University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD. 11 belle that she had been wronged ; and between two such vicious characters, — ah, what revenge would they have when the outbreak came. As the days gradually rolled by, events predicted the closer proximity of rebellion. The king began to ex- hibit signs of fear. The talk at the inns took on a more revolutionary tone. The ignorant and oppressed com- moners exulted at his weakness and determined to fight when the occasion presented itself. They were now more reluctant in complying with the hideous commands of the royal offi- cers. Taxes were collected less readi- ly. That obstinate tenor of the re- bellious conversation began to make itself manifest in their dealings with the court. There were very few pat- rons at the shop of Monsieur Gabelle these days, but he was not sorry. He could now prepare for the outbreak ; he could listen to the suggestions of his cruel wife. He made clear his plans to her, and with her prepared a campaign invaluable to the riotous revolutionists of France. For, with all his love of loneliness, Gabelle had an influence in the little village, and in the hope that he might figure prom- inently in the coming trouble he had instilled into the poorer and rougher classes of the little town his spirit of rebellion and bitter revenge. A memorable night for the rude in- habitants of the tranquil village was the eve of the thirteenth of July. There was little sleep for these other- wise unprofitable disciples of Gabelle, and behind the screen of concealing shutters, through which the miserable candle cast its gloomy rays, mutinous conversations were prolonged into the morning hours. The next day, as history also re- minds us, the outbreak came. Even the weather seemed to assume a thor- oughly becoming aspect. Hot, sultry, there was a certain uneasiness in the very air of France, ill-fated France, that day. Not the slightest breath of wind disturbed the sweltering atmos- phere, so that Nature left the revol- utionists without a single obstacle to perform their deadly work. Along the dusty highway towards the city swarmed the howling mob, with weapons clenched in their hard- ened fists and determination written upon their faces. On they rushed, bawling out their cries of Vive la Republique and Abas la Bastille. They were joined from time to time by other rioters whose presence added greatly to their volume and strength. The Bastille of Paris was one of the most antiquated and incommodious of all the prisons in France. It consisted of several low, flat structures covering so much space that it trenched ser- iously upon the dismal yard which lay behind the great high walls. These walls were brick, of a dull red color and formidable enough in their as- pect. They cut off from the view al- most the whole prison. There was but one exception ; — a talj tower, tapering from the bottom, rose de- fyingly out of the silent depths of

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10 THE REDWOOD. conscience, he had in his more sober years, become dreadful even to him- self. Besides, Monsieur Gabelle had brooded for years over the loss of a favorite brother. Dropping mysteriously from the quaint home life of a lowly household, Leon Gabelle had never been heard of since. Like his younger brother he too had been a tailor, for it was the characteristic occupation of his family as far back as the old Bible on the shelf over the fireplace in Gabelle ' s shop chronicled the family ' s history. The failure of the elder brother to return from work on the evening of that perplexing day some years be- fore, and his subsequent absence in the first few days that followed, was as thoroughly argued and conjec- tured over as it was grieved over. Young, not yet twenty-five, thrifty, hard working, honest, — the joy and the hope of the humble circle had left them or had been taken away, leaving not the slightest hint as to his where- abouts or as to the cause of his sudden disappearance. The family waited and wondered. Surmises were many. Suicide, — that was out of the question. No young man could have been pos- sessed of a more buoyant disposition, none less throttled by serious cares. Accident? What could happen to an ordinary tailor? What grave dangers perturbed his safety? Then again, he had not prepared for nor had he, at any time, anticipated any journey. And thus the various presumptions eliminated themselves until, as a last probable reason, they thought of pos- sible abduction. Now the Law of Sus- pects was enforced and carried out with terrible partiality in that unset- tled age ; innocent men had been taken into custody in fearful mockery of jus- tice. Men, guiltless of any crime, were in prison in satisfaction of the mere whim of some fop favored by the court. But who , they asked them- selves, could have borne such hatred against Leon? Certainly none had been injured by their peaceful relative and hence would have found pleasure in doing him wrong. As a last stand, however, this idea gradually took pos- session of the minds of all save one, — and this one a , ' short, square-jawed little man, not over forty, with the suspicious air of a criminal about him, who muttered over his work or talked to his wife in the dingy little tailor shop of St. Croix. Moreover, even in his maturer years, Gabelle, it seemed, had made personal enemies, and, somehow or other, chiefly among the nobility. The taxes can be ascribed as the rea- son for hatred between him and the higher classes. The levies, at this time, were overbearing in the ex- treme and the collectors, no doubt, found Gabelle an obstinate fellow on their rounds. Yet the royal stat- statutes had to be fulfilled and Ga- belle, the tailor, was always forced to submit. Gabelle told his wife that he had been wronged. His wife told Ga-

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12 THE REDWOOD. the old Bastille. Narrow, railed plat- forms encircled this edifice a short distance from each other. The sep- arate floors of the tower were con- nected by an inner stair as well as the winding steps which pro- vided access to the top by means of the outside. There was yet another guard against outbreak or attack, and this was a deep wide moat which com- pletely surrounded the prison a few yards from its exterior walls. The on- ly means of entrance to the place, then, consisted of a rough draw-bridge which spanned the depths of the inter- vening moat. This was drawn high in the air at all times: it was lowered but seldom to afford means of cross- ing for incoming or departing prison- ers. Without its being dropped it was a feat next to impossible to enter the Bastille of Paris. The prison was reached by noon and hostilities began. All through the long sultry afternoon the conflict raged. Shot from the mob poured steadily into the tower and prison yard below. The guards, urged on by the commands of De Launey,the war- den, exposed themselves bravely in an effort to hold the prison but suffer- ed seriously from the unarmed men be- yond the moat. At five o ' clock, though, De Launey saw the futility of further resistance and raised the white flag of defeat. Truce signals were exchanged and the draw-bridge lowered. The mob surged madly across and crowded the little strip of ground between the prison wall and moat. Eager clamorings went up from the rioters who demanded entrance to the Bastille by their cries — and here De Launey saw his mistake. He now knew that their intent was blood , and feared to open the bolted gate. They clamored the more, — the war- den became the more firm. Thus stood the crisis of the thirteenth of July for several minutes — minut es of suspense and terror for the inmates of the pri- son, of consultation and planning for the crowd outside. The climax came abruptly. A great shout went up. A man, one of the revolutionists, was scaling the walls of the prison. And with the cry, Gabelle, Avec Gabelle , every re- publican who had a weapon pushed forward. The guards inside stood terrified, as they understood well the result of a hand-to-hand contest with the infuriated mass. They determined to stand, however, till the last man, and a new kind of battle began. But in spite of their grim determination and united efforts. Monsieur Gabelle, by means of his long thick sword, v as destroying them with terrible in- difference. There were now but two of them left. He would slay them in a moment. Just at this juncture, when the work of the mob was on the point of com- pletion, a prisoner clad in the convict garb of the Bastille, leaping down the stairs from one of the platforms of the tower , diverted their attention. In his right hand, he held a short rusty sword, a wicked-looking instrument.