Scene: The residence quarters of Marquis Bernard-René de Launay, governor of the Bastille. It is the bleak, overcast morning of July 14, 1789. Scattered shouts can be heard from the lone window, and each becomes successively more difficult to ignore for the (unhappily) awoken aristocrat.
LAUNAY: (grumbling) Gaspard… (waits a moment, then mumbles louder)…Gaspard!
[Enter left GASPARD, in guard regalia. Launay sits up impatiently.]
GASPARD: Mon seigneur.
LAUNAY: Remind me what you’re doing here.
GASPARD: (nonplussed) You called for me.
LAUNAY: That doesn’t excuse your ability to hear me, which is itself uncalled for. Why aren’t you outside?
GASPARD: The situation will make itself apparent quite soon, sir.
[As he finishes the thought, a sizeable rock is hurled through the window, deflects off the ceiling, and unbalances a table, spilling its haphazardly placed contents onto the floor.]
LAUNAY: You make your point rather succinctly. My commendation.
[The table begins to creak, leaning tenuously to one corner.]
GASPARD: Such accolades, while appreciated, may be of little further use if the mob outside is to be believed.
LAUNAY: Ah, yes, that matter. (Looks around for a moment, blinks, as if attempting to remember something) What do they want, again?
GASPARD: (pauses) I’m not entirely sure, mon seigneur.
[Silence. The table collapses. Ink spills over the parchment collected on the floor. Neither man seems to notice.]
LAUNAY: (prompting) Wouldn’t it be splendid –
GASPARD: -to find out, sir. Yes, immediately.
LAUNAY: Do your best to gauge their seriousness about this whole ordeal. I won’t lose my post over some frivolous demand for bread or shelter.
GASPARD: (departing) Such things seem to be fashionable nowadays, monsieur.
[The governor is alone. He finally gets out of bed, slowly, thinking about what to do next. He glances around the room, vaguely dissatisfied with its disorder; for lack of a better idea, he paces, waiting for the guard to return.]
GASPARD: (returning, winded) I – I’m afraid I bear ill news.
LAUNAY: Sounds unfortunate. (grimacing) Can the mob be reasoned with?
GASPARD: Can any mob be reasoned with?
LAUNAY: I haven’t the time for your wit. Hold your tongue and tell me – what do they want?
GASPARD: I should think it difficult to do both.
LAUNAY: Forgive what I said earlier. Succinctness is hardly your strong suit.
[Another lengthy pause. Both seem to ignore the steadily growing din from the mob outside. Somebody else hurls a broken bit of pottery through the window, which shatters against the splintered bedpost. The canvas begins to droop]
LAUNAY: I suppose I’ll have to fix this all eventually.
GASPARD: Might I suggest that renovations cede first priority to resolving a brewing riot?
LAUNAY: You might. (thinks briefly) Demands for my head aside, bring me a written statement from their leader of the moment.
GASPARD: I’ll see if they’re asking for anything else.
LAUNAY: Let them argue amongst themselves for a while. Hopefully they’ll disagree on abstractions and go home.
GASPARD: I’m sure they prefer their routines of destitution to the momentary thrill of wishing violence on public officials.
LAUNAY: (smiling faintly) Let us hope so.
[Gaspard departs. The governor turns to examine his room again. The floor is hardly visible below a layer of debris, the bed is falling apart, and a wayward brick has leveled his bookshelf. He walks over to the wreckage, idly examining a few stray pages and busying himself by finding their rightful place. He finishes as the guard returns again, ducking a pair of manacles lobbed in his direction.]
LAUNAY: Well?
GASPARD: (checking the parchment) They want weapons, sir. Armaments, ammunition, bayonets, artillery.
LAUNAY: That’s it?
GASPARD: (Glancing cursorily) There was something mentioned about tyranny and inequality or some such issue. Shall I clear that up as well?
LAUNAY: No, let them forget it on their own.
GASPARD: They also demand (reads again, nods)…your unconditional surrender and cession over control of the prison.
LAUNAY: What was that?
GASPARD: It would seem they are determined to unseat you, sir.
LAUNAY: I’m aware. In favor of whom?
GASPARD: The public welfare? Given that their intention is to seize our weaponry, I think we can safely assume they’re not interested in reforming imprisonment conditions.
LAUNAY: This is…troubling.
GASPARD: Yes….yes, it is.
[The guard waits for further instruction while the Marquis moves toward the window, thinks better of it, and pauses; he takes a step toward the door, and pauses again. The noise from outside has grown to a raucous commotion, with a thousand furious Parisians voicing their discontent.]
GASPARD: I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then?
[He waits a moment, then hastily exits. Downstairs, the gate gives way, and the noise of the mob floods the fortress.]
LAUNAY: They’ll give up. (shakes his head) That’s the nature of these things. They’ll all have forgotten this ordeal by tomorrow. They’ll have forgotten who started it, or why they gathered. They’ll forget…
[He watches from the window as the sans-culottes lead the charge and the remainder of his guard flees into the relative safety of the prison walls.]
LAUNAY: And so will I…
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