“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 Bastille by force: it is an act of rebellion; 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 Bastille are heroes; those who assassinated Messieurs de Flesselles, de Losme, and de Launay are murderers.”
The king colored slightly, and almost immediately this color 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 Doctor Gilbert, are you not,—or at least it is with this name that your memoirs are signed?”
“Sire, it does me great honor 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 Bastille. 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 Bastille!” said the king, opening his eyes widely.
“Here is the registration of my imprisonment, Sire. Put in prison, as I have the honor 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 Bastille and the monarchy at the same time.”
“Oh, Sire, do not make a prison the symbol of a principle: say, on the contrary, Sire, that you rejoice that the Bastille 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?”
“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, you are 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, “will you 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 Bastille for nothing.”
“It would seem that he may be, since I have just come out of it.”