Red Lupin. _Lupinus perennis._
Dedicated to _St. Bonaventure_.
[Illustration: ~Destruction of the Bastile.~]
---------- Sir, ’tis the Bastile,
Full of such dark, deep, damp, chill dungeons of horror and silence.
Young men shut therein oft grew gray-haired in a twelvemonth;
Old men lost their senses, forgetting they had not been born there;
Thumb-screws, weapons of torture, were found, most shocking to think
of!
Fetters still lock’d on the limbs of unburied skeletons starved
there,
Curses engraved with a nail in the stone walls.
_Hexameters_, _in Annual Anthology_, vol. ii.
The Bastile of Paris, the great state prison of France, was stormed and
destroyed by the populace on the 14th of July, 1789. This extraordinary
event took place during the sitting of the national assembly convened by
Louis XVI. under great exigency. The French government at that time
afforded no security to life or property. Persons offensive to the state
were arrested under arbitrary warrants, called _Lettres de Cachet_,
consigned to the dungeons of the Bastile, remained there without trial,
often for life, and sometimes perished from neglect, or the cruelties
incident to imprisonment in the fortress.
Louis XVI. was surrounded by advisers, who insisted on the maintenance
of the royal prerogative, in opposition to the growing and loudly
expressed desires of the most intelligent men in France, for an
administration of public affairs, and the formation of a government, on
principles of acknowledged right and justice. The king refused to yield;
and, to crush the popular power, and overawe the national assembly in
its deliberations, troops were ordered to approach Paris. At this
juncture the assembly addressed the king, praying the removal of the
troops; he refused, the troops prepared to enter Paris, the people flew
to arms, the Bastile was taken, and fatal ills prevailed in the
cabinet, till popular fury arrived at a height uncontrollable by public
virtue, and the king himself perished on the scaffold, with several of
his family.
In recording the destruction of the Bastile on this day, it is necessary
to remark, that on the morning of the day before, (the 13th of July,)
the populace marched in a body to the _Hotel des Invalides_, with intent
to seize the arms deposited there. The governor, M. de Sombreuil,
sensible that resistance was vain, opened the gates, and suffered them
to carry away the arms and the cannon. At the same time, the curate of
the parish church of _St. Etienne du Mont_, having put himself at the
head of his parishioners, invited his neighbours to arm themselves in
their own defence, and in support of good order.
By the interception of couriers, the grand plan of hostility against the
city was universally known and understood. It was ascertained that
marshall Broglio had accepted the command of the troops; that he had
made dispositions for the blockade of Paris; and that considerable
convoys of artillery had arrived for that purpose. These facts
occasioned violent agitation, and eager search for arms, wherever they
could be found. Every one flew to the post of danger; and, without
reflection, commenced perilous attacks, seemingly reserved only for
military science and cool reflection, to achieve with success.
On the 14th, there was a sudden exclamation among the people, _Let us
storm the Bastile!_ If they had only said, let us attack the Bastile,
the immense walls that surrounded the edifice, the broad and deep
ditches that prevented approach to its walls, and the batteries of
cannon placed on them, would have at least cooled their resolution. But
insensible of the danger and hazard of the assault, all at once, and
with one voice, a numerous body of men, among whom were many of the
national guards, exclaimed, _Let us storm the Bastile!_ and that instant
they proceeded towards it, with such arms as they happened to be
provided with, and presented themselves before this tremendous fortress,
by the great street of St. Anthony. M. de Launay, the governor,
perceiving this insurrection, caused a flag of truce to be hung out.
Upon this appearance, a detachment of the patriotic guards, with five or
six hundred citizens, introduced themselves into the outer court, and
the governor, advancing to the draw-bridge, inquired of the people what
they wanted. They answered, _ammunition and arms_. He promised to
furnish them, _when any persons presented themselves on the part of the
Hotel de Ville_; meaning by that, from Des Flesselles, _Prevot des
Marchands_. The people, little satisfied with this answer, replied by
menaces, threats, and great appearance of violence. De Launay then
caused the draw-bridge to be raised, and ordered a discharge of
artillery on the persons who by this means he had cut off from the main
body, and enclosed within the court. Several soldiers, and a greater
number of the citizens, fell, and the cannon fired on the city threw the
neighbourhood into the greatest disorder. The besiegers, burning to
retaliate the loss of their comrades, applied to the districts for
reinforcements, sent for the artillery they had just taken from the
invalids, and obtained five pieces of cannon, with six gunners, who
offered their services, and brought ammunition for the attack. Two
serjeants of the patriotic corps, M. Warguier and Labarthe, at the head
of a party of their comrades, supported by a troop of citizens, headed
by M. Hulin, whom they had unanimously chosen for their commander,
traversed on the side of the _Celestins_, all the passages near the
arsenal, and with three pieces of artillery which they brought into the
court _des Saltpetres_, contiguous to the Bastile, immediately commenced
a brisk fire, the besiegers endeavouring to outdo each other in courage
and intrepidity. M. Hely, an officer of the regiment of infantry (_de la
Reine_,) caused several waggons loaded with straw to be unloaded and set
on fire, and by means of the smoke that issued from them, the besieged
were prevented from seeing the operations of the besiegers. The
governor, knowing that he could not hold out against an incessant fire
on the fortress, and seeing that the chains of the first draw-bridge
were carried away by the shot from the besiegers’ cannon, again hung out
a white flag, as a token of peace. The besiegers, determined to revenge
the massacre of their comrades by the perfidy of De Launay, were deaf to
all entreaties, and would look at nothing that would lessen their
resentment. In vain the governor made a second attempt to pacify the
assailants. Through the crevices of the inward draw-bridge, he affixed
a writing, which a person went in quest of, at the hazard of his life.
The paper was to this purport: “_We have twenty thousand weight of
gunpowder, and we will blow up the garrison and all its environs, if you
do not accept of our capitulation._” The besiegers despising the menace,
redoubled their firing, and continued their operations with additional
vigour. Numberless spectators of all ages, of all conditions, and many
English, were present at this wonderful enterprise; and it is recorded,
that a British female, unrestrained by the delicacy of her sex, accepted
a lighted match on its being offered to her, and fired one of the cannon
against the fortress.
Three pieces of artillery being brought forward to beat down the
draw-bridge, the governor demolished the little bridge of passage on the
left hand, at the entrance of the fortress; but three persons, named
Hely, Hulin, and Maillard, leaped on the bridge, and demanding that the
inmost gate should be instantly opened, the besieged obeyed, and the
besiegers pushed forward to make good their entrance. The garrison still
persisted in a vain resistance. The people massacred all who came in
their way, and the victorious standard was soon hoisted from the highest
tower. In the mean time, the principal draw-bridge having been let down,
a great crowd rushed in at once, and every one looked out for the
governor. Arné, a grenadier, singled him out, seized, and disarmed him,
and delivered him up to M. Hulin and Hely. The people tore from his coat
the badge of honour; numerous hands were lifted against him; and De
Launay threw himself into the arms of M. Templement, and conjured him to
protect him from the rage of the populace.
The deputy governor, major, and the captain of the gunners, were now
united in one group. The horrid dungeons of the fortress were thrown
open, never more to be closed; unhappy victims, with hoary locks and
emaciated bodies, were astonished at beholding the light, on their
release, and shouts of joy and victory resounded through the remotest
cells of the Bastile.
The victors formed a kind of march, and while some uttered acclamations
of triumph, others vented their passions in threats of revenge against
the vanquished. The city militia mixing with the patriotic guards,
crowns of laurel, garlands, and ribands, were offered to them by the
spectators. The conquerors, proceeding to the _Hotel de Ville_, were
scarcely arrived at the square before that edifice, _La Place de Greve_,
when the multitude called aloud for sudden vengeance on the objects of
their resentment. The governor and the other officers were impetuously
torn from the hands of their conquerors, and De Launay, with several
other victims, perished beneath the weapons of an infuriated populace.
Thus fell the Bastile, after a siege of only three hours. Tumultuous joy
prevailed throughout Paris, and the city was illuminated in the evening.
By the most experienced military engineers under Louis XIV., it had been
deemed impregnable.
The Bastile consisted of eight strong towers. It was surrounded with a
_fossé_ one hundred and twenty yards wide, and on the summit of the
towers there was a platform, connected by terraces, whereon prisoners
were sometimes permitted to walk, attended by a guard. Thirteen pieces
of cannon mounted on this platform were fired on days of public
rejoicing. There were five sorts of chambers in the Bastile. The
dungeons under these towers exhaled noxious vapours and stench, and were
frequented by rats, lizards, toads, and other loathsome reptiles. In the
angle of each dungeon, was a camp-bedstead, of planks resting on bars of
iron fixed in the wall. These cells were dark and hideous, without
windows or apertures, to admit either fresh air or light. They were
secured by double doors of seven inches thick, the interior one covered
with iron-plates, and fastened by strong bolts and heavy locks. The most
horrible receptacles were the dungeons, wherein the iron cages were
fixed. These cages, the disgrace of human nature, were eight feet high,
by six feet wide, and formed of strong beams, strengthened further by
iron plates. As this building is amply described in several works,
further particulars of it may here cease.
Cowper, after an eloquent passage upon the blessings of liberty to man,
says, “The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unnecessary
warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is aware that it is become
almost fashionable, to stigmatize such sentiments as no better than
empty declamation; but it is an ill symptom, and peculiar to modern
times.” He then rolls a flood of indignation against the Bastile. The
dreadful fortress was at that time standing. His imagination of human
endurance under the horrors of confinement in its cells, beautifully
illustrates his compassionate feelings. He says,--
Shame to manhood, and opprobrious more
To France than all her losses and defeats,
Old or of later date, by sea or land,
Her house of bondage, worse than that of old
Which God aveng’d on Pharaoh--the Bastile.
Ye horrid tow’rs, th’ abode of broken hearts;
Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair,
That monarchs have supplied from age to age
With music, such as suits their sov’reign ears,
The sighs and groans of miserable men!
There’s not an English heart, that would not leap,
To hear that ye were fall’n at last; to know
That ev’n our enemies, so oft employ’d
In forging chains for us, themselves were free.
For he, who values liberty, confines
His zeal for her predominance within
No narrow bounds; her cause engages him
Wherever pleaded. ’Tis the cause of man.
There dwell the most forlorn of human kind,
Immur’d though unaccus’d, condemn’d untried,
Cruelly spar’d, and hopeless of escape.
There, like the visionary emblem seen
By him of Babylon, life stands a stump,
And, filleted about with hoops of brass,
Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone.
To count the hour-bell, and expect no change;
And ever, as the sullen sound is heard,
Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note
To him, whose moments all have one dull pace,
Ten thousand rovers in the world at large
Account it music; that it summons some
To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball:
The wearied hireling finds it a release
From labour; and the lover, who has chid
Its long delay, feels ev’ry welcome stroke
Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight--
To fly for refuge from distracting thought
To such amusements, as ingenious woe
Contrives, hard-fighting, and without her tools--
To read engraven on the mouldy walls,
In stagg’ring types, his predecessor’s tale
A sad memorial, and subjoin his own--
To turn purveyor to an overgorg’d
And bloated spider, till the pamper’d pest
Is made familiar, watches his approach,
Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend--
To wear out time in numb’ring to and fro
The studs, that thick emboss his iron door;
Then downward and then upward, then aslant
And then alternate; with a sickly hope
By dint of change to give his tasteless task
Some relish; till the sum, exactly found
In all directions, he begins again--
Oh, comfortless existence! hemm’d around
With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel
And beg for exile, or the pangs of death.
That man should thus encroach on fellow man,
Abridge him of his just and native rights,
Eradicate him, tear him from his hold
Upon th’ endearments of domestic life
And social, nip his fruitfulness and use,
And doom him for perhaps a heedless word
To barrenness, and solitude, and tears,
Moves indignation, makes the name of king
(Of king whom such prerogative can please)
As dreadful as the Manichean god,
Ador’d through fear, strong only to destroy.
_Witchcraft._
In July, 1825, a man was “swam for a wizard,” at Wickham-Skeith, in
Suffolk, in the presence of some hundreds of people! In that parish
lives Isaac Stebbings, a little spare man about sixty-seven years old,
who obtains a livelihood as a huckster; and hard by his cottage lives a
thatcher, whose wife is afflicted in mind. In the same parish there
happens to be a farmer whose mind is occasionally disturbed. Some one or
other put forth the surmise, that these two afflicted persons were
bewitched, and Stebbings was spoken of as the “worker of the mischief.”
Story grew on story; accumulated hearsays were accepted, as “proof
undeniable.” Among other things it was said, that the friends of the
afflicted woman had recourse to some means recorded in the annals of
witchcraft for detecting the devil’s agent; and that whilst the
operation was going on at night, Stebbings came dancing up to the door.
In his denial of this circumstance, Stebbings admitted that he did once
call at his neighbour’s with mackarel for sale at four o’clock in the
morning, before the family were up, and this admission was taken to be
as much as he was likely to make. Besides this, the village shoemaker
persisted that one morning, as Stebbings passed two or three times
before his house, he could not “make” his wax--the ingredients would
neither melt nor mix. Dubbed a wizard beyond all doubt, poor Stebbings,
ignorant as his neighbours, and teased beyond bearing, proposed at
length of himself, the _good_ old-fashioned ordeal of “sink or swim.”
The proposal was readily caught at, and on the following Saturday, at
two o’clock, in a large pond, called the _Grimmer_, on Wickham-green,
four men walked into the water with him, and the constable of the parish
engaged to attend and keep the peace! The sides of the pond were crowded
with spectators--men, women, and children. Stebbings had on his breeches
and shirt; and when the men had walked with him into the water
breast-high, they lifted him up and laid him flat upon his back on the
water. Stebbings moved neither hand nor foot, and continued in that
position for ten minutes. This was the first trial, and the spectators
called out “give him another.” Another trial was accordingly given, for
the same length of time, and with the same result. “Try him again, and
dip him under the the water,” was then the cry. They did so: one of the
four men pressed his chest, and down went his head, whilst up came his
heels; in a word, he was like a piece of cork in the water. These trials
kept the poor old fellow three-quarters of an hour in the pond, and he
came out “more dead than alive.” Still, some were not satisfied. Another
man, they said, of his age and size, ought to be swam with him.
Stebbings agreed even to this, for he was determined to get rid of the
imputation, or die. The following Saturday was appointed for the
purpose, and a man called Tom Wilden, of Bacton parish, hard by, was
named for his companion. The story now got more wind, and hundreds of
people from all the neighbouring parishes attended to witness the second
ordeal. But, in the interval, the clergyman of the parish, and the two
churchwardens, had interfered, and the swimmers were kept away, to the
no small vexation and disappointment of the deluded multitude. It is
gravely told, that at the very time Stebbings was swam, the afflicted
farmer alluded to above was unusually perturbed; he cried out, “I can
see the imps all about me; I must frighten them away with my voice;” and
his delusion and his noise, as Stebbings did not sink, are put down to
his account. To complete the affair, a respectable farmer in a
neighbouring parish went, it is said, to some “cunning man,” and learnt
to a certainty that Stebbings was a wizard. The sum of 3_l._ was paid
for this intelligence, and for the assurance that Stebbings should be
“killed by inches.”
These particulars in _The Times_ newspaper of July 19, 1825, extracted
from the _Suffolk Chronicle_, prove the deplorable ignorance of certain
human beings in England. It is to be hoped, that such persons are not
allowed to bring up their offspring in the same darkness. Little can be
done towards civilizing adults of this description, but their infants
may be reared as intelligent members of society.
~Dog Days.~
“Now Sirius rages.”
_To the Editor of the Every-day Book._
Sir,
I am one of those unfortunate creatures, who, at this season of the
year, are exposed to the effects of an illiberal prejudice. Warrants are
issued out in form, and whole scores of us are taken up and executed
annually, under an obsolete statute, on what is called suspicion of
lunacy. It is very hard that a sober, sensible dog, cannot go quietly
through a village about his business, without having his motions
watched, or some impertinent fellow observing that there is an “odd look
about his eyes.” My pulse, for instance, at this present writing, is as
temperate as yours, Mr. Editor, and my head as little rambling, but I
hardly dare to show my face out of doors for fear of these scrutinizers.
If I look up in a stranger’s face, he thinks I am going to bite him. If
I go with my eyes fixed upon the ground, they say I have got the mopes,
which is but a short stage from the disorder. If I wag my tail, I am too
lively; if I do not wag it, I am sulky--either of which appearances
passes alike for a prognostic. If I pass a dirty puddle without
drinking, sentence is infallibly pronounced upon me. I am perfectly
swilled with the quantity of ditch-water I am forced to swallow in a
day, to clear me from imputations--a worse cruelty than the water ordeal
of your old Saxon ancestors. If I snap at a bone, I am furious; if I
refuse it, I have got the sullens, and that is a bad symptom. I dare not
bark outright, for fear of being adjudged to rave. It was but yesterday,
that I indulged in a little innocent _yelp_ only, on occasion of a
cart-wheel going over my leg, and the populace was up in arms, as if I
had betrayed some marks of flightiness in my conversation.
Really our case is one which calls for the interference of the
chancellor. He should see, as in cases of other lunatics, that
commissions are only issued out against proper objects; and not a whole
race be proscribed, because some dreaming Chaldean, two thousand years
ago, fancied a canine resemblance in some star or other, that was
supposed to predominate over addle brains, with as little justice as
Mercury was held to be influential over rogues and swindlers; no
compliment I am sure to either star or planet. Pray attend to my
complaint, Mr. Editor, and speak a good word for us this hot weather.
Your faithful, though sad dog,