but a bad beginning,
abbeV
Sebastian who well knew what the Abbe Fortier had, for the
last two days, been saying to every one who came near him about
Pitou, and thinking it better not to be present during the quarrel
which must necessarily ensue between his schoolmaster and his
friend stole away as quickly as he could.
Pitou observed Sebastian's escape with a certain degree of sorrow.
He was not a very vigorous ally, but he was a youth of the same
political communion with himself.
466 TAKING THE BASTILE.
And therefore, when he perceived him stepping through the door,
he could not avoid uttering a sigh then, turning to the abbd :
' Come now, Monsieur Fortier,' said he, ' why do you call me a
revolutionist ? Would you insinuate that I am the cause of the
revolution ?'
' You ha\4e lived with those who are carrying it on.'
'Good Monsieur AbbeY said Pitou, with supreme dignity, 'the
thoughts of every man are free.'
' Ah ! indeed.'
' Est penes hominem arbitrium est ratio.
' Why, really,' cried the abbe", ' you know Latin, then, you clown ?
' I know what you taught me of it,' modestly replied Pitou.
' Yet revised, corrected, augmented, and embellished with bar-
barisms.
' Good again, Monsieur Abbe" barbarisms ! and who is there
who does not commit them ?'
' Vile fellow !' cried the abbe", evidently wounded by this apparent
tendency of Pitou's to generalise. ' What ! do you believe that I
am guilty of barbarisms ?'
' You would commit them in the eyes oi" a man who was a better
Latin scholar than yourself.'
' Only hear that !' cried the abbe", turning pale with anger, and
yet struck with the reasoning, which was not devoid of point
Then, in a melancholy tone :
' There, in two words, is the system of these vile wretches ; they
destroy and degrade, and who profits by it ? They know not even
themselves it is to the profit of the unknown. Come, now, Mon-
sieur Dunce, speak out freely do you know any one who is a
better Latin scholar than I am ?'
' No ; but there may be many, although I do not know them I
do not know everything.'
' Zounds ! I believe you.'
Pitou made the sign of the cross.
' What are you doing there, libertine ?
' You swore, Monsieur Abbe", and I crossed myself?
' Why, rascal, have you come here to tympanise me ?
1 To tympanise you !' repeated Pitou.
*Ah ! good now again you do not comprehend '
1 Oh ! yes, I understand it well enough. Ah ! thanks to you, I
know the roots of words tympanise tympanum drum ; it comes
from the Greek tympanon, drum or bell.'
The abbe* appeared perfectly astounded.
' Root, typos, mark, vestige ; and as Lancelot says in his garden
of Greek roots, typos, the form which impresses itself, which word
evidently comes from tupto, strike. There you have it.'
' Ah ! ah ! rascallion !' cried the abbe", more and more dumb-
founded. ' It seems that you yet know something, even what you did
not know.'
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR, 40,
'Pooh !' ejaculated Pitou, with affected modesty.
' How did it happen that during the whole time you were with me,
you could not answer me as you have now done ?'
' Because, during the time I was with you, Abbe" Fortier, you
brutalised me because, by your despotism you repelled my intel-
ligence, imprisoned within my memory all that liberty has since
brought forth from it. Yes, liberty,' continued Pitou, becoming
more energetic as he proceeded ; ' do you hear me ? liberty !'
' Ah ! rascal !'
4 Monsieur Professor,' said Pitou, with an air which was ndt
exempt from threat, ' Monsieur Professor, do not insult me. Contu-
melia non argumentum, says an orator ; insult is not reasoning.'
' I think that the fellow,' cried the abbe", in great fury, ' I think
that the fellow imagines it necessary to translate his Latin to me.'
' It is not my Latin, Monsieur Abbe", it is Cicero's that is to say,
the Latin of a man who assuredly would have thought that you
made as many barbarisms in comparison with him, as I do in com-
parison with you.'
' You do not pretend, I hope,' cried the Abb Fortier, somewhat
shaken on his pedestal, ' you do not pretend, I hope, that I should
discuss with you ?'
* And why not ? If from the discussion light is to proceed,
abstrusum versusilicum?
1 How ! how !' exclaimed the Abbd Fortier ; ' why, really the
fellow has been in the revolutionary school.'
* How can that be, since you yourself have said that the revolu-
tionists are fools and ignoramuses ?'
' Yes, I do say so.'
' Then you are making a false reasoning, my worthy abbe", and
your syllogism is badly founded.'
' Badly founded ! What say you ? I have badly founded a
syllogism ?'
' Undoubtedly, Monsieur 1'Abbe". Pitou reasons and speaks well
Pitou has been to the revolutionary school the revolutionists
consequently reason and speak well. There is no getting out of that.'
' Animal ! brute ! simpleton !'
' Do not molest me by your words, Monsieur Abbe". Objurgatio
imbellem animum arguit, weakness betrays itself by anger.'
The abb shrugged up his shoulders.
'Answer me,' said Pitou.
' You say that the revolutionists speak well and reason well. But
tell me the name of any one of those wretches who knows how to
read and write.'
' That is blinking the point in discussion ; but, I will answer you,
nevertheless. I can read and write,' cried Pitou, with assurance.
' Read I will admit that and yet, I know not but as to
writing '
468 TAKING THE BASTILE.
1 Writing !' cried Pitou.
' Yes, you can write ; but without orthography. 1
' That is to be seen.'
4 Will you lay a wager that you will write a page under my dicta-
tion without making four blunders ?*
' Will you lay a wager, you, that you will write half a page under
my dictation without making two ?
' Oh ! that, for example
' Well, let us to work. I will pick you out some participles and re-
flective verbs. I will season you up all these with a certain number
of thats which I know of I accept the wager.'
' If I had time,' said the abbe".
' You would lose.'
' Pitou ! Pitou ! remember the proverb, Pitonius Angelus asinus
est.'
; Pooh ! proverbs ! there are proverbs made for everybody. Do
you know the one which was sung into my ears by the reeds of the
Wualu as I passed by them ?
' No ; but I should be curious to know it, Master Midas.'
' Fortierus Abbas forte fortis?
' Sir !' exclaimed the abbe".
' A free translation : the Abbe" Fortier is not in his forte every
day.'
' Fortunately,' said the abbe", ' accusing is of slight importance ;
it is the proof that condemns.'
' Alas ! good Monsieur Abbe", that would be perfectly easy ; let
us see, what do you teach your pupils ?
<Why '
' Allow me to follow up the argument. What do you teach your
pupils ?
' Why, what I know.'
' Good ! remember that your answer was " what I know."'
' Well yes, what I know,' said the abbe", somewhat shaken ; for
he felt that during his absence this singular combatant had learnt
some unknown thrusts. ' Yes, I did say so ; and what then ?*
' Well, then, since you teach your pupils what you know, tell me
what it is that you do know ?'
'Latin, French, Greek, history, geography, arithmetic, algebra,
astronomy, botany, and numismatics '
' Anything more ? inquired Pitou.
< Why '
' Try to find something else/
' Drawing.'
' Go on.'
' Architecture.'
' Go on.'
' Mechanics-'
PI TO U A CONSPIRATOR. 469
' A branch of mathematics but that matters not go on.
' But tell me what are you aiming at ?'
' Simply at this ; you have stated pretty largely the account of
what you do know ; now state the account of what you do not know.'
The abb shuddered.
' Ah !' said Pitou, ' I clearly see that to do this I must assist you :
well, then, you do not know either German, or Hebrew, or Arabic,
or Sanscrit, four mother languages. I speak not of the sub-
divisions, which are innumerable. You know nothing of natural
history, of chemistry, of physics '
' Monsieur Pitou '
' Do not interrupt me : you know nothing of rectilinear trigono-
metry ; you are ignorant of medicine ; you know nothing of acoustics,
of navigation ; you are ignorant of everything that regards the
gymnastic sciences. 3
' What say you ?'
' I said gymnastics, from the Greek gymnaza exercce, which comes
from gymnos, naked, because the athletes were naked when they
exercised.'
' And yet it was I who taught you all this !' cried the abbd, almost
consoled at the victory of his pupil.
' That is true.'
'It is fortunate that you even acknowledge it.'
' And with gratitude : we were saying, then, that you are ignorant
of '
' Enough. It is certain that I am ignorant of much more than I
know.'
' Therefore, you acknowledge that many men know more than
you do.'
' That is possible.'
' It is certain ; and the more a man knows the more does he per-
ceive that he knows nothing. It was Cicero who said this.'
' Conclude.'
' I conclude '
' Let us hear your conclusion ; it will be a fine one.'
' I conclude that in virtue of your relative ignorance, you ought
to be more indulgent as to the relative knowledge of other men.
This constitutes a double virtue ; a duplex virtue, which we are
assured was that of Fe'ne'lon, who assuredly knew quite as much as
you do ; and that is the Christian charity of humility.'
The abb uttered a perfect roar of anger.
' Serpent !' he exclaimed, ' you are a serpent !'
' You insult me but do not answer me ; this was the reply of one
of the seven wise men of Greece. I would say it in Greek, but I
have already said it, or something nearly to the same purpose, in
Latin.'
' Good !' said the abbe", ' this is another effect of revolutionary
doctrines.'
470 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
' And in what way ?*
' They have persuaded you you were my equal.'
' And even should they have persuaded me of that, it would not
give you the right of making a grammatical error.
' What say you If
' I say that you have just made an enormous fault, master.'
' Ah ! that is very polite indeed and what fault did I commit ?
1 It is this. You said ' revolutionary principles have persuaded
you you were my equal.'
' Well and what then ?
4 Well were is in the imperfect tense.'
' Yes, undoubtedly.'
* It was the present you should have used.'
' Ah !' cried the abbe", blushing.
' Only translate the phrase into Latin, and you will see what an
enormous solecism the verb will give you in the imperfect tense.'
' Pitou ! Pitou !' exclaimed the abbe, imagining that there was
something supernatural in this astounding erudition ' Pitou ! which
of the demons is it that inspires you with all these attacks against
an old man and against the Church ?'
' Why, my good master,' replied Pitou, somewhat moved by the
tone of real despair in which these words had been pronounced, ' it
is not a demon who inspires me, nor do I attack you. Only you
treat me as if I were a perfect fool, and you forget that all men are
equals.'
The abbe* was again irritated.
' It is that which I never will permit ; I cannot allow such blas-
phemies to be uttered in my presence. You you the equal of a
man whom God and study have taken sixty years to form !'
' Well, then, ask Monsieur de Lafayette, who has proclaimed the
rights of man.'
' Yes, yes, cite as an authority an unfaithful subject of the king
the torch of all this discord the traitor !'
' Hey !' cried Pitou, horrified. ' Monsieur de Lafayette an un-
faithful subject ! Monsieur de Lafayette a firebrand of discord !
Monsieur de Lafayette a traitor ! Why, it is you, abbe\ who are
blaspheming. Why, you must have lived shut up in a box during
the last three months. You do not know, then, that this unfaithful
subject of the king is the only one who serves the king ? that this
torch of discord is the pledge of public peace ? that this traitor is
the best of Frenchmen ?
' Oh !' exclaimed the abbe", ' could I ever have believed that royal
authority would fall so low ? A worthless fellow like that' and he
pointed to Pitou ' to invoke the name of Lafayette as in ancient
times they invoked the names of Aristides and of Phocion.'
' It is very fortunate for you, Monsieur I'Abbe', that the people do
not hear you,' said Pitou, imprudently.
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR. 471
'Ah !' exclaimed the abbe", with triumph, 'you at length reveal
yourself you threaten. The people yes, the people who basely
murdered the king's officers the people, who even tore out the
entrails of their victims. Yes, Monsieur de Lafayette's people
Monsieur Bailly's people Monsieur Pitou's people ! Well, then,
why do you not instantly denounce me to the revolutionists of
Villers-Cotterets ? Why do you not turn up your sleeves to hang
me on the first post ? Come now, Pitou maete animo. Pitou, sur-
sum ! sursum, Pitou. Come, come, where is your rope ? where is
your gallows ? There is the executioner ; maete animo generore
Pitoer
' Sic itur ad astra] added Pitou, muttering; but solely with the
intention of finishing the line, and not perceiving that he was making
a pun worthy of a cannibal.
But he was compelled to perceive it by the increased exaspera-
tion of the abbe".
' Ah ! ah !' vociferated the latter, ' ah ! that is the way you take
it ! ah ! it is thus that you would send me to the stars, is it ? Ah !
you intend me for the gallows, do you ?'
'Why, I did not say that,' cried Pitou, beginning to be alarmed
at the turn the conversation was taking.
' Ah ! you promise me the heaven of the unfortunate Foulon, of
the unhappy Berthier ?'
' Why so, Monsieur 1'Abbe* ?'
' Ah ! you have the running-noose prepared sanguinary execu-
tioner ! It was you, was it not, who on the square before the H&tel
de Ville ascended the lamp-iron, and with your long, hideous, spider-
like arms drew the victims to you ?'
Pitou uttered a perfect roar of horror and indignation.
' Yes, it was you- ; and I recognise you,' continued the abbe", in a
transport of divination, which made him resemble Joab, ' I recog-
nise thee thou art Cataline.'
* But really !' exclaimed Pitou, ' do you know that you are saying
abominable things to me, Monsieur 1'Abbe* ? Do you know that, in
point of fact, you are insulting me ?'
' I insult you ?
' Do you know that if this continues I will complain to the Na-
tional Assembly ? Ah ! but '
The abbd laughed with a sinistrously ironical expression.
' Lay your information,' said he.
' And that punishment is awarded to ill-disposed persons who in-
suit the good.'
' The lamp-post !'
' You are a bad citizen.'
' The rope ' the rope !'
Then he exclaimed, as if suddenly enlightened and struck with a
movement of generous indignation,
172 TAKING THE BASTILB.
' Ah ! the helmet ! the helmet ! 'tis he !'
' Well,' said Pitou, ' what is the matter with my helmet ?
' The man who tore out the still smoking heart of Berthier the
cannibal who carried it, still bleeding, and laid it on the table of
the electors wore a helmet : that man with the helmet was you,
Pitou ! it was you, monster that you are ! avaunt ! avaunt !
avaunt !'
And each time that the abb pronounced the word avaunt, which
he did with much tragic emphasis, he advanced one step towards
Pitou, who retreated in the same proportion.
But, on hearing this accusation, of which the reader knows Pitou
to be perfectly innocent, the poor lad threw far from him the helmet,
of which he was so proud, which rolled over upon the pavement of
the courtyard, with the heavy, hollow sound of copper lined with
pasteboard.
' You see, wretch !' cried the abbe", ' you acknowledge it.'
And he assumed the attitude of Lekain, in Orosmanes, at the
moment when, after finding the letter, he accuses Zaire.
' Come now,' said Pitou, completely taken aback by so horrible
an accusation, ' you are exaggerating, Monsieur 1'AbbeV
' I exaggerate that is to say, that you only hanged a little that
is to say, that you only ripped up a little, poor weak child !'
' Monsieur Abbe*, you know full well it was not I, you well know
that it was Pitt.'
' And who is Pitt ?'
' Pitt the second the son of Pitt the first of Lord Chatham.
He who has distributed money, saying, "Spend it you need not
give any account of it." If you understood English, I would tell it
you in English, but you do not know that language.'
' You know it then, you ?'
' Monsieur Gilbert taught it me.'
'In three weeks? Monsieur Impostor !'
Pitou saw that he had made a false step.
' Hear me, Monsieur Abbe*,' said he, ' I will not contend with you
any farther. You have your own ideas '
' Really !'
' That is but right.'
' You acknowledge that : Monsieur Pitou allows me to have my
own ideas ! Thanks, Monsieur Pitou !'
' Good ! There, you are getting angry again. You must com-
prehend that if this continues I shall not be able to tell you the
object which brought me here.'
' Wretch ! You had an object in coming here then ? You were
deputed, perhaps ?'
And the abbd laughed ironically.
1 Sir.' said Pitou, placed by the abbe* himself upon the footing in
* A great French tragedian.
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR. 473
which he wished to find himself since the commencement of the dis-
cussion, ' you know the great respect I have always had for your
character.'
' Ah ! yes, let us talk of that.'
' And the admiration I have always entertained for your know-
ledge,' added Pitou.
' Serpent !' exclaimed the abbe*.
' What ! I ?' cried Pitou, ' that for example !'
' Come, now, let us hear what you have to ask of me ? That I
should take you back here ? No, no : I would not spoil my scholars.
No ; you would still retain the noxious venom ; you would infect my
young plants : Infecit fabula labo.'
' But, good Monsieur Abbe* '
' No, do not ask me that ; if you must absolutely eat for I pre-
sume that the hangers of Paris eat as well as honest people. They
eat, oh ! God. In short, if you require that I should throw you
your portion of raw meat, you shall have it. But at the door on the
spatula, as at Rome the masters did to their dogs.'
' Monsieur AbbeY cried Pitou, drawing himself up proudly, ' I do
not ask you for my food ; I have wherewith to provide food, God
be thanked ; I will not be a burden to any one.'
' Ah !' exclaimed the abbe", with surprise.
' I live as all living beings do, and that without begging, ana by
that industry which nature has implanted in me ; I live by my own
labour ; and more than that, I am so far from being chargeable on
my fellow-citizens, that several among them have elected me their
chief.'
' Hey !' cried the abbe", with so much surprise, mingled with so
much terror, that it might have been thought that he had trod upon
a viper.
' Yes, yes ; they have elected me their chief,' repeated Pitou, com-
placently.
' Chief of what ?' inquired the abbe*.
' Chief of a troop of freemen,' said Pitou.
' Ah ! good heaven !' cried the abbe", ' the unfortunate boy has
gone mad.'
' Chief of the National Guard of Haramont,' concluded Pitou,
affecting modesty.
The abb leaned towards Pitou in order to gain from his features
a confirmation of his words.
' There is a National Guard at Haramont ? cried he.
' Yes, Monsieur AbbeV
' And you are the chief of it ?
' Yes, Monsieur Abbe*.'
' You, Pitou ?'
' I, Pitou.'
The abbe* raised his outstretched arms towards heaven, like
Phineas the high priest. 31
474 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Abomination of desolation !' murmured he.
'You are not ignorant, Monsieur AbbeY said Pitou with gentleness,
' that the National Guard is an institution destined to protect the
life, the liberty, and the property of the citizens.'
' Oh ! oh !' continued the abbe", overwhelmed by his despair.
' And that,' continued Pitou, ' too much vigour cannot be given
to that institution, above all in the country, on account of the very
numerous bands '
' Bands of which you are the chief !' cried the abbe" ; ' bands of
plunderers, bands of incendiaries, bands of assassins !'
' Oh ! do not confound things in this manner, dear Monsieur
Abbe" ; you will see my soldiers, I hope, and never were there more
honest citizens.'
' Be silent ! be silent !'
' You must consider, on the contrary, that we are your natural
protectors ; and the proof of this is that I have come straight to
you.'
' And for what purpose ? inquired the abbe".
'Ah ! that is precisely it, said Pitou, scratching his ear and
looking anxiously at the spot where his helmet was lying, in order
to ascertain whether in going to pick up this very necessary
portion of his military equipment, he would not place himself at
too great a distance from his line of retreat.
The helmet had rolled to within some few paces only of the
great gate which opened on to the Rue de Soissons.
' I asked you for what purpose ? repeated the abbe*.
' Well,' said Pitou, retreating backwards two steps towards his
helmet, ' this is the object of my mission, good Monsieur Abbe" ;
permit me to develop it to your sagacity.'
' Exordium !' muttered the abbd
Pitou backed two steps more towards his helmet.
But, by a singular manoeuvre, and which did not fail to give
Pitou some uneasiness, whenever he made two steps nearer to his
helmet, the abbe", in order to remain at the same distance from
him, advanced two steps towards Pitou.
' Well,' said Pitou, beginning to feel .nore courageous from his
proximity to his defensive headpiece, ' all soldiers require muskets,
and we have not any.'
'Ah ! you have no muskets !' cried the abbe", dancing with joy ;
1 ah ! they have no muskets ! Soldiers without muskets ! Ah !
by my faith they must be very pretty soldiers.'
' But, Monsieur Abbe",' said Pitou, taking again two steps nearer
to his helmet, ' when men have not muskets they seek for them.'
' Yes,' said the abbe", ' and you are in search of some ?
Pitou was able to reach his helmet, and brought it near him
with his foot. Being thus occupied, he did not at once reply to
the abb&
PITOU A CONSPIRATOR. 47*
'You look then for some ? repeated the latter.
'Yes.'
'Where?'
' In your house,' said Pitou, placing the helmet on his head
' Guns in my house ? asked the abbe*.
' Yes ! You have many.'
' Ah ! my museum ; you come to rob my museum. Only fancy
the cuirasses of old heroes on the backs of such creatures. Pitou,
I told you just now that you were mad. The swords of the Spaniards
of Almanza, the pikes of the Swiss of Marignan, were never made
for such a troop as yours.'
The abb laughed so scornfully that a cold shudder ran through
Pitou's veins.
' No ! abbe*,' said Pitou, ' the Spanish swords and Swiss pikes
would be of no use.'
' It is well you see it.'
' Not those arms, abbe\ but those capital muskets I cleaned so
often when I studied under you.
' Dam me Galatea tenebat,'
added Pitou, with a most insinuating smile.
' Indeed,' said the abbe, and he felt his few hairs stand erect as
Pitou spoke : ' you want my old marine muskets ?'
' They are the only weapons you have without any historical
interest, and really fit for service.'
' Indeed,' said the abbe", placing his hand on the handle of his
hammer, as the soldier would have seized his sword. ' Back, now,
the traitor unveils himself
' Abbey said Pitou, passing from menace to prayer, ' give me thirty
muskets '
' Go back.' The abbe* advanced towards Pitou.
' And you will have the glory of having contributed to rescue the
country from its oppressors.'
' Furnish arms to be used against me and mine ! Never !' said
the abbe".
He took up his hammer
' Never, never !'
He wheeled it above his head.
' Monsieur,' said Pitou, ' your name shall be placed in the
journal of Monsieur Prudhomme.'
'.My name in his paper?'
' Honourably mentioned.'
' I had rather be sent to the galleys.'
' What ! you refuse ? asked Pitou.
' Yes, and tell you to go
The abbe* pointed to the door.
476 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' That would be very wrong, for you would be accused of treason.
Monsieur, I beg you not to expose yourself to that.'
' Make me a martyr hero ; I ask but that.' And his eye glared
so that he looked more like the executioner than the victim.
So Pitou thought, for he began to fall back.
' Abbe",' said he, stepping back, 'I'm an ambassador of peace, a
quiet deputy.'
' You come to rob my armoury, as your accomplices did that of
the Invalides.'
4 Which was most laudable,' said Pitou.
' And which will here expose you to the risk of the end of my
hammer.'
' Monsieur,' said Pitou, who recognised an old acquaintance in
the tool, 'you will not thus violate the law of nations.'
' You will see.'
' I am protected by my character of ambassador.'
The abbe* continued to advance.
' Abb<* ! abb<* ! abbd !' said Pitou.
He was at the street door, face to face with his dangerous enemy,
and Pitou had either to fight or run.
To run he had to open the door, to open the door, turn.
If he turned, Pitou exposed to danger the part of his body the
least protected by the cuirass.
' You want my guns ? you want my guns ? said the abbe", ' and say,
" I will have them or you die !"'
' On the contrary, monsieur, I say nothing of the kind.'
' Well, you know where they are ; cut my throat and take
them.'
' I am incapable of such a deed.'
Pitou stood at the door with his hand on the latch, and thought
not of the abbe*'s muskets, but of his hammer.
' Then you will not give me the muskets 5"
'No!'
' I ask you again ?
' No ! no !'
' Again ?'
' No ! no !'
' Then keep them !' and he dashed through the half-open door.
His movement was not quick enough to avoid the hammer, which
hissed through the air and fell on the small of the back of Pitou, and
great as was the courage of the conqueror of the Bastile, he uttered a
cry of pain.
Just then many of the neighbours rushed out, and to their surprise
saw Pitou running away with his sword and helmet, and the Abbe
Fortier at the door brandishing his hammer as the angel of destruc-
tion wields his sword of flame.
PITOU A DIPLOMA T1ST. 477
CHAPTER LXIII.
PITOU A DIPLOMATIST.
WE have seen how Pitou was disappointed.
The fall was immense. Not even Satan had fallen from such an
eminence when from heaven he was thrown to hell. Satan fell but
remained a king, while the Abbe" Fortier's victim was only Ange
Pitou.
How could he appear before the persons who had sent him ? How,
after having testified such rash confidence, could he say that he was
a boaster and a coward, who, armed with a sword and a helmet, had
suffered an old abbd to put him to flight.
Pitou was wrong in having boasted that he would triumph over
the Abbe" Fortier, and in failing.
The first time he found himself out of view, he put his hand
on his head and thought.
He had expected to annihilate Fortier with his Latin and Greek.
He thought that by kind words he would soften the old Cerberus,
but he had been bitten and all had been spoiled.
The jbbd had great self-esteem, and Pitou had relied on it. What
most otiended the abbe 1 was Pitou's finding fault with his French
a thing he cared more about than he did about the muskets which
he had sought to take from him.
Young people, when good, always think others as good as they are
themselves.
The abb was not only an outrageous royalist, but also an out-
rageous philologist.
Pitou was especiajy sorry that that had excited him both on
account of Louis XVI. and the verb to be. He knew and should
have managed his friend. That was his error, and he regretted it,
though too late.
What should he have done ?
By eloquence have flattered the abbe* of his own royalism, and
not have noticed his mistakes in grammar.
He should have convinced him that the National Guard of Hara-
mont was opposed to the revolution.
He should have said that it would sustain the king.
Above all, he never should have said a word about the verb to be.
There was no earthly doubt, but that the abbe' would have opened
his arsenal for the purpose of securing to the cause of the king such
a leader and such a company.
This falsehood is diplomacy. Pitou thought over all the stories of
old times.
He remembered Philip of Macedon, who swore falsely so often,
but who was called a great man.
Of Brutus, who, to overcome his enemies, pretended to b & fool,
but who is thought a great man.
478 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Of Themistocles, who deceived his fellow-citizens, but who is
called a great man.
On the other hand, he remembered that Aristotle would admit
of no injustice, and that he too was esteemed a great man.
This contrast annoyed him.
He thought, though, that Aristotle fortunately lived at a time when
the Persians were so stupid, that one could act honestly and yet
conquer them.
He then remembered that Aristides had been exiled, and that
this circumstance acted in favour of the King of Macedon. He
rather approved of Philip, Brutus, and Themistocles.
Descending into modern times, Pitou remembered how Gilbert,
Bailly. Lameth, Mirabeau would have acted, had Louis XVI. been
the abbe" and they been Pitou.
What would they not have done to have armed the five hundred
thousand National Guards of France ?
Exactly what Pitou had not done.
They would have persuaded Louis XVI. that they desired nothing
more than to preserve the Father of the French ; that to save him
fromHhree to five hundred thousand guns were needed.
Mirabeau would here succeed.
Pitou then remembered the two flowing lines ;
' When you to the Devil pray
Call him the giver of good.'
He came to the conclusion that Ange Pitou was a perfect brute,
and that to return to his electors with any glory he would have to
do exactly what he had not.
Pitou determined then, either by force or by tricks, to get posses-
sion of the arms.
The first means were tricks.
He could enter the abbess museum and steal the arms.
Tricks !
If he did it alone, the act would be theft. If with companions it
would be simply a removal.
The very word theft made Pitou uneasy.
There were yet in France people enough used to the Old laws to
call the removal highway robbery.
Pitou hesitated.
But Pitou's self-love was excited, and to save it he was forced to
act alone.
He set to work most diligently to seek some mode of extricating
himself.
At last, like Archimedes, he shouted, ' Eureka !'
The following was his plan :
Lafayette was Commander-in-Chief of the National Guards of
France.
P1TOU A DIPLOMATIST 479
Haramont was in France.
Haramont had a National Guard.
Lafayette then was Commander of the National Guard of
Haramont.
He could not, therefore, consent that they should be destitute
while the rest of France was armed.
To reach Lafayette he had to appeal to Gilbert Gilbert, Billot.
Pitou had then to write to Billot.
As Billot could not read, he in the first place wrote Gilbert, thus
saving the necessity of at least one letter.
Before he did so he went secretly to Haramont, not however
without being seen by Tellier and Maniquet.
They withdrew in silence, and each with a ringer on his lips as a
token of silence.
Pitou had entered on the prosecution of a full course of politics.
The following is a copy of the letter which produced such an
effect on Tellier and Maniquet :
' DEAR AND HONOURABLE MONSIEUR BILLOT
' The revolutionary cause in our part of the country every day
gains.
' The people of Haramont has enrolled itself in the active National
Guard.
' It is however unarmed.
4 Arms may be procured. Certain persons have large quantities,
the possession of which would prevent the expenditure of public
money.
' If General Lafayette be pleased to order these to be seized and
distributed, I will myself assure thirty muskets can be placed in the
arsenals of Haramont.
* It is the only way to oppose the anti-revolutionary action of the
aristocrats, who are enemies of the nation.
' Your fellow-citizen and servant,
'ANGE PITOU.'
When this was done, he remembered that he had forgotten to
speak of the farmer's wife and family.
On the other hand, he was too much of a Brutus to tell Billot
about Catherine. He however opened his letter and wrote with a
sigh this postcript :
' P.S. Mademoiselle Catherine and all are well and send their
love to Monsieur Billot.'
He thus compromised neither himself nor any one.
He sent the letter, and the answer soon came.
On the next day, a mounted express reached Haramont and asked
for M. Ange Pitou.
All the members of the militia were on the qui-vive.
480 TAKING THE B AS TILE.
The horse was white with foam, and the rider wore the uniform
of the Parisian National Guard.
From the excitement he produced all may fancy how great was
Pitou's agitation.
He approached, and not without trembling received the package
which the officer gave him.
It was the reply of Billot written by Gilbert.
He advised Pitou to be both moderate and patriotic.
He enclosed an order of Lafayette, countersigned by the Minister
of War, for the National Guard of Haramont to arm itself.
The order was thus written :
' The possessors of muskets and sabres, in a greater number than
one, will be required to place them in the hands of the commanders
of the National Guards of the commune.
' The present order extends to all the province.'
Pitou thanked the officer and saw him at once set out.
Pitou had reached the acme of glory, having received a message
directly from Lafayette.
This message suited his ideas exactly.
To describe Pitou's impressions WOUK?. be impossible, and we will
not, therefore, attempt to do so. The sight however of the excited
countenances of all the people, the great respect exhibited to him,
would have made all think Pitou a most important personage.
All the electors requested to see and touch the ministerial seal, a
favour Pitou kindly granted.
When none but the initiated remained, Pitou said
'Citizens, my plans succeeded I wrote to General Lafayette,
who wished to form a National Guard and had selected me as
commander.
' Read the directions of this letter.'
The despatch had been directed
1 Citizen
' Ange Pitou,
' Commander of the National Guard of Haramont. 1
* I am then recognised in my rank, by Lafayette, as commander.
' You are recognised as Guards.'
A loud shout was raised.
' I know where we can get arms,' said Pitou.
' You will at once appoint a lieutenant and a sergeant. Those
two functionaries will accompany.'
All present seemed to hesitate.
' What is your opinion, Pitou ? said Maniquet.
' The matter does not concern me. Meet alone and appoint the
two functionaries. But appoint capable ones.'
Pitou bade adieu to his soldiers, and remained in a state of solemn
grandeur.
He thus remained in his glory while the soldiers discussed the
details of the military power which was to restrain Haramont.
PITOU A DIPLOMATIST. 481
The election lasted an hour. The lieutenant and sergeant chosen
were Tellier and Maniquet, the last of whom was the subaltern-
They returned and announced the fact to Pitou.
He then said : ' Now there is no time to lose.'
' Yes,' said an enthusiast, ' let us begin the manual.'
' Wait a moment, let us get guns first.'
' True.'
' But can we not practise with sticks ?'
' Let us be military,' said Pitou, who watched the military order
with anxiety, but who did not feel himself qualified to teach an art
of which he was utterly ignorant.
' It is a difficult matter to teach a raw recruit how to shoot a stick.
Let us not be ridiculous.'
' True. We must have muskets.'
' Come with me then, lieutenant and sergeant. The rest of you
wait here.'
All acquiesced respectfully.
' We have six hours' daylight yet left. That is more time than is
needed to go to Villers-Cotterets.'
' Forward !' said Pitou.
The staff of the army of Haramont set off.
When Pitou, however, read again the letter he had received, he
discovered that he had overlooked one phrase :
' Why did Pitou forget to give Dr. Gilbert some information about
Sebastian ?
' Why does not Sebastian write to his father ?
CHAPTER LXIV.
PITOU TRIUMPHS.
THE Abbe* Fortier was far from suspecting what danger he was in,
prepared carefully for him by deep diplomacy. He had no idea of
Pitou's influence.
He was seeking to prove to Sebastian that bad company is the
ruin of innocence ; that Paris is a pit of perdition ; that even angels
would be corrupted there, like those who went astray at Gomorrah
and, seriously impressed by Pitou's visit, besought Sebastian always
to remember to be a good and true loyalist.
By those words the abbe" meant a very different thing from what
Doctor Gilbert meant.
He forgot that as long as this difference existed, he was com-
mitting a very bad action, for he sought to excite the son's opinions
against the father.
He met, to tell the fact, with no great difficulty.
Strange to say, at a period when the minds of most children are,
so to say, mere potter's clay, on which every pressure leaves a mark,
Sebastian, in fixity of purpose, was a man.
402 TAKING THE BASTILE.
Was that to be attributed to that aristocratic nature which dis-
dains everything plebeian f
Or was it plebeianism pushed to stoicism ?
The mystery was too deep for the Abbe* Fortier. He knew the
doctor was an enthusiastic patriot, and with the simplicity of mind
peculiar to ecclesiastics, sought, for the glory of God, to reform
the son.
Though Sebastian appeared to listen, he did not, but was musing
on those strange visions which previously had taken possession of
him under the tall trees of the park of Villers-Cotterets when the
abbe" took his pupils thither, and which had become, so to say, a
kind of second life, so closely, however, allied to the natural exist-
ence, that in our prosaic days it would seem impossible.
All at once a loud knock was heard at the door in Soissons Street,
and it immediately opened and admitted several persons.
They were the maire, adjunct, and town clerk.
Behind them were the gendarmes, after whom came several
curious persons.
The abbe* went at once to the maire, and said,
' Monsieur Lonpre', what is the matter ?
' Abbe", are you aware of the new order of the Minister of War?
' I am not.'
* Be pleased to read this. 1
As he read it he grew pale.
' Well !' said he.
'Well. The gendarmes of Haramont expect you to surrender
your arms.'
The abbe" sprang forward as if he would devour the National
Guard.
Pitou thought it time for himself to be his.own lieutenant.
' Here are the gentlemen,' said the maire.
The abbess face was flushed.
* What ! these vagabonds !'
The maire was a good-natured man, and as yet had no decided
political opinions. He had no disposition to quarrel either with
the Church or the National Guard.
The words of the abbe' excited a loud laugh, and he said to Pitou,
' Do you hear how he speaks of your command ?*
' Because the abbs' knew us when children, he fancies we can
never grow old.'
' The children, however, have now grown,' said Maniquet, reach-
ing forth his mutilated hand to the men.
' And are serpents.'
' Who will bite if they be trampled on,' rejoined Maniquet.
In these threats the maire saw all the future revolution, and the
abb martyrdom.
' A portion of your arms are needed,' said the maire, who sought
to effect a reconciliation.
P1TOU TRIUMPHS, 4*i
' They are not mine,' said the abbe".
* Whose are they ?
( The Duke of Orleans'.'
' Well, that matters not,' said Pitou.
1 How so ?' said the abbd.
' We would ask for them.'
( I will write to the duke,' said the abbe* majestically.
' The abbe" forgets that if the duke were written to, he would reply
that not only the weapons of his English enemies, but of his grand-
father Louis XIV. must be surrendered to patriots.'
The abbe" knew this was true
' Circum dedisti me hostibus meis?
1 True, abbe" ! but to your purely political enemies. We hate in
you only the bad patriot.'
' Fool,' said Fortier, with an excitement which inspired him with
a certain kind of eloquence ; ' fool, and dangerous fool ! which is
the patriot ? I, who would keep these arms, or you, who would use
them in rapine and war ? Which is best ? I, who cultivate the
olive of peace, or you, who would lacerate the bosom of France, our
common mother, with war ?'
The maire sought to conceal his emotion, and nodded to the
abbe", as if to say,
' Good.'
The adjunct, like Tarquin, cut down flowers with his cane.
Pitou was amazed.
The two subalterns saw it, and were surprised.
Sebastian alone was cool.
He approached Pitou and said,
' Well, what is to be done, Pitou ?
Pitou said,
' The order is signed,' and showed the minister's, his father's, and
Lafayette's signatures.
' Why then do you hesitate ?'
His flashing eye, his erect form, showed clearly the two indomit-
able races from which he sprang.
The abbd heard his words, shuddered, and said,
' Three generations oppose you.'
' Abbe",' said the maire, ' the order must be obeyed.'
The abbe" put his hand on the keys which were in the girdle that
from monastic habit he yet wore, and said,
' Never ; they are not mine, and I will not surrender them till my
master orders me.'
' Abbd ! abbe" !' said the maire, who felt compelled to disapprove.
' This is rebellion,' said Sebastian. ' Master, be careful.'
' Tu quoque,' said the abbe", like Caesar folding his robe over his
bosom.
484 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Be at ease, abbe*,' said Pitou, ' these arms will be in good Hands
or France.'
'Hush, Judas, you betrayed your master. Why will you not
*>etray your country ?
Pitou felt his conscience prick him. What he had done was not
it the instinct of a noble heart, though he had acted bravely.
He looked around, and saw his two subalterns apparently ashamed
of his weakness.
Pitou felt that he was in danger of losing his influence.
Pride came to the aid of this champion of the revolution.
He looked up and said,
' Abbd, submissive as I was to my old master, not snreplied to
shall such comments be made.'
' Ah, you reply,' said the Abbe" Fortier.
' Yes ; and tell me if I am not right. You call me traitor, and
refuse me the arms I asked you kindly for, but which I now take in
the name, and by the strong hand, of the law. Well, abbe", I had
rather be called traitor to my master than, like you, have opposed
the liberty of my country. Our country for ever !'
The maire nodded to Pitou as he previously had to the abbe*.
The effect of this address ruined the abbe*.
The maire disapproved.
So too would the adjunct, but the absence of the two chiefs would
certainly have been remarked.
He then, with the gendarmes and Pitou, who was perfectly
familiar with the locale in which he had grown up, proceeded to
the museum.
Sebastian rushed after the patriots, the other children appeared
amazed.
After the door was opened the abb sank, half-dead with morti-
fication and rage, on the first chair.
When once in the museum, Pitou's assistants wished to pillage
everything, but the honesty of the commandant restrained them.
He took only thirty-three muskets, for he commanded thirty-three
National Guards.
As it might be necessary for him some day to fire a shot, he took,
as a thirty-fourth, an officer's gun, lighter and shorter than the
others, with which he could either kill a false Frenchman or a true
Prussian.
He then selected a straight sword like Lafayette's, which had
perhaps been borne by some hero at Fontenoy or Philipsbourg. He
buckled it on.
Each of his colleagues then placed twelve muskets on their
shoulders, and were so delighted that they scarcely felt the enor-
mous weight.
Pitou took the rest.
They passed through the park, to avoid observation in going
through the city.
PITOU TKWMPHS 485
It was also the shortest route.
Our three heroes, loaded with their spoils, passed rapidly through
the park, and reached the rendezvous. Exhausted and heated, they
took their precious prize that night to Pitou's house. It may be the
country had been too hasty in confiding it to them.
There was a meeting of the guard that night, and Pitou gave
them the muskets, saying, in the words of the Spartan mother,
' With them or on them.'
Thus was the little commune, by the genius of Pitou, made to
seem busy as an ant-hill during an earthquake.
Delight at possessing a gun among a people smugglers by nature,
whom the long oppression of gamekeepers had incensed, could not
but be great. Pitou consequently became a god on earth. His
long legs and arms were forgotten. So too were his clumsy knees
and his grotesque antecedents. He could not but be the tutelary
god of the country.
The next day was passed by the enthusiasts in cleaning and re-
pairing their arms. Some rejoiced that the cock worked well, and
others repaired the springs of the lock or replaced the screws.
In the meantime, Pitou had retired to his room, as Agamemnon
did to his tent, brightening his brains as others did their guns.
What was Pitou thinking of?
Pitou, become a leader of the people, was thinking of the hollow-
ness of earthly grandeur.
The time had come when the whole edifice he had erected was
about to crumble.
The guns had been issued on the evening before, and the day
passed in putting them in order. On the next day he would have
to drill his men, and Pitou did not know a single command of
' Load in twelve times.'
What is the use of a commandant ignorant of the drill ? The
writer of these lines never knew but one so ignorant. He was,
however, a countryman of Pitou's.
He thought with his head in his hands and his body prostrate.
Caesar amid the thickets of Gaul, Hannibal wandering on the
Alps, and Columbus drifting over the ocean, never thought more
deeply, and never so fully confessed themselves Diis ignotis, the
fearful powers who hold the secrets of life and death, than did
Pitou.
' Come,' said Pitou, ' time speeds, and to-morrow I must appear
in all my insignificance.
'To-morrow the captor of the Bastile, the god of war, will be
called by all Haramont an idiot, as I do not know who was by the
Greeks.
' To-day I triumph, but to-morrow I shall be hooted.
' This cannot be. Catherine will know it, and will think me dis-
graced.'
486 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
Pitou paused.
' What will extricate me from this dilemma ?
' Audacity.
'Not so. Audacity lasts a second. To load in the Prussian
times requires half a minute.
' Strange idea, to teach the Prussian drill to Frenchmen. I am
too much of a patriot to teach Frenchmen any of their inventions.
I will make a national drill.
' But I may go astray.
' I saw a monkey once go through the manual at a fain He
probably though, being a monkey, had never served.
' Ah ! I have an idea.'
He began to stride as fast as his long legs would permit, but was
suddenly brought to a stand by the idea.
' My disappearance will astonish my men. I must inform them.'
He then sent for his subalterns and said :
1 Tell the men that the first drill will take place on the day after
to-morrow.'
'Why not to-morrow r*
' You are fatigued, and before drilling the men I must instruct
the officers. Be careful too, I beg you, to do as I do, and to say
nothing.'
They saluted him ct la militaire.
'Very well, the drill will be at half-past four on the day after to-
morrow.'
The subalterns left, and as it was half after nine, went to bed.
Pitou let them go, and when they had turned the corner, went in
an opposite direction, and soon was hidden in the thickest of the
park.
Now let us see what Pitou was thinking of.
CHAPTER LXV
HOW PITOU LEARNED TACTICS, AND ACQUIRED A NOBLE
BEARING.
PITOU hurried on for half an hour into the very depth of the wood.
There was in the undergrowth, beneath a huge rock, a hut built
some thirty-five or forty years before, which was inhabited by a
person who in his day had excited no little mystery.
This hut, half-buried in the ground and surrounded by foliage,
received light only by an oblique opening. Not unlike a gipsy
hut, it was often to be detected only by the smoke which rose
from it
None but gamekeepers, smugglers, and sportsmen would evei
have suspected its existence or that it was inhabited.
For forty years, though, it had been the abode of a retired keeper
P1TOU LEARNS TACTICS. 487
whom the Duke of Orleans, father of Louis Philippe, had permitted
to remain, with the privilege of killing a rabbit or a hare a day.
Fowl and large game were excepted.
At the time we speak of the old man was sixty-nine years old.
His name was Clovis originally, to which, as he grew old, the title
Father was annexed.
From his residence the rock took the name of Clovis' Stone.
He had been wounded at Fontenoy, and consequently had lost a
leg, and been treated kindly as the duke appears to have done.
He never went into great cities, and visited Villers-Cotterets but
once a year for the purpose of buying three hundred and sixty-five
loads of powder and ball. On leap years he bought three hundred
and sixty-six.
On that day he took to the hatter, M. Cornu, three hundred and
sixty-five or three hundred and sixty-six rabbit and hare skins, for
which he received seventy-five Tours livres. He never missed a
shot, and we are, therefore, able to be so exact.
He lived on the flesh of the animals, though sometimes he sold it.
With the skins of the animals he bought powder and lead.
Once a year Father Clovis entered into a kind of speculation.
Father Clovis went through the neighbouring villages, and through
the intervention of the old women, that all the young women, who
bought his hares, to come on Saint Louis, should come thrice a
year and slide down the declivity of the rock.
The first year many young women came, but none dared the
attempt
On the next year three tried to do so. Two were married during
the course of the year, and Father Clovis said the third would have
been married had she been brave as the others were.
The next year all dared the attempt.
Father Clovis declared that enough men could not be found for
so many young women, but that the boldest would be married. He
had brilliant success.
For thirty-five years Clovis lived in this manner. The country
treated him as the Arabs do their marabouts. He had become a
legend.
One thing, however, excited the jealousy of the guards on duty.
I-, was said, that Father Clovis had fired but three hundred and
sixty-five times, but had killed the same number of hares.
More than once, the nobles of Paris, invited by the Duke of
Orleans, who had heard of Father Clovis, placed a louis or a crown
in his broad hand, and sought to ascertain how any one could
never miss.
Old Clovis, however, told them nothing more than that with the
game gun, he never missed a man at a hundred yards. If he could
kill a man, it was far easier to kill a hare.
If any smiled when Clovis spoke thus, he used to say : 'Why do
you fire when you are not sure of the mark ?
488 TAKING THE BASTILE.
' Could I have belonged to the men of Monsieur De Polisse, how
could I ever miss ?'
' But why did Monsieur d'Orleans, who is not at all mean, grant
you permission to fire but once a day ?'
' Because he knew that one shot would be enough.'
The curiosity of this spectacle, and the oddness of this theory,
brought at least ten louis a day to the old anchorite.
Now, as he gained much money by the sale of his hare-skins
and the holiday he had established, and he purchased only a pair
of gaiters in every five years, and a coat every ten, he was not at all
unhappy.
On the contrary, it was said that he had a concealed treasure,
and that his heir would get a good thing. Such was the singular
person whom Pitou went to at midnight when the brilliant idea of
which we have spoken entered his mind.
To fall in with Father Clovis, however, required much address.
Like one of Neptune's old herdsmen, he was not easily overtaken
He knew easily how to distinguish the useless man from one from
whom he could make money.
Clovis was lying down on his bed of straw, made of the aromatic
plants which the woods produce in September, and which would '
not require to be changed until the same month of the next year.
It was about eleven months, and the weather was calm and
bright.
To reach the hut of Clovis, he had to pass through the thickets
of oak and underbrush so thick, that his arrival could not be un-
known.
Pitou made four times as much noise as an ordinary person
would have done, and old Clovis lifted up his head. He was not
asleep, but was on that day in a terribly bad humour. An accident
had happened which made him almost unapproachable. The
accident was terrible.
His gun, which he had used for five years with balls, and for
thirty-five years with shot, had burst.
For thirty-five years he had not missed a shot.
The fate of the hare being safe and sound, was not the greatest
misfortune which had befallen Clvis. Two fingers of his right
hand had been carried away. Clovis had bound up his fingers
with bruised herbs.
How to procure another gun Father Clovis was under the neces-
sity of appealing to his treasury, and even though he expended as
much as two louis, who knew if the gun would not burst at the
second shot ?
Pitou came at an evil hour.
At the very moment Pitou placed his hand on the door, old
Clovis uttered a groan which amazed the commander of the National
Viuard of Haramont
fITOU LEARNS TACTICS. 489
Was it a wolf or some one substituted for Father Clovis ?
Pitou hesitated whether he should go in or not.
' Well, Father Clovis.'
' What ? said the misanthrope.
Pitou was reassured. He recognised the voice of the an-
chorite.
' Ah ! you are in,' said he.
He then entered the hut and bowed to the occupant
Pitou said, as he entered the room, quietly,
' Good morning, Clovis.'
r Who goes there ? said the proprietor.
I. 1
' Who are you ?
* I, Pitou.'
'Who is Pitou?
' Ange Pitou of Haramont.'
'Well, what is it to me who you are ? t;
' Ah !' said Pitou, ' Clovis is now in a bad humour. I was sorry
to awake him.'
' Certainly, you were.'
'What the..' must I do?'
' Go away as quickly as you possibly can.'
' But let us talk.'
' About what ?'
' Of a favour you can do me.'
' I want pay for all I do.'
' Well ! I will pay for al I get.'
' Possibly ; but I am no longer of use to any one.'
'How so?'
' I shall kill no more game.'
' How so ? You never miss a shot, Clovis. It is impossible.*
' Go away, I tell you.'
' But, Father Clovis ;
' You annoy me.'
' Listen to me, and you will not be sorry.'
' Well then what do you wish ? be orief.'
' You are an old soldier ?'
'Well'
'Well! I wish.'
Go on.'
' Teach me the manual.'
' Are you a fool ?'
' No teach me the manual, and I win pay you.'
' The creature is mad,' said Clovis ' what, a soldier ?
*' Father Clovis, will you teach me the manual or not ? Do So,
and I will pay you what you please.'
32
490 TAKING THE BAST1LE.
The old man arose and said
' What I please. Well, give me a gun.'
' Bah ! I have thirty-four guns !'
' Thirty-four ?
' Yes. I have thirty-five. It is a sergeant's musket the last, I
mean with the king's cipher on the breech.'
' How came you by it ? You did not steal it, I hope.'
Pitou told him the whole truth, frankly and honestly.
' Well, I will teach you, but my fingers are hurt.'
He then told Pitou what accident had befallen him.
' Well,' said Pitou, ' I will give you another gun. I cannot give
you oth.er fingers, for all I have I need myself.'
He arose.
The moon shed a torrent of white light on the little opening in
front of the hut.
Any one who had seen these two dark forms gesticulating at
midnight could not have repressed some mysterious terror.
Clovis took up his bursted gun with a sigh. He then placed
himself in a military position.
It was strange to see the old man again become erect, bent as
he was from the habit of passing the bushes, but the recollection
of his regiment, his aiguillet, revived him, and he brushed back his
dark hair.
' Look at me,' said he, ' look at me. That is the way to learn.
Do as I do, and I will correct you.'
Pitou made the attempt.
' Draw back your knees. Square your shoulders. Give full
play to your head. Give yourself a good foundation. Your feet
are large enough.'
Pitou did as well as he could.
'Very well !' said the old man. ' You look noble enough.'
If he looked thus after an hour's drill, what would he not be in a
month ! He would be majestic.
He wished to continue.
Father Clovis, however, wished to get hold of the gun first, and
said,
' No, this is enough for once. Teach this at your first drill, and
they will not learn it in four days. I must, however, tell you that
there will be no moon.'
' We will go through the manual in'your house then.'
' You will have to bring a light.'
' And whatever else you want.'
' Then, bring my gun.'
' You shall have it to-morrow.'
' Very well. Now let me see if you recollect what I told you.'
Pitou behaved so well that Clovis complimented him. He
CATHERINE BECOMES A DIPLOMATIST. 491
would have promised Clovis a six-pounder if he had asked for
one.
When they had finished, it lacked but an hour of day-light, and
he took leave of his teacher, going, it must be owned, slowly towards
Haramont, the whole population of which slept soundly.
Pitou sank to sleep, and dreamed that he commanded an army
of many millions of men, and waged war on the whole world,
his army obeying in one rank the word of command, ' Carry
arms.'
On the next day he drilled his soldiers with an insolence which
they esteemed proof positive of his capacity.
Pitou became popular, and was admired by men, women, and
children.
The women even became serious, when, in stentorian tones, he
cried out,
' Be a soldier ! look at me.'
He was a soldier.
CHAPTER LXVI.
CATHERINE BECOMES A DIPLOMATIST.
OLD CLOVIS had his gun ; for what Pitou promised he did.
In two visits, Pitou became a grenadier. But, unfortunately,
when Clovis had taught him the manual, he had taught all he
knew.
Pitou bought a copy of the ' French Tactician,' and of the
' Manual of the National Guard,' in which he expended a crown.
The Haramont Battalion made, thanks to Pitou, very rapid pro-
gress. When he had reached the more complicated manoeuvres,
he went to Soissons, where, in one hour, from observing real soldiers
drilled by real officers, he learned in one day more than his books
would have taught him in a month.
He thus toiled for two months.
Pitou was ambitious and in love. Pitou was unfortunate in his
love. Often after his drill, which always followed midnight study,
had Pitou crossed the plains of Largny, and now and then the whole
forest, to meet Catherine, who always kept her appointment at Bour
sonne.
Catherine used every day to steal away from her household duty
to a little cot near the barn of Boursonne, next her beloved Isidore,
who seemed always happy and joyous, even though everything
around seemed dark.
How great was Pitou's unhappiness when he remembered how
unequal a share of happiness was vouchsafed to different men.
He to whom the girls of Haramont, Taillefontaine and Vivieres
493 TAKING THE BASTILE.
made love, who also had his rendezvous, was yet forced to weep,
like a child, before a door opento Isidor.
Pitou loved Catherine the more devotedly because he saw that
she was his superior. He also knew that she loved another, and
though he ceased to be jealous of Isidor, who was noble, handsome,
and worthy of love, Catherine, at least, sprung from the people,
should not disgrace her family nor make him unhappy.
When he thought, therefore, he suffered very deeply.
' It was heartless, 1 said he, * to suffer me to go. When I did so,
she never asked if I was dead or alive. What would Billot say if
he knew his friends were treated thus, and his business thus neg-
iccted? What would he say if he knew that the housekeeper,
instead of attending to his business, was making love with the aristo-
cratic Monsieur Charny ?
' He would say nothing, but kill Catherine.
' It is something, however, to have such a revenge in my
grasp.'
It was better, though, not to make use of it.
Pitou had observed that good actions, not understood, never
benefit the actors.
Would it not be well to let Catherine know what he was about ?
Nothing was easier ; he had only to speak to her some day at
mass, and let fall something to inform her that three persons knew
her secret Was it not worth while to make her suffer a little, to
quell her pride ?
If, though, he went to the dance, he must appear as the equal of
the noble, a thing difficult to do when the object of comparison
was one so well dressed.
The pavilion in which Catherine used to meet Charny, was in a
kind of grove which was an appendant to the forest of Villers-
Cotter&s.
A simple ditch divided the property of the count from that of his
neighbours.
Catherine, who was every day called for one reason or another to
visit the neighbours, found no difficulty in leaping over this ditch.
The rendezvous was certainly well selected.
The pavilion was so placed that through the loop-holes, set with
painted glass, she could overlook the whole grove, while it was itself
so secluded that no one could see it, and three springs of a horse
would put any one who sought to leave in the forest or in neutral
ground.
Pitou had watched Catherine so carefully, that he knew whither
she went, and whence she came, as well as the poacher knows the
track of the hare.
Catherine did not return to the forest with Isidore, who used
always to remain some time in the pavilion, in order to see that she
was not annoyed, and used then to go in a contrary direction.
CATHERINE BECOMES A DIPLOMATIST. 493
Pitou hid himself on Catherine's pathway, and ascended an im-
mense tree which completely overlooked the pavilion.
Before an hour had passed he saw Catherine come by. She tied
her horse in the wood, sprang over the ditch, and went to the
pavilion.
She dismounted just below the tree where Pitou was.
He had only to descend and lean against the trunk. He then
took from his pocket the 'Manual of the National Guard,' and
began to read.
An hour after, Pitou heard a door open. He heard the rustling
of a siik dress, and saw Catherine look anxiously around, as if to
see if she was watched.
She stood within ten paces of Pitou.
Pitou did not move, and kept his nook on his knees. He no
longer, however, pretended to read, and looked at Catherine so that
she could not misunderstand him.
She uttered a half-stifled cry, and then became pale as death.
After another brief moment of indecision, she rushed into the forest
and became invisible.
Pitou had arranged matters well, and Catherine was caught in
the snare.
Pitou returned half happy and half afraid to Haramont
As soon as he thought of what he had done, he saw that it might
have many consequences which previously had not suggested them-
selves to him.
The next day was appointed for a military parade.
Being sufficiently instructed, in their own opinion, the National
Guards had requested to be assembled in the presence of the
public.
A few neighbouring villages, excited by rivalry, and who had also
paid attention to tactics, were to come to Haramont for a kind of
contest.
A deputation from these villages was present under the command
of an old sergeant.
The announcement of such a spectacle brought many persons
together, and the parade ground of Haramont early in the day was
occupied by crowds of young children, and at a later hour by the
fathers and mothers of the champions.
Four drums beat in four different directions, that of Largny, Ver,
Taillefontaine, and Vivieres.
Haramont was a centre, and had its four cardinal points.
A fifth replied ; it preceded the thirty-three National Guards of
Haramont.
Among the spectators was a portion of the aristocracy and of the
bourgeoisie of Villers-Cotterets come to be amused.
There were also many farmers who had come to see.
Soon Catherine and Madame Billot came. Just at this moment
494 TAKING 7HK BASTfLE.
fhe National Guard of Haramont came from the village, headed by
Pitou, a drum, and a fife. Pitou was on a great white horse, which
Maniquet had lent him for the purpose of making a representation of
Marquis Lafayette ad vivum at Haramont.
Pitou grasped his sword and bestrode the huge horse. If he did
not represent the aristocracy, he at least represented the bone and
sinew of the land.
The entrance of Pitou, and of those who had conferred so much
honour on the province, was saluted by loud acclamations.
All had hats alike, with the national cockade, and marched in two
ranks in the most perfect order.
When it reached the parade all approved of it.
Pitou caught a glance of Catherine and grew pale. She
trembled.
This was the most exciting portion of the review.
He put his men through the manual, and every command excited
much attention and applause.
The other villagers appeared excited and irregular. Some were
half armed, others half instructed, and were completely demoralised
by the comparison. The others became vain of their excellence.
Both were uncertain, however, as to cause and effect.
From the manual, they passed to the drill.
Mere the sergeant expected to rival Pitou.
In consideration of age, the sergeant had received the command,
and marched his men to and fro by files.
He could do nothing more.
Pitou, with his sword under his arm, and his helmet on his brow,
looked on with infinite superiority.
When the sergeant saw his heads of column become lost amid
the trees, while the rear took the back track to Haramont ; when
he saw his squares disperse, and squads and platoons lose their
commandants, he was greeted by a disapproving sound from his
own soldiers.
A cry was heard
1 Pitou ! Pitou ! Pitou !'
' Yes, Pitou,' echoed the men of the other villages, offended at an
inferiority which they attributed to their instructors.
Pitou, on his white horse, placed himself at the head of his men,
to whom he gave the right, and gave the command in such a tone
that the very oaks trembled.
As if by miracle, the broken files united, the manoeuvres were
well executed, Pitou made such good use of his books and of Father
Clovis's instructions.
The army, with one voice, saluted him Imperator on the field of
battle.
Pitou dismounted, and covered with sweat, received the salutations
of the crowd.
HONEY AND ABSINTHE. 495
He did not, however, see Catherine.
All at once Pitou heard her voice. It was not necessary for him
to seek her. She had sought him.
His triumph was immense.
' What !' said she, with an air in strange contrast with her pale
face. ' Have you become proud because you are a great general ?'
' Oh, no !' said Pitou. ' Good-morning, mademoiselle.'
Then to Madame Billot
' I am happy to salute you, Madame Billot.'
Turning to Catherine, he said,
' Mademoiselle, you are wrong. I am not a great general, but
only a young man anxious to serve my country.'
What he had said was borne through the crowd, and treated as
a sublime sentiment.
' Ange,' said Catherine, ' I must speak to you.'
' Ah ! at last ! at last !' in a louder tone, he said,
' When you please.'
' Return to the farm with us.'
' Veiy well.'
CHAPTER LXVII.
HONEY AND ABSINTHE.
CATHERINE contrived to be alone with Pitou, in spite of her mother's
presence.
Old Mother Billot had some gossips, who walked by her and
maintained conversation.
Catherine, who had left her horse, returned on foot with Pitou.
Such arrangements surprise no one in the country, where people
are more indulgent than they are in great cities.
It seemed natural enough for M. Pitou to talk to Mademoiselle
Billot. It may be none ever noticed it.
On that day all enjoyed the silence and thickness of the woods.
All glory and happiness seems to reside amid the primeval grandeur
of the forests.
' Here I am, Mademoiselle Catherine,' said Pitou, when they
were alone.
' Why have you for so long a time not visited our farm ? That is
wrong, Pitou.'
' But, mademoiselle, you know the reason !'
' I do not. You are wrong.'
Pitou bit his lips. It annoyed him to hear Catherine tell a false-
hood.
She saw and understood his expression.
' But, Pitou, I have something to tell you.'
' Ah r said he.
496 TAKING THE XJST/f.S.
1 The other day you saw me in the hut ?
' Yes, I did.'
You saw me ?'
'Yes'
She blushed.
4 What were you doing there ?*
' You knew me ?
' At first I did not. I did afterwards.'
' What do you mean ?'
' Sometimes one does not pay attention/
' Certainly.'
Both were silent, for each had too much to think of.
Catherine said at last : ' Then it was you ? What were you doiqg
there? Why did you hide yourself ?
' Hide myself?'
'Why?'
' Curiosity might have made me.'
'I have no curiosity.'
She stamped the ground most impatiently with her little foot.
'You were,' said she, ' in a place you do not visit often.'
'You saw I was reading.'
' I do not know.'
' If you saw me, you do.'
' I did see you distinctly . . . but what were you reading ?*
1 My tactics!
' What is that ?
' A book in which I learned what I have since taugh/ my men,
To study, madame, one must be alone.'
' True in the forest nothing disturbs you.'
' Nothing.'
They were again silent, the rest of the party rode before them.
When you study thus,' said Catherine, ' do you study long ?
'Whole days sometimes.'
' Then you had been long there ?'
' Very long.'
4 It is surprising that I did not see you when I came.'
Here she told an untruth, but was so bold that Pitou was con-
vinced. He was sorry for her. All her wants were due only to the
want of circumspection
' I may have slept. I sometimes do when I study too much '
' Well, while you slept I must have passed you. I went to the
o?d pavilion.'
' Ah !' said Pitou, ' what pavilion ?'
Catherine Dlushed again. This time her manner was so affected
that he could not believe her.
' Chanty's pavilion. There is the best balm in the country. I
had hurt myself, and needed some leaves. I hurt my hand.'
HONEY AND ABSINTHE. 497
As if he wished to believe her, Ange looked at her hands.
' Ah !' said she, ' not my hands, but my feet.'
' Did you get what you wanted ?'
' Ah ! yes. My feet, you see, are well.'
Catherine fancied that she had succeeded : she fancied Pitou had
seen and knew nothing. She said, and it was a great mistake :
' Then Monsieur Pitou would have cut us. He is proud of his
position, and disdains peasants since he has become an officer.'
Pitou was wounded. So great a sacrifice, even though feigned,
demands another recompense ; and as Catherine seemed to seek to
mystify Pitou, and as she doubtless laughed at him when she was
with Isidor de Charny, all Pitou's good humour passed away. Self-
love is a viper asleep, on which it is never prudent to tread unless
you crush it at once.
' Mademoiselle,' said he, ' it seems you cut inc.'
* How so ?
' First you refused me work, and drove me from the farm. I
said nothing to Monsieur Billot, for, thank God, I yet have a
heart and hands.'
1 1 assure you, Monsieur Pitou '
'It matters not : of course you can manage your own affairs. If
then you saw me at the pavilion, you should have spoken to me,
instead of running away, as if you were robbing an orchard.'
The viper had stung. Catherine was uneasy.
' Or as if your barn had been on fire. Mademoiselle, I had not
the time to shut my book before you sprang on the pony and rode
away. He had been tied long enough, though, to eat up all the bark
of an oak.'
' Then a tree was destroyed ; but why, Monsieur Pitou, do you
tell me this ?'
Catherine felt that all presence of mind was leaving her.
' Ah, you were gathering balm,' said Pitou. ' A horse does much
in an hour.'
Catherine said, ' In an hour ?'
' No horse, mademoiselle, could strip a tree of that size in less
time. You must have been collecting more balm than would suffice
to cure all the wounds received at the Bastile.'
Catherine could not say a word.
Pitou was silent ; he knew he had said enough.
Mother Billot paused at the cross-road to bid adieu to her
friends.
Pitou was in agony, for he felt the pain of the wounds he had
inflicted, and was like a bird just ready to fly away
' Well ! what says the officer,' said Madame Billot.
' That he wishes you good-day.'
' Then good-day/ Come, Catherine.'
' Ah ! tell me the truth,' murmured Catherine.
498 TAKING THE B A STILE.
'What?
' Are you not yet my friend ?'
' Alas !' said the poor fellow, who, as yet without experience, began
to make love, through confessions which only the skilful know how
to manage.
Pitou felt that his secret was rushing to his lips ; he felt that the
first word Catherine said would place him in her power.
He was aware, though, if he spoke he would die when Catherine
confessed to him what as yet he only suspected.
He was silent as an old Roman, and bowed to Catherine with a
respect which touched the young girl's heart ; bowed to Madame
Billot, and disappeared.
Catherine made a bound as if she would follow him.
Madame Billot said to her daughter,
' He is a good lad, and has much feeling.'
When alone, Pitou began a long monologue, which we will omit.
The poor lad did not know that in love there is both honey and
absinthe, and that Charny had all the honey.
From this hour, during which she had suffered horribly, Catherine
conceived a kind of respectful fear for Pitou, which a few days before
she was far from feeling toward him.
When one cannot inspire love, it is not bad to inspire fear ; and
Pitou, who had great ideas of personal dignity, would not have
been a little flattered had he discovered the existence even of such
a sentiment.
As he was not, however, physiologist enough to see what the
ideas of a woman a league and a half from him are, he went and
sang a countless number of songs, the theme of which was un-
fortunate love.
Pitou at last reached his own room, where he found his chivalric
guard had placed a sentinel. The man, dead drunk, lay on a bench
with his gun across his legs.
Pitou awoke him.
He then learned that his thirty men, good and true, had ordered
an entertainment at old Father Tetter's the old man was the
Vatel of Haramont and that twelve ladies were to crown the
Turenne who had overcome the Condd of the next canton.
Pitou was too much fatigued for his stomach not to have
suffered.
Pitou, being led by his sentinel to the banquet-hall, was received
with acclamations which nearly blew the roof off.
He bowed, sat down in silence, and even attacked the veal and
salad.
This state of feeling lasted until his stomach was filled, and his
heart relieved.
AN UNEXPECTED DENOUEMENT. 499
CHAPTER LXVIII.
AN UNEXPECTED DENOUEMENT.
FEASTING after sorrow is either an increase of grief or an absolute
consolation.
Pitou saw that his grief was increased.
He arose when his companions could not.
He made even an oration on Spartan sobriety to them, when they
were all dead drunk.
He bade them go away when they were asleep under the table.
We must say that the ladies disappeared during the dessert.
Pitou thought : amid all his glory and honour, the prominent sub-
ject was his last interview with Catherine.
Amid the half hints of his memory, he recalled the fact that her
hand had often touched his, and that sometimes her shoulder had
pressed his own, and that he on certain occasions had known all
her beauties.
He then looked around him like a man awaking from a drunken
dream.
He asked the shadows why so much severity towards a young
woman, perfect in grace, could have been in his heart
Pitou wished to reinstate himself with Catherine.
But how ?
A Lovelace would have said, ' That girl laughs at and deceives
me. I will follow her example.'
Such a character would have said, ' I will despise her, and make
her ashamed of her love as of so much disgrace.
' I will terrify and dishonour her, and make the path to her ren-
dezvous painful.'
Pitou, like a good fellow, though heated with wine and love, said
to himself, ' Some time I will make Catherine ashamed that she did
not love me.'
Pitou's chaste ideas would not permit him to fancy that Catherine
did aught but coquet with M. de Charny, and that she laughed at
his laced boots and golden spurs.
How delighted Pitou was to think that Catherine was not in love
with either a boot or a spur.
Some day M. Isidor would go to the city and marry a countess.
Catherine then would seem to him an old romance.
All these ideas occupied the mind of the commander of the
National Guard of Haramont.
To prove to Catherine that he was a good fellow, he began to
recall all the bad things he had heard during the day.
But Catherine had said some of them. He thought he would tell
them to her.
500 TAKING THE BASTJLE.
A drunken man without a watch has no idea of time.
Pitou had no watch, and had not gone ten paces before he was
as drunk as Bacchus or his son Thespis.
He did not remember that he had left Catherine three hours before,
and that, half an hour later, she must have reached Pisseaux.
To that place he hurried.
Let us leave him among the trees, bushes, and briars, threshing
with his stick the great forest of Orleans, which returned blows with
usury.
Let us return to Catherine, who went home with her mother;
There was a swamp behind the farm, and when there they had
to ride in single file.
The old lady went first.
Catherine was about to go when she heard a whistle.
She turned, and saw in the distance the cap of Isidor's valet.
She let her mother ride on, and the latter being but a few paces
from home was not wary.
The servant came.
' Mademoiselle,' said he, ' my master wishes to see you to-
night, and begs you to meet him somewhere at eleven, if you
please.'
' Has he met with any accident ?' inquired Catherine, with much
alarm.
' I do not know. He received to-night a letter with a black seal,
from Paris. I have already been here an hour.'
The clock of Villers-Cottere'ts struck ten.
Catherine looked around.
' Well, the place is dark ; tell your master I will wait for him
here.'
The man rode away.
Catherine followed her mother home.
What could Isidor have to tell her at such an hour ?
Love meetings assume more smiling forms.
That was not the question. Isidor wished to see her, and the hour
was of no importance. She would have met him in the graveyard
of Villers-Cotterets at midnight.
She would not then even think, but kissed her mother, and went
to her room.
Her mother went to bed.
She suspected nothing, and if she had, it mattered not, for Cathe-
rine was a being of a superior order.
Catherine neither undressed nor went to bed.
She heard the chime of half after ten. At a quarter before eleven
she put out the lamp and went into the dining-room. The windows
opened into the yard. She sprang out.
She hurried to the appointed place with a beating heart, placing
AN UNEXPECTED DENOUEMENT. 50*
one hand on her bosom and the other on her head. She was not
forced to wait long.
She heard the feet of a horse.
She stepped forward.
Isidor was before her.
Without dismounting, he took her hand, lifted her into the saddle,
and said :
' Catherine, yesterday my brother George was killed at Versailles.
My brother Olivier has sent for me ; I must go.'
Catherine uttered an exclamation of grief, and clasped Charny in
her arms.
' If,' said she, ' they killed one brother, they will kill another.'
' Be that as it may ; my eldest brother has sent for me ; Cathe-
rine, you know I love you.'
' Stay, stay !' said the poor girl, who was only aware of the fact
that Isidor was going.
' Honour and vengeance appeal to me.'
' Alas ! alas !'
And she threw herself pale and trembling into his arms.
A tear fell from Charny's eyes on the young girl's brow.
' You weep ; thank God, you love me.'
' Yes ; but my eldest brother has written to me, and you see I
must obey.'
' Go, then ; I will keep you no longer.'
' One last kiss.'
' Adieu !'
The young girl consented, Tknowing that nothing could keep Isidor
from obeying this order of his brother. She slid from his arms to
the ground.
The young man looked away, sighed, hesitated, but under the in-
fluence of the order he had received, galloped away, casting one
long last look on Catherine.
A servant followed him.
Catherine lay alone where she fell, completely closing the narrow
way.
Just then a man appeared on the top of the hill, towards Villers-
Cotterets, rapidly advancing towards the farm, and he was very near
treading on the inanimate body that lay in the pathway.
He lost his balance, stumbled and fell, and was not aware of the
body until he touched it.
' Catherine !' said he ; ' Catherine dead ?'
He uttered a cry of such agony, that he aroused the very dogs of
the farm.
' Who, who has killed her?' He sat pale, trembling, and inert,
with the body on his knees.
THE END.
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