Madame¹,

An unhappy widow, almost […] Who has just lost her husband, a former laborer, after 3 years of fighting various illnesses the last of which lasting 9 months, led him to the grave, asks for the munificence of Your Majesty. Deprived of the support of her [husband] she finds herself responsible for the needs of her daughter, also a widow whose husband has succumbed to […] leaving two orphans to […] this disgrace, she is three months behind in the payment of her rent. Therefore, in this critical circumstance, all she can do is hope for the generosity and kindness of Your Majesty.

The supplicant who lays themselves before you in veneration,

is

Madame,

of Your Majesty

1. On a handwritten title page, excerpts from a letter can be found on the inside cover. The letter is incomplete since the paper was cut to fit the size of the pamphlet however, the sense of the content of the letter can still be made out. Addressed to Madame, the first line opens with “an unfortunate widow” and continues to comment on the death of her husband. While sad, widowhood was not uncommon during this period and affected all social classes. On the inside of the back cover is where the letter takes an unexpected turn. The author of the letter is asking for help from Votre Majesté or Your Majesty. It appears that the author is asking for help to pay rent from someone in the royal family on behalf of a widow. The use of this letter to bind together a pamphlet written by a revolutionary is significant especially since the letter has a relationship with the aristocracy that the Revolution was removing from power.

A C C O U N T

OF

JEAN-BAPTISTE HUMBERT,

CLOCKMAKER,

The first to storm the Towers of the Bastille

Paris 1789

Translated by:

Megan Heck, Ryan McCarthy, Madelyn Colvin, & Owen Ostermueller“It is glorious to wrest oneself from a cowardly period of rest, to expose oneself to danger, to not flee pain nor death, but to search for noble adventures, to purge the Earth of the monsters who leave it in disarray, and to redden her with their blood.” -Wieland²
 Paris,

Volland, Quai des Augustins, no. 25

1789
2. Christoph Martin Wieland (1733–1813) was a German writer and poet. –Trans.

 

FOREWORD
FRENCHMEN, my fellow Compatriots, I am a native of Langres³. I learned the art of clock-making in Switzerland, notably in Geneva, where I was an Apprentice when this Republic lost its liberty.

I was sleeping peacefully on a cot in a guardhouse when French troops captured the City, whose gates had been opened by several traitors.

I was witness to the dismay of the Bourgeois & a confidant to the imprecations that they directed against a Minister of France, whom they said had deceived my King. I so often heard sighs, complaints, & regrets about this minister that I have long held in my heart some of the same feelings that those poor Genevans had for him.

I returned to Paris in 1787 where,

3. A town located in Northeastern France, approximately 300 kilometers from Paris. – Trans.

without realizing it, I became accustomed to the yoke that I was wearing, which seemed so heavy to my fellow Frenchmen, the brave Parisians.

Like them, on July 12th, with the news that the armed populace had attacked the Bourgeois instead of defending them, I went to St André-des-Arcs to offer my services, believing that I was of this District. The attack on the Tuileries, thwarted by the Prince of Lambesc⁴, along with many other notable events, had heightened fear among the Bourgeois. Having convinced them to take up arms, I fell into rank under the orders of the designated Commanders.

Throughout my actions, I believed strongly that I was only fulfilling my duty. Not asking for glory or favor, happy in my state of earning six francs a day until I settled down, I was happier still to have helped France recover her liberty & to give my parents the pleasure of hearing of my actions.

4. Charles Eugène of Lorraine was a peer of France and Prince of Lorraine. He led the Royal Army in a counterattack at the Tuileries Palace when revolutionaries attacked it in 1789. – Trans.

My parents were informed by a notice that local officials wanted to know which citizens had performed heroic deeds during the storming of the Bastille. These parents, I say, obliged me to describe my conduct to Messieurs the Examining Commissioners of the Hotel de Ville⁵. I prefer to give these details to the Public, and until I have the testimonies of those I have cited, I am opposed to the city of Langres giving credence to more than what my parents asked for until I receive the certificates of those I cited in my declaration. I invite each one to dispute or corroborate my statements. I have the humble honor of requesting that the Commissioners of the Hôtel de Ville conduct research on that which I have indicated before registering any of the facts that concern me or presenting me with any of the honors or compensations bestowed upon those who served the Nation.

Several citizens fighting for liberty have already recognized me at the Hôtel de Ville by my uniform and cartridge box. They did me the honor of

5. A combination of a city hall and local chamber of commerce. Holds the offices of city or local officials, judges, commissioners, and during this time period would often have had a supply of weapons. – Trans.

wanting to sign my declaration, which I agreed to read to them, but this is not enough. Considering that all that I put forward has had witnesses, it will be necessary to obtain their signatures to substantiate my account.

A C C O U N T

OF

JEAN-BAPTISTE HUMBERT,

CLOCKMAKER,

The first to storm the Towers of the Bastille
My name is J.B. Humbert, born in Langres, residing in Paris, and working under M. Belliard, Royal Clockmaker, on Hurepoix Street.

Thinking that I was of the Saint-André-des-Arcs District, I went to this Parish on Monday morning with the Citizens with whom I would patrol the grounds all day Monday & Tuesday. We were armed with swords, as the District had no rifles, or rather, only a few. Overcome with sleep, fatigue and hunger, I left the District at 6 o’clock in the morning. Having learned in the morning that weapons for the Districts had been delivered to the Invalides⁶, I returned immediately to notify the Bourgeois of Saint-André, who had assembled around half past noon. M. Poirier, the Commander, felt the consequences of this news and positioned himself to lead the Citizens there, but

6. A complex of buildings located in the 7th arrondissement. Originally used as a hospital and retirement home for war veterans. – Trans.

held back by one demand or another, he was not able to leave. Seeing that these different matters hardly compared to the advantage of procuring guns to the Bourgeois, I grabbed M. Poirier & took him as if by force, along with five or six Bourgeois.

We arrived at the Invalides at about 2 o’clock & found a large crowd there, which forced us to separate. I do not know what became of the Commander or his troops.

I followed the crowd to reach a vault where guns were kept.

On the stairs of the vault I found a man holding two rifles. I took one from him and went back up, but at the top of the stairs, the crowd had grown so large that anyone who came up was forced to turn back or to fall backwards to the bottom of the vault. Feeling slightly jarred but not injured by the fall, I picked up a rifle that was at my feet, and in that moment handed it to a person who did not have one.

In spite of this terrible fall, the crowd stubbornly kept descending, and as nobody could go back up, we got pushed into the vault, so much so that each of us let out hideous cries, as people who are suffocate might do.

Many had already fainted, so those in the vault who were already armed were advised to force the unarmed to do an about-face by pointing bayonets at their stomachs. The plan worked. We took advantage

of their fear & their retreat to force the crowd into rank and lead them up the stairs at gunpoint.

The crowd ascended, transporting those who had been suffocated to a lawn next to a dome and pit. After aiding and protecting the transportation of these individuals, I saw that my presence was no longer needed. Armed with my rifle, I searched in vain for my Commander; not finding him, I started back toward my District.

On my way back I learned that gunpowder was being delivered to the Hôtel de Ville. I headed straight there, and upon arriving, was given about a handful of powder but no bullets, as they said there were none. Coming out of the Hôtel de Ville, I heard that people were storming the Bastille. Regretting not having any bullets, an idea came to me that I carried out right away: it was to buy a box of small nails at L’Epicier du coin du Roi⁷ at La Grève⁸.

There I prepared and greased my rifle.

I exited the shop, and was about to load my rifle when a Citizen informed me that bullets were being distributed at the Hôtel de Ville. I ran straight there, and in fact received six small bullets called buckshots.

I headed off immediately towards the Bastille, loading my rifle on the way.

Arriving by the riverbanks in the second courtyard of the Arsenal, I joined several others who were preparing for the siege.

We found four watch guards

7. Literally translated as, “The Corner Shop of the King.” – Trans.
8. Place de la Grève is now modern day City Hall in Paris and was a gathering place for protesters during the French Revolution. – Trans.

armed with rifles, and I enlisted them to come with us to the Bastille. They responded that they had neither gunpowder nor bullets, so we arranged to give them two bullets each. They then followed willingly.

At the moment we passed in front of the Hôtel de la Régie⁹, we broke open two cases of bullets and distributed them generously. I filled a pocket of my overcoat with bullets in case I encountered others who might need them. I still have more than three pounds to give.

Several yards from there, I heard a woman cry for help. I went towards her immediately, and she informed me that the saltpeter store was being set on fire. She added that this was unjust, since the shop had been opened and given over to the Bourgeois at their request. This woman led me to the store. There, I found a wigmaker holding a burning torch in each hand with which he was setting the shop ablaze. I ran towards him, striking him hard in the stomach with the butt of my rifle, which knocked him over. Then, seeing that a barrel of saltpeter was going up in flames, I turned it upside down, which succeeded in extinguishing the fire.

During all of this, two servants begged me to help them chase off the vagrants who had entered despite the servants’ efforts, and had broken into the archives room. I followed them, also chasing several individuals from the apartment who had already broken into the cupboards under the pretext of searching for gunpowder.

9. Center for Public Business. – Trans.

I left the house, receiving many thanks and blessings, and found the watchguards to whom I had given the gunpowder and lead. I asked of one of them that he place himself on guard in front of the door.

I set off towards the Bastille through the courtyard of the Arsenal; it was about 3:30pm. The first bridge had fallen, the chains cut, but the portcullis barred the passage. Having disassembled it in advance, they were working to bring in the cannon. I crossed the small bridge, and from the inside, helped bring in the two pieces of the canon.

Once everyone was back at their post on their own volition, we arranged ourselves in rows of five or six, and I found myself in the first row.

Thus arranged, we marched to the drawbridge of the castle. There, I saw two dead soldiers, sprawled on either side of the path. On the left, where I was standing, I could see from the soldier’s uniform that he was from Ventimiglia. I could not make out the uniform of the soldier on the right.

We aimed the cannons—the bronze one towards the drawbridge and the small iron one plated in silver towards the smaller bridge.

Occupied with the canon, I was forced to break rank. In that instant, we wanted to know whether there had been signs of peace from those in the keep, so I took care to scour the terrace.

While I was away, I heard the first shots of rifle fire. I hastily returned to my post, but

a crowd blocked my path. Despite the peril, I climbed back across the railing and took my post. I even had to step on the corpse of the soldier from Ventimiglia.

We each fired off around six shots. Then, a paper appeared through an oval hole, a few inches long. We stopped shooting. One of us broke off and went to the kitchen to look for a board to use to retrieve the paper. We put the board on the railing, and while several people stood on one side as a counter weight, a man walked out onto the board—the moment that he was about to grab the paper, he was hit by rifle fire, and fell into the pit.

Immediately, another soldier removed his cape and stepped up to grab the paper, then read the text aloud for all to hear.

As the contents of the paper did not satisfy our demands for surrender, we decided to fire the canon. A path was cleared to let the cannonball pass.

At the moment that we were about to light the fuse, the small drawbridge was lowered. It had barely touched the ground before we were upon the castle walls. I was only the tenth one across the bridge. We found that the door behind the drawbridge was barred. After about two minutes, an Invalide¹⁰ came to open it, and asked what we wanted. “Surrender the Bastille,” I called out with the others, to which he responded by allowing us to enter. My first concern was to inform the others that the bridge had been lowered.

10. Soldiers no longer suited for service in the battlefields. – Trans.

I entered into the grand courtyard (about the eighth or tenth). The Invalides were on the right, and the Swiss to the left. Lower your weapons, we cried. They complied, with the exception of one Swiss officer. I went to him, wielding my bayonet threateningly, and saying again, “lower your weapon.” He addressed the battalion, saying, “Messieurs, please believe me that I did not shoot”.

I replied right away, “How dare you say that you did not shoot? Your mouth is still black from biting your cartridge!” As I said these words, I jumped for his sword; at the same moment, another individual did the same. As we quarreled over the sword, my gaze shifted to a staircase on the left, where I saw three bourgeois who had climbed five or six steps, and who were now hastily descending. I immediately left the sword, and armed with my rifle, which I had not left, I hastened up the staircase to chase down the bourgeois. I hurried up the stairs to the keep, and arrived at the top without realizing that I was not being followed. In the keep, I found a Swiss soldier crouching, his back turned to me. I took aim, shouting, “Drop your weapon!” He turned around, surprised, and laid his weapon on the ground. He said to me, “Comrade, don’t kill me. I am of the Tiers-Etat¹¹, and I would defend you to the last drop of my blood. You know that

11. Before the start of the French Revolution, French society abided to the ancien régime, which divided social groups in the Clergy, Nobility, and the Tiers-Etat. Those who were neither a part of the clergy nor of noble blood, were placed into the Tiers-Etat. – Trans.

I am obligated to fulfill my duties, but I did not fire.”

During his plea, I collected his rifle. With a bayonet held to his stomach, I demanded that he surrender his cartridge pouch. He complied, putting it around my neck.

Immediately afterwards, I went to the canon, which was perpendicular to the top of the drawbridge of the Bastille, with the intention of dismounting it to prevent it from being used. As I situated my right shoulder under the mouth of the canon, a bullet pierced my waistcoat and vest, striking me in the neck and knocking me unconscious. The Swiss, whose life I had saved, dragged me down the stairs. I held fast to his rifle, which I dragged along with me, as I had abandoned the rifle I took from the Invalides.

Regaining consciousness, I found myself seated on the stairs. The Swiss had shaken me to bring me back, and had stopped the blood that was pouring from my wound by applying a piece of cloth that he had cut from his shirt.

Though I was injured, I decided to descend, imploring the Swiss to support me, which he did with good grace.

Towards the middle of the staircase, we encountered several Bourgeois, both armed and unarmed, ascending the stairs. Seeing that I was covered in blood, they believed that it was the Swiss that had wounded me. They wished to kill him. I opposed, telling them the truth. Fortunately, they took my word, and I continued to descend, supported by the Swiss.

Arriving together in the courtyard, they did not wish to let the Swiss leave. Thus, I was obligated to go alone. They allowed me to pass, seeing my blood and my wound.

Toward the kitchen of the Bastille, I met a Surgeon-Major, who asked me to show him my wound. After looking at it, he confirmed that I had a bullet in my neck. He said that he could not take it out alone, and convinced me to go to a hospital to have it dressed.

On the way, I met an individual who had left Minimes, where he had just had his wrist bandaged. He directed me to Minimes, where someone could help care for my wound. They never found a bullet.

Having a violent thirst, I was given a tin full of wine and water, which restored my strength. I arose in good spirits, with the intention of returning to the Bastille.

I dressed at once, grabbed my rifle and cartridge pouch, but was instantly urged to change my mind by the Minimes, who had cared for me. They told me that movement could cause my injury to become very dangerous, and they asked for my word that I would return to my room to rest, which they thought was absolutely necessary. They wanted to lead me back, but I thanked them and left.

On the way, the memory of several friends that lived on Rue de la Ferronnerie came to my mind. I had left them this morning; they had seemed anxious about the dangers that they foresaw as the result of my ardor. I was at their home when four armed Bourgeois led me to

Hurepoix. I received praises everywhere we went. But arriving at the Quai des Augustins¹², the crowd followed us, thinking I was a criminal, and twice proposed that I be put to death. Not being able to answer everyone, I was about to be seized when I was recognized by one of the booksellers on the banks, who forced me into his house, saving me from the hands of the crowd. I slept in his home, and received all the help I needed.

I slept until about midnight, until I was awakened by the repeated cries of “To arms! To arms!” I could not resist the urge to be useful again, so I rose, armed myself, and returned to the Corps-de-Guards, where I found Commander Poirier, under whose orders I remained until the next morning.

The undersigned corroborates that the contents of these 16 pages accurately represent that which took place at the Storming of Bastille.

Paris, August 12, 1789

Canonier Ducastel, Richard Maillard, Georget Dupin

12. Left riverbanks of the Seine along the 6th arrondissement. – Trans.
 Printed at GRANGE Printing House, rue de la Parcheminerie

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