The compilation of the roll of the conquerors of the Bastille was a laborious work. A great number of those who had been in the thick of the fray did not care to make themselves known: they did not know but that their laurel-crowned heads might be stuck aloft! It is true that these bashful heroes were speedily replaced by a host of fine fellows who—from the moment when it was admitted that the conquerors were heroes, deserving of honours, pensions, and medals—were fully persuaded that they had sprung to the assault, and in the very first rank. The final list contained 863 names.
Victor Fournel in a charming book has sung the epic, at once ludicrous and lachrymose, of the men of the 14th of July. The book, which ought to be read, gives a host of delightful episodes it is impossible to abridge. In the sequel these founders of liberty did not shine either through the services they rendered to the Republic, or through their fidelity to the immortal principles. The Hulins—Hulin, however, had done nobly in trying to save de Launey—the Palloys, the Fourniers, the Latudes, and how many others! were the most servile lackeys of the Empire, and those of them who survived were the most assiduous servants of the Restoration. Under the Empire, the conquerors of the Bastille tried to secure the Legion of Honour for the whole crew. They went about soliciting pensions even up to 1830, and at that date, after forty-three years, there were still 401 conquerors living. In 1848 the conquerors made another appearance. There was still mention of pensions for the conquerors of the Bastille in the budget of 1874—let us save the ladder, the ladder of Latude!
This is the amusing side of their story. But there is a painful side too: their rivalries with the Gardes Françaises, who charged them with filching the glory from them, and with the “volunteers of the Bastille.” The heroes were acquainted with calumny and opprobrium. There were, too, deadly dissensions among their own body. There were the true conquerors, and others who, while they were true conquerors, were nevertheless not true: there were always “traitors” among the conquerors, as well as “patriots.” On July 1, 1790, two of the conquerors were found beaten to death near Beaumarchais’ garden, in front of the theatre of their exploits. Next day there was a violent quarrel between four conquerors and some soldiers. In December two others were assassinated near the Champs de Mars. Early in 1791 two were wounded, and a third was discovered with his neck in a noose, in a ditch near the military school. Such were the nocturnal doings on the barriers.
It remains to explain this amazing veering round of opinion, this legend, of all things the least likely, which transformed into great men the “brigands” of April, June, and July, 1789.
The first reason is explained in the following excellent passage from Rabagas[57]:—
Carle.—But how then do you distinguish a riot from a revolution?
Boubard.—A riot is when the mob is defeated ... they are all curs. A revolution is when the mob is the stronger: they are all heroes!
During the night of July 14, the Duke de la Rochefoucauld woke Louis XVI. to announce to him the capture of the Bastille. “It’s a revolt then,” said the king. “Sire,” replied the duke, “it is a revolution.”
The day on which the royal power, in its feebleness and irresolution, abandoned Paris to the mob, was the day of its abdication. The Parisians attempted to organize themselves into a citizen militia in order to shoot down the brigands. The movement on the Bastille was a stroke of genius on the part of the latter—instinctive, no doubt, but for all that a stroke of genius. The people now recognized its masters, and with its usual facility it hailed the new régime with adulation. “From that moment,” said a deputy, “there was an end of liberty, even in the Assembly; France was dumb before thirty factionaries.”
What rendered the national enthusiasm for the conquerors more easy was precisely all those legends to which credence was given, in all sincerity, by the most intelligent people in France—the legends on the horrors of the Bastille and the cruelties of arbitrary power. For fifty years they had been disseminated throughout the kingdom, and had taken firm root. The pamphlets of Linguet and Mirabeau, the recent stupendous success of the Memoirs of Latude, had given these stories renewed strength and vigour. Compelled to bow before the triumphant mob, people preferred to regard themselves—so they silenced their conscience—as hailing a deliverer. There was some sincerity in this movement of opinion, too. The same districts which on July 13 took arms against the brigands could exclaim, after the crisis had passed: “The districts applaud the capture of a fortress which, regarded hitherto as the seat of despotism, dishonoured the French name under a popular king.”