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 a victory, the first desire the people have to gratify is that of destruction.
The archives of the Bastille 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 Bastille 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 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 those heroic urchins who are always to be found in popular triumphs, who was carrying off on his head, and 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, with his long legs, speedily 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 9th 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.”
“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.”
“But his daughter?”
“Ah! I know nothing of her,” replied Billot.
“His daughter is at his country-house, at St. 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, but 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 Hôtel de Ville.”
A fireman who, with a number of his companions, had dragged an engine into the courtyard, 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 Alexandria, was about to destroy the archives of a world; in a few minutes it was extinguished.