All France gave one cry of joy when the news arrived that the Bastille was taken.
All the world knew the Bastille—that prison which has given its name to others.
From one end of France to the other, all shook hands, congratulating each other on the event.
And, strange to say, the Bastille was taken by those who had never entered it—in fact, it was a place of imprisonment for nobles only.
One would have thought, from the fact of their attacking it, that it was a place which they themselves had to dread.
Ah! it was a horrible den. You were not dead there; but what was worse, you were forgotten.
Your father, wife, or brother dared not speak of you, for fear they should be sent there likewise.
Once there, you no longer had a name, but a number. You died, and they buried you under a false name.
No; the King did not deprive you of your head; he was too good for that; he only forgot you.
Instead of dying in a moment, you suffered unutterable tortures for perhaps thirty years.