Taking the Bastile (23 page)

‘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,

‘Stopl stopl 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, DSJ Launay, followed by Elie and Hullin, disappeared under the vaulted passage which led from the Bastille, amidst loud voices of ‘To the Hdtel de Villel to the H6tel de Villel’

It was a singular spectacle, to see this mournful and silent monument, 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. Billot,

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for a moment or two, foDowed De Launay with his eyes* but he soon disappeared. Billot heaved a sigh, looked around him, perceived Pitou, and rushed towards a tower, crying, ‘Third Bertaudiere.’

A trembling jailer met him on his way.

‘Third Bertandiere,’ said Billot.

“This way, air,’ replied the jailer; ‘but I have not the keys. They took them from me.’

Billot snatched the hatchet from one of the men from the Faubourg and ran up a staircase, conducted by the jailer. The jailer stopped before a door.

“Third Bertaudiere? said the man inquiringly.

‘Yes.’

“This is the Third Bertaudiere.’

‘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. 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 countenance, notwithstanding his short-cut hair, Billot recognised him. It was Dr Gilbert.

‘Doctor 1 doctor 1’ 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 I yes I he I he I we I 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?’

‘ We ? why, the conquerors of the Bastille. The Bastille is taken you are free.

DOCTOR GILBERT 131

‘The Bastille is taken I am free 1’ 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 yielding 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 overtaxed strength; ‘wait.’

And he redoubled his blows. Through the opening, which was every moment becoming wider, he could see the prisoner, who had seated himself upon his bench, pale as a spectre.

‘Billot I Billot !’ murmured he.

‘Yes, yes 1 and I also, my good doctor I, Pitou you must remember poor Pitou, whom you placed at board with his aunt Angelique Pitou, who has come to liberate you.’

‘But I can get through that hole cried the doctor.

‘No I’ no !’ cried all the voices : ‘wait.’

All those present uniting their strength in one simultaneous effort, some slipping a crowbar between the door and th* 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 th room. In a moment Gilbert found himself in the arms of Pitou and Billot

Gilbert was now a man from thirty-four to thirty-five years old. of pale complexion, though he was not sickly, with black hair, eyes penetrating and fixed; never did his gaze lose itself u 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 profound and more gloomy; hi* nose was straight, being attached to his forehead in a direct Line; it rose above a lip of rather scornful expression, which, in the slight space between it and the nether lip, allowed one to perceive th dazzling enamel of his teeth. In ordinary 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

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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.

When Gilbert 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 1’

And he held out both bis 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 hi* 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 existed 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 lull upon him. He paused, crossing his arms over his breast and raising his eyes to heaven. ‘Hail to thee, lovely Liberty 1’ he exclaimed. ‘ I saw thee spring to lif e in another world, and we are old friends. Hail to thee, lovely Liberty 1’ And the smile of the doctor clearly said that the cnes 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 vanquished despotism?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you came here to fight?’

‘I came to liberate you.’

‘You knew, then, of my arrest?’

‘Your son informed me of it this morning.’

‘Poor Sebastian 1 Have you seen him?’

‘I have seen him.’

‘And he remained quietly at his school?’

‘I left him struggling with four at the attendants of the infirmary i*

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‘Is he ill has he been delirious?’

‘He wanted to come with us to fight.’

‘Ah 1’ 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 say to him?’ inquired the doctor.

‘I said, since Doctor Gilbert is in the Bastille, let us take the Bastille; and now the Bastille ia taken. But that is not all.’

‘What is there, then, besides?’ asked the doctor.

‘The casket has been stolen.’

‘The casket which I had confided to your care?’

‘Yes.’

‘Stolen 1 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 I ho 1 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?’ continued the doctor, turning to the jailer.

‘In the courtyard of the government house, sir,’ replied the jailer; ‘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 I’

And he hastened towards the courtyard of the government house, followed by the crowd.

ON reaching the door of the office in which the archives were kept, Gilbert perceived that a large heap of old papers were being burnt. The archives of the Bastille had been invaded. This office was a vast hall, heaped up

154 TAKING THE BASTILLE

with registry books and plans; the documents relating to all the prisoners who had been confined in the Bastille during the last hundred years were confusedly enclosed in it. The people tore these papers to pieces with sense-less 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 current 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 these heroic urchins who are always to be found in popular triumphs, who was carrying off on his head, ana running with it towards the fire, a volume similar in shape and binding to that which Dr Gilbert had been examining. He ran after him, and speedily over-took him. It was the register of the year 1789. 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. 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?’

‘Ohl’ cried the doctor joyfully, seizing hold of the book, ‘yes, that is it.’

And he read the words we have given above.

‘And now,’ said ho, ‘let us see from whom the order emanated.’

And he examined the margin.

‘Necker 1* he exclaimed; ‘the order for my arrest signed by Necker, my friend Necker. Oh 1 most assuredly there must have been some foul pilot t’

‘Necker is your friend?’ cried the crowd.

‘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.’

‘Go to him and where?’ inquired Billot.

‘To Versailles, to be sure.’

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‘Monsieur Necker is not at Versailles; Monsieur Necker is exiled.’

‘And where?’

‘At Brussels.’

‘But his daughter?’

‘Ah I 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 Bastille, stone by stone, that not a vestige, not a trace of it may remain, bat respect the papers, respect the registers; the enlightenment 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 devastation of these papers. Let us remove all these papers to the Hotel de ville.’

In a few minutes the pile of burning papers 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. But I will find it out,’ said he.

And tearing out the leaf on which the entry was made regarding hitt^ he folded it up, and put it in 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.’

Eight prisoners, including Gilbert, had been liberated that morning. Their names were : Jean Bechade, Bernard Laroche, Antoine Pujade, D White, Le Comte de Solage, and Ta vernier. 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.

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and which led to the supposition that the charge against them was false : they had been only two years in the Bastille. 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 Vmcennes, his father having obtained a letire de cachet against him, and was removed from that castle to the Bastille, 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 Bastille had not been taken, it is probable that no one would have ever remembered that he was there.