Taking the Bastile (16 page)

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ghouls in a cemetery. On that day the whole of France, represented in Pans by the starving people from each province, cried to its king, ‘Give us liberty 1’ and to its God, ‘Give us food 1’

Billot, who was first to awake, roused up Pitou, and they both set off to the College Louis-le-Grand, looking around them, shuddering and terrified at the miserable creature* they saw on every side. By degrees, as they advanced towards that part of the town which we now call the Latin quarter, 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 ol 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 organising, 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 scholar* were attacking this eate, uttering loud threats, to which the affrighted principal replied with tears.

The farmer, for a moment, gazed on this 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.

104 TAKING THE BASTILLE

1 Take him away I’ exclaimed Billot, ‘ take away Monsieur Gilbert’s son, and lead him into all this turmoilexpose 1 him to receiving some unhappy blow 1 Oh I no, indeed 1’

‘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.’

‘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, I will go out.’

He made a movement towards the gate, the professor caught him by the arm.

‘Beware what you are doing, sir,’ said Sebastian. 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 I’ 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 1’ said the farmer, shaking the bars of the gate with his herculean arms, ‘they have arrested Doctor Gilbert, have they ? By Heaven 1 my little Catherine, then, was right I’

‘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 e ‘Arms 1 arms I let us have arms I 1

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 I my friends 1 my friends 1’ cried he, ‘respect my children 1’

‘Do we not respect them?’ said a French Guard: ‘7

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believe we do, indeed. They are fine boys, and they will do their exercise admirably.’

‘My friends I my friends I These children are a sacred deposit which their parents have confided to me; I am responsible for them; their parents depend on me; for them I would sacrifice my life; but, in the name of Heaven 1 do not take away these children I’

Hootings, proceeding from the street, that is to say, from the hindmost ranks of the crowd, replied to these piteous suppli cations.

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 I’

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 the 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 I’ murmured the principal of the college, endeavouring to catch hold of Billot’s hand through the bars of the gate.

‘And, above all, take special care of Sebastian; keep him safe,’ said the latter.

‘ Keep me 1 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.’

io6 TAKING THE BASTILLE

The crowd made way for him to pass; the fanner dragged Pitou after him, and entered the courtyard 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, ‘ 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 know him?’

‘Ange Pitou,’ said the boy.

‘Yes, Sebastian; ‘it i* me it is me.’

And Pitou, weeping with joy, threw his arms round the neck of his foster brother and former schoolfellow.

‘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 1 Yesterday, we had to deal with the Austrians, and w saw their cartridge-boxes.

‘Shall we not release his father?’ cried Billot, addressing the crowd.

‘Yes 1 yes 1’ roared the crowd. ‘We will release him.’

Sebastian shook his head.

‘My father is in the Bastille,’ said he in a despairing tone.

‘And what then?’ cried Billot.

‘The Bastille 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. Why should I not do BO ? 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, I should have recognised him, and I would have called out to him, ” Do not be unhappy, father, I love you 1 ” ‘

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‘ And if the soldiers of the Bastille should ha velrilled 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 I Decidedly, you have a bad heart, Gilbert.’

And the farmer pushed the boy from him. Sebastian did not reply. And, while he was meditating in gloomy silence, Billot was admiring 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 ia in the Bastille,’ said the fanner, at length breaking the silence.

‘Yes.’

‘And for what?’

‘Because my father is the friend of Lafayette md Washington; because my father has fought with his sword for the independence of America, and with his pen for the liberty of France; because he has called down curses on the Bastille, in which so many have suffered; and therefore have they sent him there 1’

‘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?’

‘I have received a letter from him.’

‘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 Bastille, or you shall see your father again.’

Sebastian looked at the farmer, 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 :

‘ ” Sebastian, I have been arrested, and they are taking me to the Bastille. Be patient, and study diligently. Lillebonne, 7th July, 1789.” ‘

io8 TAKING THE BASTILLE

‘ ”
PS.
I am arrested in the cause of 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 1 admirable 1* exclaimed Pitou, weeping for joy. ‘Oh I the people have good feelings. Go on, Gilbert.’

‘Why, now, you know all. 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 attempt. Now, show me the book,’ said Billot.

‘Here it is,’ said the boy, taking from his pocket a volume of the Control Socvale.

‘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 lather in the Bastille.’

‘UnhaDDV man 1’ cried the nrincinal of the

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seizing Billot’s hands; ‘how can you obtain access to a prisoner of State?’

‘Zounds I by taking the Bastille !’

Some of the French Guards began to laugh. In a few moments the laugh had become general.

‘Why,’ said Billot, glancing round angrily, ‘what, then, is in the Bastille, 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, you may burn yourself,’ reiterated the crowd.

‘Ah I Parisians,’ exclaimed the farmer, ‘you have pickaxes, and you are afraid of stone I Ah ! you have lead, and you fear iron I You have gunpowder, and you are afraid of fire. Parisians I cowards ! Parisians ! poltroons ! Parisians ! machines for slavery I A thousand demons 1 where is the man of heart who will go with me and Pitou to take the king’s Bastille? My name is Billot, a farmer of the Isle of 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 Bastille I’

Sebastian endeavoured to cling to Billot, and the latter gently pushed him back.