It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: The Storming of the Bastille, by Alexandre Dumas

Episode Date: August 16, 2026

Margaret reads you a story about the French Revolution and the destruction of a prisonSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-Heart podcast. Guaranteed Human. I'm Maria Garcia. You may remember me from my podcast, Anything for Selena or My Dibo. I love pop culture. I think about stuff like, what did Mariah Carey and Luis Miguel's relationship mean?

Why was the world so unfair to our girl, Britney Spears? And why do some women yearn for Shakita's black hair to make a comeback? I'm always trying to find the meaning behind pop culture and beyond. And now I'm back to unpack more divas, more drama, more stories from the present and the past that I'm very excited to tell you about. We're going to have fun. We're going to keep it cute. And we're going to figure out what it all means. Listen to MyCulte with Maria Garcia as part of the MyCultura podcast network available on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts.

or wherever you get your podcasts. You gave everything you could give, and now it's time to take the next step. Hey, it's Emily Tish Sussman, and this season on She Pivots, the podcast where women share bold career moves and personal turning points. I sit down with culture-shifting women

who share their pivots like Elizabeth Smart. I still feel that drive that I can still make a difference, so I'm going to keep going. And feminist legend, Gloria Steinem. All of us were trying to express women's real lives. Listen to She Pivots on the Eye Heart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. New school year, same beautiful mess.

Good Mom's Bad Choices is back to talk back to school. Realness. The guilt, the giggles, and the choices no other show is brave enough to admit. Mom Life is calling, and I have my last motherfucking volleyball tournament of Irie's club team volleyball, and I cannot wait for the thing to be over. Because I don't like participating. and having to drive far distances. Shout out to the moms and my mom who made it happen.

Listen to Good Mom's Bad Choices from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcast. Can superstars even exist the way they used to? 2016 was sort of that last era of monoculture, where we still consume things in community. Everybody wanted to be Beyonce at that point. I don't think we'll ever see another beyond.

What does it mean to be black? and eat in America. You will never make me feel bad for being a black girl, for being a black American girl, ever. From music to food to the conversations shaping black culture right now, therapy for black girls is bringing it all to the mic. Listen to therapy for black girls on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Hello, and welcome to Cool Zone Media Book Club, the only book club where you don't have to do the reading because I do it for you. I'm your host Margaret Kiljoy

And this week, two special things are going to happen One, we are going to continue our loose black August theme And truth be told, it's going to be a little looser this week than others But I still think this is an interesting episode And I think you'll think it's interesting too As we read a black author talking about tearing down a prison Just a really old story And a really French story, which brings me to the second point

the second interesting thing about this episode is I am bad at French. I used to take pride in this, which was a foolish idea. And then I spent a while in France. And I realized I'm bad at looking at French words and figuring out which of the letters are actually in the word. I'm not good at it. Hazel, who helps me with the scripts, did put in pronunciation notes. So anything I get right is thanks to Hazel. Anything I get wrong is thanks to me.

But if you're thinking an old story by a black author about destroying prison in French, and you are thinking, is it Alexander Dumas, then you would be thinking right. Now, if you weren't an insufferable sixth grader like I was who bragged to your classmates about having read the three musketeers, and was like, hi, I read a 600 or 800-page book or whatever. If you're not that kind of person, you haven't read the Three Musketeers. Maybe you have heard of his other famous novel, Dumas' other famous novel, The Count of Monte Cristo, which was featured prominently in V for Vendetta. Dumas is best known for French adventure romances from the 1800s,

mostly about revenge and political intrigue. But unlike a lot of other people known for similar bodies of work, Dumas was black. Or mixed race, to be more specific, Alexander was born in France to a middle-class family that his paternal grandmother was Maria Sassette Dumas, an enslaved woman who was owned by Alexander's grandfather in what is now Haiti. Alexander's father, Maria Sissette's son,

was named Thomas Alexander Dumas. And is interesting in his own right. He was a soldier in the French army during the French Revolution and was appointed to second in command and the Legion of Freemmen of Color. I think this is the guy that came up in some cool people episode where I talked about Napoleon. Why the fuck did I talk about Napoleon? It might have been the Haiti episodes.

I don't know. And how this man, despite leading an incredibly important part of Napoleon's armies, he still faced racial discrimination while he was a general or whatever. But we're not talking about him. We're talking about his son, Alexander Dumas, who obviously occupies a complicated, a nuanced place in the Francophone imagination. And when I say francophone, I don't just mean like a banana phone, but France or French-speaking,

but instead the wider French-speaking parts of the world outside of France, places like Haiti or Algeria or Senegal, places that have been indelibly marked by the legacy of French colonialism and chattel slavery. Dumas' life and writings were undoubtedly impacted by his experiences of racial prejudice, even though he's mostly not remembered this way. I think the average person doesn't know that he was a person of color. In the introduction to Black Musketeer, author Eric Martone argues that in the latter half of the 19th century, in the first half of the 20th, Dumas Heritage was downplayed by critics who were uncomfortable discussing racialization, as well as by pundits who are interested in constructing a French national identity, one built on classic novels like the

three musketeers, but also one unmarked by race. During the decolonial era, when previously held French colonies were winning independence, scholars started paying more attention to De Maas' heritage, and in particular to an early novel of his called Georgesse, or Georges, or something. That story follows a mixed-raceous in what is now Mauritius, as he betrays the white upper class to participate in a slave revolt, and is arguably one of the first anti-slaughtsler. slavery novels to have been written by a person of color. In the preface to the 1998 edition, Khalithe Bayala argues that we should remember Dumas as, quote,

a hero for oppressed colonial subjects and their descendants. And Martone from Black Musketeer says this about that preface. It, quote, established Dumas as a writer who expressed solidarity with the African diaspora, as a victim of racism who responded by forming pride in his blackness and cultural hybridity, and as a forerunner to later literary traditions in Francophone Africa and the Caribbean. Dumas wrote prolifically, prolifically, and most of what he wrote has much more to do with the French Revolution and its aftermath. And that's the kind of story we have for you today, the French Revolution and its aftermath. Our story this week is a fictionalization of the storming of the Bastille, or the Bastille, if we're being French about it.

But I'm going to say Bastille because I'm an American and aforementioned not good at French. But all of these things, including me being bad at French, really happened. And most of the people, including me, I'm not in this story, but why not, are real people. In 1789, a riot made up of nearly a thousand defecting soldiers and common people took control of the Bastille, which was a prison that looked like a castle, and they let all the prisoners go free. even though the building wasn't particularly well guarded it was only protected by a garrison of older French soldiers and Swiss mercenaries and only seven people were still imprisoned there

it was seen as a representation of royal authority and abuse of power and I love this because it's just like no like as I mentioned in the episodes that are coming out next week on cool people did cool stuff you know there's the whole Eugene Debs quote that well there's a soul in prison I am prison too. His quote's correct. Mine's not because I don't have the script in front of me for that. But this is where like upper class prisoners were held, seven of them. And they're like, we will die to destroy this symbol of power. This is the famous prison, right? So we're going

to destroy the famous prison because fuck the famous prison. We will destroy it. And that rules. I'm not a huge French Revolution fan. Like, it's like not. in my top tier of revolutions. I'm kind of cynical on a lot of the revolutions. But Bastille Day and the storming of the Bastille really does it for me.

Like just, what a beautiful act of solidarity. So for this Black August, I hope you enjoy the storming of the Bastille by Alexander Dumas. It's a story about destroying a prison and tearing down authority. It's a story about the fervor of revolution and the power of the collective.

And it's a story about how reason and solidarity will always overpower entrenched aristocratic control. And we are reading an uncredited translation from 1920, published by Walter J. Black Company. And this story was abridged for time. So if you want to read the whole thing, you can find it on the Internet Archive in short stories by Alexander Dumas. But yeah, it's also a story where I'm going to resist the temptation of giving any of them ridiculous French accents. But I'll have you know, it's only because I'm not good enough at accents to give them ridiculous this French accents. I wish that I could.

Storming the Bastille by Alexander Dumas. This inner yard, the Bastille in Paris, was the prisoner's exercise ground. Eight giant towers guarded it. No window opened into it. The sun never penetrated its well-like circuit, where the pavement was damp, almost muddy. Here, a clock, the face upheld by chained captives in carving, dropped the seconds like water oozing through a ceiling on the dungeon slabs. At the bottom of this pit, the prisoner lost in the stony gulf, would glance up at the inexorable nakedness and sue to be led back to his cell. Governor Lulei, commander, was about 50 years of age. He wore a gray, Lindsay Woolsey suit this day. It was crossed by a red sash of the

order of San Luis, and he carried a sword cane. He was a bad man. Linguay's memoirs had just shown him up in a sad light, and he was hated almost as much as the jail. His father had been governor before him. In the way of meanness, Lulae outdid his foregoers. He may have had to pay more highly for the post than his father, and so had to put on the screw to retrieve his outlay. He fed his household out of the prisoner's rations. Maybe he foresaw that he was not to enjoy the birth long. The officials tried to make all the money they could squeeze out of the prisoners and their friends. The governor, Chief Warder, doubled his 60,000 francs appointments by extortion.

The prisoners had one relief, one pleasure, a little garden made on a bastion, where they got a whiff of sweet air and saw flowers and grass and sunshine. Lule lent this out to a truck gardener, robbing the prisoners for 50 livers a year. On the other hand, he was yielding to rich captives. He let one furnish his room in his own style and have any visitors he liked. For all this, Lule was brave.

He might be pale, but he was calm, although the storm had raged against him from the previous evening. He felt aware of the riot becoming a revolt, for the waves broke at the foot of his castle wall. It is true that he had four cannon and a garrison of old soldiers and Swiss, with only one unarmed man now confronting him. That unarmed man was Beaille, farmer and leader of revolutionists.

When entering the stronghold, he understood that a weapon might get him in trouble beyond the barrier. With a glance he remarked everything. The governor's calm and menacing attitude, the Swiss ranked in the guardhouses, the veterans on the platforms, and the silent bustle of the artilleryists loading up their caissons with ammunition. As the commander stood still, Beaille was obliged to go to him. The grating closed behind the people's parliamentarian with an ugly grinding of metal-on-metal, which made him shudder to the marrow, brave though he was.

What do you want? challenged Lulae. I come on behalf of the people, rejoined the visitor proudly. That is all very well, sneered Lule, smiling. But you must have shown some other warrant, for otherwise you would not have passed the first deadline of centuries. True, I have a pass from your friend, Flessel, Lord Provost. B'yey presented the paper, which Lule read more than once in order to catch a hidden meaning or concealed lines.

He even held it up to the paper. the light to see if there was secret writing. Is that all? Are you perfectly sure? Nothing by word of mouth in addition? Not a bit. Strange, said Luley, plunging his glance by a loophole on Bastille Square. Then tell me your want, and be quick. The people want you to give up the Bastille. What do you say? cried Lule, turning quickly as if he must be mistaken in his hearing. I summon you in the people's name to give up the Bastille. Queer animals, the people, sneered Lule, snapping his fingers. What do they want with the Bastille?

To demolish it. Why? What the mischief is the Bastille to the people? Is any common man ever shut up herein? Why, the people ought to bless every stone of the Bastille, who are locked up here. Philosophers, learned men, aristocrats, statesmen, princes, all the enemies of the dregs. This only proves that the people are not selfish and want to do good to others.

It is plain you are not a soldier, my friend, said the other with a kind of pity. It is true, and come fresh from the country. For you do not know what the Bastille is. Come with me and I will show you. He is going to pull the string of some trap which will open beneath my feet, thought the adventurer, and then goodbye, old B.A. But he was intrepid and did not wince as he prepared to accede the invitation. In the first place, continued Lule, it is well known that I have enough powder in the store to blow up the castle and lay half the suburbs and ashes. I knew that, was the tranquil reply.

Do you see these cannon? And by two ditches, only to be crossed by drawbridges. Lastly, there's a portcullis. Oh, I am not saying that the Bastille will be badly defended. but that it will be well attacked. Observe the thickness of the walls, 40 feet here and 15 above. You see that though the people have nails,

they will break against such walls. I am not saying that the people will demolish the Bastille to master it, but that, having mastered it, they will demolish it, said the leader of the revolutionists. Let's go upstairs, said the governor, leading up 30 steps where he paused to say. This embrasure is defended by one rampart gun, but it enjoys a fair reputation. You know the song.

Oh, my sweet voiced sackbutt, I love your dear song. Marshall Sacks called this gun his sackbutt, because it sang the only music he cared anything for. This is a historical fact. But let us go on. Oh, said B.A. went upon the tower top. you have not dismounted the cannon, but merely drawn them in. I shall have to tell the people so. The cannon were mounted here by the king's command,

and by that alone can they be dismounted. Governor Lule, returned B.A., feeling himself rise to the level of the emergency. The true sovereign is yonder, and I counsel you to obey it. He pointed to the gray-looking masses, spotted with blood from the battling, and reflecting the dying sunlight. on their weapons up to the very moats. Friend, a man cannot know two masters, replied the royalist, holding his head up haughtily.

I, the governor of the Bastille, no but one. The 16th Louis, who made me the commander over men and material here. Are you not a French citizen? demanded Bea warmly. I am a French nobleman, said the Count of Lulae. Well, I am a citizen, went on. B.A. And as my duty as such is opposed to yours and the king's soldier, one of us must die, he who fulfills his orders or his duties. That is likely, sir. So are you determined to fire on the people?

Not unless I am fired at. I pledged myself to that effect to Lord Provost Fessier's deputation. You see, the guns have been retired, but at first shot I will roll. Say this one, forward out of embrasure with my own hands, train it and point it, and fire with the slow match you see there. If I believed that, said B.A., before you could commit such a crime, I have told you that I am a soldier and know nothing outside my orders. Then look, said B.A., drawing Lulae to the gap in the battlements and pointing alternately between two different directions, the main street from the town, and the street through the suburbs. Behold those who will have. henceforth give you orders.

Lulae saw two black, dense, roaring bodies, undulating like snakes, with head and bodies in sight, but the rearmost coils still waving onwards till lost in the hollows of the ground. All the bodies of these immense reptiles glittered with the scales. These were the two armies to which Béééé

had given the Bastille as the meeting place. Marais's men and Goshaun's Paris beggars. As they surged forward, they brandished their weapons and yelled blood-curdling cries. At the sight, L'A. lost color and said, as he raised his cane, To your guns! Then, threatening B.A., he added,

You scoundrel to come here and gain time under pretense of a parley! Do you know that you deserve death? Biaix saw the attempt to draw the sword from the cane and pierce him. He seized Lule by the collar and waistband as swift as lightning, and raising him clear off the ground, Biai replied, And you deserve to be hurled down to the bottom of the ditch to be smashed in the mud, but never mind, thank God I can fight you in another manner.

At this instant, an immense hell, a universal one, rose in the air like a whirlwind as Major Lozma, commander of military, appeared on the platform. Oh, sir, for mercy's sake, he said to Bea, show yourself, for the people there believe something has happened to you and they call for you. Indeed, the name of B.A., set afloat by Pitou, leader of the peasants, ascended on the clamor. Show yourself, sir, said Lule, not because the noise frightens me, but to prove that I have acted fairly. The farmer thrust his head out of the porthole, waving his hand.

At this sight, the populace burst with cheering. It was, in measure, revolution. Without speaking a word, the governor and the envoy descended the stairs and crossed the yard, where Bea saw the cannoneers were at their pieces, and the lintstocks were lighted and smoking. He stopped before them. Friends, he cried, remember that I came to your commander to stay the shedding of blood,

but that he refused me. In the king's name, be off from here, said Lule, stamping his foot. Have a care, retorted the farmer. I am ordered out in the king's name, but I shall return in that of the people. Lulay pointed to the iron door, but Biai attempted a final effort. Governor, in the name of the nation, in the name of your brothers, brothers? Is that what you call them down there, bellowing down to Bastille and death to the governor?

They may be brothers of yours, but surely they are none of mine. In humanities, then? Humanity? Which urges you to calm a hundred thousand strong against 100 hapless soldiers immured in these walls and cut their throats? But by giving up the Bastille, you saved their lives. and I lose my honor. Biai was hushed, for the soldierly argument crushed him.

But again, he addressed the soldiers, saying, Surrender, friends. While there is yet time, in another ten minutes, it will be too late. I will have you shot unless you are out of this instantly, thundered Lule, as true as I am a noble. Bier stopped an instant, folded his arms in a token of defiance, and, crossing glances for the last. time with the exasperated governor walked forth.

Much like we walk forth into the ads. Live at the Ryman, two nights in Nashville. To see Cameron Wickham at the legendary Ryman Auditorium, plus a thousand dollar spending cash. Just listen to Pure Country for 10 minutes a day on the free IHard radio app, and you're in to win. Cameron Wickham. Stream the new single, Kingdom of Fear.

Available now. I'm Hoda Kotby. of the podcast, Joy 101 with Hoda Kotbe. If you know me, you know, I'm always searching for inspiration and useful tools to maximize joy. So this podcast lets us uncover those things together through meaningful conversations with fascinating people. Like when my friend Henry Winkler offered advice to aspiring actors and really anybody hoping to stand out. You're not hired just to fill time into space. You're hired to fill the space. You're hired to fill the space with you. You have something in your guts. You go with it. And Sean Johnson recalled the moment

she realized her now husband, Andrew, was the one. He was just so unapologetically himself and knew nothing of Hollywood. He hadn't been on a plane before without his family. It was so pure. Listen to Joy 101 with Hoda Kotby on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Our town is small taters by most standards. It's right, but to the people who grew up here, it's everything. What happens when a quiet Tennessee town becomes the front line in a battle over the future of America? Developers with right-wing ties have purchased hundreds of acres of land in the area. The first thing you see when it pops up is pioneers in Appalachia.

But they weren't just planning houses. We need cities on a shining hill that exemplify and embody the Christian way of life. Stop right there. Is that normal? A podcast about what happens when a small town becomes the site of a social experiment. God need men to rule. Great. And decides to fight back. Do not use my hard work to sell your bull. They're not just opposing what's being planned for here.

Our hometown is not a test tube. They feel like they're standing in opposition to an entire administration. Guess you didn't move in on a bunch of dumb hillbillies now, did you? Listen to our town on the IHeart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, this is Hayes Davenport. And Sean Clements. We host the podcast, Hollywood Handbook.

Every episode we're trying to help our guests improve their careers by mainly focusing on how they can help us improve our careers. The show is famously super accessible so you can easily jump into any of our 650 episodes and understand what's going on. We recommend some of our recent episodes with Ben Stiller. The definition of what is a movie has kind of changed anywhere too, right? What do you think it is now? It's images and words being spoken, captured.

by some sort of technology. Danny McBride. He loves Mouthing. Oh, that's fantastic. And you make it on, you make your own. That's great. I call him Tarot Reed. It's a good name.

They're all named after cast members of American Pie. Yeah. I call, I don't, I never looked up if she was in this, but I call him Leachy Sobieski. I don't think she was an American Pie, but I still like that. Haven't looked it up. She was prominent around the same time. Yeah.

Then Mary Steenberghant. Why are you guys talking to me? I'm worried. I'm worried. Why are you talking so down to me that you think I don't understand your little play game? I just really, I get it. I'm trying to set you up for success here. Listen to Hollywood Handbook on the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

And we're back. Under the burning July sun, the crowds awaited, shuddering with fever. Goshawn's men had joined in with Maraz, the suburbs hailing each of. other as brothers. On seeing B.A., the cheering was tremendous. Lulae is a brave man, said Béééé to Goshaun. Or rather, I should say he is stubborn. He will not surrender the Bastille, but will sustain the siege. Do you think he will hold out long? To death. All right, he shall have that. The moat, queried Béé. It needs to be filled up in only one place, responded Marais, the beggars leader, and I calculate

we could choke it up altogether, eh, lads? The friends answered unanimously in the affirmative. Have it so, said B.A., overpowered. At this moment, Lulae appeared on the terrace, followed by Major Lozma, commander of the military, and two or three other officers. Commence, shouted Goshaun, the governor turned his back on him.

Goshaun might have put up with a threat, but he would not bear contempt. He lifted his gun and fired at him. A man near him fell. Instantly a hundred, nay a thousand gunshots sounded, as if it were awaited as a signal, and the grey towers were striped with white. A few seconds silence succeeded this discharge,

as if the assailants were frightened at what they had done. Then a gush of flame lost in a cloud of smoke crowned the crest of one tower. A detonation thundered. Shrieks of pain were heard in the throngs closely present. pressed. The first cannon shot had been fired by the royalists, the first bloodshed. The battle between people and Bastille was begun. The fresh silence was broken by renewed screams, groans and a few complaints, but nobody thought to flee. And had the thought struck anyone, he must have been ashamed seeing the numbers. Indeed, all the thoroughfares were streams of human beings,

the square in immense sea, with each billow, human head, the eyes flamed in the mouths hurled curses. But soon they were tired of firing at insensible stone. They wanted the flesh to aim at, and to see the blood spurt. Everybody shouted ideas of assault. Be yea, weary of listening, caught up an axe from a carpenter's hand, and rushed forward till he reached a small guardhouse before the first drawbridge. While the grape shot was hurling and whistling about him,

he hacked at the chains till down came the bridge. During the quarter of an hour that this insane enterprise went on, the lookers-on held their breath. At each volley they expected to see their champion laid low. Forgetting their own danger, they thought solely of that the audacious worker ran. When the drop came down, they uttered a loud whoop and dashed into the first yard.

The frenzied and joyful rush was so unexpected, rapid and impetuous that no resistance was made. Nobody noticed that a man had been mangled under the bridge. Béet slid down from the guardhouse where he found Pitu, who had reached the spot he knew not how. The young man had a quick eye and a poacher's habit. He had seen the gunner step up to the touch hole with the lighted matches,

and seizing his patron by the coat, he had pulled him back behind a corner of the wall which sheltered both from the cannonade. From this period on, the war was real. The tumult was alarming, the onslaught murderous. Ten thousand gunshots poured upon the fort at the risk of slaying the assaulters with the garrison. The frightful uproar intoxicated the amateur fighters

and began to daunt the besieged, who felt that they could never raise a commotion equal to this deafening them. At this juncture, a little body of citizens appeared calm and unresed. armed at the yard entrance. It was a deputation of electors from the city hall. They were sacrificing life under protection merely of the white flag before and after them to indicate they came to parley. Wishing to stop the effusion of blood, after hearing that the attack had commenced, they forced flasets to renew negotiations with the governor. In the name of the city, they summoned

the governor of the citadel to cease firing and to receive a hundred of the town guards to guarantee his safety, the garrisons, and the inhabitants. Frightened by the magnitude of the task they had set themselves, the people were ready to accept the proposal, seen too, the dead and wounded carried by. If Lulae accepted the partial defeat, they would be content with a half-victory. Firing ceased on the fort's side.

B.A. went out to get his party to refrain. At the doors he met Goshaun, without arms, exposing his naked breast like a man. man inspired, calm as though invulnerable. What has become of the deputation? he inquired. It has got in, replied Bea. Cease firing. It's useless. He will not give in, said the beggar leader,

with the same certainty as if he had been gifted with reading the future. No matter, respect the usages of war since we have become soldiers. I do not mind, said Goshaun. Ely, Ulan, go. He said to two men who seemed to rule the crowd together with him, Do not let a shot be fired till I say so. At the voice, the two darted away, cleaving the throng, and soon the sound of musketry dying away stopped entirely.

During the short rest the wounded were attended to, they were upwards of 40. Two o'clock struck. They had been hammering away two hours from noon. Beaille had returned to the front where Goshaun found him. His impatience was visiting. as he watched the iron grating. At length, the deputies appeared.

By their woe-begone aspect, it was clear their errand had failed. The accursed fortress is doomed, cried the popular orator, gladly. To arms, boys, two arms, he yelled without waiting for the deputies to relate their doings. The commandant refuses. In fact, scarcely had the governor read Flisset's letter introducing the party. Then he brightened up in the face and exclaimed, instead of yielding to the proposition. You Parisian gentleman wanted the fight,

and it is too late to draw back. Leigh took the offensive this time. Before the deputation crossed the threshold, the sackbutt of Marshall Sacks played its tune. Three men fell, one dead and two wounded, the latter being a French guardsman, and the other one of the flag of truce-bearers. At the sight of this victim,

whose errand made him sacred, carried away smothered in blood, the fury of the numbers was exalted once more. Goshan's Aud-Ducamp had returned to take their places by his side, but each had run home to change his dress. Elie had been the Marquis-Conflon's running footmen, and his livery resembled a Hungarian officer's uniform. Huell put on a uniform he had worn,

when an officer of the Queen's own regiment. And this gave more confidence to the masses, with the thought that the army was on their side. The firing recommenced more fiercely than before. At this, Major Lume approached his superior. He was a brave and honorable soldier, but he had some manhood left him, and he saw with pain what had happened,

and foresaw with more pain what would occur. You know we have no food, he said. I know that, answered Lule, and we have no order to hold out. I ask your pardon, military governor of the Bastille, but I am the governor of it in all respects. My order is to shut the doors and I hold the keys. My lord, keys are to open locks as well as to fasten them.

Have a care that you do not get the garrison massacred without saving the castle. Look at the men we kill. They spring up again from the pavement. This morning only 3,000 were there. Three hours ago there were six. Now they're over 60,000 and tomorrow they will number 100,000. When our cannon are silenced, they will be strong enough to pull down the best. steal with their bare hands.

You do not speak like the military governor of the Bastille, Major Lomé. I speak like a Frenchman, my lord. I say that His Majesty, having given us no special order, and the provost of the traitors having made us a very acceptable proposition, to introduce

a hundred civil guards into the castle, you might avoid the misery I foresee by acceding to Provost Flissé's proposition. In your opinion, the city of Paris is a power we ought to obey? Yes, in the absence of special royal order. Then read, Major Lou May, said the prison chief, leading his lieutenant aside into a corner. On the small sheet of paper, which he let him read,

was written, hold out firmly. I will amuse the Parisians with cockades and promises. Before day is done, Bezenval will send you reinforcements. Flessier. The letter the deputies carried, they thought they were bearing a desire for the Bastille to be surrendered, and it was in order to defend it that they handed me. The Major bent his head. Go to your post and do not quit till I command you, sir, continued Lule. Lume obeyed. He coldly folded up the paper, replaced it in his pocket,

and went over to the cannoneers to advise them to aim true and fire low. They obeyed, like the Major. But the Fortalus' fate was settled. No human power. could delay the accomplishment. To every cannon shot, the reply was, we mean to have the Bastille. Our fate, dear listeners, is also settled.

No human power could delay the onslaught of the numbers, of the products and services that support this show. You've heard the chaos. Now you can see it. Do we want to jump right in? And watch all your favorite podcasts from start to finish right inside the free IHard Radio app. Make some noise. Wooee!

Catch every laugh and eye roll on shows like Bestie Listen, Hey Jonas, and Las Culturistas. Now with full video. I'll just leave that there. It's the same hosts and the same chemistry with all the hilarious moments you've been missing right on your screen. Open the free IHard Radio app. Search video podcasts and tap watch. I'm Hoda Kotby, host of the podcast. Joy 101 with Hoda.

Kotbe. If you know me, you know, I'm always searching for inspiration and useful tools to maximize joy. So this podcast lets us uncover those things together through meaningful conversations with fascinating people. Like when my friend Henry Winkler offered advice to aspiring actors and really anybody hoping to stand out. You're not hired just to fill time and space. You're hired to fill the space with you. You have something in your guts, you go with it. And Sean Johnson recalled the moment she realized her now husband, Andrew, was the one. He was just so unapologetically himself and knew nothing of Hollywood. He hadn't been on a plane before without his family. It was so pure. Listen to Joy 101 with Hoda Kotby

on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Our town is small taters by most standards, right? But to the people who grew up here, It's everything. What happens when a quiet Tennessee town becomes the front line in a battle over the future of America? Developers with right-wing ties have purchased hundreds of acres of land in the area. The first thing you see when it pops up is pioneers in Appalachia. But they weren't just planning houses. We need cities on a shining hill that exemplify and embody the Christian way of life.

Stop right there. Is that normal? A podcast about what happens when a small town becomes the site. of a social experiment. God need men to rule. Great. And decides to fight back. Do not use my hard work to sell your bull. They're not just opposing what's being planned for here.

Our hometown is not a test to. They feel like they're standing in opposition to an entire administration. Guess you didn't move in on a bunch of dumb hillbillies now, did you? Listen to our town on the IHeart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, this is Hayes Davenport. And Sean Clements. We host the podcast Hollywood Handbook. Every episode we're trying to help our guests improve their careers

by mainly focusing on how they can help us improve our careers. The show is famously super accessible so you can easily jump into any of our 650 episodes and understand what's going on. We recommend some of our recent episodes with Ben Stiller. The definition of what is a movie has kind of changed anywhere too, right? What do you think it is now? It's images and words being spoken, captured by some sort of technology. Danny McBride.

He loves Nova. Oh, that's fantastic. And you make it on, you make your own. That's great. I call him Terro Reed. It's a good name. They're all named after cast members of American Pie. Yeah.

Oh, gotcha. I call, I don't, I never looked up if she was in this, but I call him Leachie Sobiesky. Yeah. I don't think she was an American Pie, but I still like that. Haven't looked it up. She was prominent around the same time. Yeah. Then Mary Steenbergin.

Why are you guys talking to me? I'm worried. Why are you talking so down? to me that you think I don't understand your little play game. I just really trying to set you up for success here. Listen to Hollywood Handbook

on the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And Rebecca. Beaille, the farmer, executed prodigies of daring and energy, all in pure waste, till the idea struck him to go along the woodwork of the bridge and chop the

chains of the second one as he had done with the first. Ange howled for him to stay And seeing that Howls were useless, he followed him from cover, saying, Dear Master Bea, your wife will be a widow if you get killed. The Swiss thrust their guns

through the loopholes by which the sackbutt was fired to try to pick off the daring fellow who was making the chips fly off their bridge. Biae called on his single gun to answer the sackbut. But when the latter fired, the other artilleryists retreated and the farmer was left alone to serve the cannon. This again drew Pitou

out of his refuge. Master, he sued. And the name of Catherine, think if you're done for, that Catherine will be an orphan. B.A. yielded to his plea, and because he had a new idea, he ran out on the square, hollering, a cart!

Two carts, added Petitou, thinking you cannot have too much of a good thing. Ten carts were immediately trundled through the multitude. Dry hay and straw, shouted B.A. "'Straw and hay!' repeated Poutou. Like a flashed, two hundred men brought each a truss of straw, or half a bale of hay. Others brought dry fodder on litters. They were obliged to call out that they had ten times more than was wanted.

Beaille put himself in the rails of a cart laden with hay and pushed it before him instead of dragging it. Ptou did the same with another, without knowing why, but thinking the farmer's example was worthy of imitation. Elie and Uel followed close behind. Scarcely did they enter, then small shot in canister received them, but the hay and straw dead in the bullets and slugs and only a few rattled on the wheels and shafts. None of the assailants were touched.

There, B.A. pulled out a scrap of paper and flint and steel. He wrapped up a pinch of gunpowder in the paper, struck a light and ignited it, and shoved the flaring piece into the heap of hay. Others took lighted wisps and seized, scattered the flames. It caught the pent roof, and the blazing carts set fire to beams high up and sneaked along the bridge supports. The firemen came up with their engines, but the governor

ordered them to be fired upon, though the prison might thus be burned over the garrison's heads. The old French soldiers refused. The governor had gone upon the tower to see if the promised sucker was arriving, when he suddenly found himself enrapped in smoke. On hearing the portcalae smashed in, he recognized that all was lost. He was fully aware that he was hated. He guessed that there was no safety for him. During the whole of the action, he had cherished the thought of burying himself under the ruins of his castle. As soon as he acknowledged that all resistance was useless, he snatched a lintstock from an artillerist. The powder! The powder! shrieked 20, terrified voices. Two soldiers crossed their bayonets.

before his breast at the very instant when he opened the ammunition storeroom door. You may kill me, he said, but you cannot do that so quickly that I shall not have had time to toss this brand into one of the open kegs. Then all of us besieged and besiegers, go up! The soldiers stopped with the steel at his breast,

but he was still their commander and commanded, for he held the lives of all in his hands. His movement riveted everybody to their place. What do you want? Several voices gasped with the accent of a panic. An honorable capitulation. Everybody must retire, Count Lule. I will listen to no proposition

while there is an intruder inside the Bastille walls. But you will take advantage of our withdrawal to repair damages, remonstrated, B.A. If the capitulation be refused, you will find things in the same condition. You there? I at this door. On the faith of a nobleman. Some shook their heads.

Bring me pen, ink, and paper, continued the governor. That is well, he went on as his orders were executed. Lule laid the match by his side and began to write the terms of surrender on his knee. The French veterans and the Swiss, aware that their safety was at stake, silently looked at him in superstitious terror. In a twinkling, all the concourse outside had learned what was proceeding. As Lume had said, it was the population which issued from beneath the flagstones and pavement. not only workmen and beggars, the homeless and the imperfectly clad,

but citizens of the better classes. Not only men, but women and children, each had a weapon and uttered a war cry. From spot to spot amid groups was seen a woman disheveled, wringing her hands and waving her arms, howling curses at the giant of stone. It was a mother, a wife or a sweetheart, whose dearest one, had been incarcerated in its flanks.

But since a short space, the giant had ceased to vomit flame and scowl in the smoke. The fire was extinct and the hole mute as a tomb. On the blackened walls, the bullet grazes stood out white and were above count. Everybody had wanted to leave his mark on the granite brow of his personification of tyranny. They could hardly believe that the Bastille was about to be turned over to them, that its governor would surrender. But at the very second, when all crowded round to read the message, a hail of bullets rained down from the battlements at the same time

as a tremendous report was heard. From all breasts a cry arose, one announcing that the people meant to have revenge. Trust the tyrants again, said Gushan. Nobody about cared any more capitulations, the powder, the prisoners, or himself. Nothing was wanted but retaliation, and the besiegers strewed into the yard. not by the hundreds, but by thousands. The only thing preventing them from entering still faster was not the muskets, but the narrowness of the doorways.

On hearing the firing, the two soldiers who had not gone away from the commander jumped at him and a third set his foot on the slow match and crushed it out. Lule drew the sword hidden in his cane and tried to stab with it, but it was wrenched off from him and broken while in his grip. He was convinced he could do no more, and he waited for his doom. The mobs rushing in met the soldiers, holding out their hands to them. And so, the Bastille was not taken under a surrender, but by assault. There are moments when the future of a nation is exactly poised in the scales of fate.

One of the plates bears up the other, even while each party thinks his side will make the other kick the beam. An invisible hand has flung into the dish a dagger or a pistol and all changes. the only cry heard is Woe to the vanquished While the multitude poured Roaring with delight and anger Same time into the yards of the prison Two men were floundering

Béet and Pitu The latter was keeping up the other Whom no bullet or blow had struck But the fall had a trifle stunned him Ropes were thrown to them And poles thrust down In five minutes they were rescued or hugged and carried in triumph, muddy though they were.

One gave B.A. a drink of brandy. Another crammed the younger peasant with bread and sausage. A third dried them off and led them into the sunshine. Suddenly, an idea or rather a memory, crossed the good farmer's mind. He tore himself from the friendly arms and ran towards the fort. The prisoners! Help the prisoners! he shouted. Yes, the prisoners! repeated Petitou, darting into the tower after his leader. Only thinking of the jailers, the mob now shuddered on remembering the captives.

The cries were reiterated and seemed to enlarge the flanks of the prison to expand it with liberty. Goshaun looked on quietly, no doubt thinking that popular wrath is captive like a great river, doing more mischief if one tries to damn it than letting it make its course. On the contrary, Bili and Huell leaped in between defenders and attackers. They prayed and supplicated, vociferating the holy lie that the soldier. were promised their lives. B.A. and B.A. and Poutu's arrival was reinforcement to them.

B.A., whom they were revenging, was alive, not even hurt. He was clear with a mud bath. That was all. With sledges, the invaders broke the images on the clock face. They raced up the turret tops to kick the cannon which had belched death on them. They laid hands on the stones

and endeavored to dislodge them. When the first of the conquerors was seen on the battlements, all without below, a hundred thousand or cast up an immense clamor. It spread over Paris and flew over Paris like a swift-winged eagle. The Bastille is taken. At this news, hearts melted, eyes were moist with tears of gladness,

and hands clasped. No longer were their opposition parties or inimical classes. For all Parisians understood that they were brothers, and all men that they were free. Millions of men mutually embraced. The end. What an adventure story. And it's real.

It's a real adventure story. I suspect the characterization is a little bit not real. But it's kind of telling to me that I haven't read Dumas since I was in middle school, but I was really obsessed with this kind of stuff when I was a young, strange kid. I can see how it influenced me. I also, I really like almost everything that talks about, like, the mob is going to do it in a negative way, starting in the 20th century. Like, it's just, like, almost universal.

And yet, this one is, like, critical of the mob while still being, like, yeah, fuck it. Sometimes you just got to, like, do that shit. Sometimes it's just people are just going to fucking go off, you know? And so it still has all of the, like, it's not idealizing the mob, right? It's like calling them the mob, at least in this translation. but it's like, yeah, but they're on the right side, you know. And also, the thing that I really like, the characterization of the governor, sorry, French names just go in and out of my head, sorry, French listeners,

but just struggle with it. Anyway, the governor who runs the place, who talks like this, at least when I do his voice, how his whole thing is that he's like good and noble and brave in his mind, and yet the whole thing is like, this is how corrupt this man is. And I think that's like really telling. It's a really good personification of what upper class nobility looks like, you know, where they're like really weirdly stubborn on certain points. And they call that their honor.

But then they're like literally stealing the food from the starving prisoners and renting out the garden and all that shit. So I like it. That's what I would say about this story. Hazel, who helps me behind the scenes, says, quote, The story is so interesting to me, and writing this script was a really fun research deep dive. I'm really interested in the tension that we get here. Dumas is such a national figure of France, and this story is about one of the founding national events. The French celebrate the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille every year as an equivalent to our 4th of July.

And there's so much we don't know. How would Dumas feel about his legacy being co-opted to build national identity for the colonial core? How would Dumas feel about being seen as a literary forefather for black liberation from powers like France? Or maybe someone out there does know these things? There's only so much research I can do. More questions than answers for sure, but I don't know if anyone fully gets to control how they are remembered. What is our duty to those who have gone before and how we reconstitute their legacy? End quote.

And yeah, that's the end of the episode. I'm Margaret Kiljoy. I have been your host today. You can find my substack at Birds Before You, the storm. I write about stuff every week. That's a thing I do. I have a bunch of books, because I write a lot. And until next week, may the swift-winged eagle of liberation pass over you this week. Fuck ice, free Palestine. Don't cross picket lines. I'll see you next time. It could happen here is a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media,

visit our website, coolzonemedia.com. Or check us out on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can now find sources for it could happen here listed directly in episode descriptions. Thanks for listening. I'm Maria Garcia. You may remember me from my podcast, Anything for Selena or My Bebel.

I love pop culture. I think about stuff like, what did Mariah Carey and Luis Miguel's relationship mean? Why was the world so unfair to our girl, Britney Spears? And why do some women yearn for Chequita? black hair to make a comeback. I'm always trying to find the meaning behind pop culture and beyond. And now I'm back to unpack more divas, more drama, more stories from the present and the

past that I'm very excited to tell you about. We're going to have fun. We're going to keep it cute. And we're going to figure out what it all means. Listen to Very Excited with Maria Garcia as part of the MyCultura podcast network. available on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcasts. You gave everything you could give, and now it's time to take the next step. Hey, it's Emily Tish Sussman, and this season On She Pivots, the podcast where women share bold career moves and personal turning points.

I sit down with culture-shifting women who share their pivots like Elizabeth Smart. I still feel that drive that I can still make a difference, so I'm going to keep going. And feminist legend, Gloria Steinem. All of us were trying to express women's... real lives. Listen to She Pivots on the I-Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. New school year,

same beautiful mess. Good Mom's Bad Choices is back to talk back to school realness. The guilt, the giggles, and the choices no other show is brave enough to admit. Mom Life is calling, and I have my last motherfucking volleyball tournament

of Irie's club team volleyball, and I can't wait for the to be over. Because I don't like participating and having to drive far distances. Shout out to the moms and my mom who made it happen. Listen to Good Mom's Bad Choices from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcast. Did you think you were the only one?

Like no matter what you did, it was never good enough for your mother. I'm Jennifer Arnese, and this is the Black Mother Woon podcast, where we unpack and heal from the very first relationship that shaped us. We rush to accommodate other people when we have been hurt and our hurt has not been healed. Listen to the Black Mother Wound podcast from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, and wherever you get your podcast. This is an IHeart podcast. Guaranteed human.