La Petit Souris de la Bastille

Bonne fête de la Bastille

 I was arrested for stealing the discarded remnants of a loaf of moldy bread and a rotten apple from the pile of trash behind the tavern Au Pied de Cochon. Arrested, however, may be too strong a word. I was simply denounced by the owner who found me going through his trash, to a gendarme who made me drop my meager collection and dragged me to the Bastille. When he brought me to the gate and was asked what my crime was he replied, “This little mouse has been caught stealing crumbs from the tables of honest men.” That alone was sufficient for the guard to sequester me in the tower of Bazinière. As I was dragged away I heard the bell of a clock announcing the time. I looked to see where it was, and saw a clock on the courtyard wall depicting two prisoners in chains. I thought of my father and hoped perhaps we would be reunited.

My papa had been arrested and taken to the Bastille some months earlier on suspicion of speaking out against the tyranny of the Ancien Régime. The gendarmes broke into our house late one night during the summer of 1789 and took him away without a trial, because of the nature of the crime. When my momma and little sister became so hungry that they were boiling their shoes to make soup from the leather, I went out onto the streets to find food.

In the Bastille I became known as the “little mouse” because of my ability to slip the chains off my emaciated wrists and scurry about for food. When the guards caught on to my escapades they took me down into the deepest part of the dungeons, and chained me by my neck to the wall. It was constantly damp and water dripped from the ceilings. In the darkness all I could hear was the moaning and occasional screams of the prisoners on either side of me. In time it all seemed to become quiet. I think the guards forgot about us. I think even God had forgotten about us.

Until one day I heard the sounds of people descending the stone steps that ran down into our dungeon. I did not want to start any trouble – perhaps they were bringing food – so, like a mouse, I stood against the wall as quiet as I could be. I could hear the sounds of the jailer’s keys as they rattled on his chain, and then the sound of rusted metal being forced to turn. The door was opened and I could see a candle lighting the enclave where I was imprisoned. I turned my head to see what looked like a skeleton wearing rags - in fact I would have sworn that was what it was, except he turned to me and motioned for me to be quiet.

I looked towards the light and saw a woman’s face peering in at us. She began to cry and said, “Man, Proud man, drest in a little brief authority play such fantastic tricks before high heaven as make the angels cry.”(1) She then demanded that the jailer free us from our bonds. When that was accomplished she said, “Let us leave this hell.” So I followed her out of the Bastille.

As I wandered the streets I saw many people weeping and rejoicing. I even saw a woman who had fashioned a medallion and was showing it to her friends. She said, “This stone is from the Bastille.” In the middle of her medallion she had Liberte’ written in diamonds. There was a great rush of men that poured down the street, men armed with guns and knives and pitchforks. A very rag tag army if ever I saw one. “To the Palace!” they cried and I thought, “I have never been to a palace; I must go and see one with these men.” So I followed along, quietly drifting in and among the men like the little mouse I had become in the Bastille. When they arrived at the Tuileries Palace there was little resistance. As they stormed through the magnificent building I contented myself with wandering the halls. I had never seen such beauty. “Surely these people had never had to boil shoe leather to make soup,” I said to myself.

A great cry arose from down the hall and I ran to see what the commotion was about. I heard shouts of, “The Queen!” and “The cake eater!” and as I followed the cries I came into a room where I saw the Queen, her attendant Madame Elisabeth, and her children cowering before a gang of ruffians brandishing pitchforks and bayonets. The Queen and her children were taken away; her attendant, Madame Elisabeth was taken away separately to be tried. When everyone had left the room I found myself alone, surrounded by such splendor as I imagine the throne of God to be framed. I was very tired and looking about saw the most sumptuous bed one could ever imagine. It had feathered quilts and clean fresh smelling sheets. All I had ever slept on was a mattress filled with corn husks and full of bedbugs. I laid my head down and fell asleep.

I am not sure how long I slept but in my sleep I had many dreams. One was about my father. He was freed from his imprisonment and was searching for me. I awoke to a gentle hand softly shaking me. I looked up lazily and saw my father’s tear streamed face smiling at me. “Papa!” I shouted and leapt into his arms. “Mon petit souris, my little mouse,” he kept repeating as he hugged me. I don’t know how long we stayed in that embrace but eventually he said, “My little mouse we must go. We have something very important to do.” As we were leaving I looked back at the bed I had slept in – it didn’t even show a mark on it despite the grime and dirt on my clothing. What wonderful material it must be made of to not even allow itself to be stained or sullied when a dirty little boy sleeps on its sheets!

As we made our way out of the Palace I saw a very gruesome sight. The head of the woman who had been the Queen’s attendant, was sitting all by itself on a pike outside the walls surrounding the Palace. My father’s hand gripped mine and he said, “Be brave my little mouse. Before today is done we will be witnesses to events even grimmer than this.”

We came to the Palace of the Revolution where a great crowd had gathered. My father weaved our way among those gathered as if we were ghosts. He brought us right before the scaffold where the King stood. Louis began to speak, “I die perfectly innocent…”

When he said this my father said, “J’accuse…I accuse.”

The King continued, “innocent of the so called crimes…”

Another person in the crowd, it was the man who had been imprisoned beside me, and who had motioned me to be quiet when the woman came to our cell, bitterly spoke, “J’accuse.”

“…of which I am accused,” the King continued.

Several people standing amongst us spoke, “J’accuse.” As I looked at them I recognized many of the people I had seen imprisoned at the Bastille. They began to chant and I joined in with them, “J’accuse. J’accuse. J’accuse…”

Strangely enough our voices which began to grow in volume, pitch, and intensity seemed to be unheard by the crowd. Were they ignoring us? But I think the King heard us as he began to speak louder, “I pardon those who are the causes of my misfortunes…”

At that moment the National Guard began a drum roll that drowned out what the King was saying. But its cadence grew in intensity with our voices, “J’accuse!” The King was roughly grabbed by two soldiers and forced to place his head in Madame Guillotine’s embrace. The blade came down, and a cry went up from the crowd of, “Liberté, égalité, fraternité!”

Several people went up to the basket where the King’s head lay and began to dip kerchiefs in his blood. I saw my mother and sister among this group. “Father!” I cried, “Mama and Eloise!” but instead of rushing over to them, he held me tight in his grip. I did not understand. Why was he holding me?

Papa sensed my confusion and knelt down beside me. “Watch my little mouse and you will understand.” As I watched the crowd around the scaffold I witnessed the most amazing and horrific thing imaginable – the King arose. Or at least his body did; headless and stumbling about he passed through the crowd and no one saw this, except us. And we began to repeat, “J’accuse.” Then I realized why we could not go to my mother and sister.

We were the ghosts of the Bastille.

(1)Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, Act2, scene 2, lines143-144